Deimos and Mrs. Hudson got along great and it was a relief for Avery to have him being watched over while she was working on 221C. As expected, it was a lot of work. She had to go out and buy what was needed and spent the first day working on the pipes for the bathroom shower. Once that pipe was replaced and the wall sealed back up, she moved on to the kitchen sink, which proved more troublesome as she couldn't locate the leak for a while. By the end of the first week, the bathroom plumbing was done, the kitchen plumbing was done, and all windows were resealed and their sills replaced.
During that time, Avery hadn't seen any of the residents from the upstairs flat other than John, the ex-military man she'd bumped into the first day. He was pleasant enough, a little startled by Deimos but warmed up quickly and greeted Avery whenever they passed each other by. Not to say she never heard the other tenant. There was a morning when she was frowning up at the ceiling of 221C because she could hear what sounded like grunts and slams from a fight. She risked going up the stairs and knocked on the door, asking if everything was okay, and heard someone say they were fine, so she shrugged and retreated back down.
That same evening, there was a report of someone being murdered in their flat that Avery caught on the news. The police were holding tight to the specifics, so there wasn't much to go off as she picked up her laptop and skimmed around for more information. There wasn't much else there either. The man was shot in his flat. He worked for a bank that did international business with his being focused on China and other East Asian continents. The only interesting thing Avery found was a social media report of someone seeing two people potentially breaking in, but it was quickly reported by an upstairs neighbor that—while they had broken in claiming to be the people living there—they were working in assistance with the police.
Another anonymous tipster helping the police? Avery mused as she listened to the violin music drifting down from upstairs while tiling the bathroom of 221C. Sounds like what Sherry used to do in Cordona. She sighed softly, having not thought of Cordona in a while before her phone pinged. She blinked, setting down her things and wiping her plaster-covered hands on her dirty jeans as she slipped her phone out of her pocket. Her brows furrowed at the automated alert for the news, getting up and stepping outside for a minute. She slipped out a pack of cigarettes, placing one between her lips and lighting it as she skimmed the news alert her phone had given.
It was an old case from the previous night, but she didn't mind. News didn't always come out to the public right away. It was the headline that was interesting. "Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police," she read, eyeing the photo of a bald man as she skimmed the short article. Murderer who can walk through walls? Freelance journalist… not usually people killed for no good reason but someone took a lot of effort to get to him. Four floors up, locked room, locked windows. No sign of robbery. She frowned, letting out a drag from her smoke and tapping off the extra ash before typing away for more information. Brian Lukis… Earl's Court… does work in… Her brows raised. China. That's the second… No. That's not a coincidence.
"Serial killer?" She mused with a hum. "But it's awfully clean."
And that connection to China… Smuggling then? Someone got light-fingered and they're getting picked off until they can figure out who did it? Sounds interesting. She cracked a small smirk, snuffing out the cigarette and not noticing the upper window to the building open and a figure leaning out with a deep inhale as she stepped back into the flat. Might want to take a peek.
Sherlock paused just outside of Lukis's flat, inhaling with furrowed brows.
"Everything okay?" John asked, curious why he'd just stop suddenly.
"Fine," Sherlock said, moving once more to duck under the police tape, but glanced back at John briefly. "You don't smell it?"
"Smell what?"
"Cigarette smoke," Sherlock noted. "A particular brand as well, one not made in Britain."
"The victim didn't smoke," DI Dimmock informed them both. "Nothing in his belongings."
"Hm," Sherlock hummed, soon finding the route that the killer came in with when he peeked out a curtain. "Four floors up. That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they're impregnable. They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in."
"I don't understand," Dimmock said, confused as Sherlock eyed a skylight for a second and climbed on a box to look at it.
"You're dealing with a killer who can climb."
"What are you doing?" Dimmock questioned him, getting ignored.
"He clings to the walls like an insect. That's how he got in."
"What?"
"Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight," Sherlock concluded, hopping back down.
"You're not serious! Like Spiderman?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, pinching a bit of ash he'd found on the window sill. "He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon. And of course, that's how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace." He sniffed the ash on his fingers before brushing his hand free of it and turning back to the landing full of books. "We have to find out what connects these two men."
