I appreciate that some people are finding this subject matter hard to read. I do understand. So I will mark each chapter with trigger warnings, where necessary. This chapter is mostly procedural, so no trigger warnings.

Chapter Eleven

'Sir, the dog has found something,' Anthea announced.

Mycroft, who had been leaning back on the headrest, with his eyes closed, sat up, immediately.

'It's in Cavendish Square Garden, on the other side of the campus. It's not him, sir, but it's evidence that he was there.'

Mycroft pressed the intercom button in the arm rest and told the driver to take them round to Cavendish Square. When they pulled up, opposite the bank, having passed though the temporary road block, Mycroft and Anthea got out of the car and crossed the pavement to enter the park, which had been cordoned off with police tape and was a hive of activity. People in pale blue SOCO coverall suits were scouring the whole garden and surrounding area, placing numbered markers and gathering forensic evidence.

Mycroft was met by Agent Delaney, who explained to him what the dog had found, as he led him over to the big tree, after donning sterile overshoes. Mycroft stood just outside the inner cordon, placed around the tree itself, and listened to Delaney relate the dog handler's report.

Mycroft, as he processed this information, pointed to some parallel marks which laid a trail across the grass to one of the garden exits.

'Those marks, they weren't made by a bicycle or a wheelchair,' he said.

'No, sir, we believe they are the tracks of an ambulance gurney.'

Mycroft wrinkled his brow and looked along the line of the tracks.

'So, he was taken away in an ambulance? Have we checked all the hospital A and E departments?'

'Yes, sir,' Anthea replied. 'That was one of the first things we did, as soon as we called the Yellow Alert.'

'If he had been injured in an accident, the hospital staff might have cut off his clothing, but they would have kept them. They would not have thrown them into a Clothing Bank,' Mycroft thought aloud.

'Indeed, they would not, sir,' Anthea agreed.

'But, in order to take him in plain sight, they had to make it look to passers-by that he was being attended by paramedics. They must have incapacitated him and then taken him away by ambulance.'

'That would seem to be the case, sir,' Delaney confirmed.

'Any CCTV?'

'There is a camera outside the bank. We are checking to see if there are any images of an ambulance attending someone, in this park, within the time frame.'

'And witnesses?'

'We're carrying out a door-to-door.'

'And no one has claimed responsibility, yet?'

'No, sir,' Anthea replied. 'But it is early days. They do so love leaving us to us sweat, for a while, before making their demands, as you know.'

Mycroft knew all too well, having been called upon, on several occasions over the years, to manage hostage situations. He nodded, pensively, still looking down at the patch of grass from which his dearly beloved Arthur had been spirited away.

'One thing I thinks we can be sure of, whoever they are, they knew about the tracker devices and got rid of them as quickly as possible and in opposite directions. They do try to make it difficult, don't they,' he mused.

'Sir,' Anthea said, placing a gentle hand on his arm, 'there really is nothing more you can do, here. Everything is in hand. Please, sir, you really should go home.'

Mycroft gave no reply. His head was spinning. He was torn between his children, in Hertfordshire, and the love of his life, wherever he might be. He felt so guilty for the children because he had assured them, that morning, that he and Arthur would be home this evening. But it was already past bedtime and neither of them was home. And one of them might never come home again. That was the decider, really. He had, for sure, two living children who needed him now and, perhaps, one dead lover who would never need him again.

'Sir,' Anthea repeated, quietly, 'do come back to the car. Please. Let the driver take you home.'

Mycroft gave a small nod and walked back toward the road. He slid into the back seat of the limo and removed the overshoes, as the driver closed the back door and climbed in behind the wheel. Anthea watched as the car pulled away from the curb, then she turned back to Delaney and said,

'You and I are done here. We need to go back to Whitehall and start making some sense of all this.'

Delaney followed her to the second staff car, they both climbed in and it drove away.

ooOoo

Having emailed, to Anthea, the latents he had lifted off the phone, including Billy's - marked 'Witness' - and the text, call and email downloads, Sherlock and John left the Path Lab, and the simpering Amanda, behind and trotted down the stairs and out onto the street.

'What on earth is the matter with that girl?' John wondered, aloud, not really expecting an answer.

'You shouldn't encourage her, John.'

'What? Say, what? I don't encourage her. I'm a happily married man!'

'You smile at her and chat to her.'

'And you see that as encouraging her?'

'No, but she does. She's a fantasist, John. She constantly stars in her own day dreams.'

'Oh, well, remind me to ignore her, in future.'

'A wise decision. I find it works perfectly for me.'

They caught a cab back to Baker Street and Sherlock went straight upstairs while John called in on Mrs Hudson, to say hello and scrounge a cup of tea and some biscuits. He knew Sherlock wouldn't have much use for him for a while. He would be in his Mind Palace, like as not.

Sherlock dropped into his chair and took out Arthur's mobile, opened the 'Phone' app and selecting 'Contacts'. The top three names were each preceded by A(ice), Aa(ice) and Aaa(ice), respectively. The first name was Mycroft, the second was Josie and the third was Rosie. Sherlock knew that Arthur had two sisters, whom he always referred to as 'the girls'.

