"Sherlock… it's been over six months." Lestrade commented gently. "Maybe you should give it a rest, eh? You could talk to someone, just t-"
"I don't need to talk to anyone!" The detective snapped. His eyes were wild and bloodshot; clear to anyone with eyes that Sherlock was tired, exhausted even… not that the genius would never admit it. He'd been running at full speed ever since this whole mess began. Ever since his return.
Lestrade sighed, and looked to his right. The entire flat was covered with papers, maps and photos. It was the type of organized chaos that only Sherlock Holmes could understand.
"Sherlock." The older man tried again, a bit firmer this time. "You need to accept the fact that if John Watson wants to disappear… he can. And will. For godssake, he was in the army, I'm sure his 'stealth' abilities are considerably higher than yours. You might be the world's only consulting detective, but you're not giving John enough credit."
The lanky, high-strung detective ignored the comment, and focused on the mapped shrine posted on the wall in front of him; littered with photos of John from surveillance cameras. "He's alive, we know that much based on the images captured by the CCTV cameras." He muttered. "Most of the pictures are somewhat blurred. He knows to avoid them, he knows where they are, and he knows that in a moment of desperation I'll turn to my brother for information. He's not wrong. Clever, John… John, John, my John…" He growled, running his eyes over every detail, hoping for a clue to his whereabouts.
"You'll be lucky if he's still in the UK." Lestrade piped up again. "Why don't you just give him his space? He didn't take your 'death' well. Hell, none of us did, but it hit John the most. Your 'return from the dead' didn't help make everything magically better for him, either. You know this is all your fault."
Sherlock snapped his head around to glare at Lestrade, "Yes, thank you for your input. I was more than willing to make it up to John, but that's rather difficult now that he's running away from me!" He hissed.
"You abandoned him for three years. I say good on 'im if he's giving you a taste of your own medicine." The detective inspector mumbled angrily. "Look, I only stopped by to tell you that from this point on... you're on your own. I can't waste any more police time and energy looking for an army-captain who doesn't want to be found. If you're smart, you'll let him be."
Sherlock focused his eyes on the extensive map and photos before him. "No. I won't stop until he's found. He can't hide from me!" He yelled furiously. "I won't let him, he can't get away… not after everything I've done for him…"
"Jesus, would you listen to yourself?" Lestrade shouted.
"Get out." The other snarled. "If you're not going to help, then you're an obstacle. I don't need distractions! I'll find John Watson and drag him back here with or without your help!"
Lestrade was about to respond, but the buzz of Sherlock's phone distracted them both. The consulting detective eagerly opened the message from his brother,
Seen boarding a train in Amsterdam.
Grainy footage, but confirmed eye witness identification.
Car should arrive at Baker Street for you momentarily.
"Ah... you've slipped up, Doctor Watson," Sherlock muttered to himself as he quickly grabbed his coat.
Without so much as another glance toward Lestrade, Sherlock bounded down the stairs and out the door.
The older detective exhaled slowly, and walked over to the window to see Sherlock slipping into a black luxury car.
It peeled away from the curb quickly, and disappeared down the street.
Taking out his cell, Lestrade typed a quick text:
He's on to you. Won't give up, either. It's getting out of hand.
Don't you think you've made him suffer enough?
It only took a moment for a reply to chime-in from an 'unknown' number.