Jane is always there to pull Sherlock out of trouble.

Hello folks. I am quite excited about this chapter. I hope you guys like it. :D


Jane giggles as she watches Sherlock covertly from her spot by a pillar.

Apparently what ever he gleaned from Van Coon's PA brought him to the same place as her after they split up. When she got there, she spotted him almost immediately — after all, who could miss a six foot madman twirling around talking to himself in the middle of ChinaTown? She was about to go up to him and compare notes as it were, but decided to hang back and observe the great detective at work.

Sherlock spins another three sixty degrees with his hands on either side of his head, and almost whacks an unsuspecting woman pushing a pram with his elbow. She gives him a right nasty look, but he doesn't notice, completely absorbed in what he's doing. He brings a slip of paper up to eye level, and squints at it before cramming it back into his coat pocket in frustration. He begins walking again, but this time backwards, before stopping and walking forwards again in precise even strides. She laughs again and decides to break her cover and rein him in before he knocks over the crisp rack by the espresso station he's dancing around.

She goes to put a hand on his shoulder when he abruptly turns around and runs smack into her.

"Jane!" he says, and she would have lost her balance had he not gripped her by the arms last second. She smiles and goes to show him Lukis's diary she got from Dimmock before he cuts her off. "Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died. It was big necessitating a taxi here. But he dropped it off somewhere – somewhere close because he took the Tube back to his office —"

"Right. Sherlock —" she tries bringing the journalist's diary up to show him the meeting he marked down with 'The Lucky Cat Emporium.'

"— it's whatever was hidden in that case. Fragile, tightly packed. I managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information —"

"Sherlock —"

"— credit card receipts, bills the like. He flew back from China, then came directly here."

"Yes, all right, but —" Jane tries again. Sherlock scrubs a gloved hand through his hair, and his riotous curls stick up every which way.

"Somewhere in this street; somewhere near, Jane, but I don't know where —" he says frantically.

Jane grabs the lapel of his coat and yanks him around so he's facing her. "That shop, over there," she says and points across the street.

"What? How – how can you tell?" he falters. Jane grabs his left hand and pushes up his sleeve. She begins to peel off one of the three nicotine patches stuck to his forearm.

"I've been trying to tell you that I got Lukis's diary from Dimmock. He was here too; he wrote it down. You'd know if you'd let me get a word in, Patchy McWired," she says only half annoyed, and peels off number two leaving him with just the one.

"'Patchy McWired?'" he sneers, straightening his coat. He runs a hand through his hair again, and she can't help but fix a particularly amusing cow-lick.

"Did you ever notice how there's a lot of 'Lucky Cats' when it comes to the Chinese?" she says bemusedly and starts off in the direction of the shop.

-oOo-

Sherlock wrinkles his nose when they enter the chintzy souvenir shop as he is bombarded by the smell of cheap incense. Music is playing in the background apparently to lend an atmosphere of authenticity to the place. Which if anyone with half a brain was really listening, they would notice that the music actually features a shamisen (which is distinctly a Japanese instrument.)

"You want lucky cat?" the shop owner says. She holds out what Sherlock can only assume is an abomination of the tourist industry. (And besides it's a garish shade of pink.)

"No," Sherlock deadpans.

"Only ten pound! Your wife, she will like," she says and slyly gestures to Jane from across the shop. He goes to open his mouth to correct the woman, but curiously, the reply sticks in his throat. He watches as she brushes her fingers over the leaves of a bamboo shoot, the sunlight streaming through the shop window highlighting the gold and streaks of copper in her hair. (It was down today from her interview, and it's tousled gently around her face making her look soft and young.) "Ten pound!"

"No," Sherlock says again, shaking himself out of his reverie. He looks away and busies himself by turning his attention to a collection of tea pots.

"Sherlock, look at this," Jane says joining him. She shows him the bottom of a ceramic tea cup with a paper label, and his eyes grow wide. There, in red ink, is the symbol from the bank and the library.

"That label there," she says.

"Yes I see it."

"Exactly the same as the cipher at the bank." She puts it back down.

"Come on, I have to check something," he says and leads her outside.

