"When was the last time you saw her?" Sherlock demanded.
Max watched as the detective paced back and forth in front of a display case filled with clay teapots. She, Sherlock, and John had traced down Andy in the National Antiquities Museum. Once they said that they were looking for Soo Lin, it had been fairly easy to get him to talk with them.
Andy was currently watching Sherlock pacing, looking a bit intimidated. Max didn't blame him; after all, Sherlock didn't necessarily make the best first impressions. "Three days ago," he answered. "Um, here at the museum. Just left her work unfinished."
Sherlock didn't reply right away. Instead, he looked at the nearby displays, one case containing jade figurines and another displaying a piece of artwork. There was a momentary awkward silence, but then Max cleared her throat. "Uh, and you don't have any way to contact her?" she asked.
"Of course not. If he had her phone number why would he leave a note at her flat?" Sherlock retorted, before Andy could reply.
Max grimaced. "Right," she agreed. "Obviously."
Sherlock suddenly turned around to look at Andy, his eyes sharp. "What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?" he asked.
000
The lights flickered on in the storage room in the basement, and Andy led them in. Max decided to let him lead; if things started coming to life because of an ancient Egyptian tablet, she most definitely wasn't going first. Or second, for that matter.
You've been watching too many movies, Max, she told herself. Stop thinking about Night of the Museum.
She took a deep breath and followed after Sherlock and John.
"This is really creepy," Max commented as they walked further into the basement. The entire place was completely deserted besides the four of them. They were currently in a long, plain hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. One wall had handles at even intervals.
Andy walked up to the handles and turned one of them, causing the wall on one side to move aside. Slowly, a gap formed, revealing that the wall was actually made of shelves that had been stacked side-by-side. "She does this demonstration for the tourists," Andy told them. "A... a tea ceremony." Artifacts were stored on either side of the gap. "Her teapots-"
"Sherlock?" Max interrupted.
She, John, and Andy turned to see that Sherlock had wandered off; instead of looking at the teapots, he was staring at something further down the hall. John hurried up to him, followed by Max and then Andy. He was looking up at the statue of a nude woman. "Sherlock, what-" Max started, but then she saw what he was looking at: Hangzhou characters in yellow, spray- painted on the statue. Fifteen and one.
"Oh," Max said.
000
They spent a few hours in the museum, but they didn't find anything beyond the graffiti on the statue. By the time they headed out of the museum, night had fallen.
Sherlock scowled as they walked down the steps. "We have to get to Soo Lin Yao," he told them, obviously unhappy with how the case was progressing.
John scoffed. "If she's still alive," he pointed out.
"Max! Sherlock!"
The three of them turned around to see a familiar figure hurrying up to them: Raz. John groaned. "Oh, look who it is," he grumbled. Max could literally feel his spirits plummet.
Raz grinned. "Hiya, Max," he greeted.
Max nodded to him, but otherwise ignored his greeting. "Do you have anything for us?" she asked.
He smirked. "Yeah," he answered. He nodded to Sherlock. "You'll like it. C'mon."
The new information seemed to lighten Sherlock's mood, and he hurried after Raz with his usual endless energy. Max and John shared a look, then followed him.
000
In a few minutes they were walking across the Hungerford Bridge, with Raz and Sherlock in the lead. "Tuesday morning," John attempted as they walked. He glared at the back of Raz's head. "All you've gotta do is turn up and say the bag was yours."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Forget about your court date," he snapped.
It seemed like John was about to protest, but then he thought better of it. He didn't say anything for the rest of the walk.
Max patted him on the head.
000
It didn't take them long to reach their destination: the South Bank Skate Park. Max looked around curiously. The entire place seemed to be in some sort of undercroft, and there were half-pipes and other ramps scattered around the park, mostly made of wood. There were a handful of skaters and bikers on the ramps. "Dude, that was rad!" a girl shouted off in the distance.
Raz led them across the undercroft, not even pausing to look at the scenery. Instead, he headed straight towards the walls on the far side of the park; as expected for a skate park, every little bit of surface had been covered by layers upon layers of spray paint. Most of the colors clashed horribly, and just looking at the overlapping designs was dizzying. "If you want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it, isn't it?" Sherlock commented dryly.
