Found: Violin, created in late 19th century, lovely, responsive Strad copy. I'm sure it misses its owner. To claim,
contact Galatea Polendina. Box 5289.

It hadn't taken them long to find Moriarty's advert. It was in the Lost Items section, just as Sherlock had said it would be. Something about the wording was off, but John couldn't for the life of him figure out exactly how, though he had been staring at it for a good part of the past hour. He looked up, surprised to find the detective not in his standard thinking pose, but pacing around the room. He hadn't seen him this agitated since he'd torn apart the flat searching for cigarettes, just before Henry Knight broke the tension with a case on the Moor. Sherlock abruptly stopped and collapsed fiercely onto his chair. He brought his fingers up to their usual position for just a moment before sliding his head down and catching his index fingers in the corners of his eye sockets alongside his nose, his thumbs wedged beneath his chin. His eyes were squeezed shut. It looked as if he was breathing into his cupped palms.

Jim Moriarty had broken in once before, leaving video surveillance equipment on the bookshelf and a eerie video on John's blog, but he hadn't touched anything then. Certainly hadn't taken anything.

"So, do we wait on a ransom note? Get the coordinates and go on a covert rescue mission with full backup? Storm the premises, rescue the damsel in distress." John grinned. Sherlock resumed his pacing. The grin faded to a look of genuine concern.

"I know, I know, it helps you think. Well, you will just have to think without it for now. Till you can get it back, that is. We will, you know. Get it back." After more silence than John was comfortable with, he continued. "Not having it won't stop you from thinking. You didn't have your violin with you when you were in Baskerville, or come to think of it, in Tibet, or in Serbia. And you managed to continue to strategise and dismantle Moriarty's web."

"But he was safe, John! When I was away, he was here and he was safe!" he blurted out. Sherlock froze for a few seconds before storming past John, through the kitchen, to his room.

John followed.

Genderising a musical instrument wasn't, that weird. People genderized things all the time...cars, for example. His dad would always say the ole girl needed something or another. But this, this was...different. And not just that the gender was "wrong" since nearly every time someone referred to a musical instrument, it was as a female. He spoke to a closed door.

"Sherlock? I'm sorry. Your music is obviously very important to your state of mind, and if you would like to purchase another violin, I'm sure that we could just..."

"I won't be needing another violin, thank you. I've had that one since I was a child."

"Well, all the more reason to get a brand new one, eh?"

His attempt at humour was met with stony silence.

"Look, I'm just kidding, you know. I am well aware of the fact that older instruments often have better craftsmanship, sound, value... I just was a bit surprised by the..."

Sherlock reappeared in the doorway. "By the sentiment, you mean."

"Yes."

"Did it not occur to you that having a burglar in our home might be distressing?"

"Well, just saying, he's been in here before, and your reaction was less...severe. He's got your violin. It appears he hasn't taken anything else. We will just contact this Italian lady whose working as a front for him and get it back."

Sherlock sighed. "There is no Italian lady, John. It's a message."

"The name?"

"Read it again. Just the name."

John looked back at the notice. "Galatea Polendina."

"Pygmalion. He was...not interested in women, but fell in love with the statue he created. The statue Galatea. Polendina was the nickname townspeople used to mock Geppeto in 'Pinocchio'."

"More fairytales."

Sherlock was about to speak when a text alert chimed. "Lestrade has a case."

"Great! Just the thing to get your mind off of this while they continue to track down who paid for the advert. Too bad your violin doesn't have a GPS-enabled phone."

Sherlock managed to make his lips curve upwards at the corners of his mouth. He counted himself fortunate John was already off looking for his coat and wasn't paying too close attention. Not that he ever did. A crime scene... he should be heading out, bounding with enthusiasm. That's what I'll do then. I would normally want to do this. It's just... a missing thing. "You're right, John. I'm sure it will be recovered in good time if we leave them to their tracking," he said, putting on his gloves. Forgive me .