For everyone who is already following:

I am posting an beta-ed and revised version of this. If you have read this story before: Sorry, there is nothing new about it, just an overhaul with a different chapter partitioning.

Handle with care

Some weeks after the banker case the flatmates are reminded that the syndicate has not forgotten they exist and sends a warning. Spoilers for TBB. Since this is earlier in their relationship things are still a bit bumpy sometimes.

.

Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC and the guys who invented them. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.

.

Chapter 1 was beta-ed by Graveofthefireflies! Many thanks to her and her medical advice.

…

…

Chapter 1

After the banker case they had hoped they were done with the Chinese syndicate smugglers. Though they knew there might be some more into it. The female head of the group had escaped; they didn't know what happened to her.

One day, a few weeks later, when John came back from grocery shopping, he passed a small yellow graffito. He almost oversaw it. It wasn't bigger than a man's hand and placed low, near the bottom of a wall, of an almost entirely sprayed area.

He passed it, but when he realized what he had seen he returned.

The doctor stared at it, then turned around and tried to find out if anybody was watching him. He put the groceries down and fetched his phone to take a picture.

Then he hurried back home, slightly spooked.

John climbed the stairs with the large shopping bags.

"Sherlock?"

The other man appeared out of nowhere, blocking the way into the kitchen.

"What happened?"

"How do you know something happened?"

"The tone of your voice. Quite obvious."

"Let me put the groceries down. Here, take those." He handed a bag to Sherlock who had to take it, because John let it go immediately. "I saw a new one of those yellow graffiti, down the street, a Chinese number… and before you start hurling me around, I took a pic… here." He handed Sherlock his phone and started putting some of the groceries into the fridge.

Sherlock stared at the small display.

"It's no use without the accompanying book to decipher them."

"Them?… Wait, are there more?"

"John, you should definitely watch your environment more frequently. This is the third in a one kilometre radius around the flat that appears. Location?"

"Told you, down the street."

"Where?"

"Eww!" John rolled his eyes to the ceiling, unnerved. "Approximately six minutes down the road towards the market when you carry three heavy bags with groceries."

"Okay…" Sherlock concentrated while fumbling for his own phone. He was already dressed, though it was half past nine and they had no case. He dialled.

"Molly? How many Asian female bodies have you had in the morgue, approximately in their forties or late forties, in the past two month?… Are they still there? Can you fetch their files, I will be there in thirty minutes." He hung up without saying goodbye.

"What's this all about?" John asked while Sherlock was already heading for his coat.

"I don't know, but I am sure I will find out soon." Sherlock wrapped the scarf around his neck and John hurried to follow him down the stairs.

A few minutes later they were inside a cab and Sherlock held out John's phone.

"This is the number 28, the others were 56 and 11." He had looked up the numbers in the London A-Z- book, just to be sure, but they made no sense… Yet, or because it was the wrong book.

"You memorized the symbols?"

"I wanted to know after I found the second… This is not over, yet." Sherlock turned over the list of books in his mind, the memorized other possible books all the former victims shared… Compare the list of the again… though the syndicate would be quite stupid if they still used one that was already disclosed as having been in their use… How had Lin known which book it was?… A lot quieter he added. "You might want to think about carrying again."

"Is that a suggestion or a wish?"

Now Sherlock rolled his eyes.

A few minutes later they entered the morgue.

Molly was already waiting, hunched over several files open on a desk. One of the tables was occupied by a covered form.

"What have you got?" Sherlock started.

"Good morning to you, too, Sherlock." Molly answered.

Uh, social interaction, conduct before thinking of the important stuff, he had forgotten… and it was getting on his nerves today.

"Hey." John greeted her. They hadn't met before and Sherlock obviously didn't see the need to introduce him.

"Three Asian females in the right age… There are pictures of two, the third was still in the freezer, so I got her out, you can look at her." Molly informed.

Sherlock headed for the table and unceremoniously folded back the sheet. He only needed three seconds to determinate he had never seen her before. He covered her again before John had the chance to introduce himself to Molly or take a look at the corpse.

