The next morning in the café the first thing that drew John's attention was of course Sherlock Holmes, sitting across from the waitress Molly as he sat and drank his coffee as he always did. John couldn't help feeling as though Molly might have some information, and he made a small mental note to ask her if she knew anything of Victor's disappearance as well. This café, well it wasn't exactly a crime hotspot and yet Victor had been a frequent costumer, as was Sherlock, as was the detective that was trying to find one and interrogate the other. It was an odd little central hub, and yet he rather enjoyed the excitement of it all. Mary sat across from him yet John could tell she was not feeling well, the morning sickness was beginning to affect her very badly and today she hung her head on her first, moaning that she couldn't even look at food all while John tidied his bacon and eggs into separate little piles on his plate. Maybe it was inconsiderate of him to continue to eat his breakfast, however it at least gave him something to do while he listened to his wife complain. Sherlock had his back turned, and so he could only see the back of his curly head and his long legs that were sticking out into the aisle. Molly seemed to be giggling; most likely the two were an item by now, for as long as John had attended this café she had seemed to be head over heels in love with him. She was always giggling and smiling and watching him even when he wasn't looking back, certainly Sherlock was a flirtatious man who took such opportunities when they were presented to him. It was rather odd, however fitting, to picture that man in any sort of romantic entanglements. It made John's stomach twist despite his knowing that such relationships were rather essential to human life, it was just something everyone did. And Sherlock, being as beautiful and unmarried as he was, would certainly be up to such forms of entertainment for sure. Maybe that was the reason he was clad so scantily the day before, he had probably been interrupted from early morning pillow talk with a mistress when his doorbell had been rung. And that was fine...yes that was normal. And yet for some reason it made John clench his fingers around his fork rather agressivley, staring down at his breakfast as if it had done something to anger him.
"Mary if you're not feeling well then you should go and lie down; I'll bring you a bagel or something when I get back." John offered, for Mary had now resorted to just making almost monkey like noises to verbalize her distress. She winced for a moment, clutching her stomach as it rumbled in a warning sort of way, and nodded sharply.
"Yes John I think that might be a good idea. I think I'll take my leave." she decided almost forcefully, jumping to her feet and dashing back to the hotel which was merely two or so doors down. John nodded, feeling rather stupid as he sat alone however he knew of course that the man who so interested him would be alone soon as well. As flirtatious as Molly intended to be she would have to leave sometime, for she was employed here and she had a job to do other than hook up with the customers. And yet she didn't move, at least not yet, and so John entertained himself with his breakfast until finally he made it clear that his plate was empty. This was a rather low way of getting Molly to leave Sherlock alone, however it worked, for she was facing him. As soon as he sat back he tried to kind of wave her over, and with a little frown she tucked her bangs behind her ear and excused herself from Sherlock's table for two, rushing over to John so as to collect his plate and get him another cup of coffee. John tried to make sure it looked like he was available and idle; however Sherlock was now leaning on his hand and sipping his coffee, evidently lost in thought. John could be wrong; however he would be willing to bet that Sherlock was staring at the table that usually housed Victor Trevor and his obsessive newspapers, a table that now sat empty. John sighed heavily, for he knew that Sherlock wouldn't talk to him unless approached, and so John decided that he would just have to make the first move. It was for the investigation, after all. And so he got to his feet, trekking over to the seat Molly had left empty and looking down on Mr. Sherlock Holmes once more.
"Do you mind if I join you?" John asked politely, such a formality that had been excused when Sherlock had invited himself to John's table all those days ago. Sherlock smiled, waving his hand to assure that the seat was empty, and without a word took a sip of his coffee. John knew that Sherlock was still watching him over the brim of his cup as he sat down, however he didn't much mind the spotlight. Sherlock knew of course that John was watching him just as frequently. The first and most noticeable feature that had changed since they last met was a large bruise that was seemingly just forming on the side of Sherlock's face, a black and blue mark that can only be caused by some sort of violence, a fist most likely.
