Chapter 11
Author's note: When in the story, bold typeface means a text.
"I'm dreadfully sorry about him. He's, well, a bit impatient if you can't keep up," Rose apologizes. She follows Sherlock and John out.
Sherlock
"And then he's sort of left trying to cut his hair with a fork, which of course, can't be done," Sebastian laughs at his joke. His friends around him laugh as well.
"It was a threat, that's what the graffiti meant," Sherlock interrupts.
"I'm kind of in a meeting, can you make an appointment with my secretary?" Sebastian asks.
"I don't think this can wait, sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders, someone who works in your office, was killed," Sherlock says.
"What?" Sebastian is appalled.
"Van Coon. Police are at his flat," John says.
"Killed?" Sebastian repeats.
"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion. Still want to make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?" Sherlock asks sarcastically.
They leave Rose outside the men's room as they discuss the murder. Suddenly, Sebastian storms out, angry at something.
"Sebastian, wait! What's wrong?" Rose asks.
"It's suicide, nothing more, Rose. Sherlock is wrong. He's seeing things that aren't there," Sebastian spits.
Rose says, "No, he's not. I came to the same conclusion that he did. I went to Van Coon's flat, and I saw that he was murdered. It wasn't suicide, Sebastian."
"God, not you, too. Listen," Sebastian leans in close to Rose, "freak spawn. Eddie didn't have enemies. Nobody would want to kill him. He was a great businessman. Brilliant, in fact. He once lost five million pounds and made it back within a week. No debts. And the police are experts. Why shouldn't I believe them?"
"The same reason you asked Sherlock, not the police, to see the graffiti," Rose whispers fiercely.
Sebastian pulls back and looks at her queerly. Then, he walks away.
oOo
"I said, can you pass me a pen?" Sherlock says as John walks in.
"What? When?" John asks.
"About an hour ago."
"Didn't notice I'd gone out then." John throws Sherlock a pen. Sherlock catches without ever taking his eyes off the pictures. "Where's Rose? She could've passed you a pen."
"Don't know."
"What?" John texts Rose.
Where are you? -JW
Mrs. Hudson's. She's really nice, did you know?
Yeah. –JW
Do you always sign your texts like that?
Like what? –JW
Like '-JW.'
Yes. Habit now. –JW
I might do the same. –RS
;) –JW
;P -RS
"She's at Mrs. Hudson's, if you want to know," John says.
"Good."
"I went to see a job at that surgery."
"How was it?"
"Great. She's great."
"Who?"
"The job."
"She?"
"It," John says firmly.
Sherlock shrugs it off. He nods toward the laptop and says, "Have a look."
John looks at the article on the screen. " 'The Intruder who can Walk through Walls'?"
"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked, windows bolted, exactly the same as Van Coon."
"God, you think…"
"He's killed another one." Sherlock thinks for a moment. "Text Rose. Tell her we're going to Scotland Yard."
Rose? –JW
Yea? -RS
S and I are headed to Scotland Yard. Wanna come? -JW
Sure. Be right there –RS
Rose meets the boys outside 221b. Rose hails them a cab, and they're off.
"Why did you go to Mrs. Hudson's?" John asks, once they were settled in the cab.
"She came in to check on Sherlock, and noticed me. Sherlock wouldn't answer her questions, and she dragged me down to her flat to tell her. Sherlock kept saying he needed quiet, so she couldn't stay there," Rose explains.
"Oh."
"Sherlock? I have a mobile, now. What's your number?" asks Rose.
Sherlock just hands her his phone. Rose rolls her eyes and types his number into her phone.
"How was the job interview?" Rose asks.
"Great. Just great," John answers with a smile.
"Who is she?"
"Hm?"
"The woman you met. Who is she?" Rose asks.
"What?"
Rose rolls her eyes. They arrive presently.
Sherlock immediately finds Dimmock.
"Brian Lukis. Freelance journalist. Murdered, in his flat, doors locked from the inside." Sherlock turns the computer so that the screen is facing Dimmock.
