Chapter 1

Sherlock was bored yet again. Ever since John had gone off and gotten married to Mary, he never seemed to be around. Especially now that there was a child in the picture. Little Shirley was only two months old, but she was the apple of her father's eyes. On the rare occasions that Sherlock and John had to actually sit down and natter for a bit, Shirley would come up over and over again. At first, Sherlock thought it was cute to see how much John adored fatherhood, but after a while, he found himself disliking it. It was almost as if he was jealous that Shirley was taking up John's time now. He didn't know how to admit it to John, but he missed the two of them working on cases. He couldn't say that though. It would mess up John's perfect world.

Rising from his chair slowly to walk towards the window, the television on as background noise, Sherlock pulled back the curtain to gaze down at the pedestrians as they scurried from place to place like tiny ants. Many of them had rain coats on to combat the normally wet British weather that leered over their heads in the forms of gray clouds. Sherlock lifted his eyes momentarily to the skies to see the stray crow cawing as its black feathery wings soared over the sky. A small smirk appeared on Sherlock's face then. If only it were so easy to fly away from everything.

As Sherlock stood at the window, contemplating, the television flashed onto a breaking news screen. Hearing the urgent voice of the reporter, Sherlock turned his head marginally to peer over his shoulder at the screen. The reporter was discussing yet another branch off of the war already at hand. Many people were claiming that a World War Three might be in the future. Sherlock turned fully when the screen filled with fire engulfed buildings and screaming people running for safety. His eyes reflected the screen as he allowed himself to wander back into the recesses of his mind palace. Why was this world such a hard place?

Moving in an almost ghost like manner towards his chair, he took a seat once more. The reporter signed off on the breaking news story and soon the screen faded to a riot outside a city hall. Mobs of people stood there; picket signs moving about the air like an extra arm; an arm reaching for justice. There were many people getting right into the riots, crying out for equality and for things to go the way that they wanted them to. Some were even so into it that they were screaming their demands; tears and anger flashing in their eyes and reflecting their injured, broken souls.

Sherlock was about to reach over to flick the television completely off to try to rid himself of the scenes that made him only more melancholy, when Mrs. Hudson entered the room with a tray of tea. She gave him a weak smile as she stood in the doorway, looking in at him in almost an uncertain manner.

"Thought I might bring you up some tea," remarked Mrs. Hudson, lifting the tray up a fraction of an inch into the air as if he might not be able to see it clearly in her hands. "You've been holed up here for ages."

"Thanks," he said; the one syllable word the only thing his mouth seemed capable of uttering at the moment.

She gave him a short nod of her head as she delicately made her way into the kitchen with the tea tray. As Sherlock turned back around in his chair to watch the commercials that came upon the screen, he could hear the sound of cups tinking against one another as she put last minute tea preparations together for him. He knew that he should express how grateful he really was for this, but he couldn't find it in him to do so. Not when he was this depressed. His eyes roamed from the television screen to the drawer on the stand beside him. Inside the drawer was a small drug stash. He knew that everyone would disapprove if they knew he was once again hooked on the deadly substances, but he needed something stable in his life. His older brother always seemed to be too busy to be bothered with him and now his best friend was too consumed with fatherhood to even pay him a phone call. He allowed a hand to carelessly stray towards the drawer, wrapping his fingers around the knob. He didn't find it bad to let drugs dull his mind. At least then he didn't have to do much thinking.

Before he could remove the substance from the drawer though, the tinking in the kitchen subsided, signaling to Sherlock that Mrs. Hudson would be in any moment now. Removing his hand from the source of his stash, he forced himself into an upright position once more. He couldn't let anyone know of his addiction. If he lost that like he had lost everything else, he knew that he would be a completely shattered man.

"Nothing in this world is stable," he thought to himself. "Nothing in this world ever makes one truly happy."

When Sherlock noticed that Mrs. Hudson still wasn't in the room, he rose a brow and stood from his seat. Maybe she was having trouble and had burnt herself. No matter how depressed Sherlock was at the current moment, he knew that he couldn't let her be alone in the kitchen if she was hurt. Walking silently towards the kitchen, he started to talk to Mrs. Hudson.

"I was hoping you might be careful so as not to burn yourself, especially since I'm the only doctor on hand..."

