Museum Threat

Two small chapters this week as I felt they were far too small to only give you one. Many thanks to ALL my readers, and do leave a review if you enjoyed this. They are my muses.

There were no snipers on the top of the Museum as John and Sherlock climbed out of the taxi. He checked his watch - 2:30. They could go and have a chat and then he'd use Sherlock's card and get a taxi to the clinic. It was the least Sherlock could do for him after he'd nearly been throttled by a ninja. He said as much to Sherlock, who gave him a wry look in return.

"Ninja are Japanese, John. This whole case is distinctly Chinese - thus they are some other form of assassin."

"Oh," was all John could think of to say, and they climbed the steps to the museum in silence.

Once inside Sherlock wasted no time asking for "Andy", and they were escorted quickly into the Chinese history section of the museum, a nervous young man greeting Sherlock with a worried expression.

"Soo Lin Yao," was all Sherlock said by way of an introduction, and the boy's eyes lit up immediately.

"Do you know where she is?" he asked eagerly, and his eyes fell as Sherlock shook her head.

"We're actually hoping you could tell us a bit about her," John said, stepping forward. "Sherlock's a detective, and we think Soo Lin may be in danger."

"Yeah, whatever I can do to help," Andy said, looking anxious. John felt for him - he was obviously besotted - he was probably worried sick. Andy was obviously more than willing to help in order to get her back.

"You left her a note," Sherlock said, taking the conversation into her own hands. "You noticed she was missing, then."

"Yeah," the boy said, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "She'd quit suddenly." His eyes flickered to a display in the center of the room, then he licked his lips and continued. "But this job - her pieces - it was her life. She'd never leave like that - not without seeing someone else put in charge of them..."

Sherlock nodded, then strode to the center of the room to peer with interest at the collection housed within a glass box. "What are these?"

Andy came over, hands gesturing as he explained. "They're old - ancient - Chinese teapots. They're made of a special type of clay - ah - if you don't use it so the tea can soak it, the clay will start to crack." He surveyed the pots for a second before adding, "They were Soo Lin's passion. She would put on a tea ceremony for the tourists."

"Caring for the pots and educating the masses at the same time," Sherlock said appreciatively, though John felt the way she said 'the masses' was rather rude. "Is that what she was doing the day you last saw her?"

Andy nodded.

"Can you show me where she would have been right before she left? Are there lockers? Would she have had to clean up?" Sherlock asked briskly. Andy nodded agian.

"Sure, no problem, just let me tell the manager." Andy left, and John turned to Sherlock.

"You're thinking she was threatened?"

"How else would she know when to disappear?" Sherlock replied. "Someone may have left her a note, sent her something."

"Right," John said, shifting his weight and looking at his watch. Nearly three o'clock. Half an hour and he'd have to go.

"She's fine with it," Andy said, reentering the room. He gestured to John and Sherlock to follow him.

"Soo Lin did her presentations in there -" Andy gestured to the room they'd just left - "But she'd pack away the tea and things and store it back here." He brought them into a room with movable shelves, turning to a section and cranking them open. "Her section was right in here."

Sherlock hummed an assent, but John could see her attention was elsewhere, and he followed her gaze to a statue across the room. The covers on all the statues in the room were wrapped tight to their pieces, but this one billowed loose. The statue underneath was vaguely human-shaped, and John had the disconcerting though of a standing, sheeted corpse.

Sherlock strode across the room, yanking the sheet off with no regard for the antique.

"What is that..." Andy's voice faded away as all three stared at the statue. John's eyes flickered over to Sherlock, who had her lips pursed as if it were a confirmation of something she'd guessed all along.

Which it was, for on the face and bust of the statue was yellow paint.