Chapter 8
We met up with Sherlock quickly, making our way down to the Lucky Cat Emporium as soon as Sherlock stopped interrupting John. It took a cough or two from me to get him to listen. Sometimes I wondered if he ever stops to actually look at people's reactions when he's talking to them.
"You want, lucky cat?" The lady behind the counter asked John.
"No thanks, no," he assured her. I glanced at him briefly then chuckled. He gave me a look that said 'oh shut up'.
"Ten pound, ten pound." She insisted, holding the waving sculpture aloft. "I think your wife," she said, gesturing to me. "She will like."
"That is, uh, well, we're not married." He glanced at me nervously and I smiled. "We are just friends," he clarified. "Right?"
"Just friends," I told the lady.
"Oh, my mistake," she said knowingly, nodding her head. "Please forgive." She turned to look at Sherlock. "Your wife," she said again, gesturing to me. "She will like." Once more she held the cat out for purchase.
I nearly choked. "No," I said, doubled over in laughter. "No no no, no. We," I pointed at he and I, are in no way married. Hell no." The two men stared at me as I had my little moment, still giggling like mad. "Married to Sherlock Holmes," I wiped a year away from eye. "How deliciously absurd."
"Absurd?" Sherlock said, about to go off on me.
He was not going to interrupt my conniptions, I wasn't nearly done. "Take this you idiot," I said, handing him one of the tea cups with the price tag. "It's hangzhou, go on, take a look." He plucked it out of my fingers and studied it, eyes narrowing in concentration. My laughter continued unabated. "Oh God, I need some fresh air." I left the shop, still immensely satisfied at the joke. Indeed, whenever I should become depressed I must think on it again.
Left to my own devices, Sherlock explained what the numbers represented, and John figured out one of the numbers was fifteen. They decided to grab a bite, which calmed me down as I realized my own hunger. Didn't think I could get hungry in dreams. Yet another reason to suspect something was up.
"Two men travel back from China, both head straight for the Lucky Cat Emporium." John paused for a moment, fiddling with his pen. "What did they see?"
"Not saw John," I said, mouth full of bread. "Brought back." The waitress brought John his food, Sherlock opting out of a meal. "Fink about it," I told him. He gave me a blank stare. "Oh my God, fine." I finished chewing and swallowed. "Don't stop me Sherlock, cuz this is gonna be clever," I said, wiggling my eyebrows.
"Before you stop, are you mad?" He asked me calmly.
"Course I am, everyone is. I just embrace it more then others. Now stuff it." I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. "Van Coon would lose five million and make it back in a week, how else you think he did that? Smuggling. Coon takes frequent business trips, and the journalist also, writing about China for his job. They would smuggle stuff out, bring it to the Lucky Cat as a drop off. But the question is, why did they die? If they did as told, why were both threatened and killed? That's obvious, because one of them stole something. But the killer doesn't know who did it so he or she threatened them both. Simple." I scarfed down some more bread, savoring the doughy texture. I didn't even realize they were staring again until I resurfaced for
air. "What?"
"That," John said, pointing at me with his fork. "Was amazing. Sherlock, wasn't that amazing?" He looked at his friend pointedly.
Sherlock ignored him and instead looked outside. "Remind me, when was the last time that it rained?" He got to his feet and I followed, shoving some bread in my pockets before we left. John followed briefly after taking a second to lament the incompletion of his lunch. Sherlock made his way across the street and to the flat sheet Soo Lin Yao lived, phone book drenched outside. "It's been here since Monday." He rang the doorbell. Receiving no response, he walked around to the
other side. "No one's been in that flat for at least three days."
"Could have gone on holiday,"John reasoned.
"Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?" Sherlock countered him, examining the fire escape. He jumped up and lowered it. Then I suddenly recalled what happened next and began to worry.
I quickly tried following him, hoping to prevent it, but he was a hair too fast. "Damn," I muttered, and ran around to the front. "Come on John, help me break down the door." I looked at it and tried to bust it down. "John, aren't you going to help?"
"Helen, people will stare and someone will phone the police. You can't go around breaking doors down." He put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, I get frustrated too. All the time in fact."
I rubbed my head. "Oh John, I wish you weren't so bloody reasonable. It makes my head hurt." Pacing back and forth, I had an epiphany. John was being calm, but I wasn't. That means someone had to get mad at Sherlock Holmes or they just might take the real one when it came down to it. But why did it have to be me?
"Look at me everyone!" I shouted as loud as I could. "I'm Sherlock Holmes! Bit of a shock isn't it, a woman and all, but that is the genius of it all, because you see, I am a genius who can do whatever the hell she pleases." I began to prance around the front of the flat. "Look at me! Nobody can compete with this girl and the smartness I
got! I WILL BLIND YOU WITH SCIENCE!" John visited a hand on my mouth, as people had begun to give me funny looks.
"Sorry, it's been a long day and she hasn't had her medication yet." He gave a good natured look and they walked away. "Have you gone mad? Just wait for him."
I relaxed and he let go. "Is that what you do then? Wait for him?" My aggravated state may have dissipated, but I was still plenty angry to spare. "You know John, one day you'll be waiting and he won't come back." I didn't want to say the words, but I couldn't help myself. And I hated myself for every word that came out, regretting them instantly. "He won't. You'll be left behind, because he's either found something more interesting or will be just plain dead." I turned around. "I'll be back at Baker Street, tell him to be careful, and try and not and get himself killed, eh?" And with that I left, catching the nearest taxi available back.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I didn't know why.
