12.
The performance area wasn't as they expected it to be. A large circle of candles was laid out on the floor, creating a dim light in the otherwise dark room, but there were no seats for anyone to sit in; instead, the audience stood around the circle. The tickets must've been limited, as the audience was very small. There was enough room for everyone to stand and still have a clear view.
John and Sarah stood side by side, and Elspeth awkwardly lingered on John's other side, looking over her shoulder at Sherlock. He stood behind the couple with his back to them, craning his neck back to peer up at the ceiling.
"You said circus," John hissed, turning away so Sarah wouldn't hear. "This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is . . . art."
"This is not their day job."
"No, sorry, I forgot. They're not a circus, they're a gang of international smugglers."
Someone started tapping on a small hand drum, signalling that the performance had begun, and Sherlock turned around to watch it, much to John's surprise.
An ornately costumed Chinese woman with a heavily painted face – "The Opera Singer," Sherlock murmured to Elspeth – walked into the centre of the circle, looking imperiously at the audience before raising a hand in the air. The drumming stopped.
The Opera Singer walked across the circle to a large object that was covered in a white cloth, which she pulled back to reveal an antique-looking crossbow on a stand. Picking up a long wooden arrow with feathers on the end and a metal point on the other end, she showed it to the audience before fitting it into the crossbow. Elspeth watched with bated breath as the Opera Singer then removed a feather from her headdress, gently dropping it into the metal cup at the rear of the crossbow.
Instantly, the arrow was released, whizzing across the room. Elspeth flinched and Sarah looked at John, laughing as she put her hand over her heart.
Another person entered the circle, greeted with applause, wearing chainmail and an ornate head mask. He held his arms out to the sides and two men started to attach heavy chains and straps to him, strapping his arms in front of him. The man then backed up against a board, the other two chaining him to it.
"Classic Chinese escapology act," Sherlock said softly. John looked at him.
"Mmm?"
"The crossbow's on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."
Elspeth watched as another arrow was placed in the crossbow, the men pulling the chains tight so that the masked man cried out as his head was yanked back against the board. The chains were then looped through solid rings attached to the board, securing the warrior, and a cymbal crashed unexpectedly; jumping, Sarah clutched John's arm.
"Oh God, I'm sorry!" she said, laughing in embarrassment. John laughed with her, grinning in delight when Sarah kept her hand on his arm. Elspeth looked at them and rolled her eyes.
The Opera Singer picked up a small knife, displaying it to the audience.
"She splits the sandbag," Sherlock explained. "The sand pours out. Gradually the weight lowers into the bowl."
The Opera Singer did just as Sherlock said, and while the sand started to pour out, Elspeth saw her father walk away. Glancing at John and Sarah, she quickly followed him.
"Where are you going?" she hissed.
Sherlock didn't answer, crossing the performance area to climb onto the unused stage at the side. Elspeth huffed and he turned around, offering her his hand.
"Thank you," she said tartly. The two of them went behind the curtains and saw that the stage was being used as the dressing room. There was a dressing table with mirrors, free-standing clothes rails and several other bits of costumes lying about; if she had the time, Elspeth would've looked around properly. Sherlock glanced towards the warrior costume that was hanging up.
"Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird-spider," the Opera Singer announced on the other side of the curtains. Sherlock parted them slightly, looking at the acrobat with interest.
"Well well," he muttered to himself.
"What?" Elspeth asked, joining him by the curtain.
The stage door opened. Whirling around, Sherlock grabbed Elspeth's arm, both of them running to take cover behind the clothes rail. He gently pushed Elspeth down and she crouched on the floor silently, barely daring to breathe as they watched the Opera Singer pick up her mobile phone from the dressing table, checking it. One of the hangers fell to the floor. She looked round sharply, slowly approaching the rail. Sherlock ducked down.
Elspeth breathed out in relief when the Opera Singer left the dressing table, giggling slightly. Sherlock smiled at her briefly and looked down, spotting the bag near his feet. He flipped it open, finding several spray cans inside.
"Found you," Elspeth sung quietly, grinning as she picked up one of the cans and showed Sherlock the yellow band across the bottom of it.
Sherlock took it from her and pushed the clothes out of the way as he walked over to the mirrors, shaking the can as he went. Elspeth stood up, carefully stepping out from behind the clothes rail.
Spraying an almost horizontal line across the mirror, Sherlock looked in the mirror at the warrior's costume. It was no longer empty, he realised, as the man wearing it stepped away from the stand, walking towards him.
The man charged forwards, lashing out with a large knife. Sherlock ducked backwards, grabbing Elspeth as he stumbled, pulling her behind him. Elspeth fell over, landing heavily on her bottom.
Sherlock used the can he held in one hand as a weapon, using it to block a blow from the warrior, ducking as the warrior aimed another blow at him. Hitting his elbow, Sherlock fell as the man kicked him hard in the stomach.
