The crisp October air bit at his skin. The man supposed it was worth it to meet his mistress for a night of passion. The fog began closing in around him, thicker than the down blanket his wife was sleeping under when he left. A snapping of a twig caught his attention, making him realize he was not, in fact, alone.
"Who's there?" he called out.
"Only I," a woman's voice whispered in the dark.
"Oh, thank goodness," the man sighed in relief. "I was beginning to think you were ready to call it off. Where are you, my love?"
He watched as a hand broke through the fog towards him. Her nails were painted a crimson red. As she came into view, he saw she wore a vintage style wedding dress—Victorian, perhaps—with long lace sleeves and a veil that hid her face from view.
"'Til death do us part," she hissed before the dagger pierced his heart.
"Molly!" Sherlock shouted. "Victoria sneezed again!"
"Oh, bugger, what'd she do now?" Molly asked, rushing into the sitting room. Their daughter had a habit of being able to do simple magic almost any time she screamed, sneezed or cried. Molly looked around, but nothing seemed amiss until her husband cleared his throat. The deerstalker he loathed so much was now sitting atop his head for the hundredth time.
"This blasted hat is the bane of my existence," he huffed.
"Oh, Sherlock, do stop being melodramatic," Molly laughed. "You know she loves it!" She lifted their six month old daughter into her arms. "You love playing jokes on daddy, don't you, darling girl?"
"Dadadada," was Victoria's reply whilst she laughed excitedly.
Sherlock walked over to his wife and daughter, swiping the hat off his head.
"I love you both very much, you know," he spoke softly, one hand on the small of Molly's back and the other gently stroking the chestnut curls on their Victoria's head.
It was then that Greg Lestrade strolled in looking white as a ghost.
"Any possibility I can get you two to come to Bart's quickly?" he asked them. "A highly regarded member of the British government has been murdered!"
"Was it Mycroft?" asked Sherlock, who grimaced when Molly elbowed him.
"Oh dear? Another murder?" Mrs. Hudson asked, bringing up the tea. "I'll take care of the little one whilst you two take care of things."
"Mrs. Hudson, are you sure?" Molly asked.
"Quite sure," their landlady replied, taking Victoria into her arms. "Don't you worry about a thing!"
It wasn't long before Sherlock and Molly were out the door to inspect the gruesome scene they were about to behold.
In the mortuary, the body of Thomas Milton was laid out before them.
"A member of the House of Commons I presume?" Sherlock deduced. When Greg opened his mouth, Sherlock interrupted. "It was a rhetorical question."
"Eight stab wounds, but he was pierced through the heart first," Molly observed.
"A bit excessive don't you think?" Greg asked.
"Excessive, yes, but there's a clue from it," Sherlock remarked.
Greg looked at the couple dumbfounded.
"It was a crime of passion," Sherlock and Molly spoke in unison.
"That's scary, you two." Lestrade shook his head in disbelief. "It's like you share the same brain."
'Yes, well, time for you to go so Molly and I can concentrate—you think much too loudly," Sherlock hurried the Detective Inspector out of the room.
"Did you have to be so rude?" his wife scolded him.
"Darling, I'm sorry," he murmured into her ear.
"I'm not the one you should apologise to," she remarked.
"I will apologise to Lestrade when we're done," he promised.
"Wake," Molly spoke firmly, a jolt of electricity burst from her fingertip.
"Wha—where am I?" an undead Thomas Milton asked.
Just then someone burst into the mortuary.
"Sorry, forgot my pho—BLOODY HELL!" Greg shouted in a fright.
Molly, on impulse, returned Milton to his previously lifeless state.
"We can explain," Sherlock paled.
Somewhere in dark hidden alcove of a back alley, two men are heard whispering back and forth by a passerby—a woman taking a shortcut home from work. She walked quickly, her heels against the pavement being the only other sound.
As the clicking of her shoes echoed throughout the alley, her heart rate accelerated. She walked faster. Chills covered her skin, feeling as though someone was watching her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. The end of the alley was just within her reach when a large hand grabbed her shoulder.
"Shouldn't have been eavesdropping," was all she heard before everything went black.
Author's Note: I'm so excited to finally start writing this! I've been keeping this sequel a secret for 2 months! Please tell me what you enjoyed about this chapter!