Max frowned as she looked up at the imposing wall of spray paint. "How are you even supposed to find anything here?" she grumbled.
John, who was still in a bad mood, didn't say anything.
Surprisingly, it actually seemed like Raz knew what he was looking for. "There," he said. "I spotted it earlier."
He pointed to a spot on the wall, and then she saw it: yellow Chinese characters. They had already been mostly painted over by other symbols, but the little bits that they could see were unmistakable.
"They have been here," Sherlock muttered, more to himself than the others. He turned to Raz. "And that's the exact same paint?"
Raz nodded. "Yeah," he answered.
Sherlock turned to Max and John, his eyes bright with energy even though it was getting late. "If we're going to decipher this code, we're going to need to look for more evidence," he told them. "We'll split up, search nearby for more paint."
Max frowned. "That's going to take time," she said. "Raz, any suggestions?"
Raz shrugged. "The train tracks are probably your best bet," he offered. "Not as much paint as here, but it's worth a shot. Good luck out there." He shook hands with Sherlock, then pulled Max into a hug.
"Oof!" she exclaimed, startled.
But it didn't seem like Raz noticed, and if he did, he didn't say anything. "Anything else you need, y'know where to find me!" he told her.
Max nodded as she awkwardly extracted herself from the hug. "Right," she agreed. "I'll see you around."
Raz gave them a sarcastic salute, then turned and walked away.
"Pleasant fellow," John commented dryly. "I'm gonna strangle him the next time I see him."
000
Train tracks were a creepy place to be at night.
The dim light from Max's phone was the only illumination that she had as she walked along the train tracks, looking around for any sign of the yellow spray paint. So far, she hadn't had any luck.
Nobody else was in the area, not that Max had expected otherwise. That, as well as the sinister shadows that flickered around the edges of her light, made her surroundings look like a scene straight out of a horror movie. It wouldn't be completely unexpected for a serial killer to jump out of nowhere and murder her.
Well, Sherlock would be glad that he has a case, she thought grimly.
Max shuddered, trying to keep her mind from going in that direction. Happy thoughts, she instructed. Think happy thoughts. Sunshine, grassy meadows, rainbows...
She approached a maintenance shed by the side of the tracks. Her hopes began to rise, but a glance at the wall told her that it was bare. "No spray paint here," she muttered. Sighing, she walked around the corner of the shed and was about to check the other walls when-
BAM!
Max stumbled backwards as she collided with someone. "What the-" she started, but then she realized who she had just ran into. "We've really got to stop meeting like this."
Just as he had in Chinatown, Sherlock offered no apology for almost knocking her over, or any words of greeting. "Did you find anything yet?" he demanded.
She shook her head. "Nothing," she answered. "Sherlock-"
Without waiting for her to finish, Sherlock walked towards the train tracks. "There has to be something," he said, more to himself than to her. "If they're trying to leave a message they'll put it somewhere where people can see it, so where is it?"
Max shrugged. "Maybe it's not a message," she suggested halfheartedly.
Sherlock gave her an irritated look. "What else would it be?" he retorted. She sighed. He started walking alongside the tracks, continuing the search.
Of course, Max knew that she should head in the opposite direction so that they could cover more ground. But just thinking about going off on her own again brought back memories of countless horror movies, and she shuddered.
She didn't need any more encouragement than that to hurry after Sherlock.
He didn't say anything when she caught up to him; she wouldn't be surprised if he had already known what she would do. And for some reason, it meant a lot to her that he had let her stay with him, especially when she had expected him to tell her to keep searching on her own.
But the thing was, she didn't really know what he would do; she didn't know him. And she had a feeling that nobody else could say that they knew him either, not even John.
They walked in silence; Max knew that was how Sherlock preferred to work, and she didn't mind. Trying to make conversation while walking next to train tracks in the middle of the night was rather awkward, after all.
After a few minutes, something caught Max's eye, and she tugged on Sherlock's sleeve. "There," she said, pointing at a strange glinting object laying next to the tracks. Sherlock knelt down next to it and picked it up.
