John Watson, doctor, soldier, blogger, and long-suffering lover of the world's only consulting detective, looked up from his computer to see the self-same detective emerging from their bedroom, fully dressed for the first time in three days.
"Do we have a case on?" John said, starting to rise. Three days of bored Sherlock was three days too many, especially if those days were leading up to today.
"No," was the response. "No, I've received an invitation. Apparently..." Sherlock sniffed slightly as he picked up his coat. "I have a fan. No, not that kind," he added quickly, seeing John's alarmed expression. "Someone who reads your blog. He's a doctor of abnormal psychology, made a study of the criminal mind, and wants my input on some of his research. He's invited me to his flat. It sounds... " Sherlock waved one hand languidly.
"Not boring?" John supplied. "Shall I come with you?" His mobile chose that moment to ring, and he looked down to see the number of the clinic on the screen. He frowned, thinking about not picking up.
"Go ahead. If they're calling you, they must be short-handed at the clinic," Sherlock said as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. "You were just saying that you wanted more hours, although I can't imagine why. You complain about them whenever you get home."
"I wasn't saying that. I was thinking it. And are you sure? Tonight..."
Sherlock smiled, a soft, true smile that John was certain only he ever got to see. "Be ready for six, and we'll have dinner at Angelo's. He's expecting us. Send a text at four, just in case, will you?"
John smiled and tipped his head back. "You didn't forget."
"You expected me to forget our anniversary?" Sherlock shook his head, his eyes sparkling. "For shame, John. As if I'd delete anything to do with you. Now, you should call Sarah back. I'll see you at dinner." He kissed John, light and lingering, then rushed out the door in a swirl of coat and scarf. John watched as the door banged shut, then picked up his mobile and called the clinic to tell Sarah that yes, he was available to work today. But he had to be out by four.
#
As he left the clinic, John made sure that he sent a text to Sherlock - Fouro'clockreminder.Seeyouathome.JW. He rushed down into the Tube, and was home well before five, setting his mobile on the kitchen table and heading in to the shower. When he got out ten minutes later, the flat was still empty. Frowning, John checked his mobile - no texts, no messages. He sent another text - Onyourway?JW.
There was still no answering text from Sherlock when John was finished getting dressed. He settled on to the couch with the mobile in one hand, and sent another text.
Where are you? JW.
You're going to be late, you know. JW.
It's coming on six. You'd better have a good reason for being late. JW.
I've called Angelo and canceled. You're worrying me. Where are you? JW.
He sent a text every ten minutes until he fell asleep on the couch, well past midnight.
He woke up the next morning when the door banged open; jerking awake to see Lestrade coming inside. The DI looked at him strangely.
"Wasn't it your anniversary last night?" he asked.
John sniffed, rubbing his stiff neck. "I thought it was."
"Why are you on the couch?"
John blinked, looked down at his mobile, then back at Lestrade. "Because Sherlock went out yesterday and never came home. I've sent... I don't even know how many texts I've sent. He hasn't answered any of them. Greg, I think something happened."
"Don't jump to conclusions, John. You know how he is. Where did he go?" Lestrade asked. "Tea?"
"God, yes. Thank you. Ah..." John rubbed his face, trying to wake up enough to remember what Sherlock had told him the day before. "Someone contacted him. Doctor of... what was it? Oh, abnormal psychology. Wanted Sherlock's opinion on his research. He promised he'd leave at four, so he'd be home on time for dinner last night. I had to work yesterday. Sherlock even suggested it. I suppose he thought I'd be bored by talking about the criminal mind..."
"Criminal mind?" Greg interrupted. "Sherlock went to talk to someone about the criminal mind?"
"I did just say that, Inspector," John snapped.
"Sorry." Greg frowned, then cocked his head to one side. "Who was it?"
John shook his head. "He didn't say. He didn't say who he was going to see, or where he was going. All he said was that it was someone..." his voice trailed off, and he was off the couch and moving in an instant. "It was someone who follows my blog," he said over his shoulder. He sat down and opened his laptop, pulling up his blog.
"Checking the comments?" Greg asked, leaning over John's shoulder.
John nodded, typing quickly with two fingers. "Maybe whoever it was left a comment. I'll check Sherlock's site, too. And his email."
Greg snorted with amusement. "He gave you the password?"
John looked back over his shoulder. "Don't be daft."
"Then how... you cracked his password?"
John shrugged again, "When you live with someone, as closely as we live together, it starts getting easier to see how they think. I've cracked his last three passwords. It annoys the hell out of him.."
