Sherlock stood, waiting impatiently for John. Where was he? He'd text to say he was on his way but that was ages ago. This criminal needed apprehending. "WHERE ARE YOU?" was the text he thumped out on his phone's keypad and then pressed send.

"I'm 5 minutes away. The taxi got stuck in traffic. Be sensible Sherlock do not go in without either me or Lestrade." was the reply he received. He sighed heavily and paced up and down. This was ridiculous he thought. How could a 7 mile journey take so long?

Sherlock managed to wait for 2 more minutes before frustration got the better of him and he started picking the lock on the door. It wouldn't hurt if he just had the door unlocked ready for them to enter when John arrived. He stood and looked around, no sign of a taxi. Well John and Scotland Yard would just have to catch up he thought. Slowly he pushed the door open and entered the building alone.

He crept along the hallway peering into every room as he went. He could see no signs of life. He'd been certain they'd find their man here. He couldn't be wrong, he was never wrong. After all this was quite a simple case of theft, it hadn't been difficult to solve. He'd only agreed to take the case to stop John nagging. Apparently he was a pain in the arse when he was bored.

As he went up the stairs at the back of the building the floorboards creaked beneath him. He stopped and listened. Had anyone heard him? He waited, held his breath but still he heard no signs of movement. He slowly exhaled and continued on his way. In his head he went over all the clues and evidence he'd collected on the case, all the things that had led him here. He could see no other solution, the thief must be around somewhere.

As he came to the last partially open door he walked slowly in, looking round the room. Someone had definitely been here recently. Surely he couldn't be too late, he couldn't have missed him. He was cursing to himself, looking for new clues to follow when out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement but it was too late. He felt a sharp pain rattle through his skull and everything went black.

A few minutes later a cab pulled up outside and John Watson dived out. He paid the driver and looked frantically round for his friend. "Damn you Sherlock!" he muttered as he noticed the open door and knew as usual his advice had been ignored. As he walked up the steps that led into the building he placed his hand on the gun that was hidden in his jacket. Immediately he felt calmer. Once inside he removed the gun from his pocket and started to check the rooms that Sherlock had looked in just minutes before.

He made his way slowly through the house, his soldier's instincts working overtime. He couldn't hear anything. He carefully went into every room, checking every hiding place but there was nothing, no criminal, no Sherlock. Where could he have got to?

As John entered the last room he could see the first evidence of current human occupation but still no Sherlock. In fact no one at all. "Sherlock!" he cried out. Nothing. Damn the traffic and damn Sherlock for never listening to him he thought. Why couldn't he have waited just 2 more minutes?

John scrabbled in his pocket for his phone and called Sherlock's number. He let it ring for ages but got no answer. He was really starting to worry now. What could have happened to his friend? He couldn't just disappear but he wasn't anywhere to be found either. John really hoped he was alright.

He started looking around. Looking for anything that might help him work out where Sherlock had gone. It was then he noticed the broken lamp lying on the floor. It had a thick, heavy base and John noticed there was blood on it. Fresh blood. As he examined it John heard a noise on the stairs, he grabbed the gun from his pocket once more, stood behind the door and waited.

A figure in a dark coat entered the room. John grabbed him by the shoulder and stuck the gun his back. The man immediately tensed and let out a shout "Hey what do you think you're doing?" Straight away John recognised the voice and released his grip. It was DI Greg Lestrade from Scotland Yard.

"Sorry" John muttered "I didn't know it was you"

"Obviously!" was Greg's reply. "Now what's going on? And where's Sherlock?"

"I wish I knew. As usual he ignored me and didn't wait. The house was empty when I got here. I've tried ringing him but there's no reply. I'm worried Greg. I know he goes off on his own sometimes but not like this. There's something wrong, I know it"

"I'm sure he's fine." Greg reassured "Probably just following clues. You know he doesn't like to talk when he's busy." But in the back of his mind Lestrade had an uneasy feeling too. Something just didn't feel right.