As Sherlock reached the doorway of the kitchen, he noticed that Mrs. Hudson was nowhere in sight. At first, he thought that she might have gone downstairs for something she'd forgotten, but the side door of the kitchen was closed, and Sherlock hadn't seen her go by him to go out the front. His eyes moved towards the fridge, which was ajar slightly, letting it's amber yellow light flood onto the tiles. Walking slowly around the island to go towards the fridge, Sherlock finally noticed what appeared to be clothes draping from inside the fridge to onto the floor. As he got closer, he could see that it was the dress that Mrs. Hudson had been wearing when she had come up to see him. Not only was her dress lying draped halfway in and halfway out of the fridge, but her shoes, stockings, underwear, and watch lay there.

"I didn't know Mrs. Hudson was one to run about in the nude..." remarked Sherlock, completely baffled by this development.

He bent to start scooping the dress and other remnants from the fridge before shutting it. As he moved a hand to shut it, he noticed two watery like dots dwelling just below the bottom shelf. Reaching down to touch them with his finger, he noticed that they were the contacts that Mrs. Hudson wore in her eyes.

"Mrs. Hudson!" yelled out Sherlock as he gently took her contacts in hand and stood. He thought that maybe this was the beginning stages of senility that older people experienced. If that was the case, he'd have to track her down immediately before she got hurt so she could get help.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He yelled again, placing her items on the island and moving to open the side door to yell down the stairs.

Before he could climb down the stairs to go look for her, his mobile started to go off in the living room. He paused for a second before letting out a small sigh and going to fetch his mobile. As he scooped his mobile up from the side table it sat on, he froze for a moment at the caller picture that displayed itself on his screen. It was John. He picked up and placed the mobile to his ear as he walked down the stairs to go search for Mrs. Hudson, not paying attention to the news on the television that was still on.

"Hello, John. It's nice to hear from you again," said Sherlock, rushing down the staircase and opening the door to where Mrs. Hudson lived. "How's life?"

"I don't know how you can act so blase at this moment, Sherlock. My hats off to you for your ability to stay calm right now."

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock started to look about Mrs. Hudson's living quarters, not being able to find her anywhere he looked. He continued to look about as John said, "Aren't you watching the news?"

"No, not at the moment. Currently I'm looking for Mrs. Hudson. I believe senility is finally upon her for she left her clothes and other items in my flat. I can't seem to find her anywhere."

"She's gone too..." John muttered in awe on the other end of the line. "Sherlock, I'm coming over right now."

"John," He paused in the middle of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, wondering why there was such a frantic edge to the voice of someone he hadn't heard from in several months, "Why do you sound so frantic right now? What's going on?"

"Mary and Shirley...They're gone, Sherlock. It's the same like it is with Mrs. Hudson. All that is left are their clothes and other items that they had at the time."

Sherlock could tell that tears were bubbling up in John at that point as his voice cracked. No doubt he was shaking too as the next thing he said came out in a wobbly tone, "I'm scared, Sherlock...They're gone and I don't know where they are. The news...go look at the news...it's so hard to explain. I don't know what's happening."

Sherlock turned on his heels and started to take the stairs back to his flat two at a time.

"John, who is they?"

Sherlock didn't get an answer for a reply. Instead, all he got was the dial tone. John had evidently hung up on him and was in his process of making his way over to his place. Sighing, Sherlock deposited his mobile in his pocket before going to see the news as John had suggested. Another breaking news banner ran along the lower portion of the screen and Sherlock took in the chaos that was unfolding before his eyes. A different reporter was there now, narrating the story of how thousands of people had seemed to instantaneously disappear, leaving behind nothing but their clothing and possessions. Behind the reporter, cars lay off the roads and in ditches. Some had collided with others to generate a nasty pile up. This disappearance had apparently happened all over the world.

Walking in a stupor towards the window, Sherlock drew back the curtain to look down at the street below him. Chaos reigned outside his flat. Several people milled about empty cars or buildings, looking as frantic and worried as John had sounded on the phone just minutes ago. Sherlock gripped the curtain tightly in his hands. He had no idea what was happening, but he was bound and determined to figure out what. Here was yet another mystery that needed solving, and it was one that was on an epic global scale.