Hi guys it's been a while for this story. I wanted to put out what I had done for this chapter, I'd written it months ago. I don't mean to string you along, this story is still on hold atm. I love all the feedback and hope you are all doing well :)

Chapter 6

The man kept his stride confident, however; faltered in the tiniest bit that to most people looked of a subconscious limp caused by some past minor injury. Habit isn't what this was. Lestrade had bad news and the way he hesitated before entering his own office said it was a personal thing. Couldn't tell if it was his type of personal or Sherlock's.

"Can't keep your phone on you?" He was irritated, very. "Where is John?"

Sherlock looked up at him, "I assume you know, get to the point." He sat in the man's chair, swiveling with two suspect overview papers in each hand. His arms stretched out and his eyes narrowed, "I don't know what John does in his time away from me," he finally laid eyes on Lestrade. He saw the urgency that hadn't been heard from his stride, "What happened?" Suspects no longer required his attention.

"You haven't heard from him?" He sighed out, "No one knows! Mrs. Hudson said the door was ajar. Sherlock look-hey!"

Sherlock was off through the door, leaving quick enough to keep the chair spinning behind him. Lestrade jumped to stop him, but only got so far as jogging in persue, "Sherlock I have a team in your flat, I had no idea you were here. Where did you see him last?"

"He was warning me. He warned me." He growled and suddenly switched his beeline to the door to reverse past Lestrade and back down the hall. The DI missed him when reaching a hand out to stop his hurry, "Sherlock, he's not there! Mr. Sander went home!"

Another turn if the heel and a swish of the dark coat and a long curse, this time finally being stopped by his outstretched hand, "Come on, let's go together. I need you to tell me where you saw him last."

"No. Get Sander down here." Sherlock warned. His eyes looking harsh and demanding, more than normal at least, his body squirmed past the loose hold on his arm. Lestrade just watched him leave with a slight headache. And they came upon the flat fast.

221B was now on lockdown. People came in and out for three hours before Sherlock showed up, battering out demands and taking charge. Everyone in his way ended up going home after his outburst made them cry or rethink their life. Lestrade came in when the number of police officers dwindled from twenty to three.

"Give me a theory, no one can find any leads." He had tracked him inside and found the detective sitting on the couch in the living space with his eyes closed and stippling fingers under his chin. "Hey? We are going to find him."

"You could cure cancer with that comfort." He quipped, eyes opening to glare, only to shake his hostility off and going into machine mode to push out facts, "No forced entry. He had a cup of tea emptied on the table but didn't put it in the sink said he had company, chair smells of dark cologne, says male. However there's no sign of a struggle I'd say that guest left before the confrontation with the kidnapper." He paused at that, "John isn't taken off guard easily, I can't say this was a female assaulter. . .-scratch that, John trusts any girl his eyes lay on, especially if her looks appeal him."

When he stopped Lestrade shook his head, "What? What's wrong?" He saw the consultant's eyes narrow and flick to the ground. Looking concerned.

"That's all I have."

"What?"

Sherlock growled at him, then closed his eyes again in frustration, "Ugh!" He ruffled his hair violently and stood, pacing the floor,"Ugh," he repeated, "It's all I have! Useless."

"Alright, calm down, we can step back-"

"Get everyone out." He talked to the window, overlooking the cop cars and huddles of officers outside the door, some flooding in and out. All the while hovering. "I want everyone out now."

"Okay okay," Lestrade pushed the remainder of the few lingering people out, fearing his friends outburst. He rose his chin and stood in the door frame watching Sherlock put his hands in his slacks pockets and lean forward with his head hitting the glass of the window pane slightly. He felt some deep concern for the both of them. And, he hoped to God John was okay, not just for his own sake . . . For Sherlocks. "Ah, look, uh . . . Do you want a drink or," he sighed heavily and scratched the back of his neck. What was he supposed to do here?

There was a thick silence that he stood in when he waited for an answer and it took Sherlock almost ten minutes to finally move and rub his temples and pace back to his chair. Keeping his eyes glued to the ceiling and Lestrade was just about to ask to try and comfort him again, before Sherlock's hand pointed to him and he was caught off guard.

"Call my brother, " Was heard ground out through clenched teeth.

/X\

The cell buzzed loudly on the wooden table for the third time. Mycroft would have answered It on the first if not for the two people he were talking to in a conference room. He spoke Chinese fluently muttering, "Don't mind it, nothing interesting I suspect."

"Answer it quickly." Said the first man, his face showing displeasure and annoyance, glancing at the other man with a confirmation that they were both having their patients tested. Which reflected in Mycroft's answer as he accepted the last ring, "What?" He froze while In the middle of standing and being irritated, "That's impossible."

"Mr. Holmes, unless it is more important than this, we will advise you hang up." Said the second older man.

Mycroft held a hand out, then stood fully and took his stride out the door. The first man stood with him in anger, "We will not reschedule!"

"Oh," Mycroft slide the phone from his ear and quipped with a smirk, "I think you will."

Striding down the hall he was brought back to Lestrade's urgent matter as the man was still attempting to chat his ear off. "No I do not know where he is, as a contradiction to most beliefs I do not keep a close eye on our Doctor. Mostly just a ploy to intimidate. Now, tell me when."