"So what is it?" Jane asks jogging a little to keep up with his purposeful strides.

"It's an ancient number system! Hangzhou, Why didn't I recoginse it sooner?" he says and punches a fist into his hand. "These days only street traders use it. Here look," he says and crosses over to a produce vendor. He picks up a leek and looks for a tag.

"This one here's a fifteen!" Jane says pointing to the sign sitting in a bin of red cabbage. "Like the one at the shop."

"Yes and the line is a number too." He holds up the tag to emphasise his point. "The Chinese number one, Jane." She beams at him and fixes his collar where one side had folded back down. He smiles back, the thrill of The Game crackling through his blood as yet another piece fall into place. He's about to say something else when a woman with a camera catches his eye from across the street. He narrows his eyes and tries to get a good look at her, but a bus drives past just then and when it moves, the woman is gone. (Tourist maybe. Although…)

"I don't know about you, but I'm bloody starved," Jane says and sets off walking the way they came.

"But the case…" Sherlock protests. Jane doubles back and grabs his wrist.

"I spotted a restaurant right across from the 'Lucky Cat.' You can stake out the place, and deduce the door handles or whatever, while I grab a much needed bite." He huffs petulantly, but follows her anyway. "I'll even let you guess the fortune cookies."

(As if that would tempt him.) (It does, but he won't admit it.)

Sherlock doodles the symbols on a paper napkin while Jane tucks into her lo mein. (One, fifteen. Fifteen, one. 115? no…151…)

"What I don't get is, what did they see?"

"What do you mean?" he asks, scribbling out the Fibonacci sequence he was working on out of boredom.

"Two men back from China, head straight to the 'Lucky Cat Emporium'. They must have witnessed something for them to be killed."

"Hm, no. There was something Sebastian said to me when I went to meet him. He said Van Coon lost five million pounds in one transaction and single handedly made it back within the week. Think; how would he have stayed afloat in the market?"

Jane munches thoughtfully for a moment before the recognition comes across her face. "He was a smuggler!" she says. (Good girl.) Sherlock can't help but be proud. Jane was always more intelligent than most.

"A guy like him it would have been perfect. Business man, frequent trips overseas to China. And of course Lukis as well, being a journalist and all. And what was he researching?" he leads.

"China. Of course," Jane nods.

"They smuggled stuff out, and the 'Lucky Cat' was their drop off."

"Yeah but why kill them?" she asks, and he frowns.

(They both turn up to deliver the goods why threaten them?) That was the question wasn't it? Without thinking, he opens his mouth just as Jane brings her fork of noodles up to his lips. He munches on some pickled cabbage, his mind whirring.

"They were obviously killed after the event," he says.

"Event?" Jane asks, and brings another forkful up to Sherlock's mouth.

"After," he takes a bite, "they'd finished the job. That's what doesn't make sense," he says chewing on a dumpling this time. He swallows. (Threatened and killed without discretion. That was the key. It's almost like the killer was casting a net of sorts.) A thought occurs to him. "What if one of them was light fingered?"

"You mean like pinching something from the hoard?" she brings her cup up and Sherlock pulls the straw between his teeth and absently takes a drink.

"Exactly! And the killer doesn't know which one took it so…"

"…so he threatens them both, right," Jane finishes. Sherlock sits back in his chair triumphantly. "Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" Jane asks.

"What? No. You know I don't eat while I'm working," he says waving a negligent hand. His eyes scan the surroundings outside the 'Lucky Cat'.

"Oh I forgot. Silly me," she says and chuckles under her breath.

"Jane," Sherlock says suddenly, his eyes zooming in on a phonebook leaning against the front door of the flat above the little shop. He can just see (yes, condensation sparkling in the sunlight along the plastic wrapping) how it's been sitting there for a couple of days, at least. "Remind me, when was the last time it rained?"

"Er…" she trails off, and Sherlock leaps to his feet already half way out the door.

"No one has been in this flat for three days," Sherlock says ringing the buzzer labeled 'Soo Lin Yao.'

"Could have gone on holiday," Jane shrugs.