Sherlock appeared moments later from the door, out of breath and paler then usual. He told John everything he figured out, from the washing to the milk. He only deviated from what I had watched when he noticed my absence. "Where's Helen gone?" He asked, looking past John. "Did she find something?"
"No, she said she was going back home," John filled him in. "And there was something about you."
"What, what was it?" Sherlock asked quickly. "Did she decipher some part of the code?"
"No, nothing like that," John said. "She just told me to tell you, be more careful and try not to die. That was it."
"Nothing more?" He asked, almost disappointed.
"Well, she said a lot of stuff, must of it directed at me I think. But that bit was for you." John sighed quietly. "So are we off then?"
"Yes, let's go."
"I just can't understand him Mrs. Hudson," I said, heaving a carpet down the narrow stairs. "Sometimes he's fun to listen to, and other times I just want to clock him." My hands dropped the rug once I made it down. She followed behind, letting me vent my frustrations to her. "It's like he's got a filter over his eyes, and every time someone
steps in front of that filter, they immediately get labeled as useless, stupid, or interesting. I've got the strangest feeling mine jumps between the three." I dragged the large rug into my flat, laying it out in the middle of the sitting room.
"Don't worry dear, things could be worse," she said. "He could have labeled you as both useless and stupid, and then where would you be? He could drive you up the wall if he treated you like that." She patted my arm, the second person to do so today.
"You're right," I muttered begrudgingly. "Doesn't mean I'm still not angry at him. He's so needlessly reckless, it's maddening. If he could exercise a little caution, everything would be so much better." I unfurled the carpet, listing it cover the nasty wood beneath it. "I
need him," I said quietly.
"Did you just say you need him?" Mrs. Hudson looked at me expectantly.
"What?" I looked at her in bewilderment. "No, of course not. I said the world needs him, not me. God no. Wherever did you get that idea? That's preposterous." I smoothed the wrinkles in the fabric out, avoiding her gaze. "If he dies, that will be a loss to the world, not me." I didn't say that. Me, say I need him? The idea was indeed
ridiculous. He was the world's biggest ass and I was in a dream. Such things do not happen.
"How about I show you some of my spare chairs," she said. "There's a room full of stuff my old tenants have left behind. I meant to rid of some the pieces but, I wasn't in any particular rush. Would you like to come?"
"Gladly," I said, understanding the word more intensely then I had ever done before. She led me to a room crammed with all manner of junk, stacked upon each other and occasionally in each other.
She took one look and her face fell little. "Oh dear, I don't remember this much extra stuff. How about I make you a cuppa?" She bustled away, clearly thinking that if anything fell, better on I then her.
"Time to dig in," I murmured to myself. And indeed, I dove. There were some clear objectives in mind for myself. First and most importantly, a place to sleep. There were no needs in here, but I thought I spotted a couch that looked suitable. Unfortunately it was blocked by a mountain of other things, but I wasn't willing to settle for the other
couch. It was less difficult to reach, but looked a little shoddy.
"Will you be alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "There's quite a lot in there."
"I'll be fine," I called back. "You wouldn't happen to have a pair of gloves and a torch would you?" It was a little dark in some places, and the gloves just made me feel more safe in case I accidentally touched something disgusting.
"Oh yes, just one moment." She fetched me a pair and a handheld touch. "Will that do?"
"Perfectly, thank you so much." I gripped the touch in between my teeth and started clearing a small path through the mess. She left me to it, not keen on the job. I want keen on it either, but I need it a hell of a lot more then she did. After about twenty minutes or so I had already path cleared, and soon I uncluttered the room by removing certain objects, including several lamps, two side tables, a coffee table, three folding chairs, a wall clock, and a wingback chair that I grew very attached to. And it amazed me that I had still barely put a dent in it. That and the couch was just as out of reach as it ever was.
"That's quite a collection you've got going," Mrs. Hudson told me, coming by to visit. She brought a sandwich, which I eyed hungrily. "Here you are," she says, handing it to me.
It was gone within seconds. "Mrs Hudson, that was so delicious. You've absolutely no idea."
She laughed at me. "Well I can imagine. I suspect after working for four hours straight, you might get a little peckish."
"Four hours?" I asked incredulously. "Have I really been working for that long?" No wonder I felt so tired.
"Yes, and no break too." She looked at me for a moment. "There now, let me make you another one." She hurried off leaving me behind to run my eyes in exhaustion.
I might as well take some of it down to my flat. Guess I was sleeping in the wingback for tonight. It took me a few minutes to bring most of it down, never mind arrange it all into a coherent floor plan. That would have to wait.
"Here's the sandwich I promised." She handed me another, which I received gratefully. "You know, they're back now," she informed me. I nodded, not wanting to indicate any plans to move for the foreseeable future. "They'll most likely be in for the night." I nodded again. "Looks like they've got a lot on their plate right now." Another nod. "Probably won't be using their beds." My head whipped around, looking at her wide eyed. "Come on," she says, gesturing upstairs. "I'll tell them they have to let you because you've been so helpful to me."
I jumped up eagerly. "Mrs. Hudson, you are the saintliest person I have ever met in my entire life, and that includes the pope."
"You've met the pope?" She asked me with interest.
"Of course not, but he would never make me a sandwich and suggest to me an action with which to annoy Sherlock on the same day."
How are all my splendiforous readers this morning? I'm doing fucking fantastic thanks. Sorry, this is the sleep deprivation talking. Much love to you all~!
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