Sherlock was much more relaxed once he'd finished his tea, and set his cup down gently. He briefly entertained the notion of sending John there to get their tea from now on, but quickly dismissed the idea.

"Approved?" Elena asked with a little grin. She hadn't quite finished hers off, and there was a little bit left in the pot.

"Indeed," Sherlock replied, glancing at her.

"Good." Elena stretced a bit. "You can finish that off if you want. I should get this back to work." She tapped the folder.

Sherlock gave a short nod.

"Do let Lestrade know that I'm aware of his little games," he said.

"Will do. I'll let you know when there's a properly interesting murder." She grinned teasingly and started walking back towards work.

Sherlock snorted softly, but let her go. Then he left and flagged down a cab to take him back to Baker Street.

Everything was fine for a few days. Then John had a date with Abby, which she didn't show up for. She also didn't text him back, and she didn't pick up his phone when he called. He tried calling Elena too; no response.

That's when he knew something was wrong.

"Sherlock!"

"I thought you were going on a date today," Sherlock said sullenly from his place on the couch.

"Yes, I was supposed to," John said, hurrying back into the living room. "But the girls aren't answering their phone. Either of them. And no one at the Yard has seen Elena since yesterday."

That made Sherlock sit up and take notice.

"Did you call Abigail's desk?" he asked. He knew Abby had a day job. "Never mind, it's late enough she would have left already." He went quiet for a moment, assessing the situation, and then got up. Shedding his blue robe, he reached for his wool coat. "We should check their flat, you do still have the spare key Abigail gave you?"

"Of course." He had it on his keyring, not that he'd tell Sherlock that. And he thought it telling that he'd been given a spare key and not the genius. He headed for the door after grabbing his revolver. Just in case.

Sherlock noticed John grabbed the revolver. Good. The doctor's instincts were still sharp, then. Wrapping his scarf around his neck, he headed outside to hail a cab.

John slid into the cab after Sherlock, rattling off the address of the girls' flat. He was worried that something had happened to them, but he was trying not to make any assumptions yet.

Sherlock didn't speak until the cab had pulled up to the flat.

"Alright," he said, "let's see what's going on." He gestured for John to unlock the door.

John unlocked the door and pushed it open. Everything looked well in order, although a window had been left open. John examined each room to see if there was any evidence of the girls, or signs of a struggle or anything telling, before he moved out of the way to let Sherlock work his logic.

Sherlock was already looking around the flat.

"John, you know their habits better," he commented, looking at the little livingspace. "Is it like them to just leave tea mugs on the counter?" He glanced into the sink. "Ah, a broken one. They were surprised by something, one of them dropped the mug. But what surprised them?" He looked around again.

"So something surprised them, and they had to leave in a hurry, since they didn't have time to tidy up the kitchen," John said. "But the door was locked." He frowned, looking around for anything else that seemed unusual.

"The door was locked, but the window was not," Sherlock said, going over to the window. "Yes, the fire escape is right here. The window was left open in haste, but whose...?"

John shook his head, trying to find any other signs of departure from the girls. Really, this was not like them at all, and he was very worried at this point.

Sherlock examined the living room closely, muttering softly to himself. Then he disappeared out the window and down the fire escape.

John scrambled after him, knowing it wasn't likely they'd go back into the girls' apartment. Sherlock was on the hunt now.

Sherlock was already on the ground by the time John joined him. They were in an alleyway between two buildings, and he was busy looking around for any sort of clues as to where the girls were taken.

"At least two captors," he said. "No struggling, I'm assuming they knocked the girls out somehow. Down the alleyway, likely to a waiting car..." He growled and shook his head. Tracing the route of a car was a pain.

"If we had any other information we could talk to Lestrade, get surveillance videos from around here," John suggested. "Or you could ask Mycroft."

That made Sherlock grimace. He hated turning to Mycroft, it felt like surrender. But at this point, they didn't have much choice. He pulled out his phone to text his brother.