*Sherlock belongs to BBC. Not me.

Random location in UK, 6 hours left (8 AM):

John woke up, disoriented. It took him a few moments to recognize his surroundings. He was still in the fast-food restaurant. He had fallen asleep in the back corner, unnoticed by the mostly apathetic staff. Well, maybe they did notice him. The Chinese food and some nicotine patches from his bag were missing.

John felt a knot tighten in his gut. Sherlock never showed up. He wasn't waken up by his annoying, supercilious voice, there wasn't some cryptic note stuck on his forehead, no employees had tried to tell him about a crazy man with a scarf telling them to pass on a message, nothing.

John approached the register. "Can I borrow your phone?" The cashier looked at him incredulously.

"Just for a sec. Besides, your friends ate my food." Strangely feeling responsible for his coworkers' actions, the cashier handed over his phone.

John punched in a number. "Lestrade? I need some help, Sherlock's gone. No, I don't miss him. He left me. For 13 hours. Without any explanation. Come quick, and bring Sammy and Zinny."

5 hours left (9 AM):

"Sorry it took so long. Traffic was hell," Lestrade, flanked by Zinny and Sammy, apologized.

"Where's Sherlock?" Zinny piped up.

John sighed, distressed. "That's the problem. I don't know."

The trio gave him an odd look. Sammy spoke for the group, "Then how are we supposed to find him? He could be anywhere!"

John stared at his shoes. "Well, Marshall didn't travel much outside this city...and Sherlock was following his trail...might as well start searching now..." His head remained bowed in defeat. The others glanced at each other, tiny knots forming in their stomachs.

"We'll spread out," Lestrade said. John looked up, somewhat confused, but hopeful. "But no one goes alone." Everyone nodded in agreement. "Zinny, you head off east with John. Samuel and I'll go west. We'll meet back here in four hours if we don't find him, so we can at least find the body before our deadline's up. Now, move!" The sharp command sent them sprinting off, off to find lost detective.

5 hours left (9 AM):

Sherlock awoke, even more dazed than usual. His mouth felt dry and rough, like sandpaper. His limbs felt stiff as he tried to stretch out in the faux-plush chair. What the hell happened? he thought. He touched his cheek and winced as it stung. As he stood up, groaning, the memories flooded back.

Red lips telling the truth, telling lies. Blue eyes clear as window glass, but revealing nothing. Muddled emotions. Well-manicured nails clawing at his face. Dammit.

Sherlock's head swiveled toward the alarm clock. 10 AM? Crap. I wonder if Zinny and Sammy had any luck with that game... His hand reached toward his pocket, but stopped as he remembered he forgot his phone. What are my chances John is still waiting for me...

Sherlock twisted the doorknob open with a flick of his wrist, ignoring the headache the light of day gave him. He could really use a coffee...wasn't there a place across from Marshall's old office building?

(Sherlock's brain and body refused to function without some caffeine in his system. He forgot he could have called Zinny, Sammy, or Lestrade from the motel room. The side affects of the drug Irene Adler had stripped away his usual energy.)

Everyone and everything could wait another five minutes.

Random bit that is completely unrelated to the plot:

Back at 221B Baker Street:

Arthur stared at black door. When would Zinny be back? Or that over-excited man-boy? Or the kinda rock-like man? Or the nice one? Whattabout that nice, flustered lady? Where were all of them?

Arthur rested his head on his paws. He was bored.

He blamed the author of this fanfiction. He looked toward her, accusingly. I don't seem to do much in this picture. I'm bored.

Well, I'm sorry. Maybe the next fanfic.

Arthur stared toward her, eyes wide and brimming with anticipation. Pwease?

Aww... Don't worry, you'll probably have a bigger role in the next fic.

Arthur quickly changed his composure. His teeth were now bared, hackles raised, and emitting a low growl. Probably? Maybe? I will not take this! How about this? I probably won't bite you. Maybe I won't sink my teeth into your leg.

Jeesh, okay, okay... you'll be way more involved in my next story.

Arthur stopped growling and began panting, tail wagging. Thank you!