John walked out of the station and listened to the sounds of the city. No other city sounded like London. Yes, other cities had cars, and buses, and crowds of people rushing about in a frenzy to make their Christmas purchases, but there was a crispness to the air here that made it all sound more vibrant and alive. Some magic of acoustics which made the honking of horns blend into the sound of chimes, and the rumble of distant voices rise and fall in time like the sound of a sonnet.

Despite having been away only a few days, John found that he had missed London and its promise of excitement around every corner. A promise that had once faded, but now had returned because Sherlock was back in his life.

Harry walked up to him and handed him a bag of crisps. "This was the only thing that looked good," she said opening her bag before looking out at the passing cars. "So, is it my place again, or have you made your decision at last?"

Just then the phone beeped and Harry pulled it from her pocket. "Great! maybe Jazz can meet us." She stared down at the message with a frown. "I really hate junk messages. Who would send a spam text about Bottecelli?"

"What did you say!" John yelled.

"This text. [The Madonna, Botticelli nudes] what does that mean?"

"Let me see that," John said taking the phone from her hand and staring at the message. He dropped the bag of crisps then and ran down the pavement while Harry called from behind.

The Madonna was code for Mary, and Botticelli nudes meant a hostage situation. John ran out into the street standing his ground as a taxi honked to a stop. He jumped inside and gave the driver the address of the department store.

"I know that it's Christmas eve and all," the driver said, "but it's not worth risking your life to buy a present. It's the thought that counts, they say."

"This address, fast as you can. It's important!" John said leaning forward until the cab picked up speed. He sat back in his seat and texted furiously.

[Its me. Situation]

The reply came in less than a minute.

[Manager, killed two employees. Has Mary. SH]

John's heart nearly stopped in his chest. Mary was in danger, and he was not there.

"Hurry man!" he said. "There's money in it for you."

[On my way, where do I find you?]

[In the thick of it, as always SH]

The drive took entirely too long, and then they were there. He could see a host of flashing lights. The traffic was being redirected. Ahead,

"This is as close as I can get," The driver said, and John climbed out throwing all the bills that he could reach through the driver's window."

"Thank you, and Merry Christmas!" The driver said with a smile, but John had already forgotten him in hiis dash across the roadway. A helicopter passed by overhead, and John slowed to a walk pulling out the phone.

[I'm outside.]

[Sending someone for you. SH]

John reached the yellow police tape, and was stopped by an officer. "I'm looking for Inspector Lestrade," he said, but the patrolman just shook his head until a tall, black woman in high heels rushed over.

"It's okay, let him through!" she called, and John ducked under the tape and rushed toward Sergent Donovan. She nodded once at him and then turned leading him back through the sea of policemen and into the building.

The glass door closed out the city sounds, and a silence descended, interrupted by the quiet strains of Christmas music. The jolly music echoed through the store hollowly drawing attention to the absence of people and making the entire place seem eerily haunted to John as he passed the vacant spaces where shoppers had been only a few hours earlier. They walked down the empty aisles past abandoned purchases, and brightly colored toys some of which turned and made sounds as they passed. The Christmas tree loomed over them, a guilded giant making John want to cower and hide beneath the shelter of the clothing racks.

Finally they came to a door. She opened it and John passed into a dimly lit hallway. Light spilled into the corridor from one of the rooms, and John rushed ahead, standing in the doorway and watching Sherlock who stood in the center of a bare room, his hands steepled, his eyes closed in thought.

"John," he said and then opened his eyes glancing over to briefly scan his form before closing his eyes again. The edge of his lip curling up briefly into a smile.

John turned to Lestrade. "What is it?" he said. "What's happened to my wife."

"John, this case is pretty close to you. Perhaps you should stay out of..."

"Bullocks to that!" he yelled. "Tell me now, what's happened to my wife?"

"She's in this building, but we don't know where," Sherlock said.

"Officers are searching, but he's clever. I'm trying to think of where he will go next."

"Mary, is she hurt?" John asked, and Sherlock looked at him with a quick turn of his head. He saw the determination in John's eyes. The steadiness of his hands. Then he remember the man pulling her hair, her head hitting the stage floor. The dazed look on her face as he dragged her away.

"She was fine the last time that we saw her," he said turning his face away. Sherlock could feel the heat of suspicious eyes on him. He knew that he wasn't telling the whole truth.

John patted his coat looking around for the gun that wasn't there. The one that was safely hidden in the tool box under the kitchen counter in his and Mary's flat. John turned to look down the hall. Then he turned back to face Sherlock. "So, Sherlock. Where would he take her?" his voice was calm and low. Too calm. The calm before the storm.

Sherlock clenched his fists and closed his eyes as he traced his path back through the building to where he had last seen Mary being pulled through the door that was then shut in their faces. Sherlock imagined himself on the other side of the door. Where would they go next? They would have tried to get to the roof but hearing footsteps, they would turn to go another way.

Sherlock strode toward the door, and John fell back to let him pass, falling in step a little behind him. Sherlock came to a meeting of corridors and he paused for a second before turning down one and climbing up a stair. He walked up a series of steep steps turning to find himself in a room filled with five low tables, a refrigerator, and an automatic teakettle. The most remarkable thing, however, was a wall of windows that looked down on the store from above. He looked across at the golden angel set atop the giant Christmas tree.

"What is this place?"

"Employee lunch room," Donovan said.

"Why wasn't I told about this? We can see almost the entire floor from here."

"Sherlock," John said, "Mary, where will she be?"

"He'll start somewhere hidden, then he'll go to where he can spy out his route. We should leave this room clear. Have someone watching it remotely. Are there cameras here?"

"That's the first place thing that we checked. He damaged the link to the cameras before we arrived."

"He seems to be one step ahead of us wherever we go," Sherlock said.

"But we have the advantage," Lestrade said. "We have all of the exits blocked. He can't get out."

"But if he knows that he can't escape, what will he do to Mary?" John asked.

Lestrade looked at him, his face stricken, but Sherlock continued to stare out of the windows refusing to meet John's eyes.