According to his phone log, he hadn't communicated with them very regularly for the previous twelve months or so but, since his recent visit, he had texted one or the other of them every day. The texts were fairly standard.

How's everything?

Everything OK?

How's things?

And more of the same. Molly had mentioned, the night before, that Arthur's trip home had not gone well. He guessed it must be one or other or both of the parents who were being arsey about him coming out. His sisters seemed fine with it, though. Their replies were very friendly, if a little ribald.

Fine, here. How's Lover Boy?

Oh, same as usual. Hey, not wearing it out, I hope. Save some for the wedding night! LOL!

Same old same old. Give him a squeeze from me! ROFL!

Sherlock assumed that 'LOL' stood for 'lots of love' but 'ROFL' had him thoroughly baffled. He considered looking it up in the online 'Dictionary of Text Speak' but he wasn't that interested. The mental image conjured up by the references to his brother's sex life was disconcerting, to say the least. Arthur's sisters, though, clearly had no problem with visualising their brother in a compromising situation. Perhaps it was a 'Northern Thing.'

He noted that Arthur had not texted either of 'the girls' today, before he disappeared. Would they be concerned at the omission? Had anyone told them about the kidnap? He wondered if he should tell them but thought better of that idea. He was not the best person to impart bad news. He dialled Anthea's number, instead, for an update on the state of play.

'I've passed on the files you sent me to the relevant Unit Heads. If we get any matches, I'll let you know. Your witness has given us a good description of the man who dumped the phone but he is a bit hazy on the actual time so we're running a check through the station CCTV footage for the whole day,' Anthea explained.

She went on to tell him about what the dog found and the deductions they had made from the evidence, so far.

'So, Arthur made a habit of walking to the park every lunch time?' Sherlock mused. Whoever planned this snatch must have known that. He must have been reconnoitred.

'Have you processed the mug shots taken during the evacuation?' he asked.

'As we speak,' was the succinct reply.

'All the students and staff have photo ID cards, don't they?'

'Affirmative.'

'With the mug shots kept on record?'

'Yes.'

'Go back through all the CCTV footage for the last week and check all the faces against the records of students and staff. Someone has been observing Arthur. They won't be registered with the college so they won't have a profile in the database. We might get an image that will lead us to whoever has done this. Any luck with witnesses from the park?'

'No, but most people who frequent a city park at lunch time work in the city and live in the suburbs. We will put officers in the park tomorrow lunch time and try to get some witness accounts of the snatch. In the meantime, we hope to find some CCTV images of the incident.'

'And no one has made any demands?'

'Not yet. We must wait until they do.'

'Twiddling our thumbs,' hissed Sherlock, in frustration.

'No, Sherlock, there's a lot going on, behind the scenes. Considering it's only eight hours since Arthur disappeared, we've made a lot of progress. We've recovered his phone and clothes, we think we know when, where and how he was taken and we have at least one witness. That's pretty good going, believe me.'

He exhaled, loudly, acknowledging, to himself at least, that it was his own inactivity that was really bugging him.

'Where is my brother?' he asked.

'I've sent him home. He's been running this operation since the balloon went up, holding everything together, when what he really needs is for someone else to take control so that he can just be a victim and unravel, like any other victim would. It's not healthy. He's going to make himself ill.'

'I have told him he should learn to delegate,' Sherlock agreed.

'Not in his nature, Sherlock, unfortunately.'

'Has anyone spoken to Arthur's sisters?' he asked.

'I doubt it. Do we have a number?'

'The (ice) numbers in Arthur's Contacts.'

'Oh, of course,' she scolded herself. 'I'll speak to Mr Holmes and ask him if he wants them to be advised. It may be too soon to go public, even to close family. We don't want the press getting wind of it. There's been a lot of speculation about why the Regents campus was cordoned off and evacuated for four hours, this evening. It's known that SO15 was involved. And the fingertip search of Cavendish Square Garden hasn't gone unnoticed either. We've put a reporting black out on it all – national security – but Twitter has been busy.'

'Well, you know what's needed where all of that's concerned. I'll leave it to you and Mycroft. Meanwhile, any prime suspects? Who is flavour of the month amongst terror groups, at the moment?'

'That's the weirdest thing. Absolutely no one is leaping out at us. As terror threats go, things have been a bit quiet lately. There's barely a whisper on the street, let alone a word. All our intelligence is drawing a blank.'

'Lone wolf, d'you think?'

'Or an autonomous cell. The London bombers were such a group, which is why that wasn't flagged up, in advance.'

'This is a power play. Whoever they are, they want something in return. So they will be in touch with their demands. We just need to find them, beforehand.'

Easier said than done, of course, he thought, after hanging up the call, ruffling his hair in frustration. If only he could see a pattern, a link, a connection of some sort. But there was nothing. Just a huge, empty void.

ooOoo