"You've got to admit, it's similar. Both men, killed by someone who can walk through solid walls," John says.
"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide?" Sherlock asks impatiently. Dimmock doesn't answer.
Sherlock sighs. "You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose, then?"
Dimmock nods.
"And the shot that killed him, was it fired from his own gun?"
"No," Dimmock answers.
"No, so this investigation might move a bit quicker, if you were to take my word as gospel!" Sherlock snaps. "I've just handed you a murder inquiry. Five minutes, in his flat." Why is he so reluctant to let me help? Sherlock thinks.
oOo
John, Sherlock, and Rose enter Lukis' flat. Sherlock sweeps his gaze over the crime scene. Rose picks up a crumpled piece of black paper. She sneaks it into her pocket.
Sherlock strides over to the window. He notes the height of the flat. He smiles.
"Four floors up! That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door, bolt it shut, think they're impregnable," he whispers. "They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in."
"I don't understand," Dimmock falters as Sherlock walks over to a skylight.
"The killer can climb, Inspector," Rose says. Dimmock doesn't listen to her.
"What are you doing?" he asks Sherlock.
"Clings to the walls like an insect." Sherlock opens the skylight. "That's how he got in."
"What?" the inspector is still confused.
"Climbed up the side of he walls, ran across the roof, dropped in through this skylight," Sherlock says.
"You're not serious? Like Spiderman?" the inspector doesn't quite believe him.
"He did scale six floors of a Dockland apartment building to kill Van Coon," Rose interjects. Dimmock pays no attention to her.
"Hold on." Dimmock says.
"And of course, that's how he got into the bank-he ran along the roof and onto the terrace," Sherlock says in amazement. He looks around. "Have to find out what connects these two men." He stares at a book on the floor. It's a library book, saying West Kensington Library.
Sherlock, John, and Rose head to the library.
"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died," Sherlock mumbles. Sherlock, Rose, and John start looking for the shelf that Lukis took the book from.
John finds something. "Sherlock, Rose," he says, looking at the shelf. The graffiti marks are the same as the one in the bank. A horizontal line with a squiggle underneath and another horizontal line, in yellow spray paint. Rose snaps a couple of pictures. They head back to the flat.
"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon. Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies," Sherlock runs through Van Coon's murder.
"The killer find Lukis at the library, writes the cipher on the shelf, where he knows it will be seen, Lukis goes home…" John sums up Lukis' case.
"Later that night, he dies, too," Rose finishes from the couch. She's thinking.
"Why did they die?" John whispers.
Rose hears Sherlock's voice. "Only the cipher can tell us."
"What did Lukis write about? Most of the time, anyways," Rose asks from the couch.
"Well, he had finished writing an article about China," John tells her.
"And Van Coon? He handled the Hong Kong accounts, right?" Rose inquires.
"Yeah."
"Hm."
Sherlock has an idea.
oOo
"The world is run on codes and ciphers. From the million pound security system at the bank to the pin machine you took exception to, John, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment," Sherlock informs them.
"Yes, okay, but…" John starts.
"But it's all computer-generated. Electronic codes, electronic ciphering messages," Sherlock says.
"This, though, this is different. It's old, and ancient," Rose connects.
"Modern code-breaking skills won't unravel it," Sherlock tells them.
"Where are we headed?" John asks.
"I need some advice."
Rose stops dead in her tracks. "What?" she asks.
"What? Sorry?" John asks with a grin.
"You heard me perfectly, I'm not saying it again." Rose smiles and runs to catch up with the men.
"You need advice?" John can't resist asking.
"On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert."
Sherlock finds a young graffiti artist. He's vandalizing a wall on the side of a building.
"Part of my new exhibition," the vandal says.
Sherlock looks at the graffiti for a moment. "Interesting."
"I call it, Urban Bloodlust Frenzy," the young man says, spraying away.
"Lovely," Rose says. The man turns to her.
"You like it, sweetheart?" the man's voice has changed to something smoother, more cordial.
