Sherlock stood over the crime scene, a bored expression on his face. Red nails, smudged red lipstick, and cheetah print underwear gave the impression of someone who worked in the sex industry, but it was marks on her upper arms that gave it all away. Heroine most likely, though it could be a paraplegic, the drug tests would confirm or deny. The nails were jagged and rough, though on closer inspection a French tip could still be made out. A small pale line was visible on the ring finger, but the finger was smooth showing the victim took it off for work, not because she was divorced. An old bruise showed on her inner thigh. Her phone showed a recent text to a "Zeb".
From: Zeb
Tell him already, it was one time but it could happen again. I love you, and you know you'll always have a place in my home.
This was on obvious one.
"So, what do you think?" Asked an irritable Lestrade.
"She was obviously a sex worker, had a husband and a decent income, so she wasn't in this for the money, no she was in it for the thrill, as made apparent by the drug marks. She knew her attacker, the only defense wounds are the nails, meaning she didn't want to hurt them. No, she loved them. A recent text was made to a "Zeb", Z as in the last letter in the alphabet, and the least likely place to look in a phone's contacts. From the writing and characteristics of the text it was another female, most likely a sister. The victim was no doubt talking about an instance of abuse, but there was no reply and the date read right before she was murdered. She was planning on leaving him. It was obviously the husband."
"Now how on earth do you know that? It could be anyone on this green planet and you magically think it's the husband." Lestrade ranted in an exasperated manner.
"It was the husband. Come along Watson, we will leave them to the arresting." Sherlock said with a proud air.
Sherlock stalked off, leaving Watson, who was currently shrugging his shoulders at the detective. John hurried after him, calling out to Sherlock.
"Sherlock, wait! I love you, I really, really do."
"I love you too John, but what importance does that have at this instance?"
"Because… I have cancer…"
With that sentence the world fell away, and Sherlock woke up screaming John's name. But John would never come, because memories and dreams are sometimes one in the same and this time it just happened to be the same.