"A spray paint can," he told her. He held it up to her, and she took it. "Is it the same paint that Raz identified? Zinc?"
Max was surprised that he remembered that- she certainly hadn't- but she examined the can. "I'd say so," she answered. "I'm no spray paint expert, though."
Sherlock nodded. "I trust you," he replied. Max blinked, surprised at how easily he said it. He took the can back from her and passed her his flashlight. With both of his hands free, he ran a thumb over the yellow paint on the nozzle. Then, without warning, he sniffed the nozzle.
"Hey!" Max exclaimed, startled.
But Sherlock just ignored her protests. "You're right," he said. "It's zinc." He put the paint can back on the ground and started walking again.
Max hurried after him, her gaze going from him to the paint can and back again. "Smelling spray paint is bad for you, you know that, right?" she asked.
Sherlock scoffed. "I've done worse," he answered.
She blinked, not sure how to reply to that. "...Drugs?" she finally guessed. "Are you an addict?"
He shot her a look. "User," he corrected. He pulled up his sleeve and showed her a nicotine patch on his arm. "It helps me focus."
Max nodded, not really sure what to make of that information. "I suppose you've never tried coffee?" she said, because she didn't know what else to say.
Sherlock scoffed. "Dull," he replied.
They fell silent again as they continued to walk alongside the train tracks. At one point they reached a wall covered with posters, and Sherlock slowed down to look at it. He reached out and tore the corner off of a poster, and then they continued on their way.
Neither of them spoke as they continued walking down the tracks, but then Max sighed. "Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked.
For once, Sherlock seemed startled. "What?" he replied.
Max shrugged. "Just wondering," she said.
"No," Sherlock answered shortly. "No girlfriend."
She raised an eyebrow. "Boyfriend?" she guessed.
"No, no boyfriend either," Sherlock answered. He seemed slightly uncomfortable with her line of questioning. "You're not...?"
Max raised an eyebrow. "Asking you out?" she finished. She grinned at him. "No, I'm not. I was just curious, y'know, after how you reacted at the Lucky Cat."
Sherlock seemed flustered as they both remembered the shopkeeper's words: Your girlfriend there, she likes! "I don't date," he said simply. "That's all."
She nodded. "Oh, I get it," she realized. "You're one of those unattached types, aren't you? John's the same. He doesn't act like one, but there's a reason why none of his relationships last very long. He's not ready to... well, settle down isn't the right word. It's more like he's afraid of commitment." She gave him a look. "You're the first person that he's actually been serious about."
Sherlock's phone suddenly went off, but instead of answering the call he silenced it and turned back to Max. "We're not dating," he reminded her.
She rolled her eyes. "I know," she said. "I meant it in a platonic way. You're good for him, Sherlock. I've never seen him this happy before."
He scoffed. "Most people don't quite have that reaction to me," he commented.
Sebastian's words from a few days ago came back to her: Put the wind up everybody. We hated him. Maybe Sherlock was remembering it too, because Max saw a hint of pain in his eyes again. "Well, maybe he's good for you too," she replied. "He might not have many friends, but John Watson is the most loyal person I've ever known. He won't let you down." She laughed, shaking her head with amusement. "He's been there for me ever since we were kids. I probably owe him my life." She looked up at Sherlock, who seemed startled with the direction that this conversation had gone in. "Do me a favor when you're out there solving crimes, will you? Watch his back for me."
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, but then Sherlock sighed. "Heroin," he stated.
"What?" Max asked.
Sherlock grimaced. "We were talking about drugs earlier," he said. "I used to take heroin." He held himself stiffly, like every word he said pained him. "It was an experiment that got out of control. I got out of control." He hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Getting off of it was hard. It was probably the hardest thing I've ever done, and sometimes I'm still tempted."
Neither of them spoke for a second, but then Sherlock cleared his throat. "My point is, John stops me from losing control," he admitted. "You don't need to be concerned about me keeping an eye on him, because he keeps an eye on me too."
Max blinked. "Oh," she stated.
