A/N- Sooooo...quite a bit has happened in the past week. On June 26, The United States Supreme Court had ruled same-sex marriage legal nationwide...which is awesome! I mean, it only took them, what? Twenty-five years to decide that marriage equality was a good thing?!

Now, I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation (hell, I'm indifferent to MARRIAGE sometimes), but I also firmly believe in the value of equal rights. In the words of Optimus Prime: Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.

So, yeah, congrats to you guys for finally being granted the right to legally marry the love of your life! I know we still have quite a way to go as a country (nothing like this happens without a crap-ton of backlash here), but for now, let's celebrate this victory of finally legalizing gay marriage nationwide, or as I like to simply call it: marriage.

Anyway, enough of that. You're here for the story! ONWARDS!

Disclaimer: I only own my OC. BBC Sherlock belongs to the Miraculous Moffat and the Glorious Gatiss.

Enjoy!

Darkness had begun to fall by the time they emerged from the museum. Harley squinted up at the sky, then checked the time on her phone. Oh, wow. It was getting late. Where did the day go? Then again, a lot of things have happened throughout the day. Going to Scotland Yard, outrunning the police, going to the China Town — Sherlock almost dying. It's been an even crazier day than the one before. Now, Harley was finally starting to feel the weariness and hunger creeping back up on her as they stepped farther out into the chilled air. She let out a tired sigh, the cold fogging up her breath.

"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao," Sherlock said with determination as they bounded down the stone steps.

"If she's still alive," John said skeptically.

Ungh, don't say that, Harley thought as she rubbed her temples with her middle and index fingers. They haven't found Soo Lin yet, so there was still a chance that she was alive. She was obviously clever because she didn't run back to her home like Van Coon or Lukis did when she found the threat. Problem was, she could be anywhere by now.

"Sherlock!" a voice called out.

The three of them turned to see the young man from the gallery, Raz, run up to them.

"Oh, look who it is," John said testily when Raz approached them. Of course, he was still moody because of what happened.

"Found something you'll like," Raz said. His eyes lingered on John for a moment with a smirk before he started jogging off, the three of them going after him, Harley moving a bit slower than usual.

Luckily, Raz had slowed down his stride to a walk as they started to cross the Hungerford Bridge, heading for the south side of the river.

"Tuesday morning, all you've got to do is turn up and say the bag was yours," John said to Raz.

"Forget about your court date," Sherlock cut in impatiently.

John let out an annoyed huff, but said nothing more on the matter. Harley took his hand and squeezed it lightly. John looked down at her, a small smile breaking out, knowing that was her way of comforting him. She returned the smile, then looked back the way they came — and her smile vanished completely. She caught sight of a woman with short, dark hair wearing big sunglasses, who was standing at the end of the bridge, seemingly watching them. Harley quickly looked away, then back a second later. But when she did, the woman had vanished. How strange.

Maybe I'm just tired, Harley convinced herself after taking once last glance, then turned back and continued on with her uncle. They eventually turned up at the South Bank Skate Park. Raz led them through the under-croft, where all of the walls and pillars had been colorfully spray-painted within an inch of their life. There were still quite a few people in the park — the majority of them were teenagers — either just hanging out or riding through the park and doing tricks.

"Dude, that was rad!" a girl exclaimed as a boy did an impressive jump on his bike.

Harley blinked hazily in the girl's direction. Rad? People still say that? Are they bringing it back?

"If you want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it. Wouldn't you say?" Sherlock said as they walked, looking at the graffiti art all around them. "People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message."

Mostly because people don't take the time to stop and look, especially in a place like this, Harley thought, eyeing the group of teenagers smoking and drinking alcohol nearby warily. She usually tried to steer clear from places like this as much as she could.

Raz pointed to a particular area on one of the walls. "There. I spotted it earlier."

They walked up to the wall, and saw that underneath the many tags and artworks were splits of bright yellow paint lines. But they were unmistakably the remains of the Chinese numbers.

