Hello! Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy my story and if you would like to, please leave a comment letting me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock. I only write to entertain (and to get the dang story ideas out of my head!)

Norman Snyder sadly watched as his wife's coffin was lowered into the ground. Even after he had sat with her day after day in the hospital, knowing that they were going to lose the fight, he was still in complete shock. The sickness had come on so fast, with no hope of a cure. Friends and family hugged Norman and gave their sorrowful wishes to him as they left the funeral. The misty rain of the day had picked up to a hard pour but still Norman stood there disbelieving the loss of his beloved wife.

Norman wasn't sure how he had gotten home. He awoke with damp clothes as he laid there in his bed. Their bed he thought. Rolling over, he was surprised to what he had found next to him. The body of his dead wife, "asleep" on her side of the bed.

Three Months later:

Sherlock sat in his chair, fingers poised in front of his face. He was in his Mind Palace, which meant while he was physically in the room - mentally he was in a different place. He examined the scene; a young girl buried alive in a grave. She was the 4th woman found like this and yet there was no clue to who buried her there.

There was the clatter of tea cups as Mrs. Hudson placed the tray down. Behind her John Watson eyed the Consulting Detective. "Oh John, he's been sitting there since last night. I don't think he's moved at all." Mrs. Hudson said.

"Sherlock...Sherlock." John snapped his fingers as he tried to bring his best friend back to the reality of this room they were in. Sherlock stayed in the position he was in. Rolling his eyes, John sat down to read the newspaper.

"You know it is rude to snap your fingers." Sherlock said ten minutes later. John folded up his newspaper and threw it on the stand next to him. "Yeah, so is frighting Mrs. Hudson."

"Mrs. Hudson worries too much." Sherlock said as he stood up from his chair. He went into the kitchen to check on an experiment.

"Mycroft called me this morning." John said as he walked into the kitchen. He leaned up against the doorway, watching as Sherlock placed a few drops of chemical on to a slide.

"And what did my lovely brother have to say?" Sherlock asked as he looked down into his microscope. In a fit of fury, Sherlock took the slide out and threw it up against the wall.

John cleared his throat, "Well, he would like to know where you are at with the case?"

"No where John! I am no where with this case!" Sherlock yelled. "I've got four dead women, all found buried alive. There are no witnesses, no evidence left behind of the killer - nothing!"

"Come on. You are Sherlock "bloody" Holmes and are dealing with a serial killer. Last time I checked, serial killers don't leave much evidence behind. Just in the way they kill their victims. And the last time I checked, Sherlock Holmes didn't need any specific evidence to solve a crime."

"I can't John. I cannot solve these murders." Sherlock said, actually feeling defeated for the first time in his life. "There's noth..."

"There's been a 5th murder right here in London." DI Greg Lestrade breathlessly said as he stopped at the top of the stairs.

"John, my coat!" Sherlock said as he pushed himself away from the kitchen table.