AN: This one case is based of Elementary, but I will be adding my own chapters soon to relate it to Moriarty. 

Enjoy.

~

Its been about an hour and a half since I left the flat. I went to Lestrade's office for half an hour, him discussing to me what happened so far. Apparently the child was taken from her room, where her shoes were left. It was difficult to say if the man that had took her is the child abductor we're looking for, but we're pretty sure it's the same guy as a pair of her black boots were left on her bedroom floor when they should be downstairs.

I was now nearing to the child's home. Me, Lestrade, Donovan and another police man were walking up towards the entrance, walking past the other officers as they scattered across the area looking for evidence and asking neighbours if they had saw anything. Other officers were also in the house with the parents. This time, John is looking after his pregnant wife and Sherlock isn't allowed here. It made me realise how crap my deduction skills really were, or maybe they just rise to the surface when Sherlock is around. Either way I'm doomed.

"The girl's bedroom is in the back. The abductor forced the lock on her window around 9:30 last night and then took her." Lestrade reports, pulling his black leather gloves off his hands. Another police officer standing behind him begin's to open his mouth, and say's-

"Her mum was at work at the time, and her Dad went to the Bodegas shop on the corner to get some wine around 9:45."

We continue to walk towards the house, but I come to an halt when I walked past some slick, fake leaves on the arch outside the house. I noticed something odd, although I wasn't sure if i was right. I really with Sherlock was here, "That's freshly broken. By the girl, presumably, grabbing onto it as she was taken away?"

"Thats good then. She's a fighter." Lestrade responds, nodding his head slightly. Donavan then gives me a strange look, but I decided to ignore it and reply to Lestrade's comment instead.

"If little girls could actually win fights against grown men, then, yeah, it would be a cause for great optimism."

"Jesus, you're just like him." Donavan says, shaking her head softly as she looks at me with amusment. Despite everything, I let out a chuckle.

"Not really, I'm actually quite helpless at observations in these situations. I came because I thought I could be some help, since John nor Sherlock could be here," I give Lestrade a slight smile, "You're not paying me anyway."

I actually wans't sure why Lestrade let me help. They don't just let friends interfere with a crime scene, and I can't help Scotlands Yard like Sherlock or John can. So why did Lestrade let me help? I must be doing something right.

We go inside the house soon after. Police officers were talking to the child's parents while I listened. I thought maybe I should look around the place, but as I said, I wouldn't see anything important. Maybe Sherlock would, but I wouldn't.

Whilst listening to what the parents had to say, a loud song starts blaring off in my pocket as my phone started to viberate. I blush slightly as everyone turned to me, and I felt ashamed for interrupting them on such a serious manner. I excuse myself from everyone, before getting up and walking past the people who were setting up cameras for an interview and enter the kitchen.

"Hello?" I ask once I was sure no one else could hear me, so I didn't interupt them again.

"Holland, I was just reading through these files and-"

"I thought you were sleeping?" 

"I woke up twenty minutes ago," Sherlock answers, and I let out a quiet sigh, "Anyway, these files. Did you know that Daniel Peters, Kayla Jackson, Billy Crawford, victims two, three and five of the child abductor. They're the only ones whose bodies were found."

"Your point?"

"Forensics estimated he kept Daniel alive for a full day before burial, Kayla for half a day, Billy for almost two days."

"Sherlock-"

"I discovered a direct correlation between the quickness with which the killer dispatched his victims and the extent of their parents' media exposure. I could show you the spreadsheet, but in sum- the more interviews, the faster the children died."

"Oh," I say simply, realising something, "The parents are about to go live in a minute on TV. They're doing an interview."

"Holland." Sherlock orders, "Stop them."

I don't hang up, as I was too busy with stopping the interview than leaving Sherlock on the phone. Instead, I put my IPhone in my pocket and rush into the living room. I see a tall man trying to focus the camera on the mother and father of the missing child. I push past Lestrade and rush towards the man, standing in front of him while I plastered a serious face. "You need to stop this right now."

"Why?" The camera man says, and the parents look at me with a questioning manner.

"You can't do this."

"We're live in ten, sweetheart, so if you wouldn't mind-"

"You don't understand."

"We're on in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three-" He counts down, and I rush back into the kitchen and pick something up out of a cardboard box that I saw a little under a minute ago when speaking to Sherlock, "Two, one-" Without thinking, I hold down on the lid of the spray paint can in my hands and spray the camera lense with a black paint so that no one live could see the parents, "Hey!"

"Holland!" Lestrade hisses.

"I warned him!"

"What is this? Who are you?" The child's father speaks. I look at him.

"I'm the woman who's trying to keep these people from killing your daughter. The child abductor kills his victims depending on when their parents make a statement in the media."

"I don't understand. Why does it matter if we do a interview?" The mother asks.

"The abductor feeds off the public grief of his victims families. You nourish him, he'll get bored, end the game. Keep him hungry, we might have two days. You want to get your little girl back? It's simple," I pause, and look around the room at every ones baffled facial expressions. I then look towards the child's parents with confidence, "Listen to everything I say."

