Author's Note: Sorry this took me so long to post! Next chapter will be up quicker, I promise; I'm really excited for the next one. Thanks to everyone who's been reading, alerting and favouriting. I hope you enjoy and pretty please let me know what you think?

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to BBC's Sherlock, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original stories.

After several hours in the lab at Bart's John and I, with Molly's help, have managed to narrow down the possibilities to two forested areas just outside London. It's far from perfect, but it's better than what we had a few hours ago. At least that's what I keep telling myself; combing two huge chunks of forest for a missing girl could take ages, possibly longer than she has left.

I pull out my mobile and text Lestrade the information we've uncovered. A few minutes later he texts back.

I'm putting search teams on it right away. Keep you posted. -GL

Thanks. Good luck. -AD

With a sigh I stand up from my seat at the microscope and stretch my stiff muscles. John and I say goodbye to Molly and leave the hospital.

"I hate waiting around," I mumble as we get out of a cab at Baker Street.

"We've done all we can for now," John replies.

"I hope it was enough."

John nods. "Me too."

I fidget and pace around the flat for a few hours before I can't take it anymore. Plus I'm likely driving John mental. I need to go out for a while, clear my head. Walking always helps.

"I'm going for a walk," I announce. John looks up from his newspaper and nods.

"Alright, text me if you hear from Lestrade."

"Sure. See you in a while."

I put on my coat and bound down the stairs, waving to Mrs Hudson as I exit the building. Night is beginning to fall; the police are going to have to stop the search soon as they lose the light. I know they'll resume first thing in the morning, but I worry that it will be too late. We're probably going to find another girl dead.

Sighing heavily, I wander aimlessly through the streets. I bet Sherlock could have figured out something to narrow the search field further; he'd likely have rushed off to find the girl himself, dragging John and I with him. A small, wistful smile crosses my lips. I was always much more impulsive around him. You had to be, to keep up with Sherlock Holmes.

My heart clenches painfully as thoughts of Sherlock race through my mind; I miss him so damn much. Without his brilliance, the world seems a much darker place. He was so much more than a good friend; he was the only man I ever loved, and I never worked up the nerve to tell him so.

Physically shaking my head to clear Sherlock out of it, I stop and check my watch. I'm surprised to find I've been walking for nearly two hours. I check my phone; still no word from Lestrade. Just as I'm putting the mobile back in my pocket it buzzes with a text.

Calling it off for the night. Too dark. Will start up again at dawn. -GL

I sigh, sending a quick reply.

Right. Let me know the second you find anything. -AD

Stuffing the phone back into my pocket I turn around and begin the long walk back to Baker Street. I've only been walking a few minutes when another text comes through.

Anna, come back to the flat. Now. -JW

Puzzled, my fingers fly across the keys.

Why? Is something wrong? Are you and Mrs Hudson alright? -AD

We're fine. Can't explain, it's better if you see for yourself. Just come. -JW

John, you're worrying me. -AD

Don't worry. Please, just come back. -JW

Feeling very worried despite John telling me not to, I wave down a cab and hurriedly give the address. Once the car is moving I send another text.

Be there soon. You'd better be okay. -AD

After several minutes with no reply from John my anxiety worsens. I wonder what could possibly be so urgent that he needs me back at the flat right away; it can't be the case, or he would have just said so. Something must be very wrong.

The cab ride seems to take forever, and by the time the car finally pulls up outside 221B my nerves are badly frayed. I give some notes to the driver with trembling hands and practically leap out of the car, only vaguely aware that I have given the cabbie a ridiculously large tip. Wrenching open the front door I run up the stairs and burst into the flat. Nothing could have prepared me for the shock I receive upon stepping inside.

There, sitting on the sofa as if he never left, is Sherlock Holmes.