"Just about seven and-look, here, Sherlock wishes to speak with ya." Lestrade spoke back quickly and huffy, although his voice was thick with worry and stress. Mycroft came close to feeling bad for him to being the only one in the room with Sherlock as he was probably having one hell of a tizzy. It took a few minutes where Mycroft leaned in on one of his many office doors to listen in on the small hushed exchange of words on the other end of his phone, when hearing it he couldn't stop an eye roll.

"Sherlock, speak to your brother okay, I can't tell him all the details. Please."

"You're wasting time."

There was a small shuffle of clothing and Lestrade sighed out, "Talk to him, Sherlock, come on now." He sounded pleading.

"He should move his lazy ass out of his office," the phone was snatched violently, "and come here to take a look himself."

Mycroft subconsciously scooted away from his door, "You must be having difficulty with this, took you too long to figure out I had visited John today."

There was a small silence before Sherlock growled in frustration, "Your cologne. Of course it was you."

"No time to slip so easily with John's life on-"

"Don't think I've forgotten." His brother interrupted with another huff, "What were you here for Mycroft."

"You use my name as a threat more and I'll stop hanging around for good."

"Doubt it. Stop averting this, John's missing, Mycroft. Stop fooling around. Why were you here? To talk to him? Bout what?"

"Well-"

"What I asked you to, correct. To fix it. To fix us." He sounded like he had stood, "what did he say?"

"Yes I took care of it and because you asked, he wasn't hurt too badly. I'd say he may have soiled himself, but jokes are for another time then. I don't recall seeing anyone come to your doorstep after me, I haven't the need to look over my shoulder unless your there." He breathed in, "however I'm sure you will figure this out," he had glanced to some of the Chinese men shouting down the hallway, "keep me in touch and I'll send a scout on it. Good luck."

"Next time look over your damn shoulder Mycroft!" Sherlock snapped into the receiver.

"He'll be fine. After all," he softened his voice, "you're on the case." He hung up and took a small pause to be slightly worried, then shook it off and set his stride down the hall again. "Ready to reconsider our negotiations?" He started.

/X\\

"What did he say? Is he comin then?" Lestrade asked, his arms moving with the questions in haste.

Sherlock handed him his phone back, strangely calm, "No he has a client I wager. He did surprisingly help me," he looked over at John's empty chair and then to the door, "shush for a moment let me think." He sat where he stood near the coffee table and stippled his fingers under his chin and sighed. He had to tell himself this was just another case.

His eyes opened briefly to see Lestrade standing firmly with his arms crossed, looking back at him as if willing him the answers that were hiding, "while your busy standing, get Sanders in the station. I need a talk with him."

A quick nod and a, "Right, right, yeah." And Lestrade was shuffling down the stairs.

Now it was quiet and he could get to work.

Standing swiftly he took another deep breathe and shifted his eyes to John's chair again, looking at the mug on the end table, down the table to the floor to inspect his walk to the door, down the first flight of stairs was as far as his eyes could go, so he turned at the kitchen. Shaking his head, knowing John hadn't set foot inside on the kidnappers visit. Which suggested he didn't come up the stairs at all, for he would have taken the cup to the sink regardless of danger, if not of nervousness than of familiarity. John had to of known his kidnapper or he would have left an obvious clue of danger.

He's strangely perceptive as such.

Taking a closer look at the mug and smelling the feint cologne of his brothers scent, he decided they were both of no interest. Clearly influenced from Mycroft.

So he scowled and made his way to the stairs, taking it all the way to the landing before smelling that cologne again, now he felt queasy. Mycroft paused here to talk. He had scuffed his shoes cause he practically skips on his way up stairs. Oh and he had his fancy prancy cane instead of an umbrella.

Perfect now his head was clouded with his brother's strange fashion choices.

'Keep your head, this is important.' He heard John's voice clear him up on the situation, "Yeah yeah," he muttered to his friends non existence. This time he looked at the door, side glancing Mrs. Hudson's for a spare, and then seeing that he was lost again.

'Try harder,'

"Shut up, I'm trying," Sherlock spoke to John again, waving the air and scowling. His subconcious taking on John's personality was a huge pain in the ass.

But, speaking of another pain, "Ohhh, Sherlock dear. Oh it's just awful. What do you say happened, is he going to be okay love?"

"Mrs. Hudson, I need some quiet." He didn't look at her peeping her head out her door.

But she never listens, "Oh, god. I had been out with Julie, all night. I could have done something," she practically sobbed, "poor John. I fear for him, oh I really do."

"He will be just fine, home for tea tomorrow, now get some sleep." He finally turned and saw her worry and he sighed, "I promise, really."

Mrs. Hudson sighed back and shook her head. Few tears and she asked if he needed anything, he tapped his foot and said no. She stuffed herself back in her small quarters. Leaving Sherlock to his annoying subconscious and hopefully much needed quiet.

Hang in there guys.

-side note. What's funny is I wrote this before the new Sherlock episodes had came out, and I'd written it as if Sherlock hears John's voice when he's stressed to the max. Funny the real episodes did that too. Haha, just how these things go~~