*Sherlock*
My hands shake as I shove open the door, running down the lane in hopes of finding Jim before he gets too far. My mobile buzzes with a call, ignored as it starts to rain again. I clutch the small box in my hands, tears tracking their way down my face and mingling with the rain. Inside the box, a dog licence. Redbeard's to be specific. How he got it, I can only imagine. All I know is that I have to figure it out before it's too late.
"Sherlock! Come back!"
John. I ignore him, slipping into an alleyway to avoid him finding me. He runs past, not sparing a glance in my direction, still yelling my name. The shouting stops moments later, replaced with a pressing silence. I look around for hours, finally giving up when a car pulls up to me, the back door opening.
"Time to go home."
I sit down wordlessly, drawing my rain soaked coat tighter around my body and curling up against the door. My eyes close slowly, body shaking as the cold settles in. Someone rouses me later, pulling me out of the car and setting me on my feet to lead me into the house. Mycroft.
"What happened to you?"
"None of your business."
He sighs, throwing a bundle of clothes at me and shooing me towards the washroom.
"Get changed, meet me in the kitchen once you're done."
I comply, shedding my wet clothes and pulling on the warmer set he gave me. The kettle whistles from the kitchen, dying down as Mycroft pulls it off the stove. I make my way back to Mycroft, confused as to why he gave me another set of outdoor clothes. I spot our raincoats hanging over the back of the barstools, Mycroft is dressed to go out as well.
"The house got broken into while you were out. Your dog was among the things taken."
I hold out his collar, not letting Mycroft take it when he reaches out to do so.
"Let me see it."
I let him, hovering by his side as he looks over it. He inspects the tags closely, handing me back the collar when he doesn't find anything of interest.
"Where did you get it?"
He turns to me, taking a sip of his tea as I speak.
"Jim gave it to me."
I hand him the box it was in, tears spilling down my cheeks again as it sinks in that my dog is gone. Mycroft finishes his tea, waiting for me to finish mine before he hands me my raincoat. He slips into his, tugging the hood down over his head before we leave the house. We set out into the rain, hardly speaking as we begin our search through the darkened streets of London.