"I can imagine," Greg murmured, moving away as the kettle started to scream. When he came back, he set a mug of tea down next to John's hand. "So?"
"Nothing in my blog. Nothing in his. I'll check his email. This doctor had to contact him somehow." He scowled at the screen, waiting as the site resolved and prompted him for the password. When the screen cleared and the emails were visible, he let out the breath he'd been holding. "He hasn't changed it as of yesterday."
"Well done, Doctor," Greg said appreciatively.
John just nodded, scanning the subject lines until he pointed. "There. That one." He clicked on it, reading through the back-and-forth until he found the information he was looking for. "Doctor Marcus Garrity. Lives in Holloway North. Carew Close," John said, closing the laptop and getting out of his chair in one smooth movement.
"Near Seven Sisters. I know the place. Right. Let's go." Greg said, only to find that he was talking to an empty room.
#
"So," John asked as Greg guided his car through London traffic. "What brought you over this morning?"
"I have a case. Missing persons," Greg answered without taking his eyes off the road. "I just wasn't expecting Sherlock to turn into one of them."
"He might have hared off on some case or other," John said. Greg glanced over and arched an eyebrow, and John sighed and nodded. "I know. I know! Maybe on any other day of the year. But not last night."
Greg was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Have you called Mycroft?"
"Haven't had a chance. Let's see what we find at Carew Close. He probably knows more than we do." John glanced over. "How are things...?"
"Uncertain," Greg answered sharply.
"Ah," John said. He nodded, then said softly. "Sorry."
"Not your fault. His work, my work. Things are... what they are," Greg answered. "Let's worry about your Holmes before we worry about mine, hm?"
A few minutes later, Greg pulled up in front of a run-down looking row of flats. "What number?" he asked.
"There. Second from the end," John answered, getting out of the car. He was halfway to the door when Greg caught up with him, and neither said anything as they walked up to the door. John grimaced slightly at the foul odor coming from the house, then rang the bell. After a moment, he heard a shuffling step on the other side of the door.
"Who is it?"
John looked at Greg, who shrugged and gestured. Right. He turned back to the door, "My name is John Watson. I'm..." he didn't have a chance to finish before the door opened, and he was faced with an older man wearing thick glasses.
"Doctor Watson?" he asked. "The blogger? For that detective?"
John smiled, trying not to flinch away from the heavy smell of ammonia that wafted out through the open door. "Yes. Are you Doctor Garrity? I understand you read my blog?"
"Yes, yes. Quite interesting, what you and that young detective get in to. Had a very interesting meeting with him yesterday. Very interesting. No, you silly thing. Stay inside," he said as he bent down to shoo a large, tortoiseshell cat back into the flat.
John scratched his ear and nodded. "Doctor Garrity, could you tell me what time Sherlock left?" he asked.
Doctor Garrity frowned, leaning down and picking up the cat. "Let me see... he was here... three? No, four hours or so. Left when he got a text. Said he had someplace to be."
" Thank you," John forced a smile, and nodded towards the cat. "Ah... are you a great cat fancier? I was thinking of getting one, myself."
"Oh, yes. Wonderful company for an old man. I have six." He nodded and smiled at Greg. "Oh, you didn't introduce your friend!"
Greg inclined his head and answered without smiling, "Detective Inspector Lestrade of the Met."
The older man's eyes went wide. "Oh. Oh, is there something wrong?"
"We're trying to find that out. Thank you. If you happen to see Mr. Holmes, would you contact us, please?" He passed a card to Doctor Garrity, and stepped back, obviously waiting for John to finish up.
"Thank you, Doctor Garrity," he said. He waited until the door closed, then turned away and walked back towards Greg's car. "He's lying," he muttered under his breath.
"Lying about what?"
"Sherlock did not spend three or four hours in that place. Not with six cats and that stench." John turned and looked at Greg. "I really was going to get a cat. I thought it would be a good thing, something to keep Sherlock from getting bored. Turns out, he's violently allergic. Can't be anywhere near a cat. He wouldn't have lasted ten minutes in there."
Greg turned and stared at the flat. "So he either never got here..."
"Or he never left," John finished. He turned around, searching with eyes narrowed, until he saw a CCTV camera. It was positioned pointing down the street, away from Garrity's door, and John swore creatively as he stalked over towards it, placing himself right in the camera's line of sight.
"Tell your boss that his brother is in trouble," he snapped. "Have him meet us at the flat."