Chapter 1 - The Reunion

"Oh, Sherlock, how you've grown!" the Doctor exclaimed. Sherlock groaned.

"I'm an adult now, thank you," he said exasperatedly.

"Come on, you used to think that was funny."

"Not anymore. I've grown up."

"Pity." the Doctor said. He turned around quickly, evidently having lost interest in the conversation. He pranced about the flat, picking books up and flipping through them, sitting in chairs and examining the cups and plates strewn about. He finally settled in the chair to the left of the fireplace. He crossed his legs, folded his hands, and looked up happily at Sherlock. "Quite a nice place you've got here. Bit messy, but then, I like it. Don't redecorate." Sherlock turned away from the Doctor. He crossed the room and flopped onto the couch.

"That's John's chair," was all he said. Then he put his head in his hands and sighed. The Doctor looked at him worriedly and jumped out of the chair.

"I can stand! Perfectly fine with standing." The Doctor stood quite awkwardly, rocking back and forth on his feet, hands behind his back. He cleared his throat.

"Oh, sit in the damn chair. That's not the point," Sherlock said. He fell sideways onto the couch and flipped over to face the wall. The Doctor settled himself back into the chair. He seemed to be more comfortable in a sitting position.

"Now, now. Tell the Doctor what's wrong," he said, clearly enjoying his pun. "I'll fix it straightaway."

"Shut up," Sherlock muttered, but he had a trace of a grin on his face as he rolled over to face the Doctor.

"Who is this John fellow? Is this his chair because you bought it from him, or is it his chair in the 'I live here and prefer this chair over the other' kind of thing?"

Sherlock waved his hand at the Doctor. "You know which one."

"Yes, yes, I think I do." he said. "Is there a problem with John? If it's romantic, I'm afraid I can't help you there, not too good at it myself-" Sherlock stood up suddenly, knocking some papers and a pencil off the table. Once up, he didn't seem to know what to do with himself.

"I - John - I don't know! He's gone! He left! I can't find him, I looked everywhere, I went through all his things, no clues, none at all. Nothing to suggest why he left. It's driving me mad!" Sherlock burst out, then became embarrassed. He quickly sat down and regained his composure. The Doctor stood up and cautiously walked over to Sherlock, as though he were a small animal he didn't want to frighten. Sherlock looked up at him and shuddered. The Doctor had worn the look he was wearing now many times before, when Sherlock was a child. He used it when Sherlock was upset, when he dropped his ice cream or scraped his knee.

It was compassion. When Sherlock was younger, he used it in less serious situations, but this time, the stakes were much higher - Sherlock's sanity, and the most important person in his life.

"What's driving you mad - the fact that you can't solve it, or the fact that he's gone?" the Doctor inquired. Sherlock just shook his head.

"Help me find him," he said, getting as close to tears as he ever would. "Just get him back." The Doctor nodded solemnly, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I swear to you that I will find him. No matter what circumstances, however dangerous, I will bring him back to you."