Waiter in a suit - A Johnlock

25. Sigh.

I just finished writing this in class with my phone. Sorry for mistakes. (:
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John knew that there was something wrong. He unlocked his phone.
He decided to call Greg, reinforcing the fact that he thought something was terribly wrong.

"Greg Lestrade." Came a voice. John didn't even bother to greet him.

"Something's wrong, Greg. I know you say that he's run off like this before, but this is different. He left the restaurant in a rush last night. And he has me now. He wouldn't just run off." John said quickly, reaching the street curb, looking at his left and right, searching for a cab. John heard a big sigh coming from the other end.

"I've told him thousand times, not to put himself in danger." Greg grunted. "I'll do my best John." He assured warmly.

"Thank you." John said with appreciation and ended the call. John sank his phone in his pocket and flagged down a cab. He climbed inside, greeting the cabby and told the man the address.

During the ride to 221 Bakerstreet. John was looking out of the window constantly. He looked out of the window at his side and also the window left of him. His head swiftly going to the left and the right the whole time.

"Are you okay?" The cabby asked, looking into the mirror with raised eyebrows. John sighed inwardly, looking into the mirror, making eye-contact with the man.

"Yes." He said curtly with a frown, looking back outside. The cabby didn't reply back, obviously knowing that John wasn't in the mood for a small talk. Five minutes later, the cab rolled up in front of two two one Bakerstreet. John paid the cabby that eyed him curiously and climbed out of the cab. He strolled to the door.
He tugged the keys out of his jeans pocket and opened the door. Immediately he heard footsteps approaching him. A worried Mrs Hudson stood in front of him.

"Any news?" She asked with concern clearly visible in her voice. John shook his head.

"No." He informed quietly. Mrs Hudson sighed sadly, placing a hand on John's shoulder.

"It will be okay John." She reassured.

"Does it happens a lot, that he suddenly... disappears?" John wondered.

"Not like this." She said thoughtful. "There's no Sherlock without his phone. And he has you now John. He wouldn't want you to feel disappointed in him." She said and gave his shoulder a soft squeeze. He nodded and sent her a warm smile, appreciating her. She then swivelled around and said something unintelligibly while walking away, something about Sherlock being stupid for putting himself in trouble again.

John ascended the stairs, opening the door that led to the too empty flat. It had only been twenty hours missing. But it felt like months.
John sank onto the sofa and placed his head in his hands. All of John's mind was screaming to him that Sherlock was in trouble and he couldn't do a thing about it.

Instead of sleeping. John decided to search for Sherlock on the streets. He doubted that he would find him. But everything was better than just waiting in the flat. He spent the better part of six hours traipsing through London looking for any sign of the detective.

Nothing.

John stumbled into the flat after three in the morning, drenched from head to toe. He took a quick shower, using Sherlock's products and laid himself into the sofa, wrapped tightly in the blankets, watching crap telly. He didn't want to 'sleep' in the bedroom. If Sherlock would come home, John would hear it immediately.

John tried to sleep, but he couldn't stop thinking about Sherlock. He couldn't squelch the flower of panic that had blossomed in his chest. Usually he felt butterflies. Now the only thing he felt was anxious and panic. Hours had passed. John was exhausted.

It was 7 o'clock in the morning when he finally fell asleep. But it didn't last long. Two hours later his phone woke him up. He jolted up, swiftly reaching out his arm so he could grab his phone, hoping it was Sherlock. To his disappointment it wasn't Sherlock but Greg Lestrade. He hoped that he had good news.

"John?" Greg said.

"Do you have news?" John said, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Yes." He paused and sighed. "You're right."

"Oh god..." John said, leaning heavily against the backrest of the sofa.

"He got pulled into a black van. We followed the van with camera's. But we lost trail after the van drove onto the highway." Greg said sadly.

"Jesus." John blurted out. He noted that his hand was starting to shake and he clenched his hands into fists. "Is there anything I can do?" John pleaded. He didn't want to sit and wait. That's not what John Watson does. He's used to dangerous situation. He wouldn't mind helping.

"No." Greg sighed. "We assume that Sherlock's abduction got something to do with the case. It's too dangerous for you to walk on the streets alone." Greg informed with a serious tone. John's eyebrows grew together into a big frown.

"Wait why?" John asked confused.

"This is not just a serial killer. It's more than that." Greg started but stopped as soon as someone spoke to him. He replied to the woman before speaking to John again. "I have to go. Believe me if I say that you need to be careful." Greg warned, and turned off the call, causing John to frown again. What was that about? He ran a hand over his face, growling.

Thirty hours stretched into forty-eight, by which John had started to panic even more. Thoughts about Sherlock, and where he could be was floating through his head. He had been looking into Sherlock's stuff, trying to find any more information about the case. But nothing. The worst part for John was that he couldn't go looking for Sherlock. Greg told him to stay inside, and definitely at midnight.

Forty-eight hours stretched into sixty hours.

John was a total mess, he looked down at a picture from Sherlock. His heart swelled with pride knowing that this perfect man chose to be with him of all people. But then he broke in tears for the first time. The only person he loved, the only person he would ever love was gone.

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Where the hell is Sherlock ;o;