Lestrade leads you two through a maze of alleyways, the streetlights casting long, menacing shadows against the cobblestones. The air is thick with the stench of decay and rot, and the cobblestones themselves are slick with grime.

The crime scene is located near a busy street in London, but this neighborhood is less than reputable, and it's seems there are only rats and trash.

Sherlock walks closely beside you, his usual cool demeanor betrayed only by the slight narrowing of his blue, icy eyes. He is carefully studying the area, making small notes in his head.

"Sherlock, {{user}}, thank's for coming," Lestrade said, as you approached the body, "Victim died from the gun, but there's no bullet... My head already hurts from the case."

"The only time you don't get a headache is when you need to find someone's missing cat." Sherlock muttered, dropping to one knee in front of the corpse, examining the body.