"They have been here," Sherlock mumbled before turning to Raz, raising his voice again. "And that's the exact same paint?"

"Yeah," Raz verified with a nod.

Sherlock then turned back to the Watsons. "If we're going to decipher this code, we're going to need to look for more evidence," he declared.

Raz bid them farewell before he ran off, and the three of them walked away from the wall, leaving the skate park. Sherlock suggested that most likely there would be more symbols around the area, and that they should split up to cover more ground. They all agreed. Harley decided to go off with her uncle, while Sherlock went another way on his own.

The Watsons stayed close as they started walking through a dim underpass, keeping a lookout on the walls for anymore symbols, but only coming up with more graffiti and posters.

It wasn't until several minutes later did John finally break the silence between them. "So, what's up with you and Sherlock lately?" he asked.

Harley looked up at him uncomprehendingly. Say what now?

"I mean, what's up with Sherlock inviting you everywhere now? I'm almost surprised he didn't have you go with him when we split," he elaborated, an eyebrow raised. "Something happen while I was out or something?"

Uhhh…I don't know how to answer that, she thought as they walked in a dreary silence, John waiting for an answer. He had a point, though. It seemed like ever since that morning John went out to get the shopping — since she and Sherlock had that conversation at the flat — he's been letting her come along on these insane chases. But it wasn't like he was forcing her to. He simply asked her, and she agreed. Why, on both accounts? Harley was still trying to figure that out for herself.

Coming out of her state of thought, she shrugged in response and shook her head, showing that she honestly didn't know any more than he did.

"Well, you are a smart kid, and you actually understand what he says most of the time. That helps…" John said, "…and considering the way he can tend to act, it could be a lot worse."

I guess, she thought with a hint of doubt.

They carried on with their search, exiting the underpass and finding themselves at the railway lines, the sound of trains wailing in the distance. Harley's eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and she tried to hold back a yawn, but failed. John instantly noticed.

"Tired?" he asked her.

She nodded admittedly, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to get rid of the fatigue.

"Alright, come on," John said, squatting down in front of her. "On my back, before you collapse on me."

Harley just stared at him. What are you, crazy? she thought, remembering John's slight limp and shoulder injury. She didn't want to hurt him.

John smirked at her over his shoulder. "I think you're forgetting who you're looking at. I've hauled men more than twice your size over my shoulders across Afghanistan. You'll be fine. Now, hop on…for old time's sake."

Harley couldn't help but smile a bit at that. He was referring to when he would babysit her back when she was just a little kid, maybe four or five. He would often give her piggyback rides, pretending to be her noble steed, and she a knight, riding off into battle and slaying dragons together like the stories she'd read in books.

Those were the good old days.

In a delicate motion, she wrapped her arms around her uncle's neck, and he stood up, taking her with him as he hooked his arms around her legs to keep her in place.

"See? What'd I tell you? Light as a feather," John said smugly.

Yeah, yeah. You're a blond Superman, she thought, rolling her eyes fondly.

"Here," John said, taking a flashlight out of his jacket pocket and handing it to her. "I'll be the legs. You be the eyes."

She nodded in agreement. She turned on the light and aimed it outward, lighting the path ahead of them.

"Onwards!" John yelled.

Mysteries ho! Harley thought with equal enthusiasm as they pressed forward into the night. Harley rested her chin on his shoulder, leaning against his head as they went, absently moving the light around them while they searched. John was holding up well, only slowing down once to readjust Harley farther up his back before continuing onwards.

It wasn't until they started walking along the train tracks did they finally spot something. Harley had the torchlight aimed toward the ground in front of them, and in the light they caught droplets of yellow paint on the sleepers and railings of the track. Harley felt John stiffen underneath her and tighten his grip on her as they kept going. They followed the growing drops until they stopped in front of a maintenance shed of some sort. Harley raised the light to the brick wall, and John stepped back in surprise as they stared, wide-eyed. The wall was covered across its entire fifteen-foot span with various Chinese symbols in the yellow hue.

