The victim was your average businnes-man in his late 50's, no wife, noe children. At least there was something remotely good about this. Greg blinked at the thought, a little shocked at himself for thinking like that. It seemed he'd done this job for too long already. Not that he'd ever think about quitting, he was just too good at it for that, even though some people, or rather one particular man, didn't think him so. Sherlock. He looked around, then went over to the windows and gazed down onto the streets, searching for the familiar, tall figure. He was nowhere in sight.
Gregory Lestrade had called him almost over an hour ago. Sure, sometimes Sherlock tended to make some kind of mysterious detours, but he should really already have arrived by now. So the detective had mailed him, but not gotten any kind of answer. Nothing unusual there, he tended to get ignored a lot by the other man if he bothered him in some way. Greg sighed and pulled out his phone, catching the look Donovan gave him. He raised an inquisitive eyeborw at her, but she just turned around, not commenting on how he was acting. He knew himself it was strange to be worrying for Sherlock, but right now, he had a really bad feeling about it all. Sherlock not answering any of his mails or calls? Nothing unusual. But Sherlock not turning up at a crime scene?! That was unheard of. He would at least send John to get a look around for him.
So he opened his contacts and called Sherlock. Nothing. Now that was really worrying. As far as he knew, Sherlock would never turn off his phone. He might actually miss a good murder. Greg glanced outside again, then sighed in resignation and turned heading for the stairs. "Sir? Where are you going?" Donovan called after him, having followed him to the top of the stairs. He turned around to look at her and waved it off. "I'll be right back. You take charge of the crime scene and make sure they get all the evidence." he ordered her, but she didn't seem satisfied. "Are you going to look for that freak? We don't need his help! I don't understand why you always..." her voice drifted off as he headed out onto the street and for his car.
It wasn't a long distance to 221b Baker Street, but the traffic lengthened the ride, making Greg uncomfortable as that bad feeling in his gut grew. He parked right in front of the house and hurried for the door, ringing the bell several times. There was some clattering inside and then the door opened by a huffing and red-faced Mrs Hudson looking at him disapprovingly. "One ring would have been more than enough, sir. I am not deaf, I am just a little slow. My hip, you see." she scolded him and then, before he could even ask, she already answered his question. "Sherlock is not in. He left a while ago, didn't tell me anything. And dear John is at his sister's for the next few days." Thanking her, he turned around heading for his car and getting back inside. He didn't start it though. Where could Sherlock have gone?