Bring Me Home My Consulting Detective
Sherlock is missing, kidnapped actually. Right from under John's nose. What lengths will he go to return his flat mate home safely? Will he ever be able to sleep again? He may just be a doctor, but that won't stop Dr. John H. Watson.
Author's Note: This happens to be my first Sherlock fic. Please bare with me, I am only up to the second season which I have yet to start watching. I apologize for any future delays since I have a habit of not finishing what I start. I would love to hear what you have to say, if you have any corrections, comments, concerns, etc. please just PM me or leave it with or in your Review. Let me know if this is even worth finishing. Oh and enjoy!
221b Baker St. was oddly quiet. Almost every day for the year John Watson had been living here, he was rudely awakened by one thing or another. Whether it be a violin played badly from down stairs or Sherlock crying out his name, he never seemed to be able to just enjoy his slumber peacefully. But today, there was no sign of any distractions. From his night stand, he grabbed the digital alarm clock that read 10:46am. With wide eyes he shot out of bed.
"Sherlock? Sherlock? Why didn't you wake me? Sherlock?" John shouted through the halls of the flat, eventually attracting the attention of Ms. Hudson.
"Mrs. Hudson, have you happen to see Sherlock? I can't seem to find him."
"No I can't say I have, dear. Maybe he just went out. You know how he gets."
"Yes, I bet he just went out" he didn't believe it for a second. Sherlock was practically incapable of going out alone. 'it's too boring' he says. Heaven forbid that man be bored. The ex-army doctor pulled his phone from his pajama pocket.
Where are you? If you are out, plz pick up some milk. JW
He didn't want to sound all that concerned. It was a logical assumption to believe he had just gone out, it was almost noon after all. And he would never hear the end of it from the consulting detective if he were to panic for no good reason. Although, his disappearance had raised a red flag for him. It was a natural instinct for him to believe the worst.
I can't well go find him in my pajamas. I'll start there. He thought to himself. The door to Sherlock's room was open as he walked by. Upon further inspection, he found that the window had been left open as well. Now why would he leave open the window? The awful feeling in the pit of John's stomach was growing with each oddity of his already strange morning. He pulled his phone out yet again.
Is Sherlock with you? He isn't at the flat and won't answer my texts. JW
This one went out to Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly and anyone else John knew that may know his flat mates current whereabouts. It wasn't the first time he has lost the man, but something was different about it this time. Something that twisted his insides. What if he followed one again? Why is it he is so bloody proud? What waltzed right into their trap like A Study in Pink? There were too many questions, too many variables. He went in his room to change his cloths.
From the floor, his discarded pajama bottoms vibrated. He reach inside and pulled out his blinking cell. Messages from Mycroft, Lestrade, and Two others. John's heart sank. Please for god's sake let him be out.
One message after another, No, perhaps he is out solving murder. MH; No, sorry; Haven't seen him in days; He isn't with me, meet me at New Scotland Yard, we'll find him;
Stuffing the device back into his pocket he jogged out onto to Baker St. and hailed a cab.
Author's Note: Hope you liked it, please review. Your input is greatly appreciated. Without reviews, this story may be dead and although that would make Sherlock happy, it would make me sort of sad. Thank you for reading