Drip.

It was a cold sound. A harsh sound that brought her back to reality with a jolt. She was slipping in and out of consciousness because of the pain that was ever present and she would rather stay under.

She knew it was over soon. Just not soon enough.

She finally heard the footsteps coming up behind her. She smiled. Her shoulders hurt more than any pain she had ever felt in her life; both had been dislocated from the precarious position he had left her in for hours upon hours.

And there it was. The end. A painful end. A desperate end. She wriggled in her last moments. She might have come to terms with her fate but she still struggled as the cord tightened around her throat cutting off her air supply. Human nature at its finest.

The blonde woman in the grey suit dialled the number again; sighing angrily. She was once again met with the rude answering machine.

"Hey leave a message and see if I bloody care"

"It's not funny, You know you've to call me if you stay out late. I worry. Be safe!" She tried to sound calm. It was no use shouting. She had tried that. Goodness knows she had tried that!

The woman looked at the case that was spread out on her desk. Her fingers reached for the coffee cup and she gulped the stale remnants of it down. This would be another long night. Another young woman found naked and strangled. 4 so far. The pictures made her cringe. This reminded her of what made her become a DI back in the day; she wanted to rid the world of the sick and twisted people who did this and put the families of their victims through hell.

They didn't have much to go on though and as she reached for another painkiller to numb her back pain she noticed a yellow sticky note.

"Gothic clothing found". All these girls had been 'Goth Girls' as Lucy, her 17 year old daughter had informed her it was called apparently. Punk chicks, cyber… something? Was a completely different group of people all together. She shook her head and reached for her phone once more.

"Lucy, I don't care what you're doing tonight, just call. I won't be mad" she let the machine know.

"Thought you could do with another" a voice startled her. She was deep in thought going over the sparse victim's profile. They knew even less about their serial killer.

"Thank you, Greg! Can always count of you!" She smiled at the older DI who placed a cup of fresh coffee in front of her.

"Lucy still acting out?" The man pointed with his own cup. She nodded.

"If she knew how many grey hairs she's caused me! She owes me one of her hair dyes by now" She chuckled.

"That's kids for you, and still stuck on your case?" Greg continued his small talk.

"All we know is that he targets young females with a gothic clothing style; he undresses them and ties them up and leaves them for several hours; leaves no trace and none of the girls knew each other" she shrugged her shoulder tiredly.

"Listen, if you want I can get you my best man for that job" Greg lowered his voice.

"I am not going to take that risk!" her eyes narrowed and she took a large gulp of her fresh coffee.

"You know where to find me if you need Sherlock Holmes" he continued to whisper. She nodded and DI Greg Lestrade went back to his office.

"There's been another one" she heard Sargent Donovan say and she swallowed. There it was. That pang of worry. That fear that one day she'd be showing up at a crime scene and it would be her daughter they would cut down from the water pipes.

"Who found her?" She stood up and tried to look professional just as she had done with the last few new victims of this specific serial killer.

"Member of the public; she fits the MO" Donovan informed her. She was already putting her coat on ready to run out of there. The team were underfoot.

The long, straight, black hair was the first feature she could make out in the dark and moist cellar under the high school. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"Any trademarks on the body?" She asked the member of the forensics team that came to greet her.

"A tattoo on the wrist and she had her nose pierced" The woman in the blue protective suit explained removing her gloves. "It's our man, DI Yellow, She's been dead at least a day" she let her know.

Tattoo, on the wrist. That was when she had stopped listening. Lucy had a tattoo on her wrist. A lovely little black rose with a drop of blood falling from one of its leaves.

"The tattoo, could you describe it?" Her mouth was dry and it was a struggle to at least look professional. She almost regretted the question. But she knew this was not how she wanted to see Lucy.

"A skull" oh god. Thank god! She caught herself thinking. Then she calmly reminded herself that this was someone else's daughter and she had a job to do. And if she didn't; this wouldn't be the last poor girl to be found. The killer had to be stopped.

"Sweep for witnesses; someone must have seen something!" she instructed. "Bag all of the evidence" she told continued. "We have to stop this" she was fired up.

It was morning when Detective Inspector Celia Yellow finally made it home. The flat was silent and empty but there was something that brought a smile to her lips. The cereal bowl by the sink. Normally it would have infuriated her that Lucy couldn't even be bothered to put it in the dishwasher. But this meant that she had been home. Celia could sleep now and she did.

"I'm bored, John!" Sherlock Holmes cried out as he stood tall on the coffee table in the mess of a flat that was 221B Baker Street "I need a case!" He was absolutely miserable.

John Watson sat in his chair trying to read the paper. He heaved a sigh.

"Your inbox is full" Watson informed him tiredly.

"I need a real case!" Holmes was resembling a bratty four year old. A tall one though.

"I'm sure something will turn up, but why not distract yourself in the mean time?" Watson put his paper down and found his phone and scrolled through the emails.

"You know what I need?" Holmes bolted off of the table.

"No, what do you need?" Doctor Watson shook his head.

"A serial killer, that is what I need! Call Lestrade, he must have something!" Holmes was practically salivating at the thought.

"This lady says her furniture has been moved every night the past few months" The army doctor was desperately trying to distract the consulting detective who was bored out of his wits.

"Yes, the grandson is looking for the money she's hiding from him in her will; boring!" Holmes crossed his arms across his chest. "Call Lestrade!" he ordered.