Bailey had to report our findings in person to Lestrade. She claimed that it was easier to say all of it in front of him. What that really meant was that 'she needs to spell it out to him, and it would sound idiotic over the phone,' as Sherlock so bluntly explained.

John, also, had to leave to get Mary lunch. "She would attempt it herself, but she is eight months into pregnancy, and I don't want her to hurt herself." I could tell that he was torn between staying and leaving. But his duty to his wife won.

Sherlock headed in, hardly waiting to see the two off. I waited until Bailey's cop car was around the next bend before following.

When I got up to the flat, Sherlock was by the music stand close to the right side window, adding a moderation to one of his violin compositions. He held the violin at the ready. I waited in the doorway a moment to decide whether it would be okay to ask, when...

His bow dropped to his side. "What?" He asked, sounding annoyed.

"May I listen? Do you mind?" I asked politely. He said nothing, but his bow pointed at John's chair. I carefully relaxed myself into it. The music was hypnotic; so gentle, but strong; so sweet, but spell-bindingly so. The melody flowed not only over me, but through me. I let it relax my tired muscles, something I hadn't done monthes. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander to the new case. I began to ask myself odd questions. 'Did he know before hand if this was who he would nab, or was it random? Did he have a reason for taking her? Was this lust for a woman, or was it bigger?' I dug deeper into my brain, looking for answers. Something changed though, and I couldn't tell what until:

"Keeping things silent does not really help the mind. I believe in normal minds the facts become jumbled with fictional ideas that people seem to naturally create. Talking it through helps clear the mind of all but the facts. After the facts are established, you can begin asking more obscure questions." Sherlock had sat down in his gray leather chair and was giving me a very serious look. The violin lay beside him on the arm rest.

"How did you know what I was thinking about?" I gave up trying to look like I had no idea what he was talking about. Better to get to the point, so that we can help this girl, rather than waste time beating around the bush.

"Well, you weren't listening to me, because you didn't recognize that I had finished my piece. I may not know you personally, but I do know you listen to, and play, music. The headphones that poked out of one of the pockets on your bag was a dead give away. So you have the understanding to know when a piece is completed and the respect to acknowledge the players efforts, even it was the most horrendous playing possible, which I do not believe mine to be in any way. That in mind, you were deep in thought on something important. And what better thing to think about than the case that we have been asked to solve?" He smirked cheekily. "Am I incorrect in my suggestion?"

"No, you were absolutely right." Just then, a thought occurred to me. "Sherlock? How did she know his name?"

"He told her." He pondered for a moment, then looked back at me. "Explain to me why you think it important."

"Oh, I was just wondering what you thought. I don't-" I quickly looked into my lap as I flustered, trying to hide the fact that I was blushing. I could feel him staring at me, looking for something. Probably a weakness, or "a chink in my armor," as Michael would say.

Sherlock jumped in. "Indulge me. You obviously have thought a little about it already." He relented his gaze, closed his eyes, and reclined further into his chair, hands crossed over his chest. His breathing slowed and all the tense muscles I hadn't noticed before loosened and relaxed. I was just getting excited, thinking he was sleeping, meaning I wouldn't have to explain, when his deep gravelly voice said, "Well?"

"Right. Umm, well..." I paused and collected my facts. "If I were in the mob man's shoes, I would have first done a lot of research about her and known her background and daily habits. I also would have known how close she was to her family and friends. When I decided to kidnap her, I would have kept her locked up somewhere that no one would find her. His first oddity is that he brought her out in the open.

"Also, if money was what he was after, he would have given a ransom. But he didn't. Thus, the only other logical explanation that I can think of is rape, and in most cases, ends in murder. But why? Does he have some history with her? And why, after nearly forty-eight hours, the typical time allowance during a kidnapping, has he not killed her yet, if that were the motive?"

His baritone voice cut into my rant like a hot knife through soft butter. "There is actually one other possible reason."

"What's that?" I was truly curious.

"Perhaps she has information on something he needs to get his hands on, and she is the closest to it." Sherlock gestured with his hands, but didn't open his eyes.

"That could be true..." I began drifting into different reasons, then shook myself back to the present. "But why?"

He didn't move for a moment. I was actually thinking he had gone to sleep again when he leapt up and began pulling on his coat.

"What?" I asked excitedly. "Did you think of something?"

"Possibly. Coming?" He asked.

"Absolutely!" I grabbed my coat as well, being sure not to knock anything over in my wake. That would have been embarrassing and a time waster.

Sherlock led the way down stairs and flagged a taxi, or a cab, as the British call it. I slid in first while Sherlock gave the cabbie our destination, which I missed, unfortunately. We sat in silence, Sherlock lost somewhere in his mind palace, me watching the city float past. I hadn't been in a city that big before, and I was mesmerized. After twenty minutes though, I was getting rather curious as to where we were going.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm...?" He acknowledged a moment later.

"I know you like being all mysterious and everything, but could you please tell me where you are taking us?"

"The place she worked," he said quickly.

"To see where she was taken?"

"And to find out more about the girl herself. Anything at this point in the game could be a vital clue."

I nodded. On arrival at the scene a few minutes later, I blinked in silent surprise. It was the last place I had expected the young woman to work.

A comic book store.

Thank you so much for bearing with me and my very poor writing skills... And my inability to update regularly... Hopefully, with the oncoming breaks for Thanksgiving and Christmas, I'll have a bit more coming. Don't hold your breath though.

Please R&R. For any of you who don't write, let me tell you, you have no idea how heart warming and meaningful it is to have people comment on your work. Even if you only get criticism, it really helps, because it lets the writer know that you took the time to write down critiques for their later work!

Have a lovely week, all! And if you haven't done it yet, please check out the story a friend and I are working on together called An Interesting Duo.

Thanks again!

~Pianist