Everything we knew

Elsewhere in London

John Watson placed a plate with a sandwich on the arm of the chair Sherlock Holmes was sitting in. He hadn't said a word all morning and barely moved from his spot, fingers peaked below his nose, in his "mind palace." John sat down in his chair opposite Sherlock and sipped his tea. When Sherlock didn't make a move to acknowledge the sandwich, he said
"Sherlock, eat."
"You know I don't eat while I'm on a case, John." He murmured.
"You haven't eaten in days, this might just be a case you have to let go."
"Eating slows me down."
"You won't be moving at all if you keep going like this!" Sherlock didn't reply and John sighed. He decided to change the subject.
"Alright, so how about you tell me what we have. Or I could try to figure it out, doesn't that help sometimes?" John suggested.
"We barely have anything. Theres no evidence left behind, no pattern between the people or the places they were last seen. Theres no ransom when they go missing, people are just dropping off the face of the Earth and I can't deduce how!" Sherlock raved, knocking the sandwich on the floor.
"Maybe there is no pattern. Maybe they're taking random people on purpose."
"I don't need to know why they're disappearing I just need to know who's doing it."
"Well you've been stuck on who for five days so maybe you do!" Before their argument could continue, Sherlock's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, answered it, and said
"Lestrade."
"Sherlock, there's a body in Brixton. Corner of Kings avenue and Acre lane. We think it's connected to the disappearances."
"How?"
"Well, it's in the same area as Kimberley Anne was last seen, but other than that we haven't got a clue what this is. Just get down here quick, if you thought this case was odd before then... Just get down here." The line disconnected. Sherlock pocketed the phone, jumped out of his chair, and threw on his coat and scarf. John stood, knowing it was best to follow him, and asked
"Where are we going? Is this to do with the case?"
"Theres a body in Brixton, and I'm not sure, lets hope this explains everything without getting too dull." He flipped up his collar and went down stairs, John close behind. Outside 221b, Sherlock hailed a cab and told him the address. When they got to the crime scene, it seemed that the police had a much more intense security force around, they wouldn't even let Sherlock through when he got too close.
"Ive been invited by detective inspector Lestrade." He insisted.
"I don't care what you say, no civilians!" The guard replied, again. Luckily, Lestrade came running up to the tape to meet Sherlock.
"It's alright, let him through." He said
"Are you sure?" The guard asked.
"Trust me, he's our best chance at explaining all this." He raised the tape to let them in, and they walked to the corpse.
"We haven't done a proper autopsy, but it's already unbelievable." Lestrade warned. When he got close, Sherlock had to keep his jaw from dropping. In the dead man's chest were three deep gashes, almost like an animal attack, but instead of his shirt being soaked in deep red blood, the body was surrounded by shimmering silver liquid, like liquid mercury. Around the wounds the flesh had severely cracked like dry mud. Sherlock left a dumbfounded John where he stood to closer inspect the body. He meticulously scanned the wound and discovered that the liquid had seeped from the wounds themselves. His mind raced for explanations for the unexplainable puzzle that lay before him. He stepped away from the scene to go deeper into thought and John took his place, examining the body.
"Who was he?" John asked.
"Nathan Zore." Lestrade answered. "22, university student, that's all we have as of now."
"This is unbelievable." John said. "I don't know what to make of it." Lestrade turned to Sherlock.
"Have you got anything?" He asked.
"The three gashes are not parallel, so perhaps they were made by one blade cut in three times. Possibly the killer purposefully made them look like claw markings. The cracking around the wounds could have been made by dry ice as a means of erasing evidence."
"And the silver stuff?" Lestrade asked.
"Not sure yet." He replied. He stood there, still thinking, when Lestrade cut in.
"What, is that it?"
"For now."
"Most days by now you would have all his habits and relationships, his entire week just from one glance."
"There are more important matters"
"Are you alright?" Sherlock paused. Before he responded he saw three men talking to the guard that didnt let him through. They showed their badges to him, two of them were FBI, but the other's was blank. The first two he deduced in seconds, brothers, taller one the youngest, no other brothers, raised by father, Americans, not actually FBI, live on the road, armed, just arrived to England, one hates flying. The third man was surprisingly difficult to deduce. Recently arrived as well, not American, acquainted with the two other men, runs often, wide feet, unarmed, proud of bowtie. But that's all he could figure, maybe his game was off. They didn't approach them, just observed the scene. The older brother spoke to the other two, and he read his lips.
"Just like the reports in Carson city, I told you!" The younger brother waved him off, and the strange man motioned for them to leave. They left the same way they came and melted into the crowd. Without a word, Sherlock started to walk back to the tape border, planning to follow the three men. John ran up behind him.
"Where are you going? You can't have gotten all you need, this is bizarre!" He asked. Sherlock smirked.
"You're right, I haven't a clue who did this, how they did it, or what it has to do with the case, but I think I found some men who do."