Last night he'd dreamed of sunflowers. A field full, all swaying gently in the breeze. Time seemed to stretch out forever beyond them as he lay in the grass and listened to her laughing. The sunlight was warm on his eyelids, her fingertips soft in his palm. In his dream, he was both himself and observing himself. He watched from a distance as he turned over to face her, feeling as he rested his hand over her belly. He'd felt an overwhelming urge to protect her ever since she'd told him. It was an instinct that felt like he was falling in love with her for a second time. He smoothed his hand over her bump - the baby was kicking, which was only making her laugh more. He saw a smile grow wide on his own lips, and felt his heartbeat strong inside his chest.

In his dream, he was certain that this was a real memory; a vivid recollection of a perfect afternoon they'd spent together. His senses were overloaded with minute detail. He could smell the flowers' heavy scent in the air, feel the blades of grass tickle his bare neck. He could even feel the crease in her dress where his hand lay over the seam. Why would he ever imagine that?

The crime scene was remote. He'd been driving for nearly 40 minutes, completely lost in the fields and stone tracks. At least the sun was almost up, casting a watery glow over the hilltops. He'd hadn't been surprised to see that there was still snow covering the ground this far up. He smiled wryly to himself, remembering how he'd told Ruth that it'd be all skyscrapers and wifi once they moved to London. He was glad that no one back in Yorkshire could see him now, completely outwitted by his Sat Nav. His farmer mates would never let him live it down.

He squinted through the windscreen, certain he'd caught a glimpse of blue lights over the crest of the next hill. Surely that had to be it.

"Jack Hodgson, forensics."

"Ah, at last. Dr Alexander - Nikki - pathologist. Nice to meet you."

She was pretty. Very pretty. Jack tried hard not to notice.

"I'm almost finished here."

"Great. What do we know so far?"

"Victim is Caroline Mayhew, age 34. She was stabbed several times in the chest and abdomen with a sharp object, probably a knife..."

"No one's found the weapon?"

"Not yet... I'd say she's been dead somewhere around 8 to 10 hours, although I'll confirm that after the post mortem."

"Is it just the one?" he asked, nodding towards the body.

"So far. Her little girl's missing."

"Missing... Not dead." It was a statement, not a question, Nikki noticed.

"Yes," she said slowly, "but there's also blood in the girl's room and I'm confident that this body wasn't moved after the attack."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"I'd better start up there then."

Nikki shook her head as she watched him make his way towards the stairs. She reminded herself that she was a professional. It didn't matter how tall, dark and Irish someone was...

The house was falling apart, as Jack knew all old farm houses were. The wallpaper was old and dull, and peeling slightly in the corners. The carpet on the stairs was past its best, the garish 90s design hardly distinguishable between the worn through bare patches. Jack made a mental note to take photos of the blood spatter on each step on his way back down.

As he got to the top of the stairs, the metallic smell of blood momentarily gave way to a faint trace of damp, covered over with cheap floral air freshener. For a second, Jack was back in his dream, surrounded by sunflowers. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them again, he noticed that although the house was run-down, it was also completely spotless. No dust, no dirt, no stains. Someone was obviously trying their best to keep up appearances despite their circumstances. He wondered if it was the woman downstairs who had tried so hard to make the place nice, and suddenly felt a pang of sadness. It was strange the things that connected you at a crime scene - the tiny details that humanised the bodies and made them more than just a victim, but an actual person with an actual life. For a strange moment, he could see her - feather duster in hand, reaching for cobwebs.

"You're losing it, Jack" he muttered, as he strode purposefully to the first room on the right. He gripped his kit bag tighter in his hand. Time to get his science head on.

[So this is my first fan fic in about 10 years! Sorry for any errors or whatnot, I was just having fun writing again. I'll post the next chapter soon if anyone wants it]