"No, look. The windows," he says pointing up to said windows in question. A lace curtain was blowing in the mild breeze. "Do you leave your windows open when you leave for holiday?" He makes his way around to the side of the building and down a narrow alley where there should have been (ah yes) a fire escape. He looks up and sees another open window that leads directly into the flat. (Now…how to get up?)

"We could asks around; see if anyone's seen her?" Jane suggests.

"You do that," Sherlock says and takes a running leap at the iron ladder. It swings down with a rusty groan, and before he can think too hard about it, he climbs up.

"Hey! I'm short remember?" Jane calls up to him.

"Go around to the front!" Sherlock shouts back over his shoulder as he ascends the fire escape. He catches her mumbled protests just as he ducks into the window.

Just as he gets his shoulders through, his elbow knocks over a vase of flowers sitting on a small table. Deftly, he catches it before it hits the floor. (Good thing too. The vase is old, and would have shattered upon impact.) Sherlock notices a wet patch on the carpet where the vase had been upended previously. (By some one with excellent reflexes as well given the vase was still in tact.)

"I'm not the first!" he calls back.

"Can you not keep doing this?" Jane's muffled reply sounds through the letterbox.

"Someone's been here before me!" Sherlock shouts.

"What?" she says. He makes his way across the small kitchen, and opens the small washing machine. He pulls out a shirt and sniffs. (Damp, mildew in the centre; dry edges. She left one morning intending to come back to her neglected laundry, but she was apprehended.) He tosses the shirt back in the machine and opens the fridge. (Milk's gone funny, about three days. Give or take.) Sherlock notices a wrinkle in the carpet from the impression of a shoe.

"Size eight feet," he says pulling out his pocket magnifier. (Small, but definitely a man's. Good reflexes. Quick; lithe. Can climb.) There's a picture in a frame discarded on the floor, and he examines the finger prints left on the cracked glass. (Thrown in anger, possibly a struggle. Small strong hands.) "An acrobat." He takes out his mobile and snaps a shot of the photograph. It was obviously sentimental (two children, one boy one girl, arms intertwined) and could prove useful. He straightens up, something still not making sense. "If he was here, why didn't he close the window when he left?" he muses out loud.

(Oh.)

"Stupid. Obvious. He's…still here," Sherlock says freezing on the spot, eyes flicking around the flat. He thumbs out a text to Jane:

[Unsent] — 2:38 PM
Vatican Cameos.
SH

his finger hovering over the send button just in case. He wanted to make sure if he truly wasn't alone before he called the Calvary. After all, her bursting in needlessly was ridiculous, and she tended to do just that; guns blazing and everything. If the killer was still in here, it would be a waste to just shoot him.

He spots the cheap folding screen in the corner of the room, and makes his way over to it on cat feet. He yanks it aside to discover (too late he realises belatedly) nothing behind it. He just manages to berate himself mentally when the silk cloth wraps itself firmly around his throat from behind. His phone gets knocked from his grasp as he tries to lash out at his attacker, and skitters uselessly to the floor.

He falls backwards, and the garrote around his neck tightens even more as he is dragged across the room.

"Jane!" he wheezes out with his last breath, hoping it was loud enough to penetrate all the way through to the street. It was a mistake, seeing as how he's used up most of his air.

Distantly, he's aware of being lynched to the small radiator against the wall, and he tries to call out again, but the pressure is too much and the cloth constricts even further. He tries to see through his watery eyes as the assassin places something in his coat pocket. He starts to panic when he realises the angle to which he's tied won't allow for a different position, and half his weight is pulling to the ground concentrated on the vice around his throat. He claws uselessly at it with rapidly weakening fingers.

The last thing he thinks before he blacks out is how this is such a useless way to die. In the distance he hears the sound of breaking glass and then nothing…

"Breathe, you stupid idiot!" he hears through the muzziness in his head. (Voice thin and strained; watery, anxious, scared, Jane. Why are you scared Jane?) (Oh.) He feels the compressions on his chest, and is surprised his ribs aren't broken yet. "Come on, Sherlock! Breathe!" He wants to, oh god he wants to, but his lungs won't work.