He picked up a book, snapped it shut, and bounded back out the door with a confused John following him into a cab. A short while into the drive, John questioned him.
"So, what was that about?"
"What was what?" Sherlock hummed, brain buzzing away on a new problem he had.
"You were going off about smoke and then started up on a spider killer."
"Unrelated, I assure you."
"That doesn't help me figure out what's going on."
Sherlock sighed. "I simply caught the scent of a particular type of tobacco outside his flat."
"Okay, but if it had nothing to do with the case, then why did it stop you?"
"I found traces of ash on the window leading up to the roof as well," Sherlock pointed out, holding up his dirty fingers.
"So, it does have to do with the case."
Sherlock shot him a look. "I already said it doesn't."
John threw up his hands in frustration. "Then, why is it important that you happened to come across some specific tobacco ash at a crime scene if it's nothing to do with the case?"
Sherlock looked away, eyes turning to the blurred city beyond the window and bringing his fingers up to his nose to let the smell transport him for a moment more.
Tall buildings and the bright city of London gave way to dirt roads, chattering market places, and the laughter of children running through alleyways and climbing up ruins. The memory was gone in a moment, but the scent lingered.
"It's familiar, is all," Sherlock said quietly, before clearing his throat. "Though I do believe I smelled it not long ago outside our flat."
"You think the killer was watching us?" John deduced.
"Far from it," Sherlock answered with a smirk, turning back to him. "I think someone else is interested in this case and is one step ahead. They saw the connection and tested it by climbing up to the roof at this victim's flat."
"But you said they were near our flat."
Sherlock shrugged. "Could be a coincidence."
John snorted, echoing his own thoughts.
"Or, they're aware we're on the case and this was a challenge." Sherlock grinned, steepling his hands in front of his mouth. " 'You're falling behind. I'm one step ahead. Better catch up.' Oh, this is getting exciting."
John just rolled his eyes with a sigh. Leave it to Sherlock to get excited about a stalker.
Avery had hit the halfway point of her walk with Deimos, neither out of breath as it was just a languid walk today instead of the usual run. They had just hit Trafalgar Square and were walking near the National Gallery as she checked her phone, humming to herself. She looked around before walking Deimos over towards the rear of the art gallery, pausing and shaking her head fondly at the fresh, spray-painted image of a police officer with a pig's nose. She wiped a finger over the edge, careful not to disturb the work itself, and smeared the black paint between her fingers. Not long ago then.
"You like it?"
She cracked a smirk and turned to see a rather cocky young man peeking around as he headed over. "Nice statement, I suppose. Not exactly Bansky level, but getting there."
"Ya wound me, miss."
Avery rolled her eyes as he reached over and pet Deimos. "Told ya not to call me 'miss,' Raz."
"I'm just teasing ya, Av," he said with a cheeky grin. "So, how's the work fairing ya?"
"Still doing the odd jobs," she said as they started strolling out of the darker alley and back into the square. "Doing a flat right now. Gettin' paid more than I expected but be doing better if I had something steady."
"Yeah, I get that. It's hard though, ain't it? That boring 9 ta 5, trudging through the day. Ya need something more exciting. I can see it."
Avery cracked a small smile. "Well, there is this case I'm checkin' out a tad."
Raz grinned, giving her a playful shove. "There ya go! Something good, yeah? Murders or somethin'?"
"Someone's been climbing up buildings to murder people in their flats. Police running around in circles as always."
"Yeah, but you're right clever. Can't be too hard ta find something."
"Well, I think I'm further than they are, anyway. Victims both working in China. I think someone nicked something from smugglers and they're taking them out one at a time trying to figure out who did it. You know anything about that?"
"Hm," Raz scratched his head, thinking. "Dunno. There's that big Chinatown district near Soho that might have somethin' for ya. Smugglers ain't really my thing."
"That's all right. I'll ask someone down there. I got a few contacts I think."
"Oh, ya know, I work with this guy, yeah? Does detective stuff but not working with the pigs. He was asking me about some painted symbols. Coulda been Chinese." Rax started pulling out a receipt and Avery handed him a pen from her coat pocket. "Here. It's probably not anything, but maybe you can figure it out."