Holy [insert swear word here], Harley thought, stunned.

John lowered her to her feet when she shifted, indicating that she wanted down. Both of them took out their phones. John dialed up Sherlock's number and put it to his ear while Harley started to take pictures of the symbols, shining the light on each one she took at a closer view before backing up to take one of all of them together in one photo.

John cursed under his breath a moment later as he lowered his phone. "Of course he wouldn't answer. He never answers his bloody phone," he sighed in exasperation.

Harley looked around, thinking fast. Well, there's only one thing to do, then. He couldn't have gone too far off from where they were. She whirled around and started running back the way they came from.

"Harley, wait!" John called out, going after her, but she didn't slow down, leaving a good gap between them as they sprinted across the railway. Harley darted back through the underpass and headed down the way she saw Sherlock go. A few minutes later, she finally tracked down the consulting detective, who was observing the side of a white, parked rail freight container. Sherlock turned at the sound of her running footsteps across the gravel, facing her, and he frowned.

"Harley?" he said as she slowed to a stop in front of him. "What's wrong?"

She rested her hands on her slightly bent knees and panted, taking a moment to catch her breath. Then she lifted her gaze back up to meet Sherlock's. She opened her mouth and took a deep breath.

"Answer your phone! I've been calling you!" John's voice shouted from behind her as he finally caught up with them. "We've found it." He jerked his thumb behind him in the direction they came from.

Sherlock looked from John to Harley. She closed her mouth and nodded lightly in confirmation. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as they both broke into a jog, following John back to the place they found the symbols. By the time they were on the other side of the railroad tracks, Harley was starting to feel a painful stitch in her side from running so much. She winced and clutched her side, but she had to keep going. She didn't want to fall behind.

Thankfully, the symbols weren't very far now. They stopped at the brick wall and shined the light. John's mouth dropped open in surprise again, and Harley felt like she had just gotten an electric shock, but this time it was for a different reason.

Because the wall was completely blank. The ciphers were gone.

"It's been painted over!" John exclaimed. He reached out and touched the wall, only to retract with freshly coated paint on his fingertips. He stumbled backwards. "I don't understand. It- it was here — ten minutes ago. We saw it. A whole load of graffiti!"

Harley's eyes moved up and down the wall. Something about this just didn't feel right. How did someone manage to cover up the entire wall in the ten minutes they were gone? There had to have been more than one person involved. No one was that fast with a brush.

It also brought up another disturbing question: Were they being watched?

"Somebody doesn't want me to see it," Sherlock muttered, staring out at the railroad tracks, as if looking for the person responsible.

Harley's eyes brightened as she remembered. Oh, yeah! Don't worry, Sherlock, I've got this, Harley thought as she reached for her phone. I'll just show you my pictures and— whaaat are you doing with my uncle?

She had looked up only to find Sherlock suddenly standing in front of John, clasping his hands on both sides of his head.

"Hey! Sherlock, what are you doing—?" John asked but was cut off by Sherlock.

"Shh! John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes."

John didn't close his eyes, instead looking more confused than ever. "No, what? Why? Why?!" he demanded as Sherlock lowered his hands to grip his upper arms instead. "What are you doing?!"

Yeah, what are you doing? Harley questioned as she looked on from the side, an eyebrow raised.

Sherlock began to slowly spin John around in circles, staring at him intently. "I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"

"Yeah," John replied.

"Can you remember it?"

"Yes, definitely."

Um, guys? There's really no need for this… Harley thought, opening up the pictures on her phone and holding it up hesitantly, but they paid her no attention.

"Can you remember the pattern?"

"Yes!" John said exasperatedly.

Really, no need for this…

"How much can you remember it?"

Seriously, guys. If you would just look at my phone…

"Well, don't worry—"

"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate."

Harley dropped her arm to the side in a huff, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her face. That's it, I quit.

"Yeah, well, don't worry, I'll remember all of it," John insisted.

"Really?" Sherlock didn't look convinced.