Rose nods, a little sarcastically. The man turns back to his work. "I've got two minutes before a community support officer comes 'round that corner. Can we talk while I'm working?"
Sherlock shows the man his phone. The man hands John the can of spray paint.
"Know the author?" Sherlock asks.
"I know the paint. Looks like Michigan, hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc," the man answers.
"What about the symbols? Do you recognize them?"
"I'm not even sure it's a proper language."
Sherlock is losing his patience. "Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."
"And this is all you got to go on? Nothing much, now is it?" Raz asks.
"You going to help us or not?" Sherlock asks.
"I'll ask around," Raz nods.
"Somebody must know something about it," Sherlock presses.
"Oi!" someone yells. Two community support officers come up. Rose, Sherlock, and Raz run. John is left there, holding a can of spray paint.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" an officer asks John. "This gallery is a listed public building!"
"No, no wait. It's not me who painted that, I was just holding this for…" John looks toward Raz, but he's no longer there. The officer opens Raz's bag.
"Bit of an enthusiast, are we?" the officer asks.
oOo
"You've been a while." Sherlock says as John comes in.
"Yeah, well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?" John replies. "Just formalities. Fingerprints, charge sheet, and I've got to be in a magistrate's court on Tuesday."
"What?"
"Me! Sherlock! In court, on Tuesday! They're giving me an ASBO!" John shouts at him.
"Good, fine." Sherlock is absorbed in his work.
"You're welcome to tell your little pal he's welcome to own up, anytime," John spits out.
"Symbol. Still can't place it." Sherlock slams his book shut. John is taking off his jacket. Sherlock puts it back on him. "No, I need you to go to the police station. Ask about the journalist. Get a hold of his diary or something that would tell us his movements."
"Why can't Rose do it?"
"Rose isn't here."
"Sherlock! Can't you keep track of her? She's only fifteen!"
"She's at the National Antiquities museum. She said something needing to think."
"You should have gone with her," John scolds him as they walk downstairs.
"Why should I? She can take care of herself. I'm going to see Van Coon's PA. Retrace their steps. Somewhere, they'll coincide."
John hails a taxi and makes a mental note to talk to Sherlock about Rose.
He gets to Scotland Yard and asks for the journalist's diary. Dimmock rummages around in a bin for it.
"Your friend," Dimmock starts.
"Listen, whatever you say, I'm behind you one hundred percent," assures John.
"He's an arrogant sod."
"Well, that was mild."
"Arrogant and careless. He brings his friend and daughter around with him on these cases?" Dimmock asks.
"No, Rose isn't his daughter, no."
"She looks like him. This is what you wanted, isn't it? The journalist's diary?" Dimmock hands John the small book.
"Just tell her to be careful. She's nice enough. But in this type of work, you get hurt."
oOo
Rose pays the fee to get into the museum. She swiped a few pounds from Sherlock. She wanders around the Chinese exhibits. She notices someone looking distraught.
"Excuse me, can you tell me about these vases?" she asks him.
"Oh, those? Ming vases. Created about six hundred years ago," he answers.
"They're really beautiful," Rose says, looking at them. Or, at least, she pretends to look at them. She's really examining the man's expression in the reflection of the vases. He looks worried.
"My name's Rose," she introduces herself.
The man smiles. "I'm Andy."
"Nice to meet you, Andy. It must be amazing to work here, surrounded by all this history," Rose says.
Andy agrees. "It's really neat."
"Well, why are you upset, then? What's wrong?" Rose gently prods.
Andy freezes. "Nothing's wrong."
"Oh, please. I can tell something's bothering you. Can I hear what's wrong? I would like to know," Rose says.
Andy sighs. "Well, I'm worried about a friend. She used to work here. She was a Chinese antiquities expert. But now she's resigned."
"Nothing unusual about that," Rose comments.
"It's just that, well, I know her. Better than anyone else here, anyways. And she was working on something. These teapots," Andy walks her over, "she was obsessed with them. She absolutely loved them, and she was working on them. I can't believe that she would leave right in the middle of something important like this."
