"You'd love this one, Sherlock. A man found dead with a knife in his hand, but without a stab wound. The autopsy has come through and the only recent mark on the body was a needle puncture, but he's newly home from Mexico, so he's had injections. Any suggestions from up there? Maybe you could ask him yourself."

Greg laughed at his joke. He wished it was possible for a Sherlock-angel to speak to him. Well, maybe he would be a Sherlock-devil. This was the third time he'd been to Sherlock's grave to talk about murder. It was a bit weird going to a dead man to talk about dead people but it helped him organise his thoughts more on cases and get a bit into Sherlock's mind. If that was even possible.

"There's also some red marks around the puncture but apparently the man's never been good with injections. There's no reason for him to be dead. There aren't any traces of poison in him, he hasn't had any underlying heart problems, no strokes, and he just collapsed and died. Sherlock, I know you can't hear me wherever you are or I just can't hear you but help me. Anderson and Donovan are on my back, because 'I can't solve crimes without Sherlock.' I miss having you around to make fun of me but you're gone so…..send me some sign of how he died, or something."

He finished lamely and walked back to Scotland Yard where the other police men and women were waiting to make jibes about the 'fake genius.'

Just as Greg was entering his office he heard a shout and a rush of footsteps. He turned around to see Sergeant Jude Edward fall to the floor in a choking fit. Shouts of "Oh my God, what's happened to her?" and "Is she alright?" rose above the crowd forming around her. Sally Donovan ran to the front, brandishing an EpiPen, and stuck it into Jude's leg. Slowly, Jude stopped gasping and struggling and managed to sit up.

"Christ, what just happened?" Greg asked Donovan.

"She had an allergic reaction,"

"Yeah, I know that. To what?" He sighed.

"I think it was the flu jab I had earlier, I was supposed to be careful in case that happened. I had a really bad reaction at the clinic last year," Jude replied, still shaking and breathing heavily.

Jude rolled up the sleeve of her shirt and peered at where she had had her injection. It was red, inflamed and everyone winced when they saw it.

"Come on let's get you to hospital," Donovan helped Jude up and they left.

"Another minute and she might have died on the spot," Greg heard one of the other sergeants behind him say.

He ran to his office and peered at his case files for the murder he was talking to Sherlock about. The pictures of the man's arm was almost identical to Jude's one. Greg punched a number into his phone as quickly – and violently – as he could.

"Hello?" came the voice from the other end.

"Molly, I need you to look at some medical records for me."

"Sherlock, I don't know how you did it but thank you. Not sure it was nice of you to almost kill Jude though." Greg was back at Sherlock's gravestone.

"You see, it turns out Dave Paul, the man I was telling you about, is allergic to tomatoes. His flatmate has severe anxiety, schizophrenia, paranoia and a whole heist of other disorders. Put those together and you have a dangerous man that is very suspicious of his flatmate. So suspicious that he thought his flatmate was trying to kill him. Dave Paul had a knife because he was chopping up some chocolate, which his flatmate happens to be allergic to. So the flatmate sees him, becomes convinced that he is about to be murdered and takes out a needle which he has filled with tomato serum or something, just in case his life is in immediate danger because of his flatmate, and injects Dave with it. Dave dies, flatmate is no longer in danger of the chocolate and we are left baffled. Even the pathologist suspects nothing when doing the autopsy because tomato is not weird to see in the body and we weren't checking for allergies. This was all confessed to us this morning by the flatmate once I realised he was the murderer."

Greg laughed to himself. "Thank you. I know I wouldn't have solved this without you."

"Anderson's leaving, Sherlock. He feels so guilty, and I know he should but I can't help feel sorry for the man. He believes you're still alive, and he doesn't want to go back to Scotland Yard until he's got proof that you are," Greg smiled. "We're stuck, Sherlock. We're all stuck without you here to tell us how stupid we all are."

"Please come back." He whispered. Then, shaking his head, he turned around and walked off.