I searched the missing woman's room once again before I left. Nothing had changed this time. There was nothing to suggest why she might have left or where she would have gone.

I wanted to take the list of places I had gotten from Miss Jacobs and start looking for her right then and there, but I knew better. Alone I had little chance of finding her. Even if I did manage to find her, one person might not be of much help if she were in trouble. Lestrade would kill me for taking off on my own anyway.

I went back to the Yard for help. Gregson was the first person I ran into.

He listened as I explained the situation and frowned as I reluctantly admitted how long she had been missing.

Gregson sighed. "That's not very long." He pointed out.

"She could be in danger." I countered.

"Or on the run herself." Gregson added softly. "But that's not enough to justify putting out a search, especially if no one's even reported her missing yet."

I felt my shoulders tensing in rebellion, but Gregson surprised me. "Hopkins, Smith, and Adams are getting ready to go off duty." He told me. "And Lestrade's Rookie got left behind earlier. Go gather them up and go look for her." He suggested, though the way Gregson said it made it almost sound like an order.

I did so with only a little remorse for keeping them from their homes. It was part of the job, and they all knew it.

Hopkins merely shrugged and fell into step with me, and I realized I did not actually feel bad for keeping him out. Turnabout was, after all, fair play, and it was not like he was going to be dead on his feet the following morning as a result anyway.

Constables Smith and Adams sighed and exchanged a half amused glance before responding with their customary "yes, sir."

Cratchett stared at me as if I had lost my mind. I ignored his only half coherent protests and scribbled a note to Lestrade. I left it on his desk and returned to the other three members of my unofficial search party. Cratchett continued stammering, but at least he followed.

From the list I had made and knowledge of the area surrounding the Southhall's home, we worked out the details of our search. Smith and Adams, who seemed to do their best work when it was just the two of them, took off together.

Evans overheard our discussion on his way out and volunteered to help, and he and Hopkins set out in another direction, leaving me with Cratchett, who had mercifully fallen silent by this time.

Hours later we had seen nothing of the woman, and a quick check at home confirmed that Miss Southhall had not come back yet, nor had her father returned from searching for her.

Not one of the men I had kept from going home that night suggested we give it up for the night, though Evans was by now hard put to keep from yawning and Cratchett was jumpier than a cricket bug.

I wished I knew what the quarrel had been about, but no one had been at the Southhall home who could have told me. Watson had still been out searching as well.

Had they accused Miss Southhall of murder?

If they had, and she had run, it suggested she was guilty. I did not want to believe that, but it was entirely possible.

It looked more than just possible right now.

By morning I was even more worried and the others were exhausted. We were all needed back at the Yard.

Smith, Adams, and Evans left to report in after offering to continue the search after their shifts ended. They were gone before I could tell them they needed to make sure they got some rest.

"So do you, Bradstreet." Hopkins chided, but his words were gentle. "You're no good to her if you kill yourself."

I sighed. "I know, Hopkins, I just..." I did not know how to finish.

Hopkins offered me a smile. "We'll catch a few hours of sleep after our shift and go back out to look for her." He told me. "Even I can't go without sleep indefinitely."

I returned his smile. "Thank you, Hopkins." I said, and the lad rolled his eyes at me good-naturedly before heading off for his office.

That left Cratchett, who had been trailing my steps as silently as a shadow all night. I decided it was time to return him to Lestrade's office before the other Inspector came looking for him.

"Where the devil have you been, Cratchett?" Lestrade demanded as we reached his office door. Cratchett flushed all over again and I started to answer, but was stopped by the look Lestrade shot in my direction.

Cratchett stammered but did not manage an answer that made any sense, and Lestrade sighed and came out in front of his desk. He advanced upon the poor Constable, and Cratchett in turn retreated until he found his back up to the wall and could go no farther.

"Stop that." Lestrade ordered, and the Rookie fell silent. "Look me in the eye." Cratchett reluctantly forced himself to somehow meet Lestrade's eyes. I was impressed; the boy was obviously terrified.

"Do you want to stay on the force, Cratchett?" Lestrade asked, his voice soft. Cratchett managed to nod, but Lestrade was not satisfied. "Answer me."

"Yes." The reply was nearly a whisper. Lestrade waited. "Yes." Cratchett said again, stronger this time.

"Prove it." Lestrade said bluntly, and Cratchett's eyes flickered back to the floor for half a second before returning to Lestrade's. "Where were you?" Lestrade asked again.

Cratchett was silent for a long moment, and I wondered if I were witnessing the Rookie's last few minutes on the job. But then Lestrade would hardly be wasting his time now if he were planning to get rid of the boy.

When Cratchett finally spoke, it was without even a tremor. "I was helping Inspector Bradstreet search for a missing woman." He said.

Lestrade turned to me. "Miss Southhall?" He asked sharply. I nodded. "Her father just reported that she was missing, Bradstreet."

"I know." I said. "I found out yesterday."

"And drafted people to go looking for her." Lestrade added. "You took Cratchett; who else?"

"Smith and Adams." I told him. "Evans, Hopkins. We didn't find even a trace of her."

Lestrade frowned and looked back at Cratchett, who threatened to turn red again. "You were out all night?"

"Y-yes." Cratchett managed. I think he was afraid not to answer by now.

Lestrade considered him. "I should send you home." He commented.

Cratchett swallowed nervously before forcing himself to speak up. "I can m-manage, s-sir."

Lestrade looked over at me. "We'll see." He said to the Constable.


Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.