Chapter 3: Huángsè Yóuqī
The window is grey and dusty, fluffy particles painted on the glass like so many snowflakes, the product of many years of neglect. The view of the city of London is spectacular, and Lestrade goes to wipe away the dirt.
"Wait," cries John, "I think I see something." Moving sideways, he looks at the window from all angles. "Yes. If you look here," Lestrade moves to stand beside John, "you can see there is a circle drawn on the glass."
"Indeed there is," grunts Lestrade, slightly miffed at not having discovered it himself.
John moves forward to peer through the glass again. "The British Museum!" He exclaims.
"The British Museum what?"
"You can see it from here, directly in the center of the circle."
"That doesn't really look much like the Museum."
"It is, but it's the National Antiques department. They have a smaller building off to the side. I went there once, it was really rather nice. And it is, I suppose, where we should look next."
"Tomorrow." Says Lestrade, as the sun dips below the horizon, "I don't know about you, but I'm getting to old for this."
"Come on Lestrade, I am enjoying this, the thrill of the chase. Didn't know how much I missed it."
"Well the museum will probably be closed by now."
"I'm sure you could get us in." John walks off, pausing only slightly at the top of the stairs.
"This is not really my division," Lestrade mutters to himself as he turns to follow John, "but I suppose Sherlock was, well, I'm not really sure what he was, but maybe he was a friend. God, now I'm talking to myself. I should get out more." He jogs a bit to catch up.
They hail a taxi, but don't speak as they drive through the steadily darkening city. Shop lights begin to come on, and London slowly switches it's day life for it's night life. The National Antiques department is closed, but a young man opens the door and lets them in when Lestrade flashes his badge.
They poke around for a while, and then John's phone buzzes, loud in the quiet Lestrade looks up startled, and then returns to eying a display of vintage jugs. It is a call from Mrs. Hudson, asking where John is. He returns it, "I won't be home for dinner after all," he says, then hangs up. He is just about to put his phone back in his pocket when he notices something else. There is also a text message.
It must have arrived at the same time as the phone call. The exact same time., because John never heard it sound. The message reads:
Good Job
-Tuesday
"Lestrade, come look at this. They texted again."
"What have they got to say this time?"
"Good job. Nothing else, just good job, as if we've done something."
"Seems awfully fishy to me." The phone buzzes again.
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John clicks the link, and it opens to a picture of a marble statue, Greek probably, of a woman. Half-dressed, her loose toga barely covers her chest, and she holds her right hand above and behind her head. Her left arm is missing, and where her hand once was there is a basket of flowers that she must have held.
"I know this statue." Says Watson, and he rushes off down the corridor.
"Why am I always the last one to know about these things," Lestrade asks himself. He finds John five rooms away looking at an alcove, which is occupied by a statue, the statue from the photo. "How did you….?" Lestrade begins to ask.
"I've been here before, and Sherlock taught me some memory tricks that I practice now and then."
"Well, this is it," says Lestrade, looking back at the picture on the phone that is still grasped in John's hand.
John walks around the statue, checking it for clues, but finds none. He kneels around the foot of the podium upon which the statue stands to investigate the floor while Lestrade cranes his head back, admiring the room. His head freezes.
"John, I think I found something."
There are symbols painted on the roof in luminescent yellow spray paint. The first looks like a plus sign and a man with straight arms, a little head and curved legs. 十六. The second is three parallel lines of different lengths and the plus sign again. 三十. There are two more of these combinations, 五 and 六十, and 八 and 十七.
"We need to get back to Baker street, and I need a copy of the London A to Z."
Back at 221B, Lestrade and Watson sit in the comfortable armchairs. Mrs. Hudson comes in with two cups of steaming tea, and she and Lestrade make small talk. Watson peers at a picture of the symbols, which he snapped before leaving the museum. He rises and begins riffling through the flat's many bookcases. He pulls out a popular guide book and flicks through its pages, making notes on a scrap of paper.
"Rats…..floor….fire? No. Eat…Indian…..train? No. It must not be this book."
"What do you mean not this book dear?" Mrs. Hudson asks.
"This is a code, I worked on a case with Sherlock that had a code like this in it. One Chinese numeral means the page number, the other is the word, but it doesn't make sense. Even when I reverse the order."
"Try this one," says Mrs. Hudson, holding up a book that Sherlock always seemed to be reading, but never seemed to finish. It was Transition by Iain Banks.
John starts to write again, his lips moving as he shapes the words. "This is it," he says, "The next clue, the next step towards Sherlock." And his face brightens.
Hi guys, its me, Moth. And I'm back, woohooo. Sorry about the absence, but I had a lot of stuff to do and was on a camp with patchy Internet access (the lack of Internet could continue, but I will try to post more regularly), and was feeling uninspired.
For those of you who are wondering, Huángsè Yóuqī means yellow paint in Chinese (Or maybe not, I used google translate), and the numbers they found don't actually mean anything significant in Transition, I don't have a copy to cross reference with so don't bother looking.
I appreciate all the reviews and even just the fact that you guys read this. Thanks.