Sherlock's hands shook in confusion and anger. He stood in the middle of the tiny apartment living room amidst the flurry of papers and upturned belongings. The apartment was dead silent and the only thing Sherlock could hear were the clocks turning in his own head as he tried to deduce and solve the problem at hand. He headed slowly to the room where he hoped he would find the most answers. He clenched his teeth at the sight.

John's bedroom was a chaotic array of clothes, files, and broken picture frames. Sherlock let a flash of pain cross his face. He was gone. His best friend was gone. It had been a long night at the lab which had caused Sherlock to come home around 7 that next morning. He came home to find the apartment in ruin and John nowhere in sight. All he found was a note written in a handwriting that reflected the sadistic monster underneath. He pulled it out of his pocket for the 50th time, unfolded it, and carefully read it over and over again.

"Come and play with me. John misses you. – JM" Sherlock sneered, crumpling the small piece of paper tightly and chucking it against the wall, with a clear exclamation of frustration. He inhaled and exhaled quickly, letting the fury bubble inside of him, eyes turned toward the ground, fists clenched at his side.

"Sherlock?" a voice sounded from the hallway. Sherlock looked up when he heard the familiar voice. "Mrs. Hudson," he thought quietly. "What impeccable timing you have." He sighed, softened his face and relaxed his hands at his side. He turned and left the bedroom, meeting the frantic and confused face of his landlady.

"Mrs. Hudson," he greeted her nonchalantly. "As you can see," he continued as he passed her and headed toward the couch, "the place is a mess." He tried his best to distract her from the obvious break in that had occurred. "Do you mind cleaning up a bit?"he finished. He then sat down on the edge of the couch and placed his hands to his face, elbows propped up on his knees, the same motion he always did when he was thinking.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson snapped back. "I am not your cleaning lady!" Sherlock ignored her and continued to weigh his options, trying to find the answers he was seeking. "Clean your own ruddy apartment, will you? It looks like a tornado went through here," Mrs. Hudson continued. She then sighed and headed toward the kitchen.

"Fancy a cuppa?" she questioned.

"Hm," Sherlock sounded once in response. He didn't care about tea at a time like this, but he was too busy to respond. As Mrs. Hudson continued to ramble on about things more than uninteresting to Sherlock, he let the wheels in his brain turn quickly, looking around the room and taking in every minute detail he could that might lead him to John. "Footprint on the carpet near the front door, stained slightly by mud and a little bit of blood. Size 13, taller man, bulky in stature, early 30s. Fingerprint on the coffee table, not mine or Johns, belonging to a taller man as well, probably in his late 30s early 40s. Fibers of clothing stuck on the corner where the living room and hallway walls meet, result of someone bumping into it, leather coat perhaps, belonging to yet another man, shorter than the first, 5' 11". That's three men." Sherlock sniffed the air. "Faint ghost of a certain aroma..." He sniffed again. "French cologne, Deauville. Strand of hair on the ground by the fireplace, brunette. Slight gray tone, older man, probably mid 40s. That's four men total." Sherlock felt another flush of anger rock through him. He felt somewhat violated knowing that three strangers had been in his apartment, had torn it to shreds, and had taken John with them.

"So, where's John got to today?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she came toward Sherlock, a cup of tea in hand. She suspected nothing of what had happened in the past few hours. Her question tore him from his world of thought and deduction. He stood just as she placed the mug in front of him on the coffee table.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm going out. Don't wait up for me." With that he grabbed his scarf and walked out the front door, buttoning his coat as he went.