Lestrade received a call thirty minutes later, told John to go straight home, that Molly and he'd be right over. Mycroft sent a car, told him not to worry, there would be a logical reason for Sherlock and Hamish not being there... John thought the two of them might have gotten distracted, but Sherlock always answers him now... there hadn't been a time since he'd returned that this had happened.

There were no answers two hours later. Panic began to run through the flat, caused the thrum of heightened emotions, of long disused military precision to snap back into focus. Gregory and he had the map of the localised area spread on the wall... like previous cases... their normal walking route pinned in redstring, the two alternates pinned as well with white. Nothing was out of order at either flat, so there was still nothing obviously wrong, other than the two simply not being at the right place. It was still enough that Gregory called Donovan and Dimmock to see if they were on shift and asked them to swing by Baker.

The tactical team had gone through the area and had found no items of Sherlock's, nor that he'd left Baker other than the CCTV footage, even that had blind spots. Hamish would have missed a feeding by now, and the temperature itself would be an issue as well. John was wondering if he should go out himself with Greg to look, maybe someone had missed something, not being as observant... not knowing Sherlock... Christ, what the hell was going on?

Molly had popped down to "A" for a lie down, the emotional state in the flat was just too much at the moment, John understood. Greg gave her a peck on the lips as she headed down the stairs, John returned to the maps, woke the laptop after he decided to try to use the GPS to find Sherlock's mobile again. Wishful thinking, even he knew it took more than just turning it off to disable the damn GPS...

"John! Greg!" It was Molly. "JOHN!"

The two flew down the stairs and into the ground floor flat, Molly was on her knees visibly shaken, crying clutching a grey and white length of fab- blood was-

"Oh my God..." John's heart stopped. "NO."

"Now, John," Gregory was visibly torn between his wife and his best friend. "Let's not jump... fuck all! Sally! Phillip! Get down here now!"

John moved over to her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "Molly, that's... we both need not to touch anything, yea?" His breath came in short controlled huffs. The whole place had just become a possible crime scene. "Greg, it's not much... It's been cut off... I just can't tell which way-"

"Easy now, John, we'll figure it out. How's about you take Molly back to our place, yea? I'll pack you something... maybe we can all stay at Snow tonight?"

Dimmock and Donovan were at the door, perplexed at the scene in front of them.

"What's this then, John? Can you identify it?" Dimmock asks.

"It's Hamish's cloth carrier... you tie it to yourself... Sherlock prefers these. Reminds them both of the kangaroo care while Hamish was in NICU... I think... he says it's more secure as well. This was the one he wore out most since that incident with the paps... less conspicuous of a colour than the teal they both prefer."

"You mean Sherlock, actually was using kanga for your son... quite often?" Donvan seemed shocked that she had actually voiced the question. "I'm... sorry John...just-"

"Yes, Sally, he wears him almost all the time, as he is our child's primary caregiver when I am working." John sighed as he realised his wording. "We are co-parenting, before anything is assumed... he is Hamish's godfather and his mother, my wife, knew this would most likely the outcome of... you know... not relevant to you at any rate. What is Phillip," He turned to address Dimmock. "Is that Sherlock and Hamish are missing. My son and my best friend. The cloth is one of several Didymos that we have to 'kanga' as I've just explained. It also looks likely that it was the one Sherlock chose to wear out this afternoon. I do not see him doing an experiment with these... "

John knew he had become a wreck. He quieted, squeezed Greg's shoulder and offered Molly his arm to help her up. She handed the fabric over to her husband before she gave John a soft hug, possibly to reassure him... possibly herself... before they left the Met's finest to it. He didn't want to, but he knew they had a job to do, they'd be in the way. He'd come back when Mycroft's men took over... for now John steered Molly down through the ground floor hall and out into the frigid night air. Sherlock and Hamish were alright, he knew it... he'd just need to be patient... maybe the homeless network could be put on alert somehow... he'd find a way.

The sleek black sedan waited for the two of them, the door already opened in an inviting manor. He couldn't wait to get off the street, the cordoned area maked him physically ill... that fucking police tape didn't... shouldn't be here. Anthea waited politely until they were settled before firing a few questions John's direction, close to the same descriptives that he'd given the Met already. Christ, this had to be a new brand of night terror... he couldn't bring himself to get his mind to work around it. This was really happening... the two most important people in his life had vanished.

He closed his eyes, the reconstruction hazy. He honed the flat in his mind... the last footfalls made... last things picked up to be brought... if anything he could remember might be amiss. As the parlor came more into focus he didn't remember seeing the black messenger bag or his favored red Didymos... nothing to be keen about... Sherlock wouldn't have brought either though...possibly they'd been moved. There were no signs of struggle at their home, nothing odd with the front door. Again, John tried to think which way Sherlock would have traveled, what path he would have taken. Why he would have come back if injured or not just called immediately... why was there not more evidence of him and Hamish coming back?

None of it made anywhere close to any sense.