"Mr. Holmes you're hurt." John announced, leaning over the table so as to get a better view of the wound. Sherlock, despite the pain it must have caused, smiled widely yet turned his face away, so as to make it difficult for John to study.
"Nothing to be worried about, Detective." He assured in an almost mysterious sort of way. This of course led John to believe that Sherlock was hiding something, maybe not just how he had gotten the bruise, but why. Was there some sort of conspiracy going on, was he involved in some sort of mob that punished him for inviting the police officers inside? Not likely.
"I'm just John this morning, Mr. Holmes. Not detective at eight o'clock." John assured with a sleepy sort of groan. Sherlock smiled minutely and sipped more at his coffee, leaning back in his chair and letting his long arms dangle in an elegant sort of way.
"Then why do you bother talking to me?" Sherlock wondered curiously.
"Well I'm alone, you're alone, and I'd like to say that we're at least acquainted..." John said with a shrug.
"Am I not a suspect in this whole investigation?" Sherlock wondered mockingly.
"No of course not! No we don't suspect you of any foul play; we were there for information, that's all. Just because you were the last person to see Mr. Trevor does not mean that you're the one who took him." John assured with a little grin. At this Molly reappeared with the coffee, looking towards John's now empty table and looking a bit confused before turning and seeing that he had taken her seat. A look of defensiveness flashed upon her face, the closest thing John had ever seen her get to angry, however she walked over and managed to set the coffee down gently.
"Thank you Molly." John said with a smile; however the waitress was now looking at Sherlock once more, glaring at him as if she suspected him of having invited John over when she left.
"Anything else Mr. Holmes?" she wondered in a snappy sort of voice.
"No Molly, thank you." Sherlock said with a smile, one that was not returned before she stormed off towards the restaurant, evidently not going to bother herself with staying outside on the sidewalk once more. John took a sip of his coffee thoughtfully all while he felt those multicolored eyes fixed on him.
"Well you weren't the last person to see him alive, were you? Who drove the carriage that night, you had mentioned he took yours to the edge of town?" John wondered. Sherlock nodded, looking almost angry at himself for not thinking of such a fact before.
"You're right, Mr. Watson, you're right! Well that would be my butler; he does all the chores around the manor as it's just me. But he had told me that he dropped Mr. Trevor off to the edge of town and he walked in, I can only assume that he was alone." Sherlock decided with a shrug.
"I think we might have to follow that lead, I hadn't even considered that until now!" John exclaimed, shaking his head at his own stupidity.
"Well that's alright, I'm sure yesterday was something of a fiasco for you both." Sherlock assured with a grin. John nodded, sipping at his coffee so as to choose his words carefully. Of course despite his assurance to Sherlock that he wasn't a suspect John believed that they both knew that wasn't entirely true. John didn't suspect Sherlock of much, however he was sure that he had some sort of role in this entire production. Maybe nothing criminal was involved, but there almost had to be some more to the story, more that Sherlock wasn't admitting to.
"Yes well, we're mainly worried about the press response, we want to come across as being at least a bit competent in this whole affair." John admitted with a guilty little grin.
"I have full faith in you and the rest of the police force." Sherlock said confidently, to which John grinned, happy to have such flattery.
"Thank you, I really do hope your trust is well placed. Greg and I are doing are best, but this city is just so foreign to me! The people here, the places, it's not entirely different from London but it honestly is just...well it's different anyway. Which makes no sense." John admitted with a nervous laugh. Sherlock's face lit up as well, that beautiful smile that he had hardly ever seen made a reappearance and for just a moment the world shined a little bit brighter.
"Sometimes the most familiar things can be the most foreign." Sherlock agreed, to which John nodded in agreement.
"That's probably where I was headed with that." John agreed with a guilty little laugh.