The warrior grabbed Sherlock by the throat, dropping his knife in the process, and Elspeth ran forwards to propel herself into the man. She was tiny compared to the warrior, but he hadn't been expecting the collision, so they both went falling to the ground. Elspeth was thrown off him, landing with a heavy bang on hear, and she felt a sudden gush of air leave her lungs when the warrior kicked her in the stomach.
Sherlock lunged for the warrior; he was propelled backwards as the warrior kicked him hard in the chest, falling straight off the edge of the stage and landing on his back. He struggled to get upright again and the warrior approached him, holding the knife up in the air.
The audience fled and John ran forwards, seeing his friend was in danger, only to be thrown into the stage by the warrior.
Climbing to her feet and groaning when she felt a stabbing pain in her stomach, Elspeth looked around the room. Her eyes rested on a large wooden pole, probably used by one of the acrobats, and she snatched it up as she raced across the stage, leaping off it. The warrior was completely focused on Sherlock, his sword raised, and Elspeth ran forwards, hitting him hard over the head with the pole. He groaned, stumbling slightly, but before he could turn around she hit him just as hard in the ribs, pushing him over.
As Elspeth straightened up, feeling slightly breathless and brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, Sherlock sat up, pulling off the warrior's shoe to reveal a Tong tattoo on his foot.
"Are you alright?" Sarah asked, rushing to John's side as he straightened up, still trying to catch his breath. He insisted he was alright despite being doubled over in pain, looking at Elspeth in astonishment.
"Remind me never to piss you off," he told her. Elspeth grinned brightly.
"Come on!" Sherlock said, racing across the room to the exit. "Let's go!"
John grabbed Sarah by the hand, tugging her along, and Elspeth gave the nearly unconscious man by her feet a final glare before following them.
"I sent a couple of cars," Dimmock said irritably, striding into his office with Sherlock, John, Elspeth and a bewildered looking Sarah behind him. "The old hall is totally deserted."
"Look, I saw the mark at the circus – that tattoo that we saw on the two bodies," Sherlock insisted. "The mark of the Tong."
"I saw it too," Elspeth added, but Dimmock ignored her.
"Lukis and Van Coon were part of a smuggling operation," John explained. "Now, one of them stole something when they were in China, something valuable."
"These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back."
"Get what back?" Dimmock demanded impatiently. Sherlock bit his lip, looking away.
"We don't know," John said quietly.
"You don't know," Dimmock repeated. "Mr Holmes, I've done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something." At that, Sherlock looked up with a small smile. "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."
"They'll be back in China by tomorrow," John said as he followed Sherlock into the living room of 221B, with Sarah and Elspeth close behind.
"No, they won't leave without what they came for. We need to find their hide-out, the rendezvous," Sherlock said, walking forwards and looking intently at the photos around the mirror. Elspeth flopped into Sherlock's chair and Sarah hovered awkwardly in the doorway.
"Somewhere in this message it must tell us."
Sherlock and John fell silent. Sarah continued to hover for a few seconds.
"Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it," she finally said, realising that she wasn't of any help.
"No, no, you don't have to go," John insisted, turning around. He looked at Sherlock. "Does she?" he looked back at Sarah. "You can stay."
"Yes, it would be better to study if you left now," Sherlock said simultaneously. John gave him a dark look.
"He's kidding. Please stay if you'd like."
Sarah looked nervously towards Sherlock and Elspeth felt slightly bad for her, knowing how difficult her father must be to get along with for people who weren't used to him.
"Is it just me, or is anyone else starving?" Sarah asked with an awkward smile. Sherlock shut his eyes.
"Oh God," he muttered in exasperation.
"Oh, erm, take a seat and I'll get some snacks," John said quickly, clearing the mess of the sofa so Sarah could sit down. She glanced at the odd stain on one of the cushions and perched on the edge. Elspeth gave her a small smile when their eyes met.
While John searched through the kitchen for something to eat, finding only a few bottles, a can and what appeared to be an eyeball in the fridge, Sherlock turned his back on the mirror and sat at the kitchen tbale, which was already covered in his notes. Getting up from the armchair, Elspeth sat across from her father.
"Anything I can do?" she asked.
"Probably not."
Rolling her eyes, Elspeth curled her legs up so that her knees were pressed against her chest. Sarah got up from the sofa and looked at the photos around the mirror.
"So this is what you do, you and John," she said. "You solve puzzles for a living."
"Consulting detective," Sherlock corrected tetchily, not even turning around. Elspeth tried not to laugh.
"Oh. And you . . . you help, Elspeth?"
"Yeah . . ." Elspeth grinned to herself. "It's kinda the family business."
Sherlock looked up from his notes, sharing a secret grin with his daughter.
Moving away from the mirror, Sarah then hovered behind Sherlock and looked over his shoulder.
"What are these squiggles?"
Sherlock's grin fell and he suddenly looked like he was refraining himself from punching Sarah. "They're numbers. An ancient Chinese dialect."
"Oh, right! Yeah, well, of course I should have known that."
