Hello to all my new followers. I hope I can keep up the pace for you guys. And to my old ones, I thank you for sticking with me through my hiatus. Usual excuses. Stuff happened. But c'est la vie, n'est pa? Okay, onto your regularly scheduled chapter. Hope y'all enjoy it. :)

.:...:.

John paced back and forth in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. Mrs. Hudson sat at the table with a cup of tea John had made her, looking every bit as frail and tired as she was. Shirley was beside her, resting her head in the old woman's lap. She shivered every time Mrs. Hudson's hand smoothed over the top of her head, but sat obediently. The slip leash was still over her head, dragging on the floor. She was analyzing him with a kind of intensity that made John squirm.

Mrs. Hudson took a sip of her tea. "Oh for goodness sake, John. Sit down. Have some tea."

"How'd he get in? The doors were locked." He just didn't understand. He had his keys. The spare was still under the mat.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "He didn't even take anything."

"He could've killed you."

"But he didn't."

She patted the chair next to her and John plopped into it with a heavy sigh.

"Don't worry John, the detective will be here in a minute."

True. John had phoned Greg the moment he and Shirley had gotten back to the apartment. The man had sounded surprised to get a call from John, especially so late. When he'd heard what happened, he said that he'd be right over and hung up. But John was having trouble waiting. There was something he was missing. He could feel it. He just couldn't put his finger on what connected all this. He felt dull, useless. He needed to do something. If Sherlock were here they'd already be out there looking for the guy, following clues, probably running for their lives. Yet here he was, sitting in a kitchen being stared at by a dog and an old woman.

That wasn't fair. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a heavy breath. Mrs. Hudson stopped petting Shirley and laid a hand on his arm. He covered it with his own, looking every bit as grim and guilty as he felt. Mrs. Hudson needed him and all he could do was pine over days he could never get back. Was this what he'd become now? Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed thickly. Shirley tilted an ear back and Mrs. Hudson offered him a warm smile.

"I miss him too, dear."

.:…:.

Shirley hadn't disappeared the second Lestrade arrived like John had expected. She merely glared at him from her position in Mrs. Hudson's lap like she was daring him to get close. The detective gave him a questioning look and John explained that this was the dog his cab had hit.

"Really? I just thought you were making that up," Greg commented, before turning to Mrs. Hudson. "Are you alright."

"Oh, I'm fine," she said, waving him off. "Honestly, you look tired. We can do this in the morning."

"Just a case I'm working on. Some vet gone missing. Third one this month." Shirley's ears perked forward.

Greg moved to sit at the table and Shirley growled. He eyed the dog warily while Mrs. Hudson shushed her. It was only the detective, after all, and he was welcome any time. Shirley huffed. John swore he saw her roll her eyes. Really he was just impressed with how well Mrs. Hudson was handling her.

Greg cleared his throat and pulled the chair a little further from the table before sitting down.

"Could you describe him for me?"

Now John was sure he saw her eyes roll, her whole body sagging with an exasperated sigh. He dragged a hand over his face, rubbing his tired eyes for the fifty-millionth time that night. Obviously, he needed more sleep.

"No," Mrs. Hudson said. "I'm sorry, it was too dark."

"Tall? Short?"

"Tall, I think."

Lestrade sighed.

"He drives a grey Volkswagen," John cut in. Everybody looked at him. "I saw him get into it after Shirley bit him."

"Shirley?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

"Shirley Temple. That's what I named the dog," John gestured toward Shirley, suddenly feeling very warm in the face. Shirley and Mrs. Hudson were both eyeing him knowingly.

Lestrade turned back to the table, noticing traces of blood around Shirley's lips for the first time. John knew they couldn't get any DNA from it, not reliably anyway, but Greg seemed impressed.

"Did you catch the plate?" the detective's voice was hopeful, desperate.

He hadn't. He'd been so busy trying to get Shirley to come back he didn't even bother to look.

"What make was it?"

John shook his head. "One of those small, boxy ones with the long trunk."

Lestrade rubbed his eyes. "I'll see what I can find, but it's not a lot to go on. In the meantime, I want you two to keep the doors locked and bring in the spare just to be sure."

John wasn't so convinced that this was nothing, but he nodded in agreement. Keeping a set of keys out there was too risky. He'd just have to make sure not to lose his.

After Lestrade left, John and Shirley stayed downstairs with Mrs. Hudson, John talking and Shirley resting quietly in her lap, until she announced that if she didn't get some sleep, she'd never be able to get anything done tomorrow. John and Shirley were ushered out of her apartment and back up the stairs. Neither of them were ready to sleep, so they sat in the living room together. John changed it to the news. This late it was just reruns, but they were talking about the missing vet (who was actually a vet tech).

"Oh my God," John breathed, recognizing the picture. It was one of the one's who'd treated Shirley, the one she'd bitten. The dog was sitting straight up, rigid as concrete, eyes fixed on the screen. He turned up the sound.

"Reports say the young veterinary technician was discovered missing after a colleague visited his flat when he'd failed to show up to work two days in a row."

The screen cut to an interview of another vet tech, one John hadn't seen that night. "The whole place was turned upside down." The guy's eyes were wide and excited and worried. "A chair was actually broken. Just smashed to pieces. The sofa was all ripped up and the table was turned over. Nothing was missing though. Well, 'cept Finn." His lips kept moving but his voice had been muted out. The newswoman went on to say that Finn's disappearance was the third of its kind this month. Was there a serial kidnapper on the loose? Police wouldn't say, but the public was urged to be sure all doors were locked and to not be home alone if they could help it.

John dropped back into the couch. Out of that informational blip one thing stuck out to him. Nothing was missing. Nothing except Finn. He got up and checked the locks downstairs, making sure the spare key was inside the door. Something told him that this wasn't over.