"Maybe she had family troubles?" Rose offers.
Andy shakes his head. "That's what she said in her letter, but she doesn't have any family. She came here alone, from China."
"Well, you know her better than I do. Do you think there could have been some other reason she left?"
Andy rubs the back of his neck. "It has been," he says slowly, "suggested, that she wanted to get away from unwanted attention."
Rose notes his posture and body language. She realizes he thought that he had been giving her 'unwanted attention'.
"You have a bad feeling about this?" Rose asks.
"Yeah. Sort of."
"What's her name?"
"Soo Lin Yao."
"And her address?" Rose asks.
Andy gives Rose Soo Lin's address. Rose asks for Andy's mobile number and address, and he gives them to her.
"One more thing. What was the last thing she did on Monday?"
Andy walks Rose downstairs. "She does this demonstration, for the tourists. Uh, a tea ceremony. So, she would have packed up her things and just put them in here," Andy walks over to the cabinets. Rose watches him for a moment, then looks around. She sees a painted statue. She gasps.
The statue had graffiti on it, just like the other two. A horizontal line with a squiggle underneath, and then another horizontal line.
"Andy?"
"Yeah?"
"What's this?" Rose points to the statue.
"Not supposed to be there," Andy quips, laughing a little nervously. "You don't thing Soo Lin did that?"
"No, I don't." Rose whips out her camera and takes pictures of the statue.
"Thanks for your help, Andy. I need to go see Soo Lin now." Rose practically runs out of the museum. "Taxi!" she shouts.
oOo
Rose gets to Soo Lin's house and rings the bell. She opens the mail flap and shouts Soo Lin's name. Rose sighs and looks around. She sees John and Sherlock across the street. They're walking towards the shop next door, the Lucky Cat. She follows them in.
"I was just going to text you," John says as she walks in. "I thought you were at the museum."
"I was. Tell you later," Rose says, catching the shop lady's eye.
They browse around the shop for a little bit. Rose is getting a little creeped out by all the cats.
"Sherlock? Rose?" John calls out. "The label there?"
"Yes, I see it," Sherlock says. Rose stares at it.
"Exactly the same as the cipher." John looks at both of them. They exit the shop quickly.
"It's a number system! Chinese method, called Hangzhou. I remember them, that's why they look so familiar! The horizontal bar is the number one, and the line with the squiggly line underneath is the number fifteen!" Rose crows.
They enter a Chinese restaurant. John orders some food and instructs Rose to do the same.
"I'm not hungry, though," Rose declares.
"You need to eat. You're still growing," Sherlock tells her. Rose turns to him, eyes bright with mischief.
"I'll eat if you eat."
John frowns. "Rose, you have to eat something."
"I told you, I'll eat if Sherlock eats. I'll even eat the same thing."
Sherlock sighs. "I don't eat when I'm on a case, if at all. It slows me down."
"Well, I don't have to eat either, then."
"Don't make me force-feed you," John growls.
"I'd like to see you try," Rose smirks. The waitress looks at all three of them.
"If that's all for you," she tries to excuse herself from the awkward conversation.
"Yes, please, that's it," Sherlock says. Why doesn't she want to eat?
"Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat Emporium. What did they see?" John wonders aloud.
"Its not what they saw. It's what they brought back," says Rose excitedly. "Think about it. Sebastian said that Van Coon was a brilliant trader. He lost five million pounds and made it back within a week. That's how he made up the money."
"He was a smuggler," John says.
"Very clever. Van Coon was a businessman, just came back from China. He smuggled something out, and Lucky Cat was the drop-off. Lukis was the same. But then why," Rose leans back in her chair, "why did they die? And what does she have to do with this?" she whispers the last sentence.
"Maybe one of them was light-fingered," suggests Sherlock.
"Hm?" Rose is deep in thought.
"How do you mean?" John asks at the same time.
"Stole something, something from the horde," says Sherlock.
