SuperWhoLock: The Missing Girls

The Investigation

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Sherlock and John

"Of all the cases. . ." Experiments in the kitchen abandoned, a highly furious Sherlock paced nearly every corner of the flat, his steps pounding against the floor and no doubt causing a ruckus down below.

Mrs. Hudson would be less than pleased.

"Of all the cases to keep me from, they keep me from this one!" Sherlock was yelling in his expressive fury, spewing his thoughts without remorse to no one in particular.

"Sherlock -" John began from his seat, nestled tiredly with a cup of tea. The news had been quite a shock to him, but it wasn't nearly enough surprise when he discovered the typically insensitive detective throwing a verbal tantrum.

"Don't you understand, John?!" Sherlock interrupted his partner, pausing on the spot to speak with him directly. His blue eyes, usually so dazzling and full of charisma, were widened with fear and desperation. Only John could see him in this state - it was too embarrassing to show this much emotion to anyone else. "Sherlock Holmes. That's me. World's greatest consulting detective and I can't do a bloody thing in the investigation to find our daughter! I've been forbidden to assist in the search. Banned!"

"Sherlock -" John tried again, setting down the porcelain and rising out of his chair.

"Lestrade claimed he'd be forced to arrest me if I came within fifty feet of Scotland Yard. The nerve! It's as if he thinks I'm not stable enough to -"

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"

Sherlock froze in his tracks, a subconscious habitual response to his full name uttered by his lover.

"Did you ever think that I called Lestrade and asked him to keep you from the case?" John lowered his voice, his point understood as soon as the detective quieted. "I knew you would snap. I was trying to keep you from going mental! Surrounded by so much evidence, all you'd care about would be Rosamund. You'd miss clues, have a breakdown - Hell, you're experiencing one now! You'd go mad, insane, off your rocker." The blogger started walking closer with slow, noiseless steps, facial features smoothed out from their previous creased annoyance. "This case is too personal, Sherlock. Understand why I pulled you away."

"I. . . I understand," Sherlock bowed his head as exhaustion finally crept down his spine. Pacing for nearly the past half-hour could really starve your physical strength.

From the front of the building, the clear ring of the doorbell echoed to the upstairs.

Both males fell silent, undivided attention aimed at the door closest to the origin of the ringing.

Low voices caught in the shadowed hall when Mrs Hudson had answered the door, encouraging small talk between the landlady and the newcomers on the brownstone.

The stairs creaked - multiple times.

They were coming up to the flat.

The half opened door swung open the rest of the way and the landlady in one of her floral gowns stepped inside, peering around for her boys.

"Oh, hello dears. Am I interrupting something?" She asked politely, making no inclination to addressing the three unnamed figures behind her.

"Not at all, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock answered stoutly, taking a few steps toward the situation. As always, John followed. "And who, might I ask, are these men?"

"Perhaps a case?" John spoke up, hoping for something to take their minds off their current dilemma.

"Oh, no, dears. These fancy gentlemen are from the FBI," Mrs Hudson explained and pressed her rouge lips together in a tight grimace. "They've come to ask about Rosy."