***

Ten minutes later everyone had took my advice and brought the cameras down. I then told police officers to continue their search of evidence while I went into the kitchen and plugged my ear-plugs into my phone so that I could skype Sherlock without any of the police force knowing. Risky, I know- anyone could walk in. But it was a risk I was willing to take if it meant I could help save the Castillo's little girl.

"Lift the news paper up and show me," He directs. I do as he says and show it him, the camera was facing the other way, and not facing me so I didn't have to move any vital evidence with my hands.

"Summer."

"Hm?" He mumbles.

"Joe Summers, that was the abductors first victim in 2005. The police found his shoes on the sidewalk where he'd taken Joe, and there was a note that said, "Thank you". Like Joe's parents had given him some sort of gift. I read all the articles over the years. I know it destroy's the victims families, but being here in person is just-"

"Have a drink of water."

"Im fine, thanks." I reply. I wasn't feeling that upset, I just thought it was a strange thing for a man to do. I didn't like the idea of children dying just for his pleasure.

"It's not an expression of concern. It's a request. You're distracting me." Sherlock comments, "Drinking water evidently makes people be more calm."

"Im distracting you? I don't need to be calm, I was just saying-"

"Show me his phone."

"Who's?"

"The child's father, I just saw it on the kitchen counter."

I wasn't sure how on earth Sherlock knew that the phone was the child's dathers, but nontheless I focused the camera onto the mobile phone that was placed on the kitchen counter. He told me what to do, then I unlocked the phone (without moving the phone, of course. It was still placed on the table and I had rubber gloves on) and then I showed him the call log.

"Okay, now show me his fridge, and open the door."

I locked the phone the trailed over to the fridge, opening it and showing him what was inside. "The wine bottle?"

"Exactly, you told me the father was out last night buying wine for his wife while his daughter was getting abducted. Pick the wine up and show me the label at the bottom."

I do as told, and pick it up and show it him. After another minute or so, Sherlock begins to explain to me what he had deduced, and I add in the part about the letter I saw in the living room, which also helped Sherlock to deduce where he really was last night.

"So, I just tell them all that?" I ask, making sure, "I mean, you want me to take the credit for your deductions?"

"You did help me to create those deductions nonetheless, so it's fine with me." He says, but I still know he's pissed off that he can't take the credit. I sigh and agree, then hang up for the time being. I walk into the living room again, with the wine bottle still in my hand, then start to approach the parents while Donovan was taking notes from the child's parents. 

"Mr. Castillo, you can't blame yourself for what happened." Donovan soothes him.

"Actually, he can." 

Everyone turns to face me.

"Excuse me?" The father inquires, his sad eyes turning angry as he waits for me to answer.

"Not for your daughter's abduction, of course. The kidnapper would have found a way to take her eventually. But you can and should blame yourself for impeding our investigation."

"I told you everything."

"If everything includes one very big lie. Where's the wine that you claimed you were buying when your daughter was taken last night?"

"In your hand." He replied, his brows raised as he gestures to the wine bottle with his left hand.

"And there's the lie. Bodegas put the price tag on the cap itself, It saves stacking time." I lift the bottle up to show him that the tag was at the bottom, "Tag, bottom. You, liar." Even though Sherlock had helped me to deduce this all, I still can't help but to feel proud of myself. "Obviously, you bought this at another time, presumably from the liquor store where you purchased the case of Prosecco you have in your pantry. The bottle was already in your fridge so it provided an effective cover as to why you were really out of the house. Tell us her name, Mr. Castillo, right now."

"Who's name?" Donovan questions.

"The woman he's seeing."

Mrs. Castillo widens her eyes and looks at her husband in disbelief. I then prepare myself for what Sherlock had told me in the kitchen, trying to remember his deductions correctly as I began to explain.

"There's no point in trying to deny it. Your lemon press gave you away, well, presses, to be precise. One old. One quite new, less than a year. The pattern repeats itself with your two corkscrews, the pepper mills. The older items belong to you and your wife. The doubles were bought by you when you moved into your own place on Long Island. How? I found a letter in your mail forwarded to you from a long-term stay hotel chain in Islip. I assume that you and your wife separated for a while, and then reconciled? Which brings me to your Caller ID.  You took a 15-second call from a Long Island area code last night right before you stepped out of the house. Presumably, from the woman who precipitated your separation. She rang, you walked out of the house. Why else would you hide information from the police when you're clearly desperate to get your daughter back?"

Mr. Castillo throws me a face of guilt, however that doesn't mean he didn't try to defend himself. "When Sara and I were separated, I dated a co-worker... She called me last night, said she was in the neighborhood and needed to see me, but I swear, I only went out to tell her the she had to stay away for good." 

"How could you not say anything?!" His wife snaps, but I cut in, desperately needing answers.

"Where did you meet her?"

"On the street, a few houses down from here, but I swear, I didn't go into her car. I just talked to her through her window."

"I'd like to speak with her."

"She had nothing to do with this!" He snaps, looking at me sternly. I roll my eyes.

"Probably not, but can you think of anyone else who was parked on your block last night? 'Cause if she was waiting for you, I assume she was facing your house. If she was facing your house, maybe she saw-"

"Maybe she saw something that could help us find the guy who took your daughter." Lestrade cuts in, understanding what I was saying. I nod, and face the missing child's father as he sighs and goes to grab his phone. He gives us his co-workers number.