Would've uploaded this sooner but seeing as is trying to be tumblr and crashing it's taken a bit longer than expected...
"So who's John bringing?" I asked breaking the silence in the taxi cab.
"Some doctor or something, I'm not entirely sure."
"That'll be tough competition," I mumbled jokingly.
"What was that?" he stared intently at me.
"I said, 'that'll be tough competition'."
"What do you mean?"
"I was just being sarcastic but I meant that if she decided she liked you better I'd have a doctor to compete with for your attention," I said, blushing slightly in spite of myself.
"Why would you want my attention?" he asked, without even cracking a smile.
"Oh never you mind," I sighed and turned to look out the window at the passing nothingness.
"The Yellow Dragon Circus?" I asked eyeing the poster outside the theatre, "This wouldn't have anything to do with your case would it?" I raised one eyebrow in suspicion.
"It has everything to do with the case, I apologize for the false pretenses under which you were brought here but I need to investigate and it would be unseemly for me to accompany John on his date without bringing my own."
"You could have just told me," I said as we entered the building.
"Would you have come if I had?"
"Probably, as I'm sure might have guessed I don't exactly have a lot going on, socially."
Our conversation was cut short by John's voice, "Oh, no I think that's an error, he only booked two."
"And then I phoned back and got another two," Sherlock said as he sidled up next to John.
"Hello then," John said, clearly not glad to have company.
"Sorry," my lips form the word silently so that only John sees, "This is Sherlock and Claire," he said to his date, "This is Sara," he said to us.
We enter the hall, no chairs are set up, people mill about looking at the ring of candles in the centre of the room. A small Oriental woman entered the ring, she was dressed very theatrically, her face painted, a large head-dress weighed down her small frame. The woman pulls the drop cloth from a large oddly shaped machine in the ring of candles. It looks like a larger version of a crossbow, but instead of a trigger there is a small metal dish.
The woman plucks a feather from her head-dress and she drops it into the bowl, just the weight of that small feather set off the machine which shot a large dart into the wooden target across from it.
The severity of it made me jump, I was oddly aware that my arm brushed Sherlock's, "What are they doing now?" I whispered to him as a masked warrior entered the stage.
The woman began strapping him to the wooden target area, "Ancient Chinese escapology act. The crossbow is on a delicate spring. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."
"What if he doesn't?" I ask, not really needing to hear the answer.
"Evening ruined, I suppose?" Sherlock replied.
"That almost sounded like a joke," I smiled up at him.
A long rope with a sand bag on the end was lowered to the left of the metal trigger, "What's that for?" I asked feeling like a child.
"They split the sandbag so the sand pours out. The weight is gradually lowered on to the bowl. Classic Chinese circus act."
"I would have been happy with a bit of juggling and a couple of clowns," John said, Sara clinging tightly to his arm.
"I can't watch," I whisper and place my hands in front of my eyes.
"You needn't, let's go," Sherlock's cold hands removed mine from my eyes and he laced his hand through mine, he held up a finger in front of his lips and led me around the audience to the side of the backstage area.
"Stay here and watch out for anyone, if anyone comes near, just ring me," he thumbed his number into my mobile.
I nodded and stood obediently at my post, I could hear the woman introducing the next act, there wasn't enough time to ring him. I tiptoed to where he had gone I came around the corner and was pulled backward by a firm grip on my arm and over my mouth. I panicked but quickly saw that it was Sherlock, his face shone with recognition and he released my arm. A large black duffle bag spotted with yellow paint lay on the floor, Sherlock grabbed a can and read the label while I sprayed a line on the mirror.
"Found you," he whispered.
I stood and was about to go to him when a large masked man screamed at him from a rack of costumes, brandishing his sword at us.
For some reason Sherlock tried to psych out the warrior by pointing towards the stage but this failed and he just got punched in the face.
"Sherlock!" I called out to him and risked a glance my way and I tossed him the paint can, which he then used on his attacker's eyes. Blinded, the warrior slashed his sword at Sherlock's head, I gasped as it stuck in the wall, Sherlock ducked just in time.
Sherlock then tackled him into the curtains separating us from the audience, I followed, attempting to assist the consulting detective. John dove on the attacker but was thrown off with a punch, I attempted to do the same. A large fist connected with my eye sending me sprawling onto the floor bottom first. To my right the Warrior is advancing on Sherlock, before I could react Sara brought a giant wooden plank down on the man's head, momentarily stunning him.