She took his butchered scribbles with a hum, pocketing it. "Sure. I'll see what I can look into. Any sign this is connected to what I'm looking at—"
"And I'll give ya word," he said with a smirk, handing her something else. "Here. I'll grab another pack too if ya keep quiet. Don't think he wants me just telling people 'bout him but I trust ya."
Avery accepted the pack of cigarettes. "Right. Then, keep your ear out for stuff. You know how to get a hold of me."
"Yeah, will do. I'll bring something for the dog next time too."
Avery rolled her eyes as Deimos wagged his tail and they let Raz go to return home. I'll need to drop by Chinatown but I don't want to bring Deimos. He's had his exercise and I'm going for information, not intimidation. Once back, Avery set Deimos up with toys and let Mac know to check up on him while she was gone. She then hailed a cab and stepped out into Chinatown. She wandered for a minute, looking at wares and haggling her way into getting a pair of amber resin Chinese Fu dogs and a lucky cat for John. She'd heard from Mrs. Hudson that he'd been having money issues. She'd just dropped by a cafe for some steamed pork dumplings and was munching away on them when she saw something odd.
It was the front door of a flat that was crammed between buildings and shops. What had caught her attention was the soaking wet phone book that had been left at the door. It's not my business, she mused, yet didn't turn her gaze and eventually sighed before cutting through the crowd to the door. She buzzed the doorbell, hearing nothing, and checked the mailbox where a handwritten note was waiting. It was from the museum, letting her know the Soo Lin who lived there was a museum worker and apparently missing from work.
It's… an odd coincidence, Avery thought, pulling out her phone and doing a quick search on Soo Lin. More than a coincidence then. She works in the Chinese antiquity sector and has vanished the same instance a group of people have been killed for Chinese smuggling gone wrong? She tucked her phone away, closing her eyes with a groan. Could still be a coincidence. Maybe she went on a trip? It rained Monday so…. 3 days? Maybe she's not connected at all. Yet, Avery walked around towards the back of the building and spotted the open window.
"Or not," she sighed, grumbling to herself as she set her dumpling bag aside and took a running leap to grab the hanging fire escape. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. I shouldn't be doing this. It could still be an eerie coincidence."
"There's no such thing as coincidences."
She sighed again, shaking her head at the old words Sherry had told her years ago and she climbed in the window, only to scramble to catch the vase she'd knocked over in the process. It was empty though, water already on the carpet, letting her know she wasn't the first person to climb in this way. She wandered the flat slowly, ears open for any sounds that she wasn't alone. She checked the laundry—left in the wash, musty—the fridge—milk is going bad—and then spotted part of the rug with an imprint of a shoe. She knelt down, eyeing it. Small, size 8, athletic going by the depth of the foot in the carpet. Looking around some more, she spotted fingerprints on a photo revealing information much the same. Just adding evidence to this not being a coincidence.
"What a pain," she breathed, frowning at the window she'd climbed in.
But why leave the window open if you went through all this trouble to make sure you weren't noticed?
She answered herself with a muttered curse. "Shit. He's still here."
She was even more on edge now, eyeing the folding screen nearby but keeping her distance. The person could be anywhere in the flat and with her making noise, they knew she was there. She needed to leave… if they'd allow it. So, she moved slowly back towards the window only for them to come up behind her and wrap a towel around her neck. She choked, one hand tugging at the cloth as the other swung towards the assailant. She hooked her arm around their leg and swung her legs up, hooking the back of her knee behind their head. It threw them off balance enough to let go of the towel, letting her rip it off and catch her breath as she tried to steady herself.
The assailant rushed at her again and she cursed, dodging the fist and grabbing a penknife from her boot to jab into his arm. He cried out in pain, bashing her upside the head with something that made her stumble to the ground. He shoved his hand in her coat pocket and she tried to stop him, but he rushed out the window before she could. She lay on the ground for a minute, panting and out of breath as her head pounded painfully. She knew she couldn't stay long and groaned, pushing herself up off the carpet and reaching into her pocket to see what he'd shoved in there.
