Sherlock was in his bedroom when he heard a soft tap at the door. His eyes flicked over and found Mrs. Hudson carrying a tray with tea and baked goods. He allowed himself to smile. She always knew when something was bothering him.

"Here you go, dear," she said, placing the tray on the edge of his bed. She wasn't a nosy woman, and therefore left right after he muttered his thanks. Deep in thought, he strolled over to the tray and picked out a small cookie. He nibbled on the edge, not really tasting it at all. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't place what it was.

He finished his snack and knelt beside his bed. Reaching deep underneath, he pulled forth his violin. A thin layer of dust had accumulated. He absently picked up the bow and pulled it across the strings causing a few low, dark notes to come out. Music was an escape from the outside world, a world that was cruel and harsh towards him. John didn't mind the music either. He always praised Sherlock when he performed.

John.

The slow, quiet tune that Sherlock had been playing suddenly stopped. He hesitated, the bow raised slightly above his instrument. Where was John?

Quietly, Sherlock placed the violin down and padded across the room. His bare feet felt cold against the wooden floorboards. Opening the door a crack, he peered from his bedroom. Piles of books and various experiments that he'd grown bored of cluttered the view, but he was sure that John was nowhere in the flat. It was obvious that Mrs. Hudson had been here, for the kitchen was much neater than how he had left it.

Sherlock slowly began pacing the length of the room. John wasn't normally like this, he always left a note when he went out. Sherlock's eyes widened. Something must be wrong. It must be the work of Moriarty. Had he kidnapped John? Without delay he calculated all the possible courses of action but nothing made any sense. He just knew that he had to find his doctor, and fast.

His bath robe billowing out behind him, Sherlock raced back into the bedroom and threw his pajamas off and donned a new set of clothes appropriate for public view. In his haste, he managed to put his shirt on backwards and tried to put both his legs into a single leg of his trousers - twice. He wildly hopped around on one leg as he attempted to put a sock on his foot. He was almost surprised to find he had fallen on the floor because he couldn't keep his balance.

Shoes laced up, he finally pulled on his coat and flung open the door. Bolting down the hallway, he heard Mrs. Hudson call out, "What's the rush, dear?" but he ignored it. The time was 10:36, he noted, pulling out a pocket watch. John normally got up around 6:00. That left over four hours of which he had no clue as to the doctor's whereabouts. His mind was racing, furiously computing all the possible scenarios.

Sherlock practically skipped steps as he hurried downstairs. Four hours, no leads, just a sense that something was missing. He cursed himself, why couldn't he decide what to do? The next thing he knew Sherlock landed hard on top of someone. "Excuse me," he said hastily, starting to remove himself from the person he had fell on. He didn't have time for this, he-

"Sherlock what's the rush?" a familiar voice said. The detective did a double take, and only then did he realize that the person who had delayed his search was very person he was trying to find.

"John!" he exclaimed, visibly relieved. He was lying atop at a small, slightly tanned man who he had learned to call friend.

"Yes, ah, good to see you too, Sherlock," John said, flustered. "Would you mind getting off of me?"

Sherlock leapt up, and brushed himself off. He extended a hand to the fallen doctor, who took it with a questioning look in his eyes. "What was that all about?"

The detective paused momentarily, debating on what he would tell John. "I was looking for you," he said. " There was no note."

"I went to get milk," he said. "We were out. I didn't think you'd be up this early. Hang on-were you worried about me?"

"No. I merely, ah, needed your assistance in an experiment."

This earned a smile from the smaller man. "Of course you did," John said, struggling to keep a straight face. "Well c'mon now. Let's go see this experiment then."

"Oh well, yes, you see, about that," Sherlock stammered, infuriated that his brain had mysteriously turned off. "Um," the detective then sighed, "I was just looking for you is all."

John bit back a smile. "I'll leave a note next time, okay?"

"Okay, and I'll get the milk," he said, taking the fallen bag from the ground. With milk in hand, Sherlock took a step back and waved his arm in front of him, allowing John to go first. John couldn't help it, he let out a small chuckle and before either of them knew it, they had dissolved into uncontrollable hysterics as they made their way up to their flat.