Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or Sherlock
Jason's POV
I go down to the stupid police station in Scotland Yard to talk to Dimmock.
The moron is rummaging around Lukis's possessions.
"Your friend-" Dimmock starts.
"I don't want to hear it," I snap. "If you're going to insult Sherlock, I'm going to punch you in the throat.
"What are you? His bodyguard?" Dimmock snarls.
"Do you want to find out?" I give him the Bat-glare until he cowers and looks away.
"He's an arrogant sod," Dimmock says, handing me Lukis's diary.
I growl at him.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" the moron asks nervously. "The journalist's diary?" what kind of man uses the word 'diary'?
I take the journal, and after one final glare at Dimmock, I exit the building.
Some time later, I literally run into Sherlock while looking through the journal's pages.
Before I can say anything, Sherlock immediately begins speaking. "Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case. I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information…"
"Sherlock-"
"Credit card bills, receipts," he continues. "He flew back from China, then he came here."
"Sherlock…"
"Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don't know where, but…"
I point across the street. "That shop over there."
Sherlock looks at the shop, and then back at me. "How can you tell?"
"Lukis' journal," I say, showing him. "He was here too; he wrote down the address."
Sherlock and I begin to head towards the shop.
When we get inside, the shop owner grins at me creepily. "You want lucky cat?" she holds up the merchandise.
Damn, that thing is creepy. "No," I say, hostility in my tone once again.
Sherlock smirks at me, as if he is enjoying this. I glare at him.
"Ten pound. Ten pound!" the shopkeeper tries.
"No," I growl.
"I think your wife, she will like!"
"I don't have a wife!" I scream.
She doesn't even look fazed.
I stalk away to join Sherlock at one of the tables where ceramic painted teacups without handles are sitting. They have the mandarin symbols on the too. Yes! I can tell Sherlock about it without revealing that I know mandarin.
"Sherlock," I call to him.
Sherlock puts down the clay statue he was holding and comes over.
"The label there," I point it out.
"Yes, I see it," he says.
"Exactly the same as the cipher," I say.
I put the teacup back and we leave.
"It's an ancient number system! Hangzhou." Sherlock says.
I knew that.
"These days, only street traders use it," Sherlock continues. "Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library."
Well, considering I grew up on the streets, it seems rather fitting that I knew what they meant.
"Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect."
"It's a fifteen," I say, pointing to one of the shop's price tags.
"And the blindfold– the horizontal line? That was a number as well," Sherlock says, finding a price tag with the number one on it. "The Chinese number one, John."
Sherlock begins to walk away, and I spot an (1)Asian woman taking a picture of us. I pause for a moment, a bad feeling growing inside me, and then I notice Sherlock is halfway up the block.
When I look back, the woman is gone, so I just hurry after Sherlock, but the thoughts of her don't leave me.
We hang outside the shop for a while. "Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?"
"It's not what they saw," Sherlock says. "It's what they both brought back in those suitcases. Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market."
"Lost five million…" I murmur.
"Made it back in a week," Sherlock says. "That's how he made such easy money." This reminds me so much of working with Bruce. He used to always make sure I understood what he was talking about by helping me figure it out for myself instead of just flat out telling me.
"He was a smuggler," I say. I've met a few of those. Killed a few too.
"A guy like him– it would have been perfect," Sherlock says. "Business man, making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same. A journalist writing about China."
I nod.
"Both of them smuggled stuff out," Sherlock says, "and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off."
"But why did they die?" I ask. "I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?" Usually, mob bosses are happy once you make your deliveries.
Sherlock sits back, a thoughtful look on his face, and then he grins. "What if one of them was light-fingered?"
"He stole something?" I ask.
"Yes, something from the hoard," Sherlock says.
"And the killer doesn't know which of them took it, so he threatens them both," I say. "Makes sense."
"Remind me," Sherlock says, looking at a phone book. "When was the last time that it rained?"
Sherlock gets up and starts to leave. I just follow him, again reminded of how I used to run after B whenever we were on a case in Gotham.