It was a single black origami lotus flower. She frowned, blinking hard when her vision shifted dangerously before tucking it away once more. She would deal with the silent message later. For now, she needed to leave before someone came to check up on the commotion that had just occurred. A brief hand to her head made her wince as she stumbled into standing, grimacing at the spot of blood. With a grumbled complaint though, she heaved herself back out the window and carefully down the fire escape while taking the back way out of the alley.
The moment she was gone around the corner, lighting a smoke to calm her frazzled nerves, a duo bounded into the alleyway to eye the very same window she'd just escaped from.
"They beat us to it again, John. Don't you see?" Sherlock ranted in his frustration as they were on their way to the museum once more.
John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not really. What happened again?"
"Soo Lin Yao's flat, John. I told you, someone broke in. Two someone's."
"I don't understand. Are we talking about the killer?"
Sherlock sighed heavily, annoyed with John's lack of understanding. "No, John. The other person on this case."
"Right. Your stalker."
Sherlock shot him a glare but decided to ignore the comment and continued on. "Someone broke into Soo Lin Yao's flat. Then, our mysterious newcomer entered the flat without knowing and had an altercation with the attacker. There was blood on the floor and the rug was bunched up. There were two distinct imprints in the carpet. A small size 8, our killer acrobat, and a larger size 9 boot. Not to mention the smell."
"I'm sorry. The what?" John questioned.
"The smell, John. The same brand of smoke from Lukis's flat and from outside our own. I caught the barest scent of it in the alleyway where the fire escape was. We just missed them."
"I can't tell if you're excited about this or not," John sighed. "What are you going to do if you do bump into them? They could be involved in all this, you know."
"The probability of that is low," Sherlock mused as the cab stopped in front of the museum. "They were assaulted by the killer, undoubtedly saving us the trouble of the same thing happening. The question is, why? Why are they investigating this case? I understand being interested, but actively getting involved? You see, John? Isn't it curious?"
"So… you basically want to see if they're like you…"
Sherlock went to argue but found he had no real argument against John for this, begrudgingly remaining silent as they moved into the museum to question the man who'd been looking for Soo Lin.
"You sound downright dreadful dear. Are you certain you're okay to be working?" Mrs. Hudson.
"I'm fine," Avery croaked out, a scarf covering the bruising on her neck and a hat on her head that pressed painfully on the bump on her skull. "Really. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
Mrs. Hudson didn't look convinced, but nodded and begrudgingly gave in as Deimos whined. "Well, if you're certain. I'll be sure to bring you some tea for your throat later, but don't work too hard. I'll have to send John down as well."
"Mrs. Hudson, that's really not—"
"No arguing, dear. A doctor would do you good."
Avery pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration as Mrs. Hudson left the flat to get John, shaking her head lightly and pulling off her beanie when her head throbbed. The Paracetamol did nothing. Damn smuggler. She sighed heavily, pulling off her scarf and coat as well and draping them over the back of a kitchen chair. She ignored the throbbing in her temple and moved over to get the paint roller and tray set up. She rolled up her sleeves and started to pour the paint and get the roller prepped when there was a knock on the open door. She sighed and stopped what she was doing to give John a tired look.
The man offered a small smile of apology. "Mrs. Hudson said you were coming down with something."
"I'm not," Avery grunted, turning back to the roller and soaking it in the paint as she brought the tray over to the wall she needed to work on. "Yet, she's insistent."
"Would you mind if I looked you over? You do sound croaky."
Avery sighed heavily, understanding that she won't be able to get out of this and set the tray down. Once she got closer to John, the man winced, understanding why she was croaky sounding now by the dark bruises on her throat.
"My word, what happened?" He questioned, reaching out, but stopping before he touched her.
"Mugged," she lied.
"Mugged!" He questioned in shock. "Are you sure you're alright? Did you tell someone?"
"It's fine," Avery waved off. "I handled it."
"Handled it? Avery, your throat—"
"Is sore," she huffed. "I iced it last night along with my head and—"
"They hit you? Let me see."
She lightly smacked his hand away when he reached for her, frowning. "John, it's fine. I said I handled it and I've dealt with enough shit to know how to handle a bump on the head and some bruising."
