Notes:
I want this fic to explore the co-dependent aspects of S/J's relationship. I want to showcase how they really, truly, needeach other. How John is more than just the skull on the mantelpiece, and how Sherlock is more than just a 'friend'. I want to show how they Sherlock really holds John together and keeps him from falling apart.
6 chapters total, beta'd and completed. I have a sequel planned. :)
I am so sorry.
Please enjoy!
…
1
John came home Sunday evening to find Sherlock absent from his usual seat by the fire.
"Sherlock!" John called, walking back to the man's bedroom and knocking on the door. No answer. John opened it just a crack and saw Sherlock's bed: made and empty. "Huh."
John tried to put the matter out of his mind as he put the groceries away. He couldn't help noticing Sherlock's coat was still on the hook, and it was rather a cold night out.
John thought it was odd, that's all.
When John left for Tesco, Sherlock had been sitting frozen in the chair, eyes shut, hands clasped below his chin, clearly deeply focused on something. He didn't look like he was ready to go bounding off anywhere.
Of course, it wasn't unusual for the detective to go bolting off without any warning. He was Sherlock Holmes, after all.
Nothing unusual about this, John reassured himself. He took a few calming breaths and made himself a cup of tea. Every few seconds, he'd hear a faint noise like a car passing outside and turn his head, thinking Sherlock had returned home.
He rubbed his eyes. This is just getting ridiculous. Grabbing his phone, John sent a quick text out to his flatmate.
Where are you? J
Sitting in the chair, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against his teacup, he waited for a response. None came. Instead, he heard the familiar buzzing sound of Sherlock's ringtone.
"Shit." John reached for Sherlock's chair; his flatmate's phone was squished between the cushions. "Great," he sighed. "Absolutely splendid."
John took Sherlock's phone and flipped through it, looking for some evidence as to where his friend went. He found a series of texts sent less than 30-minutes ago from an blocked number.
Hyde Park. Got something that might grab your attention.
Oh, god. Is that a kidnapping pun? 'Grab my attention'? SH
Come and see.
Why? SH
Come. And. See.
And overwhelming sense of dread pooled in John's stomach. John pushed the feeling down, grabbing his coat and dashing out of the flat towards Hyde park.
As the taxi raced towards the park, John's mind buzzed with ideas.
Moriarty? No. Moriarty's dead. Moriarty's dead and gone. Could be some of his web, but Sherlock got rid of all of them… Unless, of course, he misses something. John shook his head, dismissing the thought. There's got to be something else. There has to be. There must be a reason he left, because Sherlock wouldn't just take off, not without me… Not without me.
The cab pulled up at Hyde park and John threw a few notes at the driver. He opened the door, stumbling out onto the street. He began walking through the park, calling Sherlock's name frantically.
John must've walked through Hyde park a dozen times before he collapsed onto a bench, exhausted. His throat was sore from yelling, and his leg was starting to ache. Psychosomatic, my ass, he thought.
It was an oddly peaceful night. Strange that something so disturbing should be happening on the one quiet day they'd had. Cases had been relatively dull for the last few weeks, and John had taken to entertaining Sherlock with puzzles of his own creation. Sherlock always solved them, of course, but it kept them occupied.
A new wave of panic flooded through John. What if Sherlock was hurt, or injured, or in pain? What if he needed help and he was alone? John remembered treating patients in Afghanistan who had wandered off base into the desert. On the off chance they made it back, they were always either emaciated, severely injured, or delirious. He didn't know if he could stand seeing Sherlock like that.
John took a deep breath, pushing the unpleasant feelings down again and dialing Lestrade.
John waited, impatiently tapping his foot against the ground as the phone ringed out. Finally, a weary Lestrade answered on the other end of the line.
"Hey, John, what –"
"Sherlock's gone missing. He left his coat and his phone at the flat and went off to find some mysterious person in Hyde park. I'm there now, and I've searched for him, and I can't find him, and –"
"John, John, John – calm down. It's okay. I'll send a few officers down there now. Don't worry about anything, okay? Sherlock does this all the time. It doesn't mean… It doesn't mean anything's wrong."
John knew that. He really did. But still… "I know that, really. Just…"
Lestrade yawned. "I've sent Donovan and Anderson down. Unless, of course, you've got complaints."
"No. No, it's fine." Right now, John was so desperate he would probably be willing to take help from Moriarty. "Thanks."
"No problem. He'll be alright, John."
John sighed, nodding. "I know."
Actually, he wasn't so sure.