"John?" Sherlock called out to his blogger upon returning to 221B on Bakers Street. The only reply he received was silence. The consulting detective frowned as he shut and locked the door behind him. John was not supposed to be working today, but Sherlock could tell that the man had not been home in hours. He hurried to the kitchen, John often left him a note saying he'd be home at such and such o'clock. Sherlock wasn't sure why the ex-soldier did something as silly as that, but when Sherlock discovered that there was no note to be found, he realized how accustomed he had become to them. His frown deepened, something felt off, but he wasn't sure yet what it was, he needed more data. Flipping out his cell he sent a quick text to his friend. "Getting Takeout. Want anything?" He closed the phone and pressed it to his lips as he contemplated where John Watson could have possibly been going on his day off. Usually the man just stayed home and blogged or watched the Telly. Was he on a date? John usually mentioned those and would demand that Sherlock not harass him about casework those nights, not that Sherlock ever listened.
A chirp from the living room broke Sherlock's concentration. His eyes widened quickly and he rushed into the other room. On the side table was John's phone and open laptop. He turned the computer around to see that it was left on, a blog only half finished. Without hesitation Sherlock snatched up the phone and headed out of the flat, yelling "Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson."
"What's all this commotion about Sherlock?" She was poking her head out of her flat, looking ever so slightly concerned. Sherlock was frowning as he flipped through old texts on Johns phone, but none of them seemed out of place, or gave any clues to his blogger's where abouts.
"Did you see when John left? Did he say where he was going?" Sherlock didn't realize how hard he was fighting to keep concern from invading his voice, though the frown still adorned his face.
"I haven't seen him dear." The old land lady replied. "You two didn't get into another row did you?"
"Think, Mrs. Hudson, was there anything out of the ordinary? Any sort of commotion? Oh what am I talking about, of course you wouldn't know, you just got home 15 minutes ago….." His eyes were dancing across the entryway, taking everything in hopes for a clue to Watson's mysterious, and abrupt, disappearance.
He took in everything he could, but could only find signs the confirmed John had left and not returned, he rushed out to the street, ignoring Mrs. Hudson as she called after him. "Sherlock, are you alright? Did something happen to John?" Her face held concern, but she returned to the flat, knowing there wasn't much she could do.
Sherlock came to a halt as he reached the street curb. "Mycroft," Sherlock whispered when he saw the tire marks that indicated that a car had been parked in front of the flat that day. He took a deep breath, calming himself. It upset him that he had to calm himself at all, since when did he care so much? His façade back in place he walked into the café to inquire about the black car that had been parked in front of the building earlier that day, and what time it had been there.
"Oh, that car? Yeah, it was here ages ago, before the lunch rush even, wasn't here long though, wouldn't have even paid much attention to it except the woman standing next to it was bloody gorgeous." The man behind the counter informed Sherlock. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and muttered what could have been a thank you.
Once out onto the street Sherlock flipped open his phone and dialed his brother's number, he wasn't going to text, he wanted Mycroft to hear his voice and understand that Sherlock would not be allowing him to continue kidnapping his only friend like this.
"Hello, little brother," the voice on the other end was sickeningly polite. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I'm not in the mood, Mycroft," Sherlock spat out, "Where is he?"
"John Watson?"
"Who else would I be asking about, don't toy with me, Mycroft?"
"John left her ages ago, Sherlock, I haven't the foggiest where he is," Mycroft seemed to not care one speck about John's current location, but he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to tease his little brother a bit, "Caring a bit much aren't we little brother?"
"Shut up, Mycroft. Why didn't you offer him a ride back home?"
"I assure you, I did, and he refused. I assume you would like me to locate him for you?" Mycroft's voice seemed smug.
"No, I will find him on my own, but I warn you, Mycroft, if you do this again I will hurt you. Leave. John. Alone." Sherlock slammed his phone shut, he could almost hear the smirk his brother wore at those final words, but there were more important things to do than kill Mycroft at the moment.
It didn't take Sherlock long to calm down and come to the realization that John still should have been able to catch a cab home by now, he should have just swallowed his pride and asked Mycroft where John was. Thunder sounded from the cloudy sky above his head and Sherlock almost did call his brother back, he hated being wet. Instead he dialed the number of DI Lestrade.
"Sherlock?" Lestrade was obviously confused by the call, but there was a slight tinge of worry to his voice, "Didn't have another break in at the flat did you?"
"No, nothing like that? I…I may need your help."
Lestrade met Sherlock halfway between the flat and NSY in a patrol car. "So tell me again why you're asking me for help and not your brother, who just happens to have camera's all over London?" He asked as Sherlock climbed into the passenger seat. Sherlock just glared at him in response. "Sherlock, do you really think that this feud with your brother is more important that finding John?" Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed before he thrust his phone at Lestrade. "You can't be bleeding serious?" Lestrade was about to shove the phone back at Sherlock, but stopped when he saw the almost pleading look on the younger man's face. "Oh, alright." Lestrade scrolled down to Mycroft's number and hit send.
"Didn't expect you so soon, Sherlock," came the smug voice on the other end.
"You're a prick; did you know that, Mycroft Holmes?"
"Gr…Gregory?" Mycroft seemed taken aback at hearing the Detective Inspector's voice.
"Where is he Mycroft? You can find him, I know you can."
"Of course, but why would I bother? If my brother wants me to find Dr. Watson for him, he can ask me himself."
"Mycroft….I'm not asking for Sherlock's sake alone. Where is John, I'm worried something may be wrong."
There was a brief silence on the other end, before Lestrade heard Mycroft sigh, "Very well, I'll begin looking. Should I call back to Sherlock's phone or your own?"
"Just call mine, and there better be a damn good reason you didn't insist on john taking one of your cars back to his flat when it is supposed to bleeding thunderstorm today." With that Lestrade hung up. "I can understand why that man upsets you so much sometimes, Sherlock."
"Sherlock smirked, "Mycroft has that effect on people…..can we drive a bit? I want to see if I spot him anywhere." Sherlock's mind was back on his flat mate.
Lestrade nodded, realizing that there were very few things he would not do for the consulting detective, especially when he looked so lost and confused. "Where to, Sherlock?"