Damn, I really need to stop thinking about Bruce right now.
Sherlock takes a look at the phone book. The plastic wrapping is still wet. "It's been here since Monday." He straightens up and presses the doorbell to the flat that belongs to someone named Soo Lin.
There's no answer, so Sherlock proceeds to walk down into a nearby alleyway. I follow him.
"No-one's been in that flat for at least three days," Sherlock says.
I nod, noticing the open windows. "I'm guessing she didn't go on vacation, considering she left her windows open. That'd be a pretty dumb thing to do."
Sherlock nods, and then runs at the metal fire escape, jumping up to grab the end, pulls it down towards him, runs up the step to the open window, and then closes the latter.
I blink. "Sherlock!" Damn it! At least Batman would wait for me, not ditch me outside in the alleyway.
I dash around to the front of the house.
"Someone else has been here," Sherlock calls from inside. If I didn't have good hearing, I wouldn't have heard what he said. "Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase just like I did."
"Yeah, can you let me in?" I ask. I could get in myself a numerous amount of ways, but all of them would reveal abilities I'm not so sure I want Sherlock to know I have. Scaling the building to get to an open window, using my grappling hook to get there, the kind of strength it would take to kick the door down.
"I'm not the first!" Sherlock calls. "Somebody's been in here before me!"
"What?" who else would have gone into Soo Lin's flat?
"Size eight feet," I hear Sherlock mutter to himself. "Small, but… athletic."
I sigh in annoyance, realizing he isn't going to let me in and knowing I can't get myself in without revealing some of my hidden talents I have gotten from training nearly my entire life.
"Small, strong hands," Sherlock murmurs. I can barely hear him now. It's not like I have super hearing.
"Our acrobat," he says. At the word acrobat, I immediately think of Dick. "But why didn't he close the window when he left? Oh, stupid. Stupid. Obvious. He's still here."
What? Please tell me he is joking and he's not in a building with a murderous acrobat.
"Sherlock Holmes, you let me in right now!" I yell. "Just because you have some massive intellect that no one else can compete with doesn't mean you always have to work alone!"
I hear the sound of a body slamming into the floor, and choking noises.
Screw hiding my training.
I kick the door down and dash in, just in time to see someone with a cowl over his face dressed in all black trying to strangle Sherlock.
I lunge at him, managing to punch him in the face.
The man falls back, springing away from me, and realizing he is now facing two rather tall, muscular opponents, dashes towards the window and jumps out.
My first instinct is to pursue, but that's what got me killed, remember? Going after the Joker without Batman.
Besides, Sherlock needs me right now.
"Are you all right?" I ask immediately, getting the scarf off his neck and helping him sit up.
"Yeah, fine," Sherlock says."The, uh, milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago."
"Somebody?" I ask, examining his throat to make sure there's no damage.
Sherlock nods, his voice rough and scratchy. "Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her."
"How?" I ask him.
He picks up a folded envelope with the writing:
SOO LIN
Please ring me
tell me you're
OK
Andy
NATIONAL
ANTIQUITIES
MUSEUM
"Maybe we could start with this," Sherlock croaks, attempting to get to his feet.
"Hang on," I say, "I'm helping you."
"What?" he says. "John, I am perfectly capable of walking on my own."
"No, you were almost strangled," I snap, putting his arm over my shoulder.
"John-"
"No," I say. "Look, I don't like this any more than you do. It means I have to touch you, and frankly, I'm not too big on contact, so just shut up, and let someone help you for once."
He gazes at me, an odd look on his face, as if he is searching for some hidden answer.
"…Fine," he says. "But just this once, and in exchange, you'll have to let me help you one day."
I glare. "We'll see."
When we get to the museum, Sherlock immediately interviews this Andy person, while I as usual, glare at the guy.
"When was the last time that you saw her?" he asks about Soo Lin Yao.
"Three days ago," Andy says. "Here at the museum. This morning they told me she'd resigned just like that."
Sherlock stares intensely at the display cases.
"Just left her work unfinished."
Sherlock turns to look back at Andy. "What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?"
