Come to grief

It's been a while since I last did any writing. I watched Sherlock for the first time about a month back and got inspired to start writing again. I feel a bit rusty but have loved getting back into the creative side as my work is very precise and analytical. Please enjoy. Thanks.

Chapter 1 I have given you a glimpse, Sherlock. Just a teensy glimpse on what goes on in the big bad world.

Missing – Day 1

Some sort of consciousness came back gradually. Ordered thoughts stayed away a while longer.

Drugged.

He tried to think. Mycroft would be mad. No list.

Somewhere in that thought he lost consciousness again. He awoke again. To breathing and swearing and the feeling of drifting on a cloud. He tried to grasp and hold on to fleeting glimpses and staying awake, but it was too much, and blackness returned.

He opened his eyes.

He was cold.

He felt wet. He frowned. It didn't make sense.

There was no sound.

He sighed. Turned on his back. Looked at a thousand pin pricks above him.

He hated being outdoors. Not his element.

Memories came back slowly as the drug worked out of his system. So did pain. With fierce concentration he could move his fingers and toes. Nothing broken. But familiar pain none the less of bruised flesh, pummelled by fists and feet. He tried to think back to what had happened, but his head hurt too much, and he closed his eyes again.

They flew open when one thought flared in his mind.

He sat up.

Realised his mistake when bruised muscles protested and he cramped. He curled into himself.

Breathe. Wait it out. Let muscles relax.

Control.

Time passed.

The next time he moved more carefully. More focused.

And fear settled in his stomach like acid. Burning its way down.

John was gone.

And he was alone.

John entered their flat, removing his leather jacket and went to hang it up; only to find that the coat stand was not in its usual place by the door. Wondering what his roommate needed in a coat stand, he looked around for a place to put his jacket, in the end throwing it haphazardly over the backend of his chair. He made his way to the kitchen, opened the fridge half expecting a head, foot or hand to be centre piece.

The fridge was surprisingly empty.

"Right."

He closed the door. Take out it is then.

He grabbed some menus stuck to the fridge by magnet. He felt like curry, wondering if he should bother getting for two; but the flat felt empty and he knew that Sherlock wasn't home. Not in the mood to eat alone, he grabbed his jacket again, phone in hand as made his way down the stairs. His phone buzzed and he absently pressed the answer button, his attention on the stairs and getting his jacket on between holding the phone to his ear.

"Dr Watson?"

"Yes."

"Uhm, ok this is going to sound weird. But uh, do you know someone called Sherlock Holmes?"

John frowned and stopped what he was doing. His hand on the doorknob dropped as he looked at the caller ID. It was Sherlock's number.

"Who is this?"

"Never mind guv. Do you know him or not?"

John decided to be prudent. "Yes. Why?"

"I have his wallet. He said you'll pay me. To get it back."

"Where are you?"

"So, you'll pay me? For holding onto it."

"Yeah. Sure. Address?"

The voice rattled off an address in south London. He was already out the door, hailing a taxi when the phone call ended. It took him 40 minutes to get there, a grubby street with council houses terraced.

He knocked on 5A, aware of curtains moving and eyes staring across the road. He was definitely out of place here. He soldiered on, his concern for Sherlock heightened by the area and why his friend's wallet and phone would be here and not on him. He barely lifted his hand to knock when the door opened, and he was pulled in. For a moment he wondered if he had made a mistake coming alone as the door locked behind him. The hallway was tiny, barely enough space for him and what he now realised is a teenager. Eyes that had seen too much stared back, hand outstretched in the universal sign that he clearly understood. He got his wallet out, pulled out ten pounds, but refused to give it. The young man dragged the wallet and phone out of his hoody pocket. The wallet was familiar. Black leather shining. So was the phone.

"Where did you get this?" he asked authoritatively, leaning into the boy's personal space as he brought all his army training into play.

"He gave it to me."

John raised eyebrows at that. Not sure why Sherlock would feel the need to employ his homeless brigade now. They had no case currently. He was locum at a nearby surgery and Sherlock was bored, which pretty much summed up their past week.

Him leaving for work. Sherlock lounging in his pj's, proclaiming how bored to tears he was. Reason why he had taken his time getting back today as he had gotten a text from Sherlock stating that he was going out and don't wait up. Had assumed his flatmate was at Barts with Molly doing a science experiment or two.

He waited and the boy got nervous. Job done he clearly wanted John out of the house, but he wasn't budging. Wise the boy might be but still a child. Still allowed an adult into his space where a park would've done better.

"Tell me what happened?" he finally said, taking a step back as he examined the consulting detective's wallet. Nothing untoward and out of place. Opened it as he listened to the boy explain how Sherlock had run up to him, gave the wallet and phone with quick instructions on who to phone. Then had run off. Two guys had followed shortly, and he had watched as they turned the corner.

That had been concerning. He pulled a piece of paper out of Sherlock's wallet. Stilled when he read the 3 words on it. His hand fumbled with his phone as he dialled a rarely used number.

"Hello Mycroft. Uhm… Sherlock's in trouble."

Mycroft brough Lestrade. Lestrade brought what seemed like half of the London police. John and the boy had gone to the alley where he had last seen the missing detective. Had watched as the machine that is forensics had done their job, the wallet and phone safely ensconced in an evidence baggie held in the DI's hand. They had found no clues except for what was in the bag.

Nothing.

Sherlock was just gone.

Reviews welcome :-)