By Friday morning John was exhausted and barely had time to ponder why he hadn't received any new texts from the mysterious -SH. On the rare occasions when he did think about the text, he always reached the same conclusion: If it was Sherlock, why didn't he show himself? If It wasn't, why wasn't I robbed, kidnapped, or murdered? It seemed highly unusual that someone would lure him out in the middle of the night just to stand in the cold.

Late on Friday afternoon John heard his text alert noise, but was tending to a boy's broken arm and unable to check his phone. Probably Greg confirming for tonight, he thought briefly before returning to his patient. John didn't have a free moment until he clocked out, and headed directly to Scotland Yard to meet Lestrade.

If it were possible, the Yard was even busier than John had seen it on Tuesday. He found the DI holed up in his office, staring at several case files laid open in front of him.

"Hi Greg. We still on for tonight?"

"Huh?" Lestrade looked up, surprised to see John in his doorway. "Oh yeah, of course. I'm just going over Sally's file again."

"So nothing has turned up?"

"No, and I've got to tell you, things aren't looking good. We haven't heard a thing from the kidnapper. Plus we've been understaffed since Anderson was taken off Sally's case and given a few days' leave. Poor Moran has been doing the best he can filling in, but it's a lot for a new guy to handle."

"I'm sorry that I haven't been around these past few days. I wish that there was something I could do. It's the sort of case that Sherlock would have been all over."

"Yeah, well, we'll have to make do with our boring little minds, won't we?" Lestrade said, actually smiling. "Oh, do you mind if we stop by Anderson's on the way to the pub? I just want to see how he's doing. Maybe he'll join us. I haven't heard much from him since Tuesday."

"Sure, of course."

The two men continued to chat as Lestrade drove to Anderson's. Soon they were walking up the front steps of a small brick building. Lestrade knocked, waited, and then rang the bell. Nothing but silence answered them.

"Maybe he's out?" John offered.

"Maybe, but that's his car in the driveway," Lestrade said, pointing at the vehicle. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

John reached for the handle. "It's unlocked," he said, surprised. Lestrade pulled out his gun and nodded to John, who pushed open the door.

"Hello? Anderson?" John yelled.

Together they searched the house. While there was no sign of Anderson, there also was no evidence of foul play. Eventually they left the house and headed back to the car. "Let's call it in to the Yard, and have a forensics team see what they can find. I normally wouldn't be so jumpy, but with Sally missing..." Lestrade reached for his phone before remembering he had left it in the car.

"Here, use mine." John removed his mobile and began to pass it to the DI when he remembered the text message, forgotten from hours earlier.

Text message received 3:40PM: Come to 7801 Garden Terrace immediately. Your assistance is needed. - SH

John, standing at the end of Anderson's driveway, looked as his mailbox and gasped. The house number, written in a clear, bold font, was 7801. John glancing up the street, already knowing what he would see on the sign: Garden Terrace. Things had just gotten much more complicated.

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