Hey everyone! I am very very excited to announce that you are about to read my very first collaboration! That's right, I am only 50% of the writing team for this. The other half of the duo is my friend and fellow fangirl Gemma Cane, who was the one to come up with the idea for a collab fic (thanks for that btw). So yeah, I only get half of the credit for this. Hope you enjoy the story, feel free to drop us a line either in a review or by PM, we'd appreciate it a lot.

Sherlock sat at his laptop (well John's, technically), his hand cupping his cheek.

He was bored. Cases had been incredibly slow; there had been nothing higher than a four in months. He'd promised John that he wouldn't revert to cigarettes and drugs again. He'd been successful for the past six months, which was progress as far as he and John were concerned.

But he was bored. He stared at John's blog, waiting for the next comment to pop up onto the post for their last case. He scrolled back up to the top, rereading the replies from the beginning.

Lance Ellis (lellis):Hey this looks interesting, seanmcquire. Maybe these blokes could help us look for our missing bail bonds woman? [11:48pm]

Sean McQuire (seanmcquire):Possibly. I'll have a look through this blog, see their base and success rate and all. [11:49pm]

Lance Ellis (lellis):That's great, boss. Maybe we'll get Emma back after four years at last. [11:49pm]

Sherlock sat back in his chair and did a once over in his mind. Missing person case, four years. Means one thing. Terrible police force. A strong five, possibly six, depending on if this Emma woman is good or not. But she got herself missing, that doesn't sound like something a good bail bonds person would do.

He decided if these people decided to get back to them, he would probably take this case.

'John!' he called. 'I may have found a case!'

Five seconds later, he heard John's footsteps descending the stairs. 'What have you found, Sherlock?' John leant in close, his left hand resting next to Sherlock's, his right arm trailing around Sherlock's back and finding its place next to his forearm.

Sherlock's breath hitched as he felt John's even breathing hitting his ear. His eyes glanced down at John's hands, and wondered if it would hurt to just rest his hand atop John's.

Stop. Don't get distracted. There's work to be done.

'Sherlock?' John's voice broke him out of his thoughts and he jumped slightly. 'This Sean McQuire guy has just sent me an email.'

Sherlock ran his eyes over the blog and caught the words 'high success rate' and 'based in the UK though' and 'email them anyway'.

'He said?' asked Sherlock, not taking his eyes off the screen.

John held his phone up by Sherlock's eyes, and Sherlock smiled at him as a way of thanks.

The email read:

Dear Mr Watson,

I have been looking at the contents of your blog, and I have come to find your high success rate extremely relieving.

I work at S. McQuire Bail Bonds Agency, Boston, Massachusetts. We experienced a great loss four years ago, in the fall of 2012. Our top bail bonds woman, Miss Emma Swan, went missing on October 22 of that year.

Our team have tried our hardest to try and locate her, though we have always come up unsuccessful, the reason for this being a little... unusual: she has disappeared off the map.

Each of our team has a means to be located through their phones, howeverMiss Swan's locator has always hit a dead end, no matter how much we reset our devices.

I was wondering if you and your partner, Mr Holmes, may be able to assist us on this matter. I would like it if we can discuss prices and appointment times over email, please.

Thank you for taking my case into consideration.

Yours Faithfully,

Mr Sean McQuire, Manager of S. McQuire Bail Bonds Agency.

'What do you think, Sherlock?' John asked as Sherlock finished reading. 'Interested?'

'Quite. Seemingly went 'off the map'? You don't hear that happening every day.'

'Am I agreeing to take the case?'

Sherlock sat back and thought for a second. 'Yes, tell them we'll on the next flight to Boston, take two weeks of leave from the surgery and get packing. I'll look into tickets now.'

Fifteen hours later, Sherlock and John were seated in the reception area of Boston's bail bonds agency.

'John, you see that woman in the purple skirt that walked past?' Sherlock muttered, leaning in close to John's ear.

'What about her?'

'She's just found out her husband has three additional wives and she's going through a divorce process. And the man with the crooked tie? He works at a brothel.' John snorted with (attempted) silent laughter, which then erupted into giggles before he managed to rein himself in. Sherlock's heart soared at his accomplishment; John hadn't laughed like that in weeks – not in his presence anyway.

