TheDarkestShinobi: Enjoy! Sorry for the lack of updates, Midterms came up.

He's looking for John.

Sherlock needs answers because he can't figure out how John could so drastically change. He has Angelo looking for John. The homeless network has been scouting as well. Currently, he's waiting for the message from Lestrade calling him back to the PD. He laces his fingers together as he closes his eyes.

Love was the most vicious motivator. This could be to take revenge for Sherlock's rejection but that would not be it. The image of John and Moriarty's lips pressed together cause him to open his eyes and shake his head. Could Moriarty have offered John what Sherlock denied him? Even then, he doubted John could have been hurting enough to accept it. He cracks his neck and thrums his fingers on the table.

His best friend, his partner was now working with his archenemy. Moriarty had threatened to burn him and Sherlock had given him the perfect weapon. He swallows remembering the conversation, if one could call it that, that he had with Mycroft. Even now, it causes hot anger to run through his veins. Moriarty was right, he was burning. He still has the urge to punch his brother over and over again. He takes a deep breath as he watches a cab pass by.

It hadn't been that long ago that he and John chased a cab from this very spot. John had left his cane that day. Now Sherlock was the one being left behind. He aches inside as he looks to where John would sit.

Sherlock watches a woman come in and spot him. He watches as she makes her way over him with a wave. She seems familiar with him but he cannot remember her. She must be deleted information. He says nothing as she slides into the seat across from him.

"Sherlock." The greeting is laced with affection, which is odd, because he makes it a point to remember the ones that are affectionate to him, even if he would be better served deleting some of them.

"I'm busy, go away." He pulls out his phone to look busy, so the texts from Lestrade pop right up.

We've identified one of the twins. –L

She used to be John's therapist. –L

We have an ID on the hair –L

Come down -L

Angelo comes over to them again, with a candle and Sherlock stands.

"She is not my date. Keep an eye out for John." Susan looks crushed as she continues sitting.

"Another serial killer?" She asks and Sherlock turns to her looking her up and down. "A text that gets you moving that quickly; can't be from your partner, as he's now on the other side." She continues and for a brief second Sherlock thinks she may have observed that, but she didn't. It's disappointing. He shifts before turning. Her voice gives him pause.

"Nothing more interesting than a good serial killer?"

"Nothing." He lies as he leaves her there at Angelo's. There was nothing more interesting that he could have.

…

"That's my therapist." John shakes the picture in Jim's face before Jim bats it away.

"It is." He confirms as he nods.

"The blonde hair?" John decided to try his luck.

"Belongs to Harry." Jim answers with a one shouldered shrug. "Not your sister of course."

"Right." He nods once and turns to go.

"Have you decided on your second, yet?" Jim asks as John pulls the door open.

"I have, I'm going to send him a picture of the bridge."

"Lead him straight to the body." Jim approves and John keeps walking, he has to get to the bridge today so he can send him the picture later.

There is no body yet, which can be expected, so John snaps a picture of the bridge hoping it's recognizable to Sherlock and another just in case. The black car parked has started again and John nods before running up to it.

"Mr. Moriarty sending you on a scavenger hunt?" John looked to David, realizing how odd the name Moriarty sounded. When did that happen? He nods as they pull away.

"I suppose that's as close as you can get to labeling it."

"Where to now? Home?"

Home.

Yes that would be lovely, walking in to a head in the fridge or Mrs. Hudson's biscuits. He sighed as looked out the window, knowing he didn't have to keep a perfectly straight face with David. "Just back." He replies and wonders what Sherlock is up to. He lifts his vibrating phone.

The hair was a giveaway. –SH

The murder for both cases is a woman called Kayla Martins. -SH

John shakes his head with a smile

And why would Kayla kill her doctor? -JW

For miscarrying her twins -SH

Sherlock really is amazing. He taps the dashboard before texting the woman with the bomb. It only took Sherlock eight hours, but the body won't be under the bridge for another few hours, so John would give Sherlock a small break.

This gives John more time to think about the folders with information in them and wonder about the future contents of the empty ones.

…

"Hello?" Sherlock answers the phone to hear crying. It is a woman's voice, somewhere in her twenties. Sherlock listens to a shuddering breath as the other calmed.

"He said you can come get me." She sobs and Sherlock hands the phone to Lestrade who takes care of it.

An hour later Sherlock sends one more text.

Why your therapist? -SH

It is one John doesn't answer.

…

The woman knows John's face and the sound of his voice. She describes his tan and his hair as well as his clothes and mannerism. 'He knows you' she said 'never doubted you would save me.' Lestrade wishes all of his victims could remember that much, especially when they didn't know who the perp was.

"He didn't give you any message for me?" Sherlock can't fight the hope that swells in him, the irrational sentiment in his way. The belief that John was still on his side, still trapped and trying to get back to him was clawing at the gates of his mind palace desperate to get in and never leave. She shakes her head.

"He was real careful," She rubs her arms where there were straps. "It was like he didn't want to hurt me, despite strapping the bomb to me." Then she puts her head in her hands and sighs wiping her eyes.

Sherlock turns away from her and closes his eyes. This I why I kicked him out; the attachment is too much, it makes me weak. He opens them again and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Did he, at any point, seem like he was being forced into this?"

It's easier not to face her, so he didn't have to control the expressions on his face. She closes her eyes and thinks back. Remembering the way he ran his hands over the bomb like it was his purpose, the way he handled the situation with familiarity, the way he commanded the others. She lets out a breath as she recalls that he never looked back at her, he was hardened, trained.

"No." She shakes her head. "He seemed like he was made for it."

Sherlock begins walking away without glancing back at her, and she turns to Lestrade to see him rubbing his forehead and shaking his head.

"Who is he?" she asks and she never really gets an answer.

The truth is Sherlock doesn't know anymore.

TDS: Review!