As Sherlock tore through the London streets, hunting down another bust of Margaret Thatcher, all he could think of was Alice. Yes, it was an interesting case that he was on, but she had been gone for three days now. Mycroft had found nothing, and Lestrade, though he texted Sherlock updates every few hours, was no more helpful. Instead, he had taken to searching for evidence at night, when he could push his other cases aside and focus on Alice's.

Mrs. Hudson was stoically cleaning the house when he came home that night. She'd cleaned everything, taken Chester for a walk, done the shopping, and cooked meals for the next few days. Now she was cleaning up the kitchen, telling him that, "There are leftovers in the fridge, if you're hungry. I've got a final batch of biscuits in the oven."

The pile of letters on the table went unanswered. Sherlock didn't even glance at them. They had begun to stack up, with Alice gone. Instead, he scratched Chester's ears for a moment before making some tea and dropping down onto the sofa, where he lazily glanced at his phone. "Nothing yet?"

Mrs. Hudson was silent for a moment, before confessing, "Greg was by earlier. He wanted to check up on you. I told him you were out, but I had no idea when you would be back. He… he said not to get your hopes up, but they've found something."

Sherlock bolted up, startling Chester. The dog scuttled over to stand behind Mrs. Hudson as Sherlock grabbed his coat and left without another word. He tore down the stairs, jumping into a cab and surprising the cabbie as he demanded to be taken down to Scotland Yard. Lestrade too was surprised when Sherlock burst in, demanding to know what they had found. "I'm sorry, I'll have to call you back," Lestrade said into the phone, hanging up on, "The Detective Inspector over in Drugs-"

"What did you find?" he interrupted, not caring about the Detective Inspector's pleasantries.

"Sherlock-"

"What did you find?" he interrupted again, his hands on the desk as he leaned closer. "Tell me."

Lestrade stood, opening a filing cabinet and taking out a bag of evidence. Silently, he handed it over. Sherlock took the bag quickly, pouring its contents out on the desk. Alice's mobile phone (he recognized the case, plus the scratches on the screen) was the first thing he picked up, tapping in the passcode. It was only four digits, obvious. He scrolled through her messages, through every app he could think of, but found nothing that suggested where she could have been taken. He stuffed it in his pocket, Lestrade not objecting. Yes, it was evidence. But it was Sherlock. You couldn't argue with Sherlock Holmes, especially not in cases like this.

A hair tie, a receipt for a cab - the one Alice had taken to meet Mycroft - and a gum wrapper. Nothing consequential. "They've already checked all of the hospitals and all of the morgues in London. We haven't come up with anything," Lestrade informed him as Sherlock stretched the hair tie absentmindedly. "She's out there somewhere. I'll dredge the river if you want, if we haven't heard anything in a couple more days. I'm sorry, Sherlock." He shook his head sadly, looking out of the window. Sherlock joined him a moment later, clearing his throat.

He took a deep breath before confessing something to the DI. "She's pregnant."

"What?" Lestrade turned to face him, his eyes growing wider in disbelief. "Did you say-"

"She's pregnant," Sherlock sighed, not meeting his eye as they stood together. "A little over three months. She wanted to wait to tell you, for this mission. She was looking forward to it for so long… she thought she would be fine, that it would be a routine visit, and that she would tell you afterwards. Mycroft knew, but of course, he was sworn to secrecy. It doesn't hurt telling you now."

"God." Lestrade shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Lord, this just keeps getting worse. Three months or so? Shit. Do you know what it is yet?"

"We can't be sure, but early tests say it's a boy," Sherlock confessed, his voice slightly strained. Lestrade picked up on it, but he said nothing. "She's been gone for days. The likelihood of finding her is already nearing naught. I've got to do something, but there's nothing… I haven't slept more than a few hours every day, I've barely eaten, I - sorry. I should get back on the case." Sherlock swallowed, put his mask back up, and left quickly, not making eye contact with the Detective Inspector. As he walked out of the Scotland Yard buildings, Lestrade texted John, telling him what had happened.

It was cold when Alice woke up. The news was still on, but she had tuned it out most of the time. It had become background noise, even though Alice checked the screen to see what time it was. Or what day it was. Or if there were any updates on her case, even though it had quickly become old news. This time, she saw that it was nearing ten in the morning. Her stomach growled as she reached for half of a granola bar. She'd been rationing them, but Eurus rarely gave her anything else to eat.