Sara scampered over to the heap of debris where John lay groaning, I remained on the floor, head throbbing. Sherlock grasped the heel of the man's shoe and ripped it off revealing a small black tattoo of a flower.
"We're leaving now!" I grab Sherlock's arm and pull him in the opposite direction of the half-concussed warrior. The four of us ran from the chaos into the night.
"I sent a couple of cars, the old music hall is totally deserted," Detective Inspector Dimmock stated.
"We were just there and it was crawling with the Tong," I said even though I knew I should stay quiet.
"Look... I saw the mark at the theatre, the tattoo we saw on Van Coon and Lukis, the mark of the Tong," Sherlock said, glancing curiously at me from the corner of his ice blue eyes.
"They were part of a smuggling operation. One of them must've stolen something when he was in China; something valuable.
"These circus performers - they were gang members, sent here to get it back," Sherlock added.
"Get what back?" Dimmock asked.
"We don't know," John said sheepishly.
"You don't know?" Dimmock leaned back letting out an exasperated sigh, "Mr. Holmes, I've done everything you asked. Lestrade, well, he seems to think your advice is worth something... I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I'll have something to show for it. Other than a massive bill for overtime," he ranted before showing us the door.
"They'll be leaving the country soon?" I asked as I sunk into one of the armchairs and examined the collage of evidence above the mantle.
"They won't leave, not without finding what they came for. We need to find a hideout... a rendezvous," Sherlock steepled his fingers and stared intently at the wall of yellow ciphers. "Somewhere in this message, it must tell us..."
"Well I think maybe I should leave you to it," Sara piped up from where she stood behind the desk.
Simultaneously, Sherlock agreed with her and John insisted she stay, "Never mind them," I said sensing her discomfort, "I'm gonna go back down to my flat to change and while I'm there I'll order some take away for all of us."
She smiled and nodded and John put his arm round her shoulder and gave me a thankful look, I winked at him before heading down the stairs.
"Wait Claire," he said before I had a chance to leave the appartment, "Your eye?"
"Oh yeah, got sucker-punched," I mimed a punch.
"You're going to have a black eye from that," he said in a motherly way, before gently probing the skin without permission.
"I'm fine," I waved him off.
"Maybe you should like Sherlock a bit less, might be safer for you," he smiled, Sherlock didn't even seem to notice.
"Whatever," I smirked before descending the steps from 221B.
No longer concerned about impressing my false date, I changed into more simple attire: jeans, a hoodie and a light jacket.
I lumbered up the stairs, the Oriental food seeping heat through the paper bag and onto my arms, I hurried into John and Sherlock's flat to put it down.
"Food's here!" I called as I struggled to shut the door. Greeted by silence I shouted again as I rounded the corner into the kitchen, placing the bag on the counter I pulled out a fortune cookie.
"Oi, John! Sara! You'd better not be in the bedroom!" I chuckled to myself as I turned to walk to the window, peeling back plastic on the cookie. The cookie left my hands with a shocked yelp, "What the bloody..." I trailed of as my eyes landed on the same yellow cipher Sherlock had been obsessing over for ages.
"John, I've got it. They key to the cipher. The book. It's the London A to Z, that's what they're using..." Sherlock trailed off as his eyes flickered from my face to the window.
"They're gone, I just got in but they're gone, they took John and Sara," I babbled.
"Shush, the cipher means 'Deadman' we need to find them now and I think I know where we need to look."
We crept silently into the opening of a long, dark, abandoned tramway, light from several fires casting gruesome shadows on the wall. We could hear Sara whimpering from her position in front of the dart shooting contraption from the circus.
A heavily accented woman interrogated John about the hair pin Sherlock had informed me about on our way to the tramway. She kept calling him Sherlock, she thought he was Sherlock Holmes, and that he'd been searching for the missing hair pin.
"I'm not Holmes," John said exasperated and delirious sounding.
"I don't believe you!" the woman shouted stubbornly.
Sherlock motioned for me to be silent before stepping out into the moonlight being cast into the mouth of the tunnel, "You should, you know."