"Sherlock…"

"It's not one we have seen before in this matter. I want to see the files." He returned to the table and studied the pictures. John obviously believed him and didn't ask to see her face.

"That one!" Sherlock pointed at a picture on the file that was lying on the right side of the table.

"She was brought in the 25th of…" Molly started.

"I can read, Molly, thank you." Sherlock interrupted her.

"Sorry…"

"That's her…." Sherlock pointed at the picture, waiting for John's affirmation.

John stepped closer, looking at the picture, it showed the face of the woman who had threatened them in the tunnel. She had a bullet wound between her eyes, perfectly in the middle of her forehead.

"Must have disappointed her superior syndicate fellow."

"How do you know?" Molly asked.

"It was obviously a sniper, a good marksman, so a hit man. As were the other killings. We don't know how many of the London group were arrested, but I doubt it was all of them. Guess their former head fall into the disgrace of the syndicate due to her failing to bring the hair pin back."

"Oh, none identified her."

"Thanks, Molly. I will do that, though there is no name yet. Copy that file." Sherlock closed the manila folder and handed it over to Molly, who looked a bit odd at it and then left the morgue.

"You could at least pretend not to bully her around, since she is so nice to get all the stuff you needed." John complained.

"That's her job, isn't it?"

"No, it's her job to find out how people died and why. She could get in trouble helping you, doesn't she?" John seemed a bit grumpy, maybe about his lacking social skills. He threw the doctor a look that obviously said 'not-important' but said nothing out loud.

"So where does this leave us?" John asked.

"In danger, probably."

"What?"

"The signs around the flat might be about getting us out of the way of the syndicate. We need to be careful."

John rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Great."

Molly came back and held out the copies to Sherlock. He saw a slightly frustrated and tired expression in her eyes.

"Thank you Molly. This might be very important in helping John and me protect our lives from the remaining members of the syndicate. You were of great assistance. Good afternoon." He said in his usual neutral tone but bent his head slightly in a greeting before he headed for the door. He hoped this would show his gratitude enough.

John smiled warmly at Molly and also added a 'Thank you' before he followed Sherlock.

Molly stood there, eyes wide. She hadn't heard Sherlock saying 'thank you' all too often in the past. It was nice, though she'd prefer not to be ordered around before.

Sherlock headed for Scotland Yard immediately and studied the file while they were in the cab.

"Sherlock?"

"What?"

"I've been talking to you since we left the hospital, you haven't answered to a single thing I said."

"I was thinking."

"Yeah, I realized that. You know, you might want to practice thinking and listening at once. It's been heard of that people can do that."

Sherlock sighed. He knew his levels of concentration were irritating people. Since living with John he had heard several teasing remarks about how deep he was in his thoughts, on several occasions.

"You are annoyed."

"A bit, yeah… You know ignoring people is kind of rude."

"I am not ignoring you."

"No? Well, what is it when I talk to you and you just sit there, don't answer, don't react at all…?"

"My concentration is so deep I loose contact with the input from my surroundings."

"What?"

"I can't hear you when my thought-processes are in full working speed. It's a delightful rushing sensation but the surroundings slow down so much it gets very hard to listen. Like when you watch a film in slow-mo. It's hard to make out the words."

John stared at him… and raised his eyebrows. Probably expressing that this wasn't what he had expected.

"Besides… I don't want to be disturbed by trying to hear. I don't want to be rude, I want to solve the problem. So I partly block out the input."

"Yeah, and that's what ignoring people is…" John retorted.

"But it's not because I want to be rude, it just isn't the main thing to do at the moment.

"Yeah, this is what is actually kind of rude…."

"I don't understand."

"I know…."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Now Sherlock was getting unnerved.

"It is rude to always display that what other people think and say is less important than what you have to think and say."

"But it is more important."

"Uhhh, Sherlock!… This is not the point, the point is to show others that you feel superior."

"But I am."

"This is arrogant… and that is what people don't like."

"I don't care what people like. They don't like me when I am kind and they don't like me when I am not kind, so why put effort into it?"

