Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Genre: Mystery/Horror
Rating: Teen (Fiction T)
Chapter: Two of four
Word count: 2200
Warnings: Major Character Death, Mild language conform show standard.

Disclaimer: BBC Sherlock is not mine, There would be far more episodes if it was. I just borrow the characters and let them die. Because that's what people DO.

Summary: When Sherlock disappears John is thrown into a frenzy - will Lestrade be able to find him, or will more sinister characters win the day?

Author notes: I'm supposed to be enjoying my holiday, instead, I found a way to get online and get you guys this new Chapter. (Hooray for McDonalds!)

A special thanks to my two wonderful betas: Alex, Peggy and Tami. You guys are awesome and I wouldn't be able to produce this level of quality without your critical eye.

Chapter two - Hide and seek

Why exactly Sherlock referred to Scotland Yard as dull or boring was beyond John, but to be fair, Sherlock would call his own murder dull, given the right circumstances.

The missing person's report was filled out relatively fast, apart from Sherlock's date of birth. It was rather painful when they found out none of them knew when Sherlock's birthday was. John realized that in the 5 years he had known the detective, they had never celebrated it. Not even once. After consulting official records they found out it was the 6th of January. John marked it down in his calendar. Mary gave him a look.

John was grateful that Greg took time to file the report himself. Strictly speaking, it wasn't his job, but it was nice to have a friendly face around. Somebody who didn't roll their eyes at the name of Sherlock Holmes. John was certain that half of Scotland Yard was secretly relieved the arrogant detective had vanished.

"This must be what it feels like to have a drug addicted, teenage son." Mary's voice had interrupted his train of thought.

He glared at his wife. Her attitude bothered him. She had been all smiles since they left Baker Street this morning, cracking one joke after the other. She didn't seem concerned for Sherlock's safety at all. It was like a game to her, one that she was excited to play. John didn't share that sentiment.

"Sherlock is not a teenager."

She smiled. "Are you sure?"

Before John could reply, his phone rang. John's mouth twitched as he saw the caller ID. It was the wrong Holmes.

"Mycroft."

"Hello, John. My little brother is playing hide and seek again, I see?"

It was like Mycroft had his little brother on this fancy government text alert. John should have known. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"What is it you want, Mycroft?"

"Don't you think a missing person's report is a little... dramatic?"

John snorted. Mycroft, of all people, calling him dramatic. Now he had really seen everything.

"It's what normal people do when somebody goes missing. They go to the police, fill out a missing person's report. You know, for people who don't have government resources available to them."

"Surely this is not the first time Sherlock's gone missing." There was a pause. "You could have contacted me."

"Yeah, sure, I'll send a car. Oh wait, that's what you do."

Mycroft ignored John's snarky comment, which was probably for the best. "I have people tracing his phone as we speak, since you seem so concerned."

"That's nice of you."

"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm, Dr. Watson?"

"No, no. It's really heartwarming how you hijack the machinery of the state to look after your own family."

"Believe it or not, my brother occasionally has utility to the nation and therefore can be viewed as an asset."

"An asset, really?"

"And a liability, all at once."

There was a pause. John rolled his eyes. Imagine if people knew that you actually care for your younger brother, like a normal human being. It had to be a downright nightmare, judging by the way Mycroft handled the whole situation.

There were muffled voices on the other side of the line. Mary tried to draw his attention, but he dismissed her.

"It seems Sherlock disabled his phone, we cannot trace it."

John sat up straight in his chair. "What?"

"He disabled his phone. Clearly, he does not want to be found."

"Or someone doesn't want him to be found."

Mycroft laughed. "I assure you, Sherlock can take excellent care of himself, when he chooses to apply himself to that sort of thing."

"Something is wrong, Mycroft. I'm worried something has happened to him."

"Worry is a misuse of your imagination, doctor. Sherlock will no doubt turn up sooner or later. In the meantime, I suggest you check his bolt holes. I recommend starting at the leaning tomb in Hampstead Cemetery, he seems to favor that one lately. Good day, John."

John lowered his phone and stared at Mary.

"What is it? What did he say?"

"Sherlock turned off his phone. He can't be traced."

"What was his last known location?"

"He didn't say."

"Who didn't say what?" John looked over his shoulder. Greg had returned with coffee.

"That was Mycroft."

Greg raised his eyebrows as he set down the tray on the desk. "Well, that was quick. The report has barely been processed."

"He tried to trace Sherlock's phone, but he couldn't get a location."

"He turned it off?"

Mary laughed. John and Greg looked at her in surprise.

"Well, obviously he turned it off. He's not an idiot, he knows it can be tracked. I bet it's the drugs again." John glared at her. She sounded way too cheerful. When she caught sight of him she raised her eyebrows. "Oh, you can't seriously be surprised! Not after you dragged him out of a drug den, and after what happened on the plane. Really, John, it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure this out."

"Did you check any of his bolt holes?" Greg leaned against his desk. John looked down. He had been so sure something was wrong that he hadn't considered looking for Sherlock first. Greg folded his arms. "Did you?"

John looked up. "Something is wrong. Sherlock wouldn't have summoned us to Baker Street if he wasn't going to show up."

Greg shrugged. "It's Sherlock, for all I know he's running an experiment on us."

"Besides, don't you think that if someone took him, he would be smart enough to get a message through to you somehow?"

That was the first useful thing Mary had said since Sherlock had gone missing. He had to admit, it was hard to argue with that logic. Somehow, Sherlock always managed to come out on top. Odds were, he found some way to get word out if he did get into trouble. John bit his lip. It still didn't feel right, but at least it gave him something to do.

