Sherlock wants to jump up and down in joy but refrains because they were in the lab waiting for Dr Molly Hooper and Lestrade would probably record it and John would mumble "Bit not good". He just was so excited! Unclear COD is always interesting.
"So yeah she was shot after she was already dead," Molly says, entering the lab with a file in hand.
Lestrade asks, "Poisoning?"
Molly replies, "No. No trace of anything. This wasn't even a heart attack. I mean she's fine. I mean fine as in she was not even remotely unhealthy. It's like as if she just died." She assumes a thoughtful expression.
Sherlock coughs, "No one just dies!"
"I m-mean that all her organs just stopped working!"
Sherlock snatches the folder from her hand and reads through it. Not satisfied, he commands, "I need to see the body." And walks out of the lab with his ubiquitous Belstaf coat whooshing behind.
Lestrade shakes his head, while John mumbles, "Such a drama queen."
Sherlock leans over the body. She had straight black hair and her eyes were a dark brown, or what remained of it. Her face was destroyed beyond recognition. There was shot to her chest as well. He could tell from one glance that the bleeding was post mortem. He checked everywhere. No trace of disease. He turned around and spotted the heart that his pathologist had carefully enclosed in a jar. He picked it up. Nope, she was right. No trace of fatigue either. Just a great big hole. What did she die of then? The nose crinkle intensifies.
"The bullet is peculiar," Molly speaks up from behind.
"How so?" John asks.
"It-"
"Disintegrated into five pieces as soon as it hit her body," Sherlock finishes her sentence. As everybody stares at him in shock, he sighs dramatically and points to the little metallic fragments Molly had collected.
"Exactly," Molly mutters, "the bullets destroyed everything in its trajectory."
"Also whoever shot her obviously wanted to disfigure her so identification would be difficult." He mutters to himself, "But why?"Then he looked at Lestrade, "Find what kind of bullets these are. These are no ordinary bullets. I have two ideas so far." He steeples his fingers under his chin. Closing his eyes, he wandered a bit into his mind palace while everybody waited with bated breath as to what the great amateur detective would come up with next.
"The crime scene," Sherlock shouts and does another dramatic exit.
As his sudden proclamation stunned them, no one dared move. The doors to the morgue swished open again. Sherlock poked his curly head, "Lestrade, John, shall we? And Molly, do inform me if you manage to ID her."
"Uh yes," Molly nods.
"Oh yeah, right." John mumbles. And leaves.
"I will call you," Lestrade says to Molly, who blushes a deep beetroot red and gently nods. And he leaves.
Sherlock calmly follows Lestrade as they reach the crime scene. But as soon as they get to the spot where the body had been found, Sherlock Holmes starts investigating.
Lestrade says, "We found no trace of fingerprints."
"Uh hmm," Sherlock mumbles as he whips out his trusty magnifying glass. This was bothering him. Very, very much. He could fathom…nothing. And Sherlock Holmes does not like not knowing. He took a look around. It is quite spacious, apartment contractors of this site were some Dursley & Co. He might have heard of them. It was almost finished. And the countertop in the kitchen was really made of Formica. Cheap people. But what he could not find was evidence. No footprints. No random stray hair. He glimpsed at the little blood pool which gave him nothing. The killer either is a ghost or he is extremely fastidious and knows how to clean like a pro. A janitor? But where would janitors get those bullets from? And if the girl was already dead, why shoot her twice? How did she die anyway?
Lestrade was patiently waiting for Sherlock to say something, anything. It has been now a total of ten minutes he had been silent, which was bothersome. Even John was wondering what was taking his friend so long to start with his deductions. Ten minutes was too long for Sherlock Holmes.
Finally, twelve agonizing minutes later, Sherlock stands still with a unreadable expression on his face. John thinks it is confusion, but no, that cannot be. And the next words that come out of his mouth almost knocks Lestrade and John off their feet (like if this was an anime, they would be on the ground with their legs up in the air)-
"I don't understand."
"Wha-," Lestrade begins, and then fails. He rubs his face and continues, "What do you mean?"
"What I mean is simple. There are no traces of the killer. None!" Sherlock flails his hands. He was truly stumped. Thank God it was just Lestrade and John here. He did not like his inadequacy in this situation one bit. This situation…what is it? He ponders, totally oblivious to what Lestrade was saying.
"SHERLOCK!" John shouted.
Sherlock's train of thought was broken, "What?"
"I was saying," Lestrade says, "We found a very strange thing on the crime scene. I asked would you like taking a look?"
Of course he would. Lestrade was such an imbecile sometimes. "To Scotland Yard then!" He whooshes past them again.
Lestrade and John share a look, which could be roughly translated to disbelief. Lestrade asks as they followed Sherlock, "Can you even?" "Nope," John replied, "Did the sun rise from the west today or something?"