I stared at his dimly lit silhouette, wondering how he could be so brave while still seeming to only care for himself. He snapped his fingers at me and motioned for me to go around in the shadows and sneak up on them. Further than that I didn't know what he expected me to do so I grabbed a length of rusty pipe from the floor, just in case, and crawled through the debris keeping close to the tunnel walls.
"Sherlock Holmes is much more... dynamic, resourceful, brilliant," he trailed off as I heard several crashes and the light from one of the fires must have been put out because it got even darker. I slipped and felt a sharp pang of heat in my right hand and felt the blood well up and seep out of my palm.
"It's me, John, be quiet," I found my way to John first and tried to undo his bonds, my fingers trembling and the blood oozing from my palm. I heard Sherlock lecturing the woman about what might happen if she fired her gun into the tunnel.
I almost had his hands free when I felt my breath go short, and the all to familiar sensation of being strangled. My worn, sore fingers scratched at the fabric as I gasped and grunted trying to free myself.
In the struggle I pulled my attacker to the ground and John's chair tipped sideways onto the ground with a thud.
Sherlock, still being held at gun point could do nothing to help us, I grappled around on the ground until I finally gripped the metal length of pipe. I swung behind my head and felt it connect with a horrible thwack. The cord went slack, my ragged breathing coming slowly back to me, I crawled past John and tried to get to Sara, seeing as the weight was mere centimetres from the dish.
My attacker regained his consciousness much sooner than I had hoped, and had come at me once more. My pipe lying on the ground where I left it I was defenseless. I tried to sidestep him but he grabbed me roughly and wrapped the silk fabric around my throat once more.
My eyes tearing up I caught a glimpse of the weight sinking faster than before, it rested in the bowl and I zipped my eyes shut waiting for it to end the life of an innocent woman. I heard a grunt too manly and too close to have been Sara, the fabric loosened around my neck and I gingerly opened my eyes.
Sherlock was standing behind the dart mechanism which had moved a bit to the left in order for it to have stabbed my attacker who was bleeding out on the ground behind me. He moved quickly shushing Sara who was crying uncontrollably, his nimble finger tugging at her bonds.
Not even bothering to pull the red scarf from my neck I staggered over to John and undid his ties and sunk to the ground as John rose from the chair, rubbing his wrists he went to Sara.
Sherlock came over to me and pulled the scarf gently from around my neck, "Are you okay? Your eye..." his cool fingers grazed the skin just beneath my eye.
"Oh that," I said releasing the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, "That was from the other Chinese smuggler."
He ignored my attempt at humour and his fingers went to my neck, I didn't think he realized how intimate these touches were, or maybe it was just in my head, "What about your neck?"
"Splendid," my voice hoarse and gravely from its recent trauma, "Thanks for," I looked over at the corpse, "Well thanks for that, although I should probably be thanking God for your impeccable aim."
Sherlock, laughed, deep and sincere. Giddy and slightly hysterical, I chuckled at his contentment despite the blood flowing from my hand and the bruises forming like a choker on my neck.
I sat on the back of the ambulance, a scratchy, thin blanket around my shoulders and a wad of gauze encasing my recently stitched up hand. I could see Sherlock and John talking to Inspector Dimmock from where I sat, I clutched the blanket tighter and slipped off the bumper.
"I'd best take Sara home, it's the least I can do after such a dreadful date," John said patting me on the shoulder as he passed by.
"We'll just slip off, no need to mention us in the report," Sherlock said casually to the Dimmock, who had begun to protest.
"I have high hopes for you, Inspector, a glittering career," Sherlock smiled before walking off in the opposite direction of the parade of law enforcement.
"Are you in shock?" he asked eyeing the blanket shrouding me.
"No, just a bit chilly and let's face it, it gets dreadfully cold in 221C, I could always use another blanket," I smiled, my fingers warmly holding the fabric.
"How's your hand? Hope it doesn't hinder your progress in the story of Seamus Haines and Jacob Wood" he smirked looking down at me from his peripherals.
"Well it could have been worse," I mused as we wandered to the main road.
"How so?"
"You should know Sherlock, I'm ambidextrous, you said so yourself," I said casually.
"Yes, quite," he paused, "I expect I'll be allowed a peak or two at your manuscript for Seamus Haines, seeing as I inspired him."
"We'll see Sherlock, we'll see."
Please Review if you want the Great Game(already written) and maybe a random chapter in between episodes