We climb out of the cab and walk to meet Lestrade at the yellow crime scene tape surrounding the graveyard. He's holding a cup of coffee and looks even more stressed than usual.

"It took you long enough."

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Yes, well, John insisted we stop and get sandwiches for some reason."

"Sherlock, you hadn't eaten in two days!"

"Eating is dull."

Lestrade nods.

"Yes, if you two are finished, I need you to do what you came here for."

"I'm sorry that your wife is cheating on you again, but there's really no reason to take it out on us. And that's your third cup of coffee. The caffeine is just going to give you a migraine and you'll just feel worse."

"Sherlock!"

"What? I said I was-"

Lestrade glares at him. I turn to Sherlock and quietly say what has summarized his relationship with everyone.

"Bit not good, Sherlock."

He sighs, and looking like a twelve year old, turns back to Lestrade.

"Sorry."

"Just solve the damn case, please."

Sherlock crosses the graveyard in a few swift strides and kneels next to a gravestone. Lestrade stands behind him.

"Three people were seen here last night by the watchman, and they never left. The car they own is still here though. It's a Chevy Impala. For some reason, there is salt scattered around the gravestone and-"

"Shut up."

Lestrade shuts up.

We walk further into the graveyard and finally, in front of a grey marble gravestone the salt trail stops.

I watch Sherlock examine the area.

"Three males. They planned to stay here for the night. Two are brothers. The other one is…a friend of the family. Perhaps more. They weren't here to morn. They were here to investigate something. Look. They have footprints leading from the car but none going back. Something got them. But there's no sign of a struggle…"

His voice trails off as he enters his mind palace and exits reality. Lestrade opens his mouth, but I shake my head and he says nothing. I look around the graveyard. It's a bit overgrown, but peaceful. On the gravestone that the trail of salt leads to there are two names. Rory Arthur Williams and Amelia Williams. The gravestone is newer looking than the other ones. Bending over the gravestone is a lamenting angel statue. Probably expensive. Lestrade has wandered over to examine another grave. I turn back to Sherlock, who seems to have come to a conclusion

"Ah. Obvious."

"How long is this going to take?"

Sherlock glances up at me and then his eyes freeze on a point above my shoulder.

"John. Turn around slowly. Whatever you do, don't close your eyes. Listen to me. This is important."

Lestrade walks back towards us.

"Any conclusions yet, Sherlock?"

"Lestrade. Watch the statue."

It's all I can do to hold back a scream. The angel has removed its hands from its eyes and is snarling gruesomely. Somehow it's moved…how?

"Sherlock!"

I hear a noise. Some sort of buzzing, almost like the wind blowing through the trees. Something blue is appearing behind the angel.

"John. Stay calm. Help is coming. Just don't take your eyes off the statue."

"What is that thing?"

I feel his hand on my arm.

"Something I prayed I'd never see again."

Lestrade drops his coffee.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!"

The buzzing stops. Behind the angel is an old fashioned phone box. At least that's what I think it is.

"That's a weeping angel. It's safe as long as you keep looking at it.

Someone steps out of the police box. A man wearing a bowtie. He speaks.

"Don't blink. Blink and you're dead."

Sherlock's hand tenses.

"Hello, Doctor."

"Hello, Sherlock."