John looked at Sarah over his shoulder and opened a cupboard, finding a small bag of Wotsits. He poured the crisps into a bowl, looking up as Mrs Hudson sneaked inside. He felt a wave of relief when he saw the tray in her hands.
"I've done punch, and a bowl of nibbles," she whispered, putting the tray on the table to reveal a jug of punch, crisps and a dip.
"Mrs Hudson, you're a saint!" John whispered back.
"If it was Monday, I'd have been to the supermarket!"
"No, thank you! Thank you!"
Mrs Hudson hurried back out of the room, gently squeezing Elspeth's shoulder as she passed, and Sherlock looked like he was going to commit murder as Sarah picked up the photograph in an evidence bag. Glaring at her with utter fury, he looked away.
"So these numbers – it's a cipher."
"Exactly," Sherlock said through gritted teeth. Elspeth bit her lip.
"And each pair of numbers is a word."
Sherlock looked up, meeting Sarah's eyes for the first time that evening, and he stared at her for a few seconds.
"How did you know that?"
"Well, two words have already been translated, here."
She put down the picture, showing it to Sherlock.
"John," Sherlock said quietly, picking the photo up.
"Yeah?"
"John, look at this."
Elspeth got up from her seat, sitting in the one next to Sherlock, and John left the kitchen, standing behind them. Sherlock took the photo out of the evidence bag it had been placed in.
"Soo Lin at the museum – she started to translate the code for us. We didn't see it!"
A word had been written across each of the first two sets of symbols on the photograph.
"Nine mill," Sherlock read out.
"Mill as in million?" Elspeth asked, peering over her father's shoulder.
"Nine million quid. For what?" Turning around, Sherlock picked up his coat and scarf. "We need to know the end of this sentence."
"Where are you going?" John asked in exasperation.
"To the museum, to the restoration room. Oh, we must have been staring right at it!"
"At . . . at what?"
"The book, John. The book – the key to cracking the cipher!" Sherlock brandished the photo. "Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk."
He rushed out of the living room, the door swinging shut behind him. John looked at Elspeth.
"Aren't you going with him?"
"Nope," she said. "I'm not crashing your date, am I?"
John couldn't find a polite way to say yes, looking at Sarah. "No, no, it's fine," she insisted. "This is your home. It's fine, isn't it John?"
"Uh . . . yeah. It's fine."
Elspeth smiled, picked up a book and made herself comfortable on the sofa. Smiling fondly at her, John guided Sarah to the kitchen. They made polite conversation and Elspeth heard them both giggling when Sarah made something that sounded like a joke.
"Um, shall we get a takeaway?" John asked suddenly.
"Yeah!" Sarah agreed all too enthusiastically.
"Ellie, do you want something to eat?"
"Yes please!"
"Come and help me find the menus then, Sherlock's moved them again."
Sarah laughed quietly, watching Elspeth jump up and search through the drawers with John, both of them yelling in triumph when they found them. Their heads bent over the menu, the two women made their orders and John had to write everything down so he wouldn't forget, repeating it down the phone to the takeaway.
"He's lovely, isn't he?" Sarah said softly, sitting in the chair John had previously occupied. Elspeth smiled.
"He's alright," she joked. "He's . . . great. Honestly."
Hanging up the phone, John looked at the two women, startled when they both grinned at him.
"What?"
"Nothing," Elspeth said sweetly. Sarah pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.
"We're talking about you, not to you."
His eyes flickering between them, John sighed in resignation and picked up the jug of punch Mrs Hudson had made.
"Want a drink, Sarah?"
"Ooh yes please."
"I'll have on too, thanks," Elspeth said hopefully.
"No."
Someone knocked on the front door, startling them all. "Blimey, that was quick," John commented, putting the jug down. "I'll just pop down."
"I'll get it," Elspeth volunteered, sliding off her seat. "Don't do anything crazy while I'm gone," she added, pointing accusingly at them.
"Should I lay the table?" Sarah asked John, who grimaced at the kitchen table. It was covered with Sherlock's paperwork and experiments.
"Eat off trays?"
"Yeah."
Bounding down the steps, Elspeth opened the front door and took her purse out of her coat pocket, where it was hanging on the wall.
"Hi, sorry to keep you," she said. "How much do we owe you?"
"Do you have it?"
Elspeth looked up in surprise, staring at the man wearing a hoodie. Her eyes narrowed when she saw a distinct lack of takeaway in his hands.
"Sorry?"
"Do you have the treasure?" he demanded, stepping forwards.
"What treasure? Dude, you're out of your –"
Before Elspeth could finish her sentence, the man hit her hard over the head and everything went black.
Thank you Starcrier, xxxMadameMysteryxxx, Adrillian1497, TheDoctor'sAmazingCompanion, Bookworm45669, SaphireBlue78 and SJBHasADayPass for reviewing!
Yes, Elspeth stole Sarah's moment of glory by beating up the warrior that was threatening Sherlock, but I thought it was more fitting that his daughter defended him. Not that I have anything against Sarah; I do actually like her character.