"And the killer doesn't know which one of them took it, so he kills them both," John pieces together the thought.
Rose realizes something. "That's why she went missing!" She bolts from the table and runs to Soo Lin's apartment. Sherlock follows without hesitation. John runs after both of them.
Rose rings the buzzer one last time. After receiving no answer, she goes around the back.
"What is it?" John asks, a little breathless.
"Soo Lin Yao lives here. Chinese antiquities expert. Resigned job today. Found graffiti marks near where she had been working," Rose explains. She spots an open window and a fire escape. Rose jumps, grabs the ladder, and climbs up.
"Rose! You can't just break in!" John yells after her.
"The window's open!" Rose yells back. Sherlock follows Rose.
She pauses for a moment and looks around inside the flat.
"What are you waiting for?" Sherlock hisses impatiently.
"Looking around. Always the safe thing to do when you're going into unknown territory," Rose hisses back. She climbs in carefully. Sherlock knocks over a vase when he gets in, though.
"Sherlock. Someone's been here before us," Rose whispers. She checks her pocket, makes sure her gun is still there.
"Yes. Size of his feet?" he quizzes her.
"Small. Size eight," she answers.
"Good. He's athletic, too." Sherlock walks around the flat. He smells the laundry and the milk. Both are disgusting.
"Sherlock? Rose? Can you let me in?" John shouts from the mail flap. Rose and Sherlock don't answer.
"Can you not do this, please?" John yells.
Sherlock looks at a childhood photograph. There were handprints on it. "Small, strong hands," he informs Rose. Rose looks at the picture.
"That's weird. She doesn't have any family," Rose says, looking at the picture.
John bellows something about Sherlock's massive intellect. Really, John?
Something nags at the back of Sherlock's head. Why was the window open? If the killer left, why would he leave the window open? It looks odd when one is on vacation. So why…Oh.
"Rose," Sherlock whispers.
"Yes?" she whispers back.
"Someone's here with us."
Rose draws her gun. She holds it out in front of her. She spots the screen and moves towards it. Rose pushes it back and something loops around her throat.
"Gah, ah," she chokes. She strains against her attacker and tries to kick him or step on his feet. She claws at the fabric constricting her windpipe.
Sherlock runs towards the man choking her, but he swings around and puts Rose in front of him, like a human shield.
"Sher…Sherlock…" Rose tosses him her gun. The assassin jerks at the last second, making Rose throw erratically. The gun lands on the opposite side of the room, out of Sherlock's reach.
"Sherlock, Sherlock…." Rose strains, but it's futile. Her eyes roll back in her head. She goes limp. Rose feels the assassin put something in her pocket.
"Let her go now!" Sherlock growls. The assassin drops Rose and runs out the open window.
Rose is completely limp. Sherlock checks her pulse. She's fine. She's been through worse, he tells himself. Why won't her eyes open? Wake up!
"Come on, Rose, come on," Sherlock shakes her gently. Rose's eyes open. She coughs and chokes for a moment, then clears her throat. She's okay!
"Where is he?" Rose's voice is really wheezy.
"Gone."
"Okay then. He put something in my pocket, though," Rose feels for it. "Here."
It was a perfectly folded black flower. "Hey, it matches the one I found in Lukis' apartment!" Rose pulls the crumpled one out of her other pocket. "Well, sort of."
"Let's get out of here. We need John to check on you, though."
"Oh, please. I've been through worse. It embarrassing, actually, I even was unconscious in the first place," Rose scoffs.
Sherlock just glares at her. Rose sighs and agrees to have John check on her. Sherlock retrieves Rose's gun from the corner of the room. They leave Soo Lin's flat and meet John outside.
"Somebody left this flat in a hurry three days ago," Sherlock tells John, never taking his eyes off of Rose. "The killer was in the flat with us. He tried to strangle Rose."
"Oh, God, are you okay?" John asks. He checks her throat and pulse.
"I'm fine, John," Rose croaks out. John prescribes rest for her. Sherlock accompanies them back to the flat.