Just as John had recovered, two men walked through the doorway of the waiting room. 'Mr Watson? Mr Holmes? If you'd like to come through, please?' the man with a clipboard tucked into the crook of his elbow prompted.

Sherlock rose, and John followed swiftly behind. They were led into a decent sized office and offered chairs.

Sherlock looked around the office as John and the two men talked about the case. Clipboard man married, three children, one deceased. Boss of this establishment, worked here for three decades. Lance Ellis, twice divorced, now single, childless, alcoholic, working here for seven years.

A sudden hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see John standing over him.

'Come on, Sherlock,' he prompted. 'We need to get Lestrade on board, he can help.'

Sherlock, having been in his Mind Palace for the full length of this meeting, had absolutely no clue what was going on (idiot) so just nodded along and stood up.

When they exited the office, John asked, 'You weren't listening, were you?' though his voice hid no disappointment or exasperation, only a playful tone.

Sherlock smiled sheepishly. 'No, sorry.'

John rolled his eyes, nudging Sherlock with his elbow as they walked. 'Emma disappeared on her birthday four years ago,' he started to explain. 'We know that she was headed north towards Maine and she got there, and then suddenly all traces of her were gone.'

'Gone as in totally disappeared?' Sherlock asked to clarify.

'Yeah, like she doesn't even exist anymore. Their radar isn't picking up on her whatsoever.'

They reached the car Sherlock hired and as they entered, John asked if they should get Greg involved now.

Sherlock screwed up his face in an expression of dire confusion. 'Greg? Who's Greg?'

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock Holmes might have had the brain of a mastermind when it came to mysteries and puzzles, when it came to normal, ordinary, every day people things, his best friend was rather clueless. 'Lestrade, Sherlock. Greg Lestrade.'

'Ah, yes. Okay. I'll do that now.'

Sherlock produced his phone from his coat pocket and found Lestrade easily in his limited contact list. The hollow ringing filled his ear as he impatiently counted each one.

'Hello?' A drowsy voice mumbled down the line.

'Lestrade. What can you possibly be doing that is so important that it takes you seven point five rings of your phone to pick up?' Sherlock demanded.

A somewhat angry sigh replied. 'Sleeping, like any other normal person would be.'

'Normality.' Sherlock dismissed the idea. 'I'd prefer to stay as far away as- sleeping?' He asked incredulously. 'At 7.30? Well I knew you were delicate Lestrade, but not thisdelicate.'

'What do you mean 7.30?' Greg was evidently annoyed now. 'It's half twelve!'

'Other side of the Atlantic, Sherlock.' John reminded. 'Time difference.'

'Well still, 12.30.' Sherlock said stubbornly. 'Get a grip.'

'What do you want, Sherlock?'

'As much as it pains me, I need your help.' Sherlock began. 'You see we have a case, in Boston-'

'Boston?' Lestrade interrupted. 'What in the world are you two doing over there?'

'Bored.' Sherlock said simply. 'It's not like any of you had anything even remotely interesting for me. A missing dog, a small business embezzlement and two very boring veryobvious domestic murders.'

John cleared his throat, and Sherlock glanced sideways at him. He shook his head, telling Sherlock he was beginning to cross the thin line that just existed with him, separating 'good' and 'not good.'

'Someone got in touch, a missing person's case.' Sherlock continued, reeling himself in as much as possible. 'She's been missing for four years, seemingly off the map, but even you are smart enough to know that that doesn't happen.'

There was a pause for a moment. 'What do you need?'

'Her name is Emma Swan, she turned 28 when she went missing. I want you to enlist Mycroft, I suppose he can be useful in some ways. You don't just becomea bail bonds person.'

'You don't?' John questioned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? Of course not. It's a tough job, a demanding job. Hardly worth the small amount you get payed. No, this is something personal. She has a past, something to drive her. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if she'd spent time behind bars herself. If so I want to know what for. It could have something to do with her disappearance.'