"Maybe I missed it…"

Greg leaned forward a bit. "Sorry, what?"

"I must have missed it." John got to his feet and grabbed his coat. Greg's eyes followed his every move.

"Where are you going?"

"Mary is right, if something happened Sherlock would find a way to tell us. I'm going back to Baker Street."

"How about his bolt holes?"

John paused. "Can you check them out?"

Greg sighed. "Strictly speaking, it's not my job to go out and search for missing people…"

John looked away, doing his best to hide his disappointment. He managed a weak smile as he looked back at Greg. "I understand…"

Greg rested his hands on the desk. "I'll see what I can do, I may have some time to spare. During lunch maybe."

"Thanks, Greg. Check Hampstead Cemetery first."

"The leaning tomb?"

"That's the one."

Mary pushed herself to her feet. "I suppose we're off then."

John waited for her by the door. His patience was wearing thin. Everything about Mary annoyed him, and especially her slow pace. He was convinced she did it on purpose. When they finally made it out he hailed a cab.

The ride to Baker street was quiet. John looked out the window, wishing he could somehow speed up time. There was a sense of urgency that he couldn't quite place. He toyed with his phone, glancing down at it from time to time.

When they finally arrived, John bolted from the car, leaving Mary to deal with the cabby. He strode to the door as he fiddled with his keys, dropping them in his haste to find the right one. As he picked them up the door opened. In the doorway was Mrs. Hudson. She shrieked as she caught sight of him.

"Oh! John. You startled me!"

"Mrs. Hudson. I'm so sorry." John stammered. "Have you heard anything from Sherlock?"

"I'm afraid not, dear. How did it go at the Yard?"

"Good, good. We filled out a missing person's report." John paused. "Mrs. Hudson, do you know when Sherlock's birthday is?"

"Of course, dear. It's the 6th of January. I don't make a fuss. Sherlock likes to be left alone on his birthday. I tried to make him a cake once, dreadful day." She shook her head.

"Oh, stop beating yourself up over it." Mary had caught up, her hand resting on her belly. John rolled his eyes.

"Didn't you know?" Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows. "Oh! You didn't know!" She laughed as she laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's a good thing you're such a lovely doctor." She chuckled and stepped past them. John's gaze followed her. Wait, what?

Mary smiled as entered the house. John followed her up the stairs and into the living room. The flat felt strangely lifeless. His eyes lingered on Sherlock's chair. What if Sherlock wouldn't return? His mouth went dry. He quickly dismissed the thought. Sherlock would be back in his chair before they knew it, complaining about boring cases and dull clients. Quite possibly setting the flat on fire or blowing it up with one of his experiments. Just like it had always been.

He tore his eyes away from the chair and walked over to the desk. It was littered with notes and seemingly random objects. John tapped the desk with his fingertips, looking for anything out of place. That was easier said than done in the chaos Sherlock called his flat.

Unsure where to start, John stood by the desk, searching the flat for anything out of the ordinary. His eyes fell on the letters stabbed to the mantelpiece. He moved past Sherlock's chair and dislodged the knife. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just unopened envelopes containing potential new cases. John shook his head and looked up.

The skull stared at him with its hollow eye sockets. John put the letters back and picked it up, not quite sure what he was looking for. It was real, that much he could tell. Sherlock's words echoed through his head. "A friend of mine. When I say friend…" John shook his head and put the skull back. He didn't really want to know.

"John! I think I found something!" Mary appeared in the doorway to the kitchen with a huge smile on her face, holding a syringe. "I told you, looking after Sherlock is like having a drug addicted, teenage son." She waved the syringe around. John felt a pang of disappointment.

"Sherlock is not a teenager."

"Then maybe he can stop acting like one. I'm tired of chasing after him."

John took the syringe from her and examined it closely. It was unmistakably used. His face hardened. First the drug den, then the plane, and now this. Obviously the consulting detective couldn't be trusted to live on his own. When he turned up, John was going to talk to him about living arrangements.

"Better add every drug den in London to the list of places to search for Sherlock." He couldn't keep the bitter tone out of his voice.

"Maybe Bill Wiggins can help us narrow it down."

"I'll be sure to check under the bridge as well."

John threw the syringe on the ground and stormed out the door. He was going to find Sherlock and knock some sense into him.

Once out on the street, he hailed a cab. He knew exactly where to go.

Several hours and drug dens later, John still wasn't any closer to finding his best friend. He scrolled through his messages to make sure he hadn't missed one from Sherlock. Apart from texts from Mary and Greg there was nothing new. He ignored Mary's message and opened the one from Greg. Maybe there was news. Instead it was an apology for not being able to check the bolt holes. He was called to a murder investigation.

John rubbed his face as he looked out the window of the cab. He was going to check one more address, but he was rapidly losing any hope of simply finding Sherlock in a drug den. Now that he had cooled off, he wasn't so sure anymore. It didn't make sense. Why had he set up a meeting for the three of them if he had no intention of showing up?

He rested his elbow on the edge of the window, biting his lip as he watched London slide by on the other side. His phone vibrated in his hand. His heart jumped to his throat as he glanced down. It was a message from Sherlock.

Meet me at Baker Street.

He leaned forward and knocked on the glass separating him from the driver.

"Never mind the last address, take me to Baker Street. 221B Baker Street."

A comments for this work will be incredibly appreciated, since I went through all this trouble to get it to you guys on time. Next chapter is scheduled for Wednesday April 5th.

Thank you for reading.