Andy leads us down to the basement. "She does this demonstration for the tourists. A tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here."
He is leading us over to where she would have packed her things, when Sherlock
stops, staring at a sculpture of a woman with the mandarin symbols one and fifteen on it as well.
That evening, we leave the museum and begin to walk down the street.
"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao," Sherlock says.
"If she's still alive," I mutter.
"Sherlock!" I hear the familiar voice of Raz calls as the tagger joins us. "Found something you'll like."
He runs off, and Sherlock immediately follows. I hesitate for a moment, not trusting the guy, but ultimately, I follow too.
He leads us to Hungerford Bridge, heading towards the side of the river.
"If you want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say?
People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message," Sherlock says.
Raz gestures towards one of the walls covered from practically every inch in graffiti. I feel like I am in Crime Alley again. "There. I spotted it earlier."
Amongst the other taggings, there is lots of yellow paint forming more Chinese symbols.
"They have been in here," Sherlock says. "And that's the exact same paint?"
"Yeah," Raz says.
"John," Sherlock says, "if we're going to decipher this code, we're gonna need to look for more evidence."
The two of us split up to find evidence easier. To be honest, I'm not comfortable leaving Sherlock alone after he almost got strangled, but he insisted. I considered planting a bug on him so if anything bad happened, I'd know and could go help him, but I was afraid he's notice, since he seems to notice everything.
I walk towards an underpass, looking at all the graffiti and other tagging designs. Yeah, this definitely reminds me of Crime Alley. It almost makes me miss home, Gotham. Almost.
I get to the railway lines, putting on my domino mask and using the night vision I have in the white coverings for my eyes. I see yellow paint on the rails and sleepers and then raise my eyes up to the brick wall, which is covered in the mandarin symbols.
I pull out my phone to call Sherlock, only for him not to answer.
Damn it!
I quickly take a picture with my phone, just in case I forget the numbers, even though I know what they mean, and rush off to find Sherlock.
When I finally track the man who reminds me so much of a less hostile Bruce, he is looking at some container.
I sneak up on him using the stealth Bats taught me. "Answer your phone! I've been calling you!"
Sherlock jumps when he sees me. "Where did you come from?"
"Gotham," I growl out. "Now come on; I found it."
The two of us dash off.
When we get back to the wall, the designs are gone. "It's been painted over! Damn it!"
Sherlock shines his flash light over it. "Somebody doesn't want me to see it."
He spins around at a speed that would rival the flash and grabs my head in both his hands. I instantly flinch away at the contact. "What are you doing-!"
"Shh, John, concentrate," Sherlock says. "I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes."
"No, I'm not closing my eyes," I say.
Sherlock lowers his hands to grasp my arms instead.
"What are you doing?!" I snarl, trying to jerk away violently.
Sherlock holds tighter, trying to keep me there. "I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"
"Yeah," I say, still trying to rip away from him. I do remember what all the symbols meant, but since Sherlock doesn't know that I know mandarin, I'll just show him the picture.
"Can you remember it?" he demands to know, but isn't speaking in a harsh tone, just an urgent one.
"Yes," I say, attempting to jerk away once more.
"Can you remember the pattern?" he asks.
"Yes!" I succeed in ripping away this time.
"How much can you remember it?" Sherlock asks.
"Don't worry-" I start, but Sherlock grabs a hold of me again, invading my personal space once more.
"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate," Sherlock says.
"Yeah, well, don't worry," I say, jerking away again. "I remember it all."
"Really?" Sherlock looks at me with disbelief.
"Yeah," I say, taking out my phone. "I took a photograph." I show the image of the painted wall to Sherlock.
"Oh," he says. "Right. Let's go."
AN: Well, what do you think? I'd really appreciate some more reviews; they truly make my day :)
1. When I say Jason notices an Asian woman taking a picture of them, I am not meaning to be racist. I have a friend who is Asian. I just don't know another way to describe it.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter; I'll get to work on the next one. :D
Thanks again for reading,
-DragonsintheMoonlight