The light bulb flickered on as a burly man entered, handed her a piece of paper, and walked out without a word. The television screen flickered, Eurus appearing over the news. "You have been given some details about a rather famous case. This boy drowned in the Bristol Swimming Pool South, even though he was a great swimmer, best in his age group. All I'm giving you is a picture of his shoes. Tell me how he died." She paused for a second, adding, "The temperature of the room will be lowered every minute, until you solve it. So get ready… go!"

The BBC came back on as Alice looked down at the paper. A pair of trainers was printed in color, in the best definition possible on an office printer. Alice stood, pacing the room as she thought. "The design is rather old, 1980s. Laces have been changed a whole lot,and with plenty of effort to keep them clean. The kid cared about them a lot. There are skin flakes on here, looks like the kid had a skin problem. Not uncommon among swimmers, but I'd say it's eczema. The clue's got to be in the shoes, right? God, it's getting cold." She paused, noticing that she could see her breath. Eurus had turned the temperature down until she was practically standing in a meat locker. "Skin cream, that's how it had to be delivered. He drowned. Something that was a paralytic, then." Alice rubbed her arms, trying to warm up. "Bristol Swimming Pool drowning, I've heard of this. It was Carl Powers, wasn't it? One of Sherlock's first cases. Botulinum poisoning. It was mixed in with the skin cream, stopped his muscles, and stopped him breathing. They thought it was a drowning because of the water in his lungs, it was too obvious. There's your answer."

She waited, looking around the room. There had to be a microphone hidden somewhere, and probably a camera as well. "That's your answer, are you happy?"

"How do you feel?" The voice was eerie, coming from a speaker somewhere above her. "Other than cold, I mean. I can understand cold."

"I'm freezing," Alice said through gritted teeth. "I'm hungry. It's been days since you've given me anything close to real food."

"Do you miss your husband?" Eurus asked blankly. "I know you're rather attached to him."

"Of course," Alice told her shortly. "Of course I miss him. Now you're not going to get many more answers unless you send some food down here." She took a seat on the cot and wrapped herself in the thin blanket she'd been given, thinking that she could freeze for longer than she could go without something to eat.

Sherlock woke up in an old building, looking around and realizing what had happened. He had met up with Mary, who had admitted what 'A.G.R.A.' was - a freelance task force hired out by the government and the filthy rich. I've been drugged. She's gone. Mary's run off. John needs to know, she's probably not even in the country any more. What if Alice isn't in the country? No, she's got to be here. It wouldn't make sense to threaten me with if she was out of the country. Mary, you've got to let John know about Mary. What time is it?

Lestrade was sitting at his desk, looking over London as the sun went down. Alice had been missing for over a week now, and there were almost no leads. Even Sherlock was stumped. There had been no contact from her kidnappers, and they couldn't do anything but wait and try to hunt down shadows. Sherlock had advocated for searching in every possible place he could think of (the list was extensive), but no one had the time or resources for that. Lestrade sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. It was going to be another long night. There were a couple of case files to review and sign off on before they went down to Records for closing, four or five emails to write, and then he was planning on looking into Alice's case. No one had seemed to want to work on anything else, even though it wasn't really their division. So a few of them had committed to staying after hours and getting some work done, no matter how little progress they made.

Lestrade had begun working on the case on his own, but soon he had been joined by members of the Yard and outsiders alike. So that night, like the past few, there was a knock on his door. Sally Donovan stepped inside, looking exhausted from a long day out in Kent, investigating a string of robberies. She was followed by Anderson, who had insisted on helping. He set a box of donuts on the desk, grabbing one for himself as Molly Hooper came in, shedding her coat and hanging it near the door. "I'll have to go soon," she told them as he took a seat. "John needs me to pick up Rosie."

"Right. What have we got?" Lestrade asked them all, reaching for a donut. "Thanks, Phil."

"I went through the cameras again," Donovan told them. "There's three lined up on the road they should have come off on, but they were hacked. I went through every possible alley and road after that, and I'm working on sifting through the footage they all have. There are 46 cameras they could have passed after that first road. I'm going to stay up and sort through it all. I should be done by tomorrow night."

"I'm still talking to everyone who could have been nearby," Bill announced, walking into the room quietly. "Sorry I'm late. Mrs. Landers was telling me her story, but she kept talking in circles. Poor old woman's mind's going." He took his spot and the meeting commenced as they started work that would take until late in the night to finish.

A.N.: I can't wait to keep writing Eurus. I already have a couple of great lines thought up for her, but she's quickly becoming one of my favorite characters in the show. I'm super excited for it to be on Netflix, tho, bc then I can rewatch it as many times as I want to.