"Mr. Holmes, you will be held in contempt of court if you do not sit down immediately."
Sherlock was about to retort the simple fact that he shouldn't have to listen to the judge who was embezzling money from the Court funds when he felt Maynard's hand grab his shoulder and shove him back down into his seat. He felt the Inspector give a sigh behind him before closing his eyes in boredom. This was boring. This Court Summons was boring.
"Your Honor," Maynard reprieved, trying to keep the judge calm, "you must forgive Mr. Holmes; he is not officially part of the investigation concerning the child."
"Then what the hell is he doing here?" The judge was at his wits end. "This is not a summons concerning the case; this is a hearing to decide what to do with the girl."
"Exactly, your Honor," Sherlock spat, "so why don't you let me tell you what to do with her."
Maynard turned around and looked at Sherlock, his eyes giving off the same admonitory tone that always followed his voice when it came to his consulting agent. Within the judge's office, the dark colors of the wood-themed room almost made Sherlock laugh; a room made to look so old and so royal and important, when really it didn't do a thing. The courts didn't do a thing; the detectives couldn't do a thing. Nothing was stopping crime in the city of London, and yet there they all were, standing around discussing what to do with a little girl. And while Sherlock would much rather experiment with the new equipment he now had access to in the St. Bard's hospital, he had been summoned there for a little girl.
"The kidnapper, or the Doll Maker as he prefers to call himself, will come back for her. He doesn't pick and choose children at random; he's meticulous, especially when it comes to selecting the children. Each one of them, while alive, exhibited a certain characteristic that followed along the lines of the character they were dressed as when found."
"Like the Little Bo Peep girl," Maynard interrupted, "her family worked as sheep farmers close to Edinburgh."
"Yes, get on with it," the judge impatiently sped on.
"He will come back for her," said Sherlock. "I guarantee he will come back for her. He can't stand the idea of missing a piece in his 'Fairytale Collection.' He's a perfectionist; she ruined his collection. He will stop at nothing to get her body."
"Which is why I propose we put her in Witness Protection," Maynard stated. "She needs to be given protection from the state. She needs to be monitored, and only the government can give her-"
"Actually, you're wrong," Sherlock boldly jumped in. "The only thing that can be done is to catch him. And she is the only trace we have to him."
"Hang on," the Judge stuttered, "are you suggesting we let him kidnap her?"
"Yes."
The other two men went into an uproar. "Sherlock," Maynard yelled out, "you cannot be serious. She will die if we hand her over."
"She will not die."
"You can't guarantee that!" Maynard hollered back.
"I can if I'm there to catch him."
"And what if he gets away? Then we have another dead child and a serial killer still on the loose."
"I won't let him get away. But I need something that will bring him to me. She is the only thing that he will risk something for; if we lose this chance, another one might not come again."
"But what you're suggesting is putting her as bait."
"Precisely," Sherlock said with complete and utter cool. Maynard wondered if the man had any emotion whatsoever. "That's precisely what we need to do, and don't you dare argue that Maynard. I'm telling you, she's the only connection we've got. You know he's been careful; there is no other way to trace his movements, his actions, or his whereabouts. The only thing we know is that he's probably working on transport ships around the UK, and that he does heavy lifting. That's the only way he can get so far around the UK, with kids in N. Ireland, England, and Wales missing. That's not enough to go off of. He knows what he's doing, and if we don't stop this with her, he will return."
"Absolutely not!" the Judge screamed. Sherlock stared at him resolutely. "We will not allow the girl to be used as bait. However, Maynard, I am rejecting your petition to give this girl government protection."
"What?!" Maynard continued to yell, instead turning his attention to the fat Judge in front of him. "Michael, are you kidding me?"
"In here, it's Judge Carliff," the judge continued, "and no, I am not. There is no guarantee that this so called 'Doll Maker' will come back for her. Besides, if he's smart, he'll lay low and especially stay away from her."
"But he's not smart," Sherlock said cynically, sitting down in the chair once more; he knew this battle was over, "he's a genius. He's a psychologically ruined genius. And this is his game."
"Be quiet Mr. Holmes. Maynard, the little girl will be safe enough in whatever orphanage she ends up in. Of course her foster family, assuming she gets one, will be made aware of her situation, and they can take care of security as they see fit. Until then, there is no need to place her in Witness Protection."
"But—" Maynard began to protest, but looking at Sherlock sitting quietly while staring out the window made him see there was no point. If Sherlock felt it was a lost cause, he knew it was too. Turning back to Judge Carliff, he let the anger flash in his eyes. "If anything happens to her, the blood is on your hands this time, Judge Carliff." And with that, he stormed out of the room.
There was a silence as Sherlock continued to look out the window.
"What the hell are you still doing here, freak?" Carliff taunted; he had already heard the stories from other prosecutors around the Scotland Yard about the so-called genius madman who could see everything.
Sherlock flashed a look that made the judge very uneasy. "Nothing; I was just wondering why you have all your bribe money hidden in the bottom leg of your desk. It's a terrible idea to keep that money so close to where you work. Even if it's to keep an eye on it, it's your eye that gave the spot away. You really ought to be more careful as to where your attention is during these meetings."
Carliff's eyes widened in astonishment and fear. "Don't worry," Sherlock continued, "I won't tell a soul. Do what you want with the girl; I don't care. But whatever the Doll Maker does next is on your hands."
With that, he got up and left the room, listening as the judge slipped down towards the bottom of his desk and reach for the hidden cash in his desk compartment. Fools, he thought, they are all fools, letting the Doll Maker go. All for the life of one little girl.