John reluctantly pulled back, slightly hurt. "We're just worried, is all."
Avery closed her eyes, bringing a hand to her head. "I'm just someone working on a flat, John. I won't even be here by next week."
"Alright," he said solemnly. "I get it. I hope you feel better then, and your work ends well."
He stepped out and Avery eyed the door for a moment before going to paint the wall. The whole time she worked though, all she could think about was John's disappointment until she grew frustrated. She stopped and dropped the roller back into the tray, ignoring the splatter of paint that got on her already paint-covered jeans.
"It's not his business," she muttered to herself, frowning at the tray and rubbing at her aching head. "It's not."
And yet…
She groaned, pressing her forehead to her hand. "Dammit. John!" She turned and started for the stairs, but Mrs. Hudson caught her before she could head up to 221B.
"Sorry, dear, but he went out. Is something the matter?"
Avery pursed her lips but shook her head. "No. It's nothing." I'll have to do it later.
The next weekend she'd hoped to make up with John, having brought the Lucky Cat she'd picked up in Chinatown. He hadn't been around during the week, but she wanted to try fixing things. She'd gotten a text from Raz though, showing a wall of the same scribbles he'd shown her before. She had managed to figure out they were numbers thanks to the trinkets she'd purchased, and the large wall of bright yellow paint on a brick wall had them paired up. A code then. Pairs of numbers to make a word… book code is one of the most common ones. Smugglers can't make things too complicated. It has to be easily accessible too, so a book everyone owns… Probably one owned by the victims as well.
On top of that, with a bit of digging, she learned that the black origami that had been shoved into her pocket was a call sign for the Black Lotus smuggling group. Other than them being a Chinese smuggling group that was known well enough for a few of her contacts to have information that they were definitely in town, there wasn't much else that was useful to her. Then, the news that Soo Lin had been killed in a shootout in the museum. Someone else was definitely interfering.
The case had been distracting enough though, but Avery was exhausted. The attack in Soo Lin's flat had brought up some unpleasant memories and nightmares were eating away at her, reminding her how good things had been when she had friends. It only added to the guilt she had for arguing with John. It made her homesick as well, missing the suns of Cordona and the games she used to play with Sherry and Jon. I wonder what Sherry's up to now… She shook the thought away as she stepped back into Baker Street.
Yet again, John was absent but Mrs. Hudson said he'd be back in the evening so Avery went to work finishing up the painting downstairs and getting the heating unit set up. She heard John return, but grimaced at the sound of voices. One of them was a woman, meaning John was on a date. She couldn't interrupt to apologize now. She sighed and rubbed at her head in frustration, wanting a smoke and knowing she should probably stop working for the night and maybe get something to eat. She'd left Deimos with Mac this time and was able to stay later than usual in the hopes of catching John, but she would have to try again some other time, it seemed.
She heard a knock on the door as she was packing away her things to make the flat a little tidy, and grabbed her smokes to take outside. She hadn't gotten far out of the flat when she saw John at the door. Wondering if this was her chance to apologize, she called out and started for him only to see him get bashed upside the head by a Chinese man with a pistol.
"Hey! The hell you think you're doing!" She snapped at him, rushing for the man as he stepped over John and raised his gun.
She hit it upward with a snarl, punching him in the kidney and going to throw him over her shoulder. He hit the ground hard with a choking gasp and as she grabbed the walking stick near the door to knock him out, there was a click of a safety and the touch of cool metal to the back of her head.
"Drop it," a calm voice said and she pinched her eyes shut in frustration before holding her hands out and dropping the stick. "Do you have it?"
"Have what?" Avery bit out, annoyed and confused about why these two were bursting in and assaulting John.
"The treasure."
Avery couldn't quite hold back her surprise as understanding dawned on her. "You're the smugglers," she breathed, not getting a moment longer to think about it before she too was knocked unconscious.
John groaned, head aching as he started to drift back into consciousness.
"A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket," an older Chinese woman drawled as John turned to see a surprising figure tied up in a chair nearby.