"Yeah, well, at least I would…" John wrestled himself free from Sherlock's grasp, "…if you would let Harley give you her phone! She took photographs."

Harley looked up at the pair of them with a worn-out expression after an awkward silence. Oh, are you ladies done with your dance recital now? Yes?

She held her phone out to Sherlock, who slowly took it from her. It may have just been a trick of the limited light that they had, but Harley could've sworn that he looked embarrassed.

No need for that, buddy. I'm embarrassed for you.

"Yes, well…good, then," Sherlock said, clearing his throat, as he skimmed through the pictures until he looked satisfied with what he saw. "I believe this will do for now. Let's start heading back."

Thank God, Harley thought with immense relief as they started heading back to civilization. She was now more exhausted than earlier from running, hungry, and she was starting to get a little cold. She rubbed her eyes, the momentary blindness almost making her stumble on her own two feet.

"Come on," John said as steadied her before lowering himself down. "Back up you go."

Harley didn't even waver this time as she got on his back and was lifted off the ground, content to be off her feet. She let out a soft sigh.

"What was it you called me back then? When we played knights?" John asked her as they walked on, looking up thoughtfully. "Sir Johnethus of the Round Table?"

She nodded against his shoulder, smiling tiredly. She almost couldn't believe that he would remember something like that from so long ago.

"Ah, yes. You were really big on King Arthur back then."

It was a phase, and a good one at that. Get over it, she thought as she lightly smacked him upside the head, making him laugh.

"Easy there, Lady Harleen of Camelot."

It was only a model, Harley thought jokingly, rolling her eyes. Then she caught Sherlock watching them both with a quirked eyebrow and the barest hint of a smirk in amusement. Oh, geez. Feeling her cheeks warming up against the cold air, she buried her face in the crook of her uncle's neck as they continued onwards.

A long while later, they had reached the main road, hailed a cab — to which she spent the whole ride resting her head on her uncle's shoulder and relishing the heat of the car — and had finally arrived back at 221 Baker Street. Couldn't have made it back soon enough. The second they entered the living room, Harley unceremoniously tossed her jacket onto John's chair, along with her uncle's jacket, and shuffled over to the couch. Letting her weight take over, she fell forward and flopped face-first into the cushions.

"And down she goes," John teased, smiling at her sprawled form on the couch. Though, he himself was starting to get overcome with weariness of the day's events as well, not to mention getting up earlier than he usually did to go to his job interview that morning didn't exactly help.

Cradle and all, Harley thought drily, but otherwise didn't move a muscle at his comment.

Meanwhile, Sherlock went straight to the desk. He still had her phone, hooking it up to his computer. Harley lifted her head from the pillow at the sound of him printing off the pictures she had taken. Once that was done, Sherlock looked up at her and said simply, "I need your marker."

Fine, fine, her still hazy mind drawled as she took her black marker out of her bag and tossed it over to him. He responded in kind by tossing her back her phone, almost hitting her face if her reflexes hadn't kicked in, jolting her awake a bit. Yeah, thanks.

John sat down at the desk and propped his head in his hands, his back facing Sherlock while the consulting detective scrawled the numbers on the pictures that represented the numerical value of each symbol.

By the time he had added the pictures to the collage above the fireplace, John was having trouble keeping his eyes open. On the couch, Harley watched the sleuth blearily, having to squint to focus. It still amazed her how he never seemed to get tired. If anything, he looked like he had just drank a pack of Red Bull, enjoying the thrill of the mystery. Sure, she wanted to solve the case too, but still…she didn't run on it. She needed to rest from time to time.

"Always in pairs. Look," Sherlock said after a while, breaking the silence and rousing both of them, finally seeming to have found a pattern in the code.

John opened his eyes, perking up a bit and turning to him. "Hmm?"

"Numbers, come with partners" Sherlock said. As he said this, John stretched his facial muscles, trying to stay awake.

"God, I need to sleep," he muttered, looking around the flat.

That's right, you do. Isn't tomorrow your first day at the surgery? Harley thought.

