Sophia Holmes and the Mysteries in Stone (Wholock Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter One

Recap:

"Well, I'm off," John says, standing up. "Got to sort things with Sarah at the clinic." He leaves quietly, whilst we continue to flick through the papers for a new case.

"More disappearances," I mutter quietly, looking at the pictures above the article. I look up, smiling, as the phone rings.

Dad answers it immediately, slipping the phone from his pocket.

"Lestrade," he greets, pausing and allowing the DI to speak. "Brilliant, we'll be there in five." He drops his mobile back into his pocket.

"Good news?" I question, closing the paper.

"The best. We're going to the graveyard."

Chapter One

I jump up, grabbing my coat and wrapping my scarf around my neck as I follow after dad down the stairs.

"It's about those disappearances you were talking about," he says as we reach the street. "Lestrade has been looking into it and he has reason to believe that these people are being murdered."

I nod thoughtfully as a cab comes around the corner. "So he needs us."

"Basically," dad agrees, holding his hand out to hail. "Taxi!" The cab pulls up and we step in. "Highgate Cemetery, please." Dad turns back to me as the cab drives away. "All of these disappearances have one, notable thing in common."

"They were all visiting the cemetery," I complete, grimly. Dad nods. I give a dry smile. "Always wanted a graveyard mystery."

***

"Sophie, Sherlock," a familiar voice calls dad pays the cabbie, and I spin around to face the DI. "Glad you could make it."

"Has anything happened since you rang?" I question, looking up at the stone arch by the entrance to the graveyard.

"Not a thing," Lestrade admits, leading us in. "We've tried looking for patterns in the times of these disappearances, but there doesn't seem to be one - not that we can find, anyway."

I smirk. "I'm sure I can find it."

Lestrade gives me a wry smile and shakes his head. "Just find this bastard, will you?"

I gaze around the open area as we walk through, my earlier cockiness slipping away as a shiver runs down my spine. It just feels so ... lonely.

I whip my head around as I see something move in my peripheral vision, but I see nothing but a stone angel, standing with her hands over her eyes as if mourning for the loss of a loved one.

Lestrade stops walking as we reach the shelter of the trees, where the light is dim. "This is where Christine Blake was last seen," he tells us, looking around for himself as we walk the area, looking for indents in the leaves where Christine could have walked away. "A dog walker noticed her standing by that grave, over there." He points to a headstone beneath the trees, where moss has begun to grow over the top, hiding the name from sight. 

I walk over and brush my hand over the top and narrow my eyes at what I see. "Have you found anything in this immediate area that could belong to Christine?" I question, staring at the stone.

"No, but we've contacted her family to let them know," Lestrade replies.

Picking up on the curiosity in my voice, dad steps over to join me.

"Get onto them and research her recent family history up to seventy years ago. See if there are any repetitions in names," I demand, and Lestrade nods.

Dad turns to me as the DI walks away, his phone to his ear. "The Christine beneath this grave has only recently died," he says, lowering his voice. "It's nearly impossible for Christine to be visiting the remains of a relation who died that same day. Not even the quickest burials happen within a day."

"Could it be a threat?" I ask, reminded of the Hangzhou numerals that warned Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis of their imminent deaths in our last case. "

"Some effort to go to for a threat," dad muses. 

"There must be some reason," I remind him, looking at the date on the stone again. "There has to be."

There's no mistake: the headstone specifically says that Christine Blake died today.