Avery was still unconscious but starting to wake herself with a subtle twitching in her face and her hands that were tied behind her back. The Chinese woman approached John who turned to her with a frown, confused at the tunnel they were situated in and what was even happening.
"Chinese proverb, Mr. Holmes," the woman hummed, lifting her sunglasses.
"I… I'm not Sherlock Holmes," John argued.
"Forgive me if I do not take your word for it." She reached into John's coat and pulled out a wallet. "Debit card, name of S. Holmes."
"Yes, that's not actually mine. He lent that to me."
"A cheque for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
"Yeah, he gave me that to look after," John said, seeing how this wasn't looking good for him.
"Tickets from the theater, collected by you, name of Holmes."
"Yes, okay. I realize what this looks like, but I'm not him."
The woman hummed, not convinced, and drew a pistol. "I am Shan."
"You're… You're Shan."
"Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr. Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?"
John grimaced as she lifted the pistol to his temple, quietly begging for her to not kill him as he struggled. Then, a voice interrupted.
"He doesn't know where it is."
Shan stopped, looking at Avery who looked worse for wear. Blood seeped down a gash above her brow and she was blinking a bit hard to try and keep her eyes focused.
"A-Avery," John breathed in relief, but also concern.
She shouldn't have gotten caught up in this, after all. This was all Sherlock. She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet, Shan stepped over towards her and Avery stared her down even as the woman lifted the gun.
"Yes, you're the one who fought with Zhi Zhu."
John was even more confused than before, not knowing what this meant, but he wasn't exactly getting answers as Avery ignored him for now.
"Let him go. He's got nothing to do with this," she said, assuming that they had been after her and John was just in the way.
"Mr. Holmes has everything to do with this."
"Holmes?" Avery glanced at John before shaking it off. "No. No, he's John Watson, not Holmes."
Shan sighed, having already gone over this, but not wanting to deal with it again. "Then, you tell me, Miss Avery. What does it mean when assassins fail three times?" The gun was pressed to her forehead and John struggled again.
"No! No, stop!"
The trigger was pulled, but the gun clicked, empty.
"Means they're not trying," Avery said calmly, seemingly unbothered. "So, stop with the games and start talking. What do you want?"
Shan put a clip into the pistol eyeing her. "Do you have it?"
"Have what?" John asked, getting a brief glance.
"The treasure."
John shook his head, not understanding, but Avery spoke up.
"Let him go and I'll tell you what I know."
"Avery!" John scolded in disbelief.
He assumed she was bluffing. She had no idea what was going on, after all. He felt that she might know something at this point, but there was no way she knew anything about some treasure.
"You are not in the position to make demands," Shan countered, but Avery didn't budge.
"I have information you need and he doesn't," Avery fought back. "You kill me? You have nothing. I've got enough leverage to get him out of here, don't you think?"
Shan considered it before stepping back away from them, making Avery and John eye her warily. A cover was pulled off an enormous Chinese crossbow and John was adjusted to be right in the line of fire.
"Everything in the West has its price and the price for his life… information."
Avery grit her teeth hard, glancing at John and back to Shan who approached her once more.
"Where's the hairpin?"
More information. Good, Avery noted. Hairpin, Chinese jewelry, probably jade. Small, easily smuggled… feminine… Oh. Oh, it was given as a gift. One of the victims gave it to a woman.
"The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West, and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you have all been searching," Shan bit out, jabbing the gun into Avery's shoulder.
"And I told you, I can tell you where it is. Small, jade, right? But you have to let John go," Avery pressed.
"I cannot trust you to do that."
Avery sighed heavily, trying to find a way to get this to work as Shan backed off.
"I need a volunteer from the audience!" She called out, making Avery pinch her eyes shut in annoyance as John struggled in his restraints. "Ah, thank you, sir. Yes, you'll do very nicely."
Shan went over to the sandbag suspended over the pulley system that would set off the crossbow and jabbed a knife into it to slowly lower the bag.
"Ladies and gentlemen. From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Mr. Holmes in a death-defying act."
"Please!" John shouted, fighting as best he could as Avery took a deep breath and let it out.
"You've seen the act before. How dull for you. You know how it ends," Shan drawled.
"He's not Holmes," Avery countered again. "He's John fucking Watson, you twat."