"Why did he paint it so near the tracks?" Sherlock asked, more to himself than either of the Watsons.

"No idea," John mumbled vaguely.

"Thousands of people pass by there every day."

"Just twenty minutes." John rested his head in his hand again.

"Of course," Sherlock breathed a moment later with realization, then raised his voice with excitement, "Of course! He wants information. He's trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back." He ran his finger over the picture of all of the symbols together in the center. "It's somewhere here, in a code…"

Suddenly, he ripped three of the photos from the wall. "We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao," he proclaimed before heading for the door.

"Oh, good," John groaned sarcastically.

After Sherlock took the coat off its hanger, he turned and saw that Harley hadn't moved from the couch. He frowned. "Are you coming or not?"

She blinked at him, then took her notebook and wrote down her response and showed him:

Can I sit this one out this time, please? I'm pretty tired, and I'll probably just get in the way.

His eyebrows furrowed. He opened his mouth as if about to argue, but John cut him off, "Come on, Sherlock, leave her be. Besides, killer on the loose, remember? So if we're looking for Soo Lin, it's best she stayed here now anyway."

"There will always be killers on the loose out there, John. She's no safer any other time than now," Sherlock retorted impatiently.

Well, that's reassuring, Harley thought.

"Sherlock…" John started in that warning tone that dared him to challenge him more.

Sherlock sighed. "Fine, then."

As Harley watched them leave, she couldn't help but feel a little bad. She really did want to help, but in her state now, when she wasn't as focused, she didn't think she'd be of any use. Besides, she really needed some time to sit and relax after a long day.

The silence that lingered about in the flat was suddenly broken by her stomach growling.

Right. I can relax after I get some dinner, she decided, getting up and going to kitchen. She searched through the cabinets and the fridge, but the only things she found that wasn't extracted from the human body was a half-empty jar of peanut butter and some dill pickles.

What the heck? Didn't we just go shopping a day ago? Don't tell me we ate everything already.

"Hoo-hoo!" a high-pitched voice called from the doorway, along with a soft knocking. Harley turned and saw Mrs. Hudson come in, carrying a platter filled with cheese, crackers, and pretzels.

"I saw the boys pop out earlier, so I just thought I'd make up some nibbles for you," Mrs. Hudson said sweetly, placing the platter down on the table.

Harley hoped that it only felt like she drooling. She hurried to get her notebook from the other room, writing something down, then she went over to Mrs. Hudson:

Mrs. Hudson, you are a diamond in the rough.

The landlady waved a hand and giggled, but it came out more like a squeal of delight. "Oh, stop that."

Harley smiled a little with gratitude, then wrote: Would you like to stay with me a bit? I don't think I'll be able to eat all of this myself.

"Oh, alright, dearie. But you better eat some of it." They sat down at the table together, digging into the snacks, while the landlady continued to speak in a rant-like manner, "You and Sherlock both, not eating when you're supposed to. 'The body is just transport,' he always tells me whenever I try to bring him food. He's quite the gangly scarecrow, don't you agree?"

Well, I wouldn't say scarecrow, but yeah, he is pretty much fueled only by cases, she mused, then nodded at Mrs. Hudson in silent agreement.

"So don't you dare start using that same excuse, young lady. You're still a growing girl, you know," Mrs. Hudson said, pointing at her.

Ma'am, yes, ma'am! Harley thought, nodding quickly at her mother hen-like tone.

Mrs. Hudson smiled in approval. "Good. If you ask me, I'm actually glad that you've been spending more time with the boys. It's getting you out of your shell, I can just tell."

Harley picked at a cracker and shrugged discretely, recalling her saying pretty much the same thing the night before.

"It's also good that you're getting to know Sherlock more, considering he and your uncle are together and all."

Harley nearly choked on her food. Whoa, back up! What did she say?!

"Not that I mind, of course. Far from it, actually. Mrs. Turner herself has married ones next door," Mrs. Hudson continued, not noticing the girl's initial shock of what she had said.