Something hot and moist and tasting of soy sauce covers his mouth, and air rushes into his chest, and finally, finally he draws in a stuttering gasp. His eyes fly open, and he is met with Jane's fierce gaze shimmering with unshed tears. Her hands cradle his head as she leans over him on her forearms. He watches, seemingly in slow motion, as a single tear tips over the edge of her blonde lashes and rolls down her cheek. He wants to brush it away, but before he can get a chance time speeds up again, and he coughs violently, turning his head to the side.

"Th-the milk's gone off. And," he coughs again, chest heaving, "the washing's starting to smell. Someone left in a hu-hurry three days ago." He goes to sit up, but Jane puts a hand on his chest.

"Wait. Just…" she trails off, her expression contorting into a grimace. She sucks in a harsh breath through her nose, and Sherlock can see the war playing out on her face; the war between here and there. She lowers her forehead to rest against the centre of his chest, right over his heart. He's lays there, completely still as she breathes steadily in and out, in and out…in and out…

"Jane?" he whispers. His hand ghosts over her bowed head. He suddenly wants to card his fingers through her hair, but he quickly banishes the notion, not wanting to alarm her further.

"M'okay," she says lifting her head and angrily swiping at her tears. She levers herself off of him and helps him sit against the small coffee table. She gets to her feet and paces a bit in order to work off the adrenaline.

"We have to find Soo Lin Yao," Sherlock says, his voice coming out in a croak.

"Sherlock…" she warns, and glances at him, still pacing.

"Jane. Something might have happened to her. She's involved somehow —"

"Something might have happened to you. Just now. Do you get that?" Jane says suddenly, rounding on him.

"Yes, something might have. Luckily you were there to stop it just in time," Sherlock answers swiftly, getting to his feet. (This was ridiculous. Clearly he was fine. Dwelling on the numerous other scenarios that could have panned out was a waste of time which they didn't have.)

"Let me rephrase," Jane says pressing her fingertips into her forehead. Her head snaps up, livid. "Something did happen. You stopped breathing. For three minutes."

"Good thing you're a doctor, then," he says.

"You nearly died, Sherlock!" Jane yells at her breaking point. "How can you not realise the gravity of the situation?" He rolls his eyes and goes to walk past her so he can retrieve his phone from the ground when she stops him, a hand splayed on his chest. "This dropped out of your pocket," she says and places a small black lotus in his palm. "This is getting serious, Sherlock. It isn't just a message or a warning: they were trying to kill you. And they'll probably try again."

"Then the sooner we solve this the better," Sherlock says seriously.

"Oh so now it's back to 'we' is it?" she scoffs with something akin to betrayal. He steps around her and picks up his mobile.

"I didn't forget about you, Jane," he says and she snorts. He arches his eyebrow and pointedly hits the 'send' key. A moment later she receives his belated distress signal.

"Vatican Cameos," she says, a small smile creeping onto her face. "So you were listening to me."

"Always. I meant what I said about you being my partner, Jane." He looks down at the paper flower in his hand. "And, erm, well…"

"Yes?" her smile is now a full on grin. (Sumg. Waiting for the 'I told you so.')

"Having you around is useful. Like I mentioned. Before. Earlier, I mean," (what is this? Articulate, man!) he clears his throat awkwardly.

"The term is 'thank you Jane for saving my poncy arse yet again.' And you're welcome," she says good-naturedly as they make their way out of the flat.

"How did you get in by the way?" Sherlock asks while unlocking the front door.

"Same way you did. Took me a little longer. I had to climb on top of a skip to reach the ladder. You owe me a new jumper by the way," she says scrubbing at a large blackish stain on the hem.

"You knocked over the vase," he says absently, pulling the door behind him. A piece of folder paper flutters to his feet in the resulting gust. He opens it.

Soo Lin. Please give me a ring. Tell me you're okay.
Andy.

"We have to find Soo Lin," he says. "She's connected with all of this somehow."

Jane takes the paper and reads it. "Yeah but how?"

"We'll start with Andy," he says and they make their way down the street.