He hadn't expected anything else - at least Mycroft was marginally more sensitive than certain other visitors he'd had to crime scenes. Greg had long since lost the visceral side of what might be called squeamishness, but it would be a lie to say he wasn't often disturbed. The emotional impact of death never wore off, for him, but - at least it was on a delay. He could fret about it later.
After leading him down the hall, he directed Mycroft into the room in question, still a bit cramped with a forensic analyst and the crime scene photographer. The girl herself was slumped against the bed, chest riddled with far more bullet wounds than necessary to do the job - not a pretty sight.
"Personally, I'd call it a crime of passion," he said, a little dry. He could hear Sherlock somehow, somewhere: obviously. He motioned to the clutter of drug paraphernalia on the nightstand, which was currently in the process of being dusted. "But they were partying, too, so God knows how hopped up our shooter was."
no subject
He hadn't expected anything else - at least Mycroft was marginally more sensitive than certain other visitors he'd had to crime scenes. Greg had long since lost the visceral side of what might be called squeamishness, but it would be a lie to say he wasn't often disturbed. The emotional impact of death never wore off, for him, but - at least it was on a delay. He could fret about it later.
After leading him down the hall, he directed Mycroft into the room in question, still a bit cramped with a forensic analyst and the crime scene photographer. The girl herself was slumped against the bed, chest riddled with far more bullet wounds than necessary to do the job - not a pretty sight.
"Personally, I'd call it a crime of passion," he said, a little dry. He could hear Sherlock somehow, somewhere: obviously. He motioned to the clutter of drug paraphernalia on the nightstand, which was currently in the process of being dusted. "But they were partying, too, so God knows how hopped up our shooter was."