Author's Note: This story is set post-Fall, post-return, after all the loose ends are tied up (mostly) and Sherlock is back to being bored out of his mind again.

Who Are You?

By Navigatio

Summary: The case was only a three. Sherlock should never have taken it. But he didn't know. How could he have known that it would end up hitting so close to home? Ingredients: stubborn John, a heaping helping of bittersweet bromance, a dash of Sherlock/Molly, and a pinch of John/Mary, definitely shaken not stirred. Slow build, so stick with me here, people.

Chapter 1: Missing, presumed drowned

In retrospect, Sherlock should never have taken the case. It was only a three, after all. If he hadn't been so bloody bored, he would have never even have responded to the email at all. If Mycroft hadn't been pestering him to investigate a case "For Queen and Country", he would never have invited this particular client over as an excuse to say no. And if John hadn't been so bloody stubborn. . . Well, that's really the end of the story. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

Date: 3 April, 2014

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Anna Paddington

Subject: Please help us find our missing son!

Dear Mr. Holmes,

I am hoping you can help us find our missing son. He went missing on 5 August, 1974, while we were on family holiday in Abersoch, Wales. The police believe he drowned, but his body was never found. My husband and I are of the firm belief that he was kidnapped and is still alive. We have spent countless hours searching and have come up empty. Can you please investigate, since the police are determined not to do their jobs?

We are willing to pay handsomely for your time. Thank you,

Anna and Joseph Paddington

Sandford-on-Thames

Oxfordshire

"I'm going out."

Sherlock stuck his head around the kitchen door to find John putting on his black jacket, the one with the shiny elbow patches that he seemed to adore and Sherlock detested. His flatmate paused with his hand on the doorknob and raised his eyebrows at Sherlock. "Ah, that got your attention, then, did it?"

Sherlock went back to peering into his microscope. These bacteria cultures needed careful monitoring. "I'm busy with an experiment. It doesn't mean I'm not paying attention to you."

"Oh, so five minutes ago when I said I was going to the shops and did we need anything, you heard that?"

Sherlock made a non-committal noise. Ok, so perhaps he hadn't actually heard John say that, but it was pointless anyway. How was he to know if they "needed anything"? As long as they had tea, bread and jam, they had everything they needed, as far as Sherlock was concerned. And milk, of course. If John wanted more of a variety, then John was responsible for keeping track of it. Not that he actually planned to say that to John, not when he was using THAT voice, the voice that told Sherlock that a lecture was coming. When John used THAT voice, it was best to just stay quiet and hope it was over quickly. The more Sherlock tried to argue, the worse it would get.

Or perhaps if he came up with an idea of what they needed. . . "We're almost out of jam," he said helpfully, without looking up from the microscope.

Sherlock could see out of the corner of his eye that John had folded his arms. "Which kind do you want?"

"The raspberry kind. The one without the label."

"Without the label? They don't sell jam without a label."

"It was in a sort of roundish jar."

"Ah, the one with the red lid? That was my mum's jam, Sherlock. Home canned. She mailed it to me last week."

"Yes, that kind. I liked it."

"Sure, I'll just nip off to my mum's house in Carlisle and fetch us some, shall I?"

"Brilliant, thanks." Sherlock turned his attention back to his microscope. Damn, cell division had occurred whilst he was distracted. Why didn't John just go on and take care of the shopping already? Get out of his hair and let him think for once.

Oh, wait a minute. John couldn't leave now. Sherlock needed him. No, he would have to go later. "Hang on, I've got a client coming."

"When? Now?"

"I told them to come at 10. What time is it?"

"Sherlock, there is a clock on the stove. Why don't you just look at it?"

"I need to monitor these samples, John! This is important."

John heaved a dramatic sigh. "It's nearly 10. You're going to see them dressed like that?"

Sherlock looked down at himself. Pyjama bottoms, t-shirt, dressing gown, socks. He appeared to be adequately dressed. He didn't see a problem; he had met clients in less. Much less. He shrugged and said, "I'm fully dressed. This is my second-best dressing gown. I need you to take notes."

Another dramatic sigh. "Well, I'm sorry, I've already made plans."

"It's just the shops. It can wait an hour."

John's hand was back on the doorknob. "No, I'm meeting Mary for coffee before shopping."

Now Sherlock really did look up. His eyes swept John up and down, observing, deducing. Hair combed (with PRODUCT in it?). Clean shirt under best jumper. Expensive jeans, meant to look distressed (Sherlock didn't see the point of that—if they were new, why make them look old?). Shoes freshly cleaned AND polished. Oh, John cared for this girl a bit more than the others. This was only their third date; well, fourth, if you count the one that Sherlock accidentally crashed when he was fresh back from the dead and didn't want to be alone. The fact that Mary had hung around after that, and was still willing to go on dates with John, meant that she felt the same way John did. Was that good or not good? He still hadn't decided on that one yet. More evidence required.

Sherlock's eyes finally scanned back up to John's face, where he observed his flatmate's longsuffering expression. "Finished?"

Sherlock huffed. It wasn't fair for John to deduce him while he was deducing John. "Yes," he said snippily. "Ring Mary and tell her you'll meet her later."

"No. She has to go to work at 11:30."

"John! I need you."

John opened the door. "You'll just have to get on without me. I'm sure you'll manage somehow," he said on his way out.

The door clicked shut behind him. Sherlock curled his lip at it. "I'm sure you'll manage," he mocked John's tone. "Oh, I'll manage fine." The door, of course, failed to respond.

Sherlock was turning back to his microscope when he heard voices outside the door. A woman, with a higher pitch and a flat, Yorkshire accent. "We're looking for Sherlock Holmes?" Then John, "Right up the stairs there."

Ah, his client. He knew by the accent that even though the woman's email had said Oxfordshire, she had been born and raised in Yorkshire, just outside of Leeds to be precise. Also that she was in her mid-sixties and had been educated at a state-funded school, so her family hadn't been wealthy.

There was a knock at the door, three quick raps that were followed almost immediately by three more. So she was impatient as well.

Sherlock sighed and pitched his samples into the bin. It was pointless to save them, as they needed constant monitoring. That was the part that John didn't understand—he needed John to interview these clients while Sherlock monitored the samples. Now his experiment was ruined because of John's selfishness. He was shirking his responsibilities for a date, of all things!

Sherlock considered ringing up Molly and telling her to come over and help out. She would come. She wouldn't consider a date or shopping more important than his need for an assistant. But on the other hand, he knew that Molly was just finishing a ten hour shift at the morgue and would want to go to bed. She tended to be grumpy when overtired, just one of the many things he had learnt about her whilst he was dead. A grumpy assistant would be worst than no assistant at all.

After a few extra seconds, spent washing his hands and changing from his second-best dressing gown into his best dressing gown, Sherlock answered the door. During those few extra seconds, the woman had knocked seven more times, each a little louder than the last. Sherlock had already decided he didn't like her before he had even seen her face.