"You were just taking the long way round, but you'd have gotten there eventually." Sherlock teased, and for a moment the two just giggled in agreement. John ended the conversation with another sip of his coffee, and Sherlock took that time to rearranged the hat on top of his head. The sunglasses were sitting on the table next to him, almost as if he wasn't in the mood to be wearing such things. Maybe it was because they drew attention to his face and to the obvious discoloration, almost as if he was ashamed to be sporting such a thing. There was makeup that might've colored the blemish just as well, however it would seem as though Sherlock either hadn't considered that or hadn't wanted to, maybe he assumed that such a thing would make him appear too feminine. John knew there were infinite possibilities as to where such a thing had originated, and being the dramatic person he was he credited almost all the scenarios to violence. This may be ill placed, for Sherlock didn't seem the type of man to delve into such things as violence. Maybe it was a wound from a fall, or an accidental hit of a horse's head against his cheek. Either way John was becoming increasingly curious, and he knew of course that Sherlock would be keeping the origin story to himself. John checked his watch and saw, to his despair, that it was nearing eight forty five and that he really should be on his way. It didn't take terribly long to get to the station, however the effort of finding a hansom would be enough to take off at least five of those precious ten minutes. And so he drained his coffee, shaking his head and getting to his feet, now suddenly very reluctant to leave.
"Sorry to run off on you Mr. Holmes, however duty calls. I might come by later to interview your butler, if that's alright with you?" John said, not exactly offering it as a matter of choice however he thought it would be more polite to ask all the same. Sherlock nodded, getting to his feet as well and tucking the appropriate cash under his empty coffee cup.
"Well certainly that will be alright, he'll be up at the house with me." Sherlock assured, putting on his sunglasses and taking up his cane from where it leaned on the table previously.
"Sounds good Mr. Holmes, and it was nice to talk to you again!" John said with a grin, tucking a ten under his cup (the rest would be the tip) and dashing off to find a hansom on the road.  When John finally arrived in the police station he was met once more with Mr. Trevor, who was surprisingly waiting patiently in the waiting room when he arrived. She had been served tea by Janine, who was sitting rather miserably at her desk and trying to ignore the loud sipping that was occurring behind her. 

"Mrs. Trevor! I hadn't expected you here, have you some news?" John asked quickly, knowing that she was undoubtedly here for the detectives and not for the refreshments.
"I was called in by your partner for questioning." The woman admitted in a rather blank way, not nearly as frantic as she had been yesterday but still rather cold, as if in a permanent state of shock and loneliness. John pitied her, for it was always a tragic thing to lose someone you loved.
"Oh? He hadn't informed me of that, but please Mrs. Trevor, I'll escort you back." John said with a grin, hanging his hat and coat on the wrack before leading Mrs. Trevor through the very complicated route to Greg's office. He opened the door slowly so as to make sure Greg was present, and of course he found the man sitting in his desk and reading the newspaper, seemingly totally unaware that Mrs. Trevor had been waiting out there all this time.
"John! Ah finally, I've been waiting for you!" Greg said happily, throwing the paper down and smiling triumphantly, as if John's presence really was a rare thing to be had. "I've got Mrs. Trevor in the waiting room..."
"Yes, she's here." John agreed, stepping aside so as to let the woman step inside the small office.
"Mrs. Trevor, lovely to see you again! I trust that you're in your right mind this morning?" Greg wondered rather harshly, making John gape distastefully at him. However the woman nodded, sniffling just a bit before sinking into the chair while John closed the door.
"Yes I am feeling better." She agreed, to which Greg nodded proudly.
"Glad to hear it." he said with a smile. John went and sat on the edge of the desk, watching as Mrs. Trevor poked at the stray hairs that were flying all about her wild looking head. It was interesting to think that Victor Trevor, as attractive as he had been, would have taken such a woman for his wife. Of course John couldn't speak for this woman's personality; however going by looks alone the pair didn't seem all that compatible.
