Think Sherlock, just think!

You know someone's trying to attract your attention, in fact you can probably guess who, though you'll never prove it. Also, no-one else appears in immediate danger which is strange for Moriarty case, an underling then? Or a wannabe, someone with aspirations but not quite the intelligence. If so, where does China come into this? Or is that just to throw me off the sent, it is very deliberate. But then it could be a double, or even triple, bluff.

Oh Damn and Blast. I need some air.

"John, I'm going out."

"Where to?"

"Just out."

"Can you ge-"

I cut him off by shutting the front door. I'm about to stride away when I hear the door latch open again. It's John.

"Can you get some milk then? We're all out. Cow's milk this time, please Sherlock."

"That was an honest mistake, it was very small writing."

"Sherlock, it had a massive picture of a goat on it, a mere cursory glance at what we have to consume for the next week would be appreciated."

"Don't try to talk like me, John. It doesn't suit you." I walked off, though John would say stalked or even stormed. He didn't say anything, he just stood there and watched me go.

I headed for Regents Park but changed my mind and took a cab to Archer Street, Soho to a little-known dive round the back of the Apollo Theatre. I knocked on the door.

"What you wanting?" A voice hissed from within.

"Hey Steve, it's me."

"Sherlock!" The voice brightened as the door creaked open. "Long time, no see!"

"Yeah, I've been trying to hold out." I said as I walked through the doorway. It groaned shut behind me. "You've improved the creak, I see."

"Yeah, it took me weeks with a dusty cloth! That's why I like you, Sherlock, you notice things like that." He said as we started to walk down the stairs. "Most people just think it comes natural, they don't realise the man hours it takes keeping this place having the right ambiance."

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Sherlock's been out for about five hours now. He left at 5 o'clock so that makes it 10. He's stalked off before but never for a whole night. I hope he remembers the milk.

Where's your charge, little solider? – MH

Oh right, so I'm meant to clear up after him again. Wonderful.

How am I meant to know? – John Watson

I hate their little initials game. It's like they're pretending to be spies.

Tut, tut, letting him go out alone. He's in a 'dive' behind Apollo Theatre. – MH

Oh, damn. I thought he'd stopped. I know it's futile but...

You're his big brother, why don't you go save him? – John Hamish Watson

Do I really need to answer that John? – MH

Was the immediate reply. Sigh, here we go.

"Mrs Hudson, Sherlock's got himself into a sticky situation. I need to get him out of it."

"Well, make sure you wrap up warm. Going out at this time of night in November, you'll freeze. Shall I prepare a light supper for your return?"

"I don't think he'll be in a fit state to eat when we return."

"Oh, that kind of sticky situation. Well, good luck."

"Thanks, Mrs Hudson." I said, finally shutting the front door.

I amazingly managed to get a cab at that time of night on a week day so arrived at the dive in relative comfort. I got out and asked the cabbie to wait.

"Fat chance, mate. Not in this area."

I thanked him and let him get on his way.

I knocked on the correct door. "What you want?" a voice managed to hiss from inside, apart from the fact it had absolutely no esses in it.

"I've come to see Sherlock Holmes." I replied.

"Does he know you're coming?" the voice hissed again. The man must have the tongue of a snake.

"As he's been here for the past five hours, he probably doesn't even remember I exist."

"Ah, John, hello again." The voice said. As the door creaked open.

"Hey, Steve. Where is he then?"

"Down here." And he led me down a grimy, dark staircase.

I found Sherlock in the room just past the one with the transgender dancers in it.

"'Scuse me, Ashley. That's a nice new dress, very... sequin-ey."

"Thanks" Was the growled reply.

The room was dark and cramped with dingy bunk beds in it. Sherlock was in the bottom bunk furthest from the door. An empty needle lay beside him.

"I hope to god that was clean." I muttered as I checked him over for injuries. Apart from the marks on his arms which I swabbed with anti-septic, he was fine.

"Sherlock, Sherlock? It's me, John, can you hear me?" No answer. He's way out. "I've come to take you home."

"Hey, Steve!"

"Yeah?"

"Is there another way out of here?"

"No, sorry mate." He said sheepishly.

"I'm not your mate." "Right, here we go..." I picked him up, thank god he rarely eats. I turned and carried Sherlock out through the door I came in.

"You're too good for him, John, you really are."

"You think I don't already know, Ashley?" I replied as I started to carry him up the stairs. A throaty laugh is my only reply.

I'd just got out into the chill night air and turned to start the long walk back to civilisation when I saw Mycroft's car pull up. For once I was grateful.