He suddenly stopped walking and turned to face her. "Not many people know about this, only John and my brother... and a few others," he told her. "I would prefer that you keep this between us."
She nodded quickly, not even hesitating. "Of course," she reassured him.
Honestly, she wasn't sure what else to say. Sherlock's words still echoed through her mind: You don't need to be concerned about me keeping an eye on him, because he keeps an eye on me too. In the few days that she had worked with them, she had failed to grasp exactly how deep Sherlock and John's friendship was, and now that she did she couldn't help but marvel at how much they had changed each other's lives in the short time that they had been flatmates.
And really, at the root of it all, Sherlock was human. Despite how smart he was, he had flaws and shortcomings just like everybody else, and the fact that he was willing to tell her about it made her value the faith that he had in her. Neither did she think less of him for using drugs; rather, the fact that he was clean just made her respect him even more for what he had been through. In that moment, she knew that she could trust him.
"Oh, if he kidnaps you, just go along with it and pretend you're scared," Sherlock said. He turned and casually started walking again.
There was a second of silence, and then...
"What?!" Max exclaimed, all of her warm-and-fuzzies gone. She hurried to catch up with him. "If who kidnaps me?!"
Sherlock shrugged. "My brother," he answered, as if that were the obvious answer. "Mycroft. He likes to kidnap people I spend time with."
Max stared at him in disbelief. "Wait, wait, hold up," she said. "Did you just say that your brother likes to kidnap people?!"
Suddenly, before Sherlock could reply, John came running up to them, looking annoyed. "Answer your phone!" he exclaimed, glaring at Sherlock. Max frowned guiltily, remembering how Sherlock had turned off his phone to talk to her undisturbed. "I've been calling you- I've found it!" Then he blinked in surprise when he saw Max standing there. "Max? Didn't you go that way?" He gestured off in the opposite direction.
Max hesitated. "Uh..." she trailed off.
"We ran into each other," Sherlock explained for her. If there had been any vulnerability in his tone earlier, it was gone now, replaced by the thrill of the hunt. "Show me what you found." The three of them headed off with John in the lead. Neither Max nor Sherlock acknowledged what had just happened between them.
000
It turned out that what John wanted to show them was a black wall.
Max blinked. "Err... John?" she asked. "Is this it?"
John seemed just as startled as Max and Sherlock were. "It's been painted over!" he exclaimed. They were currently standing in front of another maintenance shed by the tracks, looking up at the wall that had been completely painted over in black paint. Sherlock shone his flashlight around the area suspiciously as John continued staring at the wall in shock. "I don't understand. It- it was here ten minutes ago! I saw it. A whole load of graffiti!"
Sherlock frowned. "Somebody doesn't want me to see it," he muttered.
Without any warning, he whirled around and grabbed the sides of John's head with both hands. "Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing-" John started.
"Shh, John, concentrate," Sherlock interrupted. "I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes."
John looked at him wildly. "No, what?" he demanded. "Why? Why? What are you doing?"
Max blinked. "Sherlock, what-" she started.
Sherlock grasped John's upper arms roughly. "Max, quiet; this is important," Sherlock snapped. "John, I need you to maximize your visual memory." He started spinning him and John around in circles, maintaining eye contact with John. "Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?!"
"Yeah," John answered.
"Can you remember it?" Sherlock insisted.
"Yes, definitely."
"Can you remember the pattern?"
"Yes!"
"How much can you remember it?"
"Well, don't worry-" John started.
"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate," Sherlock told him.
"Yeah, well, don't worry," John replied. "I remember all of it."
"Really?" Sherlock asked speculatively.
Rolling his eyes, John pulled himself free from Sherlock's grasp. "Yeah, well, at least I would, if I can get to my pockets!" he exclaimed. He rummaged in his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. "I took a photograph."
Instantly, Sherlock snatched the phone from him and looked at the picture. Max leaned over his shoulder and saw that John's picture showed all of the Hangzhou characters with perfect clarity.
Sherlock sagged in relief, even though he seemed slightly embarrassed.
John sighed and shook his head in disappointment.
Max burst out laughing.