"We have reason to believe, Mrs. Trevor, that your husband had a meeting with someone the night he disappeared, in fact the last person to have seen him claims that he was headed towards the edge of town late that night. Do you have any idea who he might have been meeting, or why?" Greg started, holding his pen overtop of a piece of paper so as to document her response. Mrs. Trevor hesitated for a moment, shrugging as she thought up an answer that might be appropriate. Her reaction time alone alluded to a separation between husband and wife, almost as if the two hadn't known each other well enough to know the habits and schedules of their counterpart.
"Victor had meetings sometimes with the people he was interviewing, for newspaper articles and whatnot. Sometimes those people wouldn't wish to be public about the meeting, and some feel safer at night, when their faces were shadowed and their meetings could go about unseen." Mrs. Trevor admitted. John nodded, looking to make sure that Greg was writing that down as he turned such information over in his head. Of course he hadn't considered Victor's occupation to be a factor in such an odd meeting at such an odd hour, but now that Mrs. Trevor had brought it to his attention it almost seemed too obvious.
"Do you know what articles he was working on that week, Mrs. Trevor?" John wondered.
"He doesn't talk to me much about his work, but if you would like I could go and get his work bag, where he keeps all his notes and whatnot. He doesn't like me touching that, however if it brings me any closer to getting him back..." Mrs. Trevor's words dissolved as tears began to fall once more, and she silenced herself finally by taking her lace handkerchief from her pocket and blowing her nose fiercely.
"That would be much appreciated, if you could get that to us as soon as possible." Greg agreed.
"Yes of course." She agreed in a squeal. John nodded, looking over to Greg as he pondered the next question.
"And you don't suspect anything, Mrs. Trevor, any sort of unusual activities Victor might have been up to? He wasn't into drugs, or any criminal operations?" John presumed.
"No of course not, oh my Victor was very loyal, he was a good man, never once got into that sort of thing." Mrs. Trevor assured.
"We have evidence that he had been at a brothel the night of his disappearance, do you know of any reasons he might be there other than the most obvious?" Greg wondered, to which the woman winced and shook her head.
"Victor never liked romantic interactions, no I cannot think of a single reason why he would go to such a place. He always had that childish view to women, said they were gross, like a whining little boy. It always used to make me laugh." She admitted with a giggle. John wasn't sure how funny this was, in fact from a wife's standpoint he couldn't fathom how offended Mrs. Trevor might have been, however it was definitely interesting in the investigation.
"He thought women to be distasteful?" Greg wondered curiously, looking over to John who just shrugged curiously. If that was true then it would be rather bad police work to suspect a serial female kidnapper, or even the possibility that there was any disloyalty in act here at all!
"Not distasteful, for he married me. He got along with them alright, but he despised intimacy. He didn't like me touching him." Mrs. Trevor admitted with a great sigh. That was a very odd characteristic for a man to have, however it would also open up the possibility for some frustration. Men were not supposed to go without intimacy; certainly Victor would have needed some form of a woman's companionship? Had he been lying to his wife, then? Telling her of his disgust in physical contact before running off to the brothel to be with women who were more pleasant to the eye? Was Mrs. Trevor being truthful, or was she just misinformed?
"That's....odd." Greg admitted after a moment's thought, most likely with the same ideas and questions running about in his head.
"You don't think that he's been up to anything lately, criminal, romantic, or otherwise?" John clarified once more, to which Mrs. Trevor shook her head once more, very firm on the idea of her husband's innocence.

"If my Victor's gone, it's not by choice. It could never be by choice." She said flatly, to which the two detectives nodded, however not entirely as keenly as before. John was beginning to think that Mrs. Trevor was going rather mad, maybe not with grief but just mad in general. She had just told them how Victor was unhappy at home, and now she was still under the impression that he wouldn't have left? It was wishful thinking, that must be it, and Greg must've suspected it as well. He stood up in a final sort of way, dropping his pen down onto his notebook before stepping around the desk so as to escort Mrs. Trevor away.