"You mean you tried?"

"Of course I tried, I was raised by a wealthy family, we were brought up learning how to behave correctly."

"So are you rebelling by doing the opposite or are you just too lazy?"

"I learned I could be as polite as I want, it is always wrong what I do and say, so I decided to stop."

"As a kid?… I mean how old were you?"

"What does that matter?"

"Well, as a child one might not understand what's happening around fully, so while growing up one has to relearn several paths to adjust to grown-up life. Have you tried again as an adult?"

Sherlock didn't respond.

"Sherlock, I am not asking this to taunt you. I ask because I want to understand your mind."

"What makes you think you could?"

"I don't know before I try, so humour me."

"At the university, I tried to be as polite as I could, but I was again not understood, made fun of, sneered at, exploited. It was not a pleasant time."

"You know, what Sebastian said… you probably didn't mean to, but people don't like to realise what you learn by just looking at them. They don't like being unmasked… and you produce embarrassing situations by telling. You are proud of your abilities to deduct and it's your job, but explaining what you see is not nice and - as you already know - interpreted as showing off… and you are doing it to show how good you are, don't you?"

"Why is it embarrassing?… It's the truth."

"Maybe I should bring you a few books about psychology."

"I studied a lot of psychology books."

"Obviously not the right ones." John's tone was soft now. "You don't like when somebody points out your weaknesses at all, every other person isn't, too. Is that so hard to understand? So when you embarrass them, they strike back. This can't be new to you."

"It isn't. This is pointless. I know all that, it's primary school-level-psychology."

"Yes, it is."

"So… I didn't mean to be rude when I was concentrating so deeply that my environment was blocked out. You could try to recognise this state by now and wait until I come out of it." Sherlock suggested. "What did you say?" He added.

"Do you really think our lives are in immediate danger, or did you just tell Molly to make her feel needed?"

"Yes. I definitely think we need to be careful. We shouldn't leave the house alone or unprotected for now."

"What?… You want to come to the surgery with me?" John teased.

"No, I want you to stay home."

"What?… I can't! You know how many days I already stayed away because of your work? They'll fire me."

"I don't care. I need you alive."

"Oh, you don't really care about my needs, the only important thing is what you need! God…"

"Your and my needs seem to have the same end result, you, alive. Problem?"

Before John could retort the cab stopped in front of New Scotland Yard.

Lestrade met them in front of his office.

"What have you got?"

"The London head of the Chinese syndicate is dead. This is her autopsy file. None identified her. We might be on the hit list of the syndicate, graffiti appeared around the flat."

"Slow down. Tell me what happened."

"Nothing other than I just told you."

"You're on the edge somehow?" Lestrade raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock realized conversations were difficult today. Was he? He sighed and started to explain.

Half an hour later they had exchanged every detail of the few things they knew and Lestrade had updated the case file around the syndicate so it was investigated anew officially.

"So what's the plan?" Lestrade asked finally.

"Be prepared and wait for their first move." Sherlock answered.

"That's not really a plan, isn't it?" Lestrade smirked. "Or do you plan on setting up a trap?"

"We will see."

"Do you want protection?" Lestrade offered.

"You mean some police patrol following us every step? No! Of course not. Counterproductive. Besides, I trust John's marksmanship more than your officers." Sherlock felt John raise his eyebrows beside him.

They got home about two hours later and Mrs Hudson greeted them with a package that had been delivered at noon.

While John started unpacking what seemed to be evidence for a case he couldn't remember, and wondered why on earth they would send it via mail, Sherlock went to fill the kettle.

"Sherlock?!" John yelled from the living room. The alarmed tone of his voice caught Sherlock's attention immediately. He turned to see what had happened.

John met him in the door to the kitchen, looking pale and distressed.

"I… might have a problem here…" He stuttered. "There's at least one scorpion in that package… pretty dangerous one… You need to catch it, now!"

"John?…. Did it sting you?" Sherlock didn't need to hear the answer, he saw it in John's pale and alarmed face.

...

...

A/N:

Constructive criticism welcome.