John looked up at Mycroft who was still watching him with his usual inscrutable expression.
"You know what happened next: I called Lestrade, we searched the building again together and he called for an expanded search of the area. We found nothing, just his phone and that meter thing he had."
"The EMF meter. You said it was fluctuating when you found it."
"Yes."
"And you had the Mel Meter. What was it doing?"
"Nothing."
"I see."
John took a deep breath in an attempt to control the anger bubbling to the surface. "Do you know what happened to Sherlock?"
Mycroft sighed. "I have a suspicion, but I will need to consult with someone to confirm it."
"Who?"
"No one you know." He turned and opened the door. "Follow me."
"Where are we going?" John asked as he rose from his chair, wincing when his knees popped.
"First, Baker Street. You'll need to collect your belongings before I take you to a safe location."
"Wait, you're worried about my safety?" John felt a chill creep down his spine when he suddenly realized what that could mean. "So this does have something to do with Moriarty."
"Trust me, Moriarty is not involved."
"How can you be certain?"
Mycroft gave him a cryptic smile and stepped out into the hallway where he was immediately met by Martz. The DI noticed John following the elder Holmes brother and moved to block their path with a hostile expression on his face.
"Where are you taking the suspect?"
"Dr. Watson is no longer a suspect."
"Based on what?"
"My assessment. Allow us to pass."
Martz stood his ground. "I'm going to need more than that. He was the last one to see-"
"I am aware. Trust me when I say that Dr Watson was not involved in my brother's, ah, disappearance."
"But-"
"Step aside, Inspector, or shall have you removed from your post."
"You don't have the power to do that!"
"Yes, he does."
John turned towards the new voice and was surprised to see an unfamiliar man looking distinctly unhappy.
"Chief Inspector, Sir, I-"
"I will handle this, Martz. Leave."
"Yes, Sir."
Martz sent John a furious glance before turning on one heel and stalking down the hallway. When he was out of sight, the CI turned to Mycroft.
"I certainly hope you are correct, Mr Holmes."
"I am, Chief Inspector."
"Where will Dr Watson be staying?"
"Somewhere safe...and secure."
"Understood. Good day, gentlemen." He turned and followed Martz's path, soon disappearing around the same corner. Mycroft sighed in irritation.
"Come, Dr Watson. We have quite a journey to make today."
"Why is Martz so convinced that I did something to Sherlock?" John asked as he followed Mycroft through the maze of corridors that led to the rear entrance of Scotland Yard. When they were finally in the waiting black sedan, Mycroft gave John a reply.
"DI Martz harbours a prejudice against anyone in the military. Do not take it personally."
"How did he find out about our argument in the pub in Grimpen Village and what happened at Baskerville?" Mycroft said nothing and John gritted his teeth in irritation. "You told him, didn't you?"
"Merely to judge his competency as an interrogator."
"Great. Thanks for putting me through that." John considered the information Martz had used. "Do you think Baskerville is involved?"
"No."
"Am I going to get a straight answer about what happened?"
"When I know, Dr Watson, you will know."
"And when will that be?"
"Hopefully not long after we reach our final destination. The faster you are at gathering what you'll need for a few days away, the sooner we will reach that point."
"I don't see why you didn't send one of your henchmen."
Mycroft sent him one of those smug smiles that made John want to put his fist through the older man's face. "My 'henchmen' are otherwise occupied, and I suspect you be much better suited to the task."
"Ta," John grumbled as Mycroft turned his attention to his mobile phone, effectively ending the conversation.
John crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the soft leather seat, turning his head to watch the scenery pass by as the driver made his way through the crowded streets of London. John kept an eye out for a familiar figure out of habit even though he knew he was unlikely to catch a glimpse of his errant flatmate. Up until Mycroft had entered the interrogation room, John had held on to the hope that this was all one of Sherlock's crazy experiments, that he would show up again, clueless as to how much he had upset those closest to him. The elder Holmes' presence had dashed that hope, and John's fear for Sherlock held a cold grip around his heart. What could possibly have happened to Sherlock that had worried even his brother?
"Are you sure this isn't because of Moriarty?" John asked again, breaking the silence.
"Positive. He is currently not in a position to...create such chaos."
Mycroft's tone almost made John feel sorry for the Irishman. Almost.
The sedan finally turned onto Baker Street and Mycroft huffed in annoyance while John sucked in a breath in surprise. There were perhaps a dozen members of the press waiting outside 221B, and John wasn't looking forward to dodging them, that was certain.
"Pity the rear entrance is not as easy to access as the one at the Yard," Mycroft commented before directing the driver to stop across the street. "Do not engage them, Dr Watson. We're on a tight schedule."
"Right." John opened the door and stepped out, wondering if he could sneak around to the back but the journalists noticed him almost immediately.
"Doctor Watson, has Holmes been found?"
"Does Scotland Yard have any leads?"
"Have you been questioned?"
"How do you feel about him going missing?"
"Did you have anything to do with it?"
John bristled at that last question but remained silent as he forced his way through the group, feeling a small rush of satisfaction when he accidentally trod on someone's foot in the process. Finally he managed to unlock the door and slip inside before he slammed it shut against the cries of protests and shouted questions. Mrs Hudson almost immediately emerged from her flat and confronted him.
"John! Have they found him?"
"Not yet, Mrs Hudson."
"This is terrible! Those people have been outside all night, asking the most horrible questions about Sherlock and you! Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I'm just stopping in to get a few things. I'll be gone for a few days."
"Oh, dear. Where are you going?"
"To try… To find Sherlock. Somehow."
"Well if anyone can, it's you."
"Thank you, Mrs Hudson." He gave her a hug, which she returned. "Maybe you should go away for a few days as well, at least until all of this calms down."
"Nonsense. Those people are not driving me out of my home. Besides, someone has to be here, just in case Sherlock comes home."
John managed a smile. "All right. Take care of yourself."
"You too, John."
He gave her one last smile before heading up the stairs to the flat he shared-still shared, damn it!-with the eccentric consulting detective. When he opened the door she saw the room was in slightly more disarray than normal, evidence that either the Yard personnel or Mycroft's people had searched the place while John was absent. He suspected that if it had been Mycroft's people everything would have put back exactly as it had been.
With a sigh John moved into the kitchen, noting more evidence of a hurried search and checked the refrigerator to see if anything needed to be thrown out. It was empty save a few jars and a carton of eggs that was not yet past its expiration date. Sherlock's experiments had apparently been seized in the search. John didn't envy the poor forensic scientist that would have to sort that out, and wondered if Anderson would get stuck with the task. In that case…
He closed the door and moved back to the sitting room, wincing as his gaze rested on the pair of empty chairs in front of the fireplace. He could almost see Sherlock sitting there, one thin leg crossed over the other, elbows on the arms of the chair and fingers tented beneath his chin as he pondered a puzzle only he could understand before launching into to an explanation that would leave John dizzy as he tried to follow the rapid-fire speech and mental gymnastics.
John shook his head as the terrible thoughts he had been keeping at bay since the whole thing started resurfaced with a vengeance. Would he ever see his friend sitting there again?
"I'll find you Sherlock. Somehow, I will find you."
He slowly turned away from the scene and headed for the stairs to his own room. It didn't take him long to collect enough clothes and other necessities, enough for a week, and locate a duffel bag to hold his belongings. He made one last check of his room and headed back down the stairs, pausing once more to make a quick, regretful survey of the sitting room before continuing his descent to the ground level.
He never noticed the wide-eyed, disheveled figure peering out at him through the mirror above the fireplace, silently screaming his name.