Harley's eye twitched. Mrs. Hudson thought that Sherlock and John were…?

No. No. She shook her head and wrote out: I highly doubt that, Mrs. Hudson. I think they're just friends.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head back, not believing it one bit but saying offhandedly, "If that's what you think…"

Harley stared at her impassively. Lady, I was raised by two lesbians; I practically had a gay-dar implanted in me the day I was born. So I'm pretty sure I'd know if either one of them had the hots for each other.

There was also the fact that John was a natural-born ladies' man, if his slip-up of how his interview went had any indication. Plus, she remembered some of the various girlfriends he'd had over the years. She'd lost count, in fact. So she was fairly certain that John was straighter than a y-line on a graph.

And Sherlock? Well…she had little to no idea about him in that department. To her, he seemed to be the type of person who wasn't interested in things like that, or he simply didn't have the time for it. He wasn't exactly what you'd call the "cuddly, feely type", for sure. So she doubted that Sherlock harbored feelings like that toward her uncle — or anyone, for that matter. But she wasn't going to ask him; it was none of her business.

To her relief, Mrs. Hudson didn't say anything else on the matter, and they finished eating in silence.

Thank you for the snacks. They were delicious, Harley wrote to her after they had cleaned up.

"Think nothing of it, dearie. When I heard that you haven't eaten lunch today, I couldn't stand by. But this was just a one-time thing. I'm not your housekeeper, after all."

Yeah, you seem to have that sentence on a loop from time to time, Harley thought in amusement, not taking the warning that seriously but nodding in understanding anyway.

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything," Mrs. Hudson told her before giving her a quick hug and heading out the door, leaving Harley alone in the flat. With a satisfied sigh, Harley trudged up the stairs to her room. It was most likely going to be a while until the boys returned. So she figured she could use the time to catch up on her reading and rest up a bit. She settled onto her bed with the book she was reading, but she only got a few minutes in before she started to doze off.

It felt like she only drifted for a second before the sound of a door slamming downstairs jostled her awake. Her eyes snapped open as she sat up abruptly. After looking around to get her bearings, she reached for her phone and checked the time, rubbing her eyes awake more. It had been over three hours since she went to sleep. She got up and left her room, hearing the sound of the boys' footsteps coming up the stairs. She crept down the stairs and stopped three-quarters of the way down, watching Sherlock and her uncle enter the living room, both of them looking solemn.

"Not just a criminal organization," Sherlock said, taking off his coat and putting it on the hook. "It's a cult. Soo Lin's brother was corrupted by one of its leaders."

Harley's eyebrows shot up. Soo Lin's brother? He was the killer? She sat down on the staircase, one hand holding onto the railing as she listened further.

"She said the name, didn't she?" John asked him as he sat in his chair.

"Yes. Shan— General Shan." Sherlock walked into her view in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

"We're still no closer to finding him."

"Wrong! We've got almost all we need to know," Sherlock corrected, turning to John. Then his voice lowered, sounding a little grave, "She gave us most of the missing pieces."

Harley felt her heart grow heavy at the way he said that and its context. From what she could gather, it sounded like they had found Soo Lin and she had assisted them…but something happened. Did she die? Did the killer find her?

She suddenly became aware that Sherlock had caught sight of her on the stairwell. Their eyes locked for a long moment, and from the way he was looking at her, she could just tell that it didn't go over very well like she had thought. She bowed her head somberly.

Sherlock tore his gaze away from her and looked back to John. "Why did he need to visit his sister? Why did he need her expertise?"

"She worked at the museum," John answered.

"Exactly."

"An expert in antiquities…" There was a pause as John finally put the pieces together. "Hmm, of course. I see."

"Valuable antiquities, John. Ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China's home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao's revolution."

Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, social-political movement, 1966 to 1976 by Mao Zedong, Harley's mind suddenly recalled from a Chinese cultural history book at the mention of Mao's revolution. She blinked, then shook the random thought out of her head.

