BANG!...BANG!

John Watson walked out of the kitchen to find his flatmate Sherlock Holmes firing rounds into the wall.

"Sherlock, what are you..." he began.

"Bored!" Sherlock yelled as he put the pistol behind his back and expertly shot the eye of the yellow smiley face that had been spray painted on the wall.

"Sherlock..." John tried again.

"Bored!" Sherlock yelled, this time holding the pistol beneath his left arm and shooting the other eye of the smiley.

"Sherlock, please..." John tried a third time.

"I NEED A CASE, JOHN!" Sherlock exclaimed as he slid the pistol onto the end table next to his chair and sat down. Resting one arm on each arm rest, the tall thirty-nine-year-old with curly black hair, light blue-green eyes, sharp cheekbones, Cupid's bow lips, and a fair complexion began impatiently drumming his fingers and tapping his left foot.

"BUT WE JUST SOLVED ONE!" John yelled in disbelief as he looked at Sherlock who was wearing a grey t-shirt, light blue pajama pants, and a blue bath robe.

"UGH. THAT WAS YESTERDAY! I NEED ONE NOW!"

"YOU REJECTED ALL OF THE OTHER ONES!"

"THOSE WERE FIVES AND SIXES. I NEED SEVENS, EIGHTS, AND NINES!"

By this time, John had sat down in his chair across from Sherlock and opened his laptop. He opened his blog and started listing off some of the proposed cases.

"A young woman's husband is never home to help their son with his schoolwork."

Sherlock steepled his hands, rested his chin on the tips of his fingers, and closed his eyes. "The father is having an affair with the son's teachers," he said dismissively as he flicked his right hand outward. "Next."

John scrolled down. "A suspicious mother who noticed her unemployed daughter suddenly has an unusual amount of money."

"Prostitute, obviously. Next," Sherlock said with another gesture.

John raised his eyes from his laptop and looked at Sherlock with an expression that could only be read as 'Seriously'. Returning his gaze to the screen, John clicked on the next message and began reading.

"I think I have a case," he began.

"That's what they all think," Sherlock interrupted as he opened his eyes to look at John, "but only twenty percent are worth my time, sixty-five percent I can solve without leaving the flat, and the other fifteen percent are rubbish." He closed his eyes. "Continue."

John gave Sherlock a disgusted look and continued to read. "I found some old 'Missing Persons' clippings between the mattress and headboard of my 'mum's' bed," he read, emphasising "mum's" with air quotes. "Each one had the same image of a baby girl on them, and they were from a variety of news sources both national and international. I have a terrible feeling this has something to do with me. Please help."

Sherlock rose from his chair and slowly walked over to the window. With his hands clasped behind his back, Sherlock stared out at the people walking along the street. After a short while, he turned to John and asked, "Did she leave a name?"

John scanned the message. "Yes, she did," he answered.

Sherlock slowly nodded, turned back around, and stated, "First name only, I presume."

"Um, yeah, actually," John said, looking up at Sherlock.  "How does this change anything?"

Maintaining his focus out the window, Sherlock explained, "It doesn't change anything about the case, but it allows me to understand our client better."  Sherlock turned so that he faced John, steepled his fingers beneath his chin, and began pacing in the space between his chair and John's.  "She signed using her first name and only her first name, suggesting that she either feels like she doesn't belong, or that she is trying to distance herself from her past life."

John, now watching Sherlock, raised an eyebrow.  Sherlock stopped mid stride and looked at John.  "What?" he asked.

"How can you be sure that it was the client who was kidnapped?" John inquired.

"If the client had a sibling, it is likely that she would have mentioned her," Sherlock continued, "Instead, she only mentions herself, suggesting that she was an only child.  It's possible that she has siblings and is simply self centered, but her being an only child is a more likely explanation.  She cares, or at least cared, deeply for the woman that she thought was her mother; why would she casually refer to her as 'mum' in a letter if she didn't.  It would go to prove that if she had siblings, this attitude would reflect onto them as well.  As for the clippings, why would you, why would anyone  for that matter, keep something hidden for such an extended amount of time?  Misplaced?  Highly unlikely, as if they were misplaced, they would have resurfaced when the mother or daughter were washing the sheets.  The most probable explanation is that the mother didn't want the client to discover the clippings.  Now, if the mother was adamant that the clippings be kept secret, how did the client discover them in the first place?"

"What about the father?" John interjected.

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed.  "From the letter, it's obvious he's no longer alive.  Whenever the client refers to her parents, she only discusses her mother, suggesting that the father is no longer around.  Divorce?  Once again probable, but highly unlikely.  More likely is that he passed away, possibly as a result of his involvement in the kidnapping."

Sherlock glanced at John, who was giving him a blank stare.

"If you were involved in a high profile kidnapping with your wife, why would you get a divorce?  You wouldn't if you value your life," Sherlock continued to explain, "Kidnappings typically involve one or two people, but when the victim is high profile, it's more likely that more people are involved.  If the father were to try to leave, he would have been killed to prevent any knowledge of the kidnapping from getting out.  That doesn't matter, though, as being involved in a crime such as this would ultimately subject the guilty party to their own deaths in order to keep the plot secret.  Even if he wanted to get a divorce, he would have stayed married to prolong the death that he was aware of.  Now, back to the clippings.  If the father was as meticulous as the mother in hiding the newsprint, as he most likely was, why would it be somewhere that could be accessed by the one person he didn't want to find them?  It wouldn't.  With the father gone, it then becomes the mother's responsibility to keep the newsprint hidden.  However, since the location of where the clippings were found is questionable, it is probable that the mother's mental state has declined.  This is precisely why the client was over at her mother's house.  Unfortunately, she happened to stumble across these clippings while helping her mother, got the shock of a lifetime, and decided to contact us.  Oh, it's Christmas!"

"Sounds dangerous," John added nonchalantly.

"Could be," Sherlock agreed, "Why don't we invite her over?"  He made his way over to his violin stand, picked up his violin, and began playing as he walked about the room.

Unbeknownst to Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, the kindly landlady, had made her way up to the flat.  "Good morning, boys!" she said cheerfully.  "I have some fresh biscuits here for you if you would like them."  She made her way over to the kitchen table, which Sherlock had littered with equipment for his experiments, and set down the small tray she was carrying.  "Oh, Sherlock.  You really shouldn't leave these things lying about," she scolded as she relocated a human index finger that was on the table to the refrigerator.

"I still don't know why Molly gives them to him," John said even though he very well knew the reason why she did.

Molly Hooper was the specialist registrar who worked in the morgue at St. Bartholomew's Hospital.  A short, quiet girl with long auburn hair, Molly was one of the few people Sherlock could tolerate.  She had helped him on numerous cases and was a vital part of the plan Sherlock had formulated in order to fake his death.  Molly was fond of Sherlock, to say the least.  Time and time again, she would alter her appearance in the slightest of ways just to see if he would notice, which, with Sherlock being Sherlock, he would.  

Mrs. Hudson walked over to where John was sitting and whispered, "I do enjoy listening to him play.  Which is it?"

"Umm, something by Mozart, I think," John tried.

Sherlock shifted his head slightly, as not to interfere with the song he was playing, and said, "Piano concerto number twenty-one, andante. 'Elvira Madigan'."

"Sherlock, it's beautiful," Mrs. Hudson said after a few minutes.  "Well, I'll leave you boys to it then," she said, leaving to let Sherlock and John ponder what interesting twists and turns the upcoming case would bring.