Sherlock sat in 221b Baker Street looking over the pieces of his latest case. He'd been at it some time, talking it over with his friend John Watson. Well, he'd been talking at his friend, John wasn't answering. In fact John wasn't even there. Quite some time had gone by before Sherlock had realised. He'd text John but he hadn't received a reply. That's unusual, he thought, he normally got a response even if it was just to tell him to piss off. Still he hadn't got time to think about that now, he could explain it all to John later. Right now he was on the trail of a criminal and that was all he could think about.

It was a few hours and a lot more unanswered texts before Sherlock realised something was wrong. John had always responded by now, he couldn't help himself, even when he was mad. Sherlock couldn't understand it, where was his blogger when he needed him? He didn't like to admit it but he was starting to get a little worried.

Sherlock decided to take his mind off things by getting Lestrade to come with him to confront his latest adversary. It wouldn't be the same of course but it would have to do. John would turn up later having missed the excitement but what could he do? This criminal needed to be apprehended, he couldn't be waiting around for John to decide to reply to his many texts.

When Sherlock returned a few hours later the flat was still in darkness. Immediately his worries from earlier returned. He text John before he'd even removed his coat and when he'd had no reply half an hour later he did something he never did, he phoned him. There was no answer. Sherlock had no idea what to do next so he made a second call, this time to Lestrade.

"Sherlock is everything OK?" the panicked voice on the other end of the phone asked immediately. Lestrade knew that if Sherlock was actually making a phone call then it had to be urgent.

"Have you heard from John?"

"No. Is he still not back?"

"No and he's not answering my texts. I even called him but he didn't answer. He always answers me."

Lestrade gave a small laugh "I'm sure he's fine Sherlock. Perhaps he's lost his phone and that's why he's not answering. Let me know in the morning if you've still not heard anything. OK?"

"Alright." Sherlock sighed as he hung up. He got himself a cup of tea and sat in the living room like an anxious parent waiting for their child to come home.

On the other side of London John Watson was starting to stir. As he regained consciousness he felt a throbbing pain in the back of his head. Where am I? What happened, he wondered. He tried to move but he couldn't. He slowly opened his eyes, the bright light sent more pain through his head and he squeezed them shut again. He took a deep breath and fought against the pain as he opened his eyes once more and tried desperately to keep them open and take in his surroundings. He found he was sat in the middle of a large, bare room, tied to a heavy wooden chair.

As he looked around he noticed a man stood at one end of the room. John studied him. The man was taller than him but shorter than Sherlock, so about 5 foot 10 he estimated. He was of quite a heavy build and had short, dark brown hair. John noticed a strap across the back of his head and was just trying to figure out what it was when the man turned round to face him. He was wearing a mask, only a cheap Halloween mask but it served its purpose, John thought, he couldn't identify him. And gloves, so no finger prints around the place. So this was planned then. John was jolted from his thoughts when the man spoke.

"Decided to join me at last Dr Watson." the man said. He had a deep voice and was local John realised from his accent. The man walked towards him as John still struggled to keep his eyes open. His head was swimming and the throbbing pain wasn't easing either.

"How's the head?" the man asked. John just groaned slightly. "Yeah, sorry about that. Was the quickest way to subdue you and get you off the street." John squinted as he started to remember walking past a van with a workman stood by the side of it. The side loading door had been open. As he'd walked past, John had felt a pain in his head and then nothing until waking up here.

"Mind you" the man continued "it's nothing to the pain you're going to suffer while we wait for your friend."

"What? Who are you? What do you want?" John questioned but the man just took a photo of him and then turned to leave.

As he got to the door he turned "Oh and you can yell as much as you like, there's no one around to hear you." and with that he was gone.

For a moment John just stared after him until his instincts started to kick in and his thoughts turned to escaping. He pulled at his restraints but it was no use. He tried to move the chair but it wouldn't budge. He looked down and noticed there were large metal brackets securing it to the concrete floor. He wasn't going anywhere he realised. As he sat looking round the room for something, anything that might help him he started to think about Sherlock. He must have realised something was wrong by now. He'd be looking for him, John was certain of it. He sighed and resigned himself to a long, uncomfortable night.

Sherlock woke from a fitful sleep. He'd spent the night dozing in his chair in the living room, waiting for John to come home but he hadn't. Sherlock was certain something was wrong. He reached for his phone and dialled John's number but there was nothing, it wasn't even ringing anymore. He sighed, stood up, stretched and started pacing the room thinking through different ways to find his friend.

From downstairs he heard Mrs Hudson's voice yell his name. He huffed. He had far more important things to worry about than her. "Not now Mrs Hudson." he shouted but he could hear her running up the stairs.

"Sherlock!" she was still calling. He strode across the room, annoyed at her persistence and pulled open the door with every intention of telling her exactly what he thought of her interruption. But as he opened the door and saw the frightened look on her face and the piece of paper in her shaking hand he knew something was very wrong. She thrust the paper towards him with tears in her eyes. "Oh Sherlock" she muttered "It's John..."

She didn't manage another word before Sherlock snatched the paper from her hand as he turned and went back inside the flat. She followed. He saw the words Sherlock Holmes printed on the folded paper. His mind filled with dread as he opened it and saw a picture of John, tied to a chair. He looked OK but the words below suggested he wouldn't stay that way for long. "Are you missing a flat mate? Dr Watson is fine for the moment but it's going to be fun making him suffer. I hope you enjoy my updates."