The next morning, John woke at nine o'clock, to find Sherlock sitting at the table in their hotel room, his hands under his chin.

'Sherlock, you okay?' He didn't get a reply. 'Sherlock?' Still nothing.

He got up slowly, and when he saw Sherlock concentrating, he realised he was in his Mind Palace. He decided to leave his friend to it; he'd come up with better ideas undisturbed.

He filled up the kettle for his morning tea and, as it boiled, let his thoughts drift over to the case they'd taken on.

Bail bonds woman goes missing, police force can't find her. She goes totally off the map. What does
that mean?

It was at times like this John wished he had Sherlock's brain. He couldn't find any clues with the little information he had, but Sherlock would find a whole world of answers with just a glance at a page of someone's details.

'Damn it.' The two words and the slap of a hand on the table made John jump.

Sherlock pushed his chair back and stood. 'Nothing,' he muttered. 'Nothing, nothing, nothing! There's no explanation for this. But she has to be somewhere. She hasto be. She can't just disappear, this isn't some fantasy world!'

Sherlock continued to rant, pacing around the room and working himself up into a panic. He kept muttering about 'the only answer' being 'magic' but that being 'ridiculous because magic isn't real.' John waited until he could stand it no longer. He walked over to Sherlock, placing his hands onto his shoulders. 'Sherlock,' he said. 'Calm down.' Sherlock didn't register his presence: though he'd stopped ranting, his eyes were still distant.

'Sherlock,' he pressed on. 'Look at me.'

Sherlock's eyes finally locked with John's and John swallowed, resisting the urge to close the distance between them. 'Breathe,' he whispered, both to himself and to Sherlock. 'We'll find a way to work this out. I know we will. We always do.'

Sherlock smiled. 'We need to go and check out the diner where Miss Swan used to work.'

John stepped back, asking, 'You think she went back to her old job?'

'It's worth a try; if you had to run, wouldn't you go back to your beginnings?'

John had to admit he had a point, though he wasn't sure it would be likely this time.

'She may have tried to locate the son she gave up when she was eighteen, fourteen years ago,' Sherlock explained as he rummaged through his suitcase. 'I've already got Lestrade looking in to him.'

'You know that how?' John asked sceptically.

'She was in prison, I got Mycroft to look up her records.'

'Ah. So okay. Leave here in half an hour?' John clarified.

'Yes, that works,' was the reply he got.

And that was that. Their case in Boston had officially begun.

The light was intensely blinding as his eyes began to open. For a brief moment, confusion took hold as he looked blankly around the room from his position of lying in the middle of the floor. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he felt something hard digging into his palm. Opening his fist, his eyes came to rest on the small key he was holding on to. His eyes widened in shock as everything came flooding back; Mr Gold and the Author…his family.

Scrambling to his feet, Henry rushed to the banister, leaning over the rails to peer into the kitchen of the loft. The storybook lay abandoned on the floor, alongside a torch and some other sheets of paper. Frowning, he raced down the stairs.

'Grandma?' He called, moving swiftly through the small house, searching every room. 'Grandpa?'

He approached the cradle in the middle of the floor. It was empty.

'Hook?'

Clutching the key tighter, he bent to pick up the book. Running his hand over the familiar leather cover he tried to process what was going on. Just a few minutes ago, he had entered with his grandparents and Hook. They were to find the key and the page and -

Turning the book in his hands, a single sheet of paper slipped from its bindings, landing face down. Henry knelt, flipping it to face him. The illustration of the door glared up at him. He folded it and stuffed it in his pocket, letting himself out of the building and on to the main street.

The town was eerily silent, and felt as cursed as it did all those years ago. The scuffling of the leaves over the tarmac roads echoed off the buildings, the only noticeable sound above his own footsteps.

'Hello?' His shouts resonated around the ghost town of Storybrooke. 'Is anyone here?'

He paused, waiting for the echoes to subside. Silence.

'Hello?'

