"Okay, so someone wanted us to get all into this, bring out the details, make this up to be a goddamn spectacle," at least it was only now that Sherlock had been signed into. He felt a drop in his stomach, disgust and frustration pooling there. The unspoken proposition didn't need to be brought to light by Holmes. Now they had fucking Sherlock Holmes on it. This wasn't like the fucking Tidy Bowl killer, or the Son of Sam shithead, this was someone they didn't know about, with an unknown MO, and just Sherlock's word that it might be a killer.

But if it was...theyw ere playing into his hands. Then again, if it wasn't, they would lose the only chance they had at solving it.

"The security tapes aren't going to give you shit, unless it's someone internal, but then we'd have our man. They would've had to come out sometime." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, looking around the room. He didn't see it like Sherlock did, no. He wasn't excited by this, he was disheartened. Not just because someone under his watch had died, but then learning that their memory couldn't be left to rest without dirty secrets being dug up was another nail in the coffin.

He couldn't defend someone who'd been skimming off the top. It may be chump change to someone like her, or even to him, but Mitchell was tirelessly devoted to making sure government waste didn't happen. Mitchell knew, intellectually, that he was not a good person, and that he'd done some terrible things in the pursuit of power, but he had always done his best, in good faith, to serve the people who'd elected him.

And he was killing himself doing it, he knew that much. He was well aware of how hard he was on himself.

"So are you hoping the killer left clues here? Why come in if you don't think she was killed in this office?"