"I don't believe you," Shan snapped, storming back over and raising the gun again just as a voice called out from down the tunnel.
"You should, you know."
John let out a breath of relief as Shan looked for the source, too distracted to see Avery drawing the small blade from the back of her pants and getting to work on the ropes.
"Sherlock Holmes is nothing like him."
Avery froze at that. A split second of memories flickered through her mind about a young boy on the island of Cordona. Shan raised her gun to point at Sherlock, startling Avery out of it enough to get her back to sawing at the ropes.
"How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?"
"Late?" John choked out, still struggling with his own bindings.
One of the men went over to try and get Sherlock, but he was easily able to deal with him while speaking to Shan.
"That's a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand meters per second."
"Well?" Shan questioned as Avery answered.
"Curvature of the walls," she bit out, making Shan whip back to her. "Ricochet means the bullet will bounce around. Might hit us… might hit you."
Shan hesitated as Sherlock sent his end of the tunnel into the dark. He took his chance to try and untie John, while Avery cut through her bonds. Sherlock was grabbed from behind by a scarf being pulled tight around his neck and Avery lunged for Shan. A bullet went off, the sound deafening in the tunnel as she struggled with the Chinese woman, and Sherlock fought with Zhi Zhu. John, seeing his predicament, started to teeter his chair as the sandbag edged ever closer to the bowl. He fell over and Sherlock twisted Zhi Zhu around with his own scarf, just as the arrow fired and plunged through the man.
Sherlock coughed and choked, unraveling the scarf as John dropped his head into the dirt in relief. The pattering of footsteps made Sherlock turn, but Shan was already getting away and they wouldn't be able to catch up anytime soon. Sherlock shook his head and went over to John, getting him free but the man jerked upright.
"Avery!"
"Who?" Sherlock frowned, as someone called out.
"I'm fine, John," Avery sighed, stepping out into the light of the nearest barrel with a hand on her shoulder.
John though saw the blood on her hand and was on his feet as quickly as he was able, rushing over as Avery grimaced and took a step back. "You're hurt!"
"It's fine. A through-and-through, I swear," Avery complained, though allowing him to pull her hand away and eye the wound.
"God, this is our fault. What were you thinking?"
Avery cocked a brow. "I'm sorry, your fault? What were you thinking!"
"Me?" John gaped, as Sherlock watched in confusion just outside of the patch of light. "You weren't even supposed to be here!"
"I wasn't—I'm sorry, I'm pretty sure they were after me because I got in the way."
"You got in the way? They were after Sherlock! It's his fault that we're in this mess."
Avery went quiet then, staring past John to the taller, curly-haired man standing in the shadows. She couldn't be certain until she saw his face, but how often would you come across someone with a name like that? Who else would have meddled in a case like this?
Sherlock caught her staring and felt a hint of unease and curiosity. She was… familiar somehow. He couldn't quite place it, which was odd, but something in his mind insisted that there was something about her that was important. Avery shook her head though, bringing her hand back to her shoulder with a small wince as John spoke.
"Look, we can figure this out later. Right now, we better get you looked at and call the police."
"Already on the way," Sherlock replied, drawing their attention to him. "I called them as soon as I knew where I was needed."
Once outside, officers rushed past them and John herded Avery off to a medic to get looked at. Thankfully, she just needed some stitches and once she was squared away and Sherlock had shooed off Dimmock they hailed a cab to head home. John insisted that Avery return to Baker Street with them, but she returned home instead with the promise to drop by the following day. She still had a flat to work on and Deimos would be anxiously waiting for her. Sherlock's mind was racing though, trying to figure it all out and completely ignoring anything John said while in the cab and once they were back.
The next morning, breakfast was set up and tea was poured as John eyed what Sherlock had translated on the photograph of the coding they'd discovered.
"So, 'Nine mil…'"
"Million," Sherlock corrected.
"Millions, yes. 'Nine million for jade pin. Dragon den, black tramway.'"
"An instruction to all their London operatives."
"Mm," John hummed.
"A message. What they were trying to reclaim."
"What, a jade pin?"
