Chapter Three: Alone

Tears streamed down the gathered people's faces as they stared, grief-stricken, at the small boy. A small child broke free of his parents, slowly making his way towards the other boy, near identical in appearance. Clenched in his small hands was a rose, pure white, the petals just beginning to open and gleam in the fresh sunlight, and a stuffed monkey. The plush toy had obviously seen brighter days, the fur matted and one arm limp with missing stuffing, its eye having to be cruelly stitched in. Both items the child placed on the child's chest, and stood staring a few minutes at the boy, before braking into sobs. He begged his friend to return, heart shattering at the loss.

"So you're trying to tell me your kid vanished from your flat without either of you takin' notice?"

Sherlock sighed, sinking into an overstuffed chair in the Detective Inspector Lestrade's office. He rubbed his face with both hands, which had been overcome by a slight tremor. "Yes, we've gone over the story countless times and yet your idiotic mind still fails to comprehend it," he snapped, voice bitter.

He was feeling more anxious and reckless than normal, his body twitching and unable to keep still. Shooting up from the chair, he began to pace the office, hands buried deeply within his curls.

The DI shook his head, brushing the insult off. "Sherlock, he's barely been missing two days, really. And besides, I deal with murders, not-"

"And what if it is?"

"Do you want it to be?"

For once, Sherlock was rendered speechless. He stared at the Detective Inspector, then glanced away. "I'll do it myself, then," he snarled, turning his back to the other man. "Since you refused to aid us."

Lestrade shook his head, standing. "I'm not refusing, Sherlock. All I'm saying is that I can't help. Not right-"

But the curly headed man was already leaving. "Thank you for what little, idiotic help you've provided, Lestrade." He tugged on his coat, quickly securing his scarf around his neck. "And tell your wife I said hi to the teacher."

Lestrade stared blankly at the man in front of him. "What teacher?"

Face a complete mask of anger, Sherlock marched out of the man's office, leaving his question unanswered. No one approached him, or called out 'freak' in greeting; in fact, no one said anything at all.

A hush came over the room, making it eerily silent. It was as though a dark cloud had passed over the crowd…unnoticed and unheard. That cloud lingered in the back of the room, his suit coat drawn tightly around his body. A snarl stained his lips, a fire lighting in his dark eyes. His sleeked hair was pushed from his forehead, all but one. It fell over his eyes, streaked with white. He clutched a cell phone in one hand, cracks scattering across the screen as his grip tightened around it, until it shattered, and the remains fell to the ground.

"How'd it go?" John's voice rose meekly from his settled place in his chair. He hadn't moved all day; only to make another glass of tea when he drained his cup, and to check his mobile and blog for messages that may lead to Hamish's whereabouts.

So far, there had been nothing.

"The bloody idiot is refusing to help," Sherlock growled, pacing angrily. "We're on our own." His voice was acidic: clipping his words, his pale and angular face contorted into a snarl. "I swear, John, if they hurt him, I will kill them..." He drew out the words, making them sound venomous and threatening.

The blogger sat up sadly, his dark, far away eyes suddenly lit. "Wait, hold on. What did you say?"

"Are you bloody deaf? I said I'd kill them. Tear them limb from limb."

"That…that isn't like you," John managed as he pushed himself to his feet, once again using his cane for support. Sherlock gave him an expression of confusion and irritation, and John almost chuckled at the rare look.

He didn't. Or rather, couldn't. It felt wrong for such a joyous sound to pass his lips while Hamish was gone. Not when those were sounds he had commonly shared with him.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Of course it sounds like me," he snapped. John only shook his head. "No. You sounded like Jim."

For a moment the detective looked shocked, before he promptly pushed the thought away, his face returning to the snarl. "Ridiculous." He flopped on to the couch, his back to his husband.

John sighed again, sitting and resting his head on his fist as he thought. "Do you think it's him?"

"He's dead, John."

"Right. Then I suppose we'll just continue to wait for these kidnappers, then?"

"Do shut up already, John."

"Yeah, alright, you git."

Rain began to pour down, icy and unrelenting. It tumbled from the blackened sky, a few bright stars winding their way through and providing a weak source of light. Breath now came out in white puffs, like that of a tank engine. The rain continued to fall, and the people began to leave, leaving the boy alone once again.

A/N: Yeah, okay. Long time no update. Sorry for the delay, summer's been keeping me pretty busy. I'll do my best to update every...Thursday or so, but no promises. I'm not very good with keeping deadlines. Also, school's a gonna be starting soon, and that's a whole new version of busy. Like I said, I'll do my best, but no promises. And comments and suggestions are always welcome ;) Hope you liked it!