He continued to walk, past the oddly deserted Granny's, past the clock tower and the Sheriff's station, through the whole town, until he came back around to Gold's shop. He peered through the window, shielding the glass from the reflecting glare of the sun. The shop was in darkness. Finding the door unlocked, he let himself in, the ring of the bell above his head making him jump. A dull whirring sound filled the room. There was an old record player left unattended, the vinyl disc having finished. The needle now rested pointlessly on the spinning disc. Tentatively, he removed the needle and switched it off, a deafening silence crashing over the shop.

Henry fruitlessly searched the back. Nothing. Just like everywhere else. Panic began to settle in his stomach.

No.He told himself firmly. You can do this. Youwill find them. Just think…what would a hero do?

His keen eyes scanned the shop once more. They fell upon the counter top, where an old snow globe swirled though it sat still. Beside it lay keys. Car keys.An idea flashed into his brain. Glancing out of the window, he saw Gold's car parked in its usual spot on the roadside. Snatching up the keys, he ran out to the black car, sinking into the leather seat and gripping the wheel.

'I don't know how to drive!' He muttered to himself.

He racked his brains in a desperate attempt to remember what David had taught him back when he was cursed. It wasn't much, he had managed to put a mail box in intensive care, but maybe it would be enough to get to help.

Turning the keys and easing his foot onto the pedal, he began to move, gaining speed as he flew past the sign, over the town line, and out into the real world.

'So no one's seen her here either.' John sighed, taking a long sip of his tea. 'Another bloody dead end.'

He glanced up. Sherlock sat in silence opposite him at the table they had occupied by the window. They had made their way to the diner Miss Swan has worked at, and had taken the time to rest and go over the little information they had.

'Stealing.' He suddenly muttered.

'What?' John asked.

'She was arrested for stealing some watches. Hardly what I was expecting. It's not exactly the thing a person disappears for.'

'Well, what prison?' John thought aloud, hoping this would earn him some form of gratitude from the man sat opposite him.

'Phoenix.'

'Maybe we could go there?'

'Maybe…' Sherlock responded, his face unreadable.

'Okay…' John racked his brains for some other idea. 'What about her son? What happened to him?'

Sherlock suddenly seemed to prick up. 'He was adopted by a Miss Regina Mills. Mayor of…'

'Mayor of where?' John pressed.

'The records didn't say.' Sherlock frowned. 'The information was missing, like it had been completely erased. It's as if the son, Henry, I believe, just-'

'Disappeared off the map.' John finished, eyes widening.

'Exactly.' Sherlock replied, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in an excited smirk. 'Find out what happened to the son, and maybe, we find our lost Miss Swan.'

For once, it was Sherlock that lacked a reply.

'John?' He pressed, impatient.

John had gone quiet, staring out of the window into the car park in confusion. 'Odd.'

Sherlock followed his gaze. A child had just pulled up in a black car, climbing out and approaching the diner.

'Odd? What's odd?'

'Sherlock, there is a child driving a car.' John said, exasperated.

'America.' He shrugged, as if this answered all questions.

The boy entered the diner, and headed straight for the counter. The woman looked at him in shock and amusement. He began to take photographs from his bag, laying them out before her.

'What in the-' John began.

Sherlock silenced him. 'I'm trying to listen.'

'Have you seen any of these people?' He was asking, his desperation evident. 'Please, they're my family.'

The woman looked him up and down, frowning. 'Let me…let me just go and ask the others, see if they know anything.'

She walked away, producing her phone. 'Yeah, I think he's a runaway.'

'That doesn't look good.' John evaluated, getting to his feet and stepping up to the boy, who was now frantically stuffing the pictures away.

There were four different faces across the collection of photographs. A tall man with curly, light brown hair; a woman with pale skin and short black hair; another woman with dark locks, and a business like trouser suit; a blonde haired woman who -

'Emma?' John whispered under his breath.

The boy whipped around suddenly, his green eyes full of fear yet also hope. 'What did you say? You know my mom?'

Sherlock was now standing slightly behind John, staring intensely at the photograph of Emma Swan.

'Henry Mills?' he asked.

The boy faltered for a moment, confused. 'Yes. Who are you?'

'Sherlock Holmes. This is my partner Doctor Watson.' Sherlock answered. 'Welcome back to the map.'