"And the Black Lotus is selling them," John said in conclusion to Sherlock's statement.

Black Lotus? Harley silently questioned. But a few seconds later, she remembered the black paper flowers that they had found at the crime scenes. So it was their calling card.

Meanwhile, Sherlock stared ahead with a clouded expression, tilting his head to the side. A long moment later, he snapped out of it and strode over to the desk and opened up his laptop. Harley used this time to stand up and enter the living room. John looked over at her.

"Oh, Harley...I'm surprised you're still awake," he said.

She merely gave him a single nod and proceeded across the room and stopped to where she was looking at what Sherlock was doing over his shoulder. "They're selling the relics on the black market," he said, typing away. "So what's the best way to do that and smuggle them in?"

In answer to his own question, he logged onto a website called Crispian's Auction.

By auctioning them off as antiques, she concluded. She smiled slightly. Oh, that's clever.

John came over to look over Sherlock's shoulder from the other side as Sherlock began to scroll through the most recent Chinese auctions online.

"Check for the dates…" Sherlock murmured, then stopped at a bid on a pair of Chinese Ming vases. "Here! Arrived from China four days ago." He scanned the sale information. "Anonymous. The vendor doesn't give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East."

"One in Lukis' case and on in Van Coon's," John commented.

Sherlock went to Quest search and typed in Chinese antiquities sold at auction, then hit search, and the list result came up instantly. "Look, here's another one," he said, pointing at the first bid on the list. "Arrived from China a month ago. Chinese ceramic statue sold, four hundred thousand."

John took Brian Lukis' diary from the desk and started to skim through it, then looked back up at the computer screen. "Ah, look, a month before that. A Chinese painting, half a million."

"All of them from an anonymous source. They're stealing them back in China, and one by one, they're feeding them into Britain."

"Ah." John consulted Lukis' diary once more and then the printout of Van Coon's calendar. "And every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China."

"So what if one of them got greedy while they were in China? What if one of them stole something?" Sherlock asked, looking from the computer to John.

"That's why Zhi Zhu's come," her uncle said.

Harley straightened and put a hand to her chin, thinking over what she had just learned. So, in a way, Van Coon and Lukis were connected career-wise after all, and one of them ended up stealing something from the hoard, and they weren't answering the messages from the Black Lotus. So they sent someone to look for it, find out who took it — and that person's name, apparently, was Zhi Zhu. But if he was still out there, still in the country, then he obviously hadn't found what was stolen yet. What was it that he was looking for? And which one of the smugglers had stolen it?

"Hoo-hoo!"

She was pulled out of her reverie by Mrs. Hudson calling and knocking a second time that night. She, John and Sherlock turned toward the door in response.

"Sorry to interrupt, but are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Harley raised an eyebrow. Really? I didn't think he was the type. She looked to Sherlock, but he appeared to be just as confused by the question as she was.

"What?" he asked.

"There's a young man outside with crates of books," Mrs. Hudson told him, pointing downstairs.

Harley's eyes brightened to the point that they were practically sparking, as if Mrs. Hudson had suddenly chanted the magic words. Did she just say books? Crates of them?!

Harley felt her lips curl into a smile. Okay, now she was liking the way this case was turning.

A/N- So far, the biggest debate I had with this story since starting it was whether or not I should have Harley join the boys to the museum the second time. But in the end, I decided against it...because having a twelve-year-old mute with mental issues watch a woman being gunned down would've been too much for her to handle for now. Besides, it gave me the perfect opportunity to have Harley spend some time with the lovely BAMF, Mrs. Hudson. She's a real gem...and she ships Johnlock harder than any other shipper in the galaxy. XD

And Harley, honey, I believe the term you're looking for to describe Sherlock there is aromantic asexual.

Only a few more chapters to go on the Blind Banker episode now! I honestly can't wait to wrap it up. I'm sort of planning to have a few chapters afterwards to where Harley spends a day with Sherlock while John's at work.

Thank you for reading! Laterz!