"Worth nine million pounds. Bring it to the tramway, their London hideout."
"Hang on. A hairpin worth nine million pounds?"
"Apparently?"
"Why so much?"
"Depends who owned it." Sherlock shrugged.
"But then… how did Avery know about it?" John asked out loud, brows furrowed and missing Sherlock's surprised expression. "She knew it was jade and everything. She thought they were going after her. It doesn't make sense."
"It would if you let me explain."
They turned to see Avery in the doorway with a cloth sling on and a bag in her hand.
"Avery!" John smiled, getting up and getting startled when she shoved the bag into his chest. "What's this?"
"An… apology," she muttered, looking away awkwardly. "For shouting before. I've been trying to give it to you since earlier but you weren't home."
John pulled out the Lucky Cat and blinked. "It's one of those cats. Um, thanks, Avery."
"It's supposed to bring wealth and good fortune," she pointed out, reaching up and removing her sling with the smallest of grimaces and moving to sit down.
Her gaze drifted to Sherlock though, who raised a brow in question. She glanced away as John sat down and offered her tea; him not noticing the exchange and instead, jumping right into the questions.
"Are you alright to be taking that off?"
Avery sighed, waving him off as she lifted the tea to sip at it. "It's fine. I only kept it on to keep from using it with the heating system downstairs."
"Downstairs?" Sherlock questioned and John turned to him.
"Right, you two haven't met. This is Avery. She's been fixing up 221C for Mrs. Hudson. I'm surprised you never bumped into each other."
Sherlock frowned, her name ringing a bell in his head but no memory came to mind. "Sherlock Holmes," he greeted, sipping his tea as she eyed him again.
Why is she familiar?
"Avery Clarke," she said back, looking at him as though waiting for a reaction and when he didn't provide one, she seemed to be a little disappointed.
And hurt? Why? Am I supposed to know her?
"But Avery, how did you know about the pin?"
Avery turned to John and shrugged with a wince, forgetting about her shoulder. "I saw some reported murders and found they were connected."
"How?" Sherlock blurted, eyes narrowed.
She glanced at him. "News reported a bank employee dead in his locked flat, multiple floors up. I looked him up through his company that was mentioned in the report. His main focus was on China and other East Asian countries. Then, a second report was on a journalist who was killed by a ghost who can 'walk through walls.' Looked him up through the paper he worked for and he also did work in China."
"A coincidence," Sherlock shrugged.
"No such thing as coincidences," Avery countered, getting a smirk from the man as John eyed the two. "I scoped out the flat of the journalist—"
"That was you," Sherlock noted, earning a confused look.
"Sorry?"
He pointed at her fingers. "Yellow tint from nicotine. You're a smoker."
"Yeah, when I get stressed or need to think."
"What brand?"
"MS."
Sherlock's grin widened. "That's why I smelled it here and at the crime scene. You were working for Mrs. Hudson, probably stepped out to smoke. Then, you climbed up Lukis's flat and took a break to think."
"How did you—"
"The ash on the roof," Sherlock explained. "MS isn't common in England and has a unique smell and composition."
Avery cracked a smile, one that surprised John as he hadn't really seen her look happy about much of anything. "Well, I checked out the place, and the only way in was climbing. I assumed the killer was someone who came to assassinate them, but no one would hire an assassin for a journalist. Given the connection to China, I assumed it had to do with smuggling."
"A leap of logic," Sherlock replied.
"One that could easily be proven if given access to the scene properly, but I'm not exactly friends with the police."
Sherlock frowned lightly, eyes trailing over the hint of tattoos that peeked out from her collar and sleeves. "You're a criminal."
Avery immediately became more defensive. "I'm not."
"You have tattoos. One of which is well known as a prison tattoo from the Mediterranean," he pointed out, eyeing her sleeve that she covered uneasily.
"It was a wrongful imprisonment," she bit back. "I was released when they caught the right person, but I'm no criminal. I do things legally."
Sherlock raised a brow. "Climbing up a building to break into a flat?"
"I got permission from the landlord and I never broke in," she countered, before glancing away. "Though I got permission to deal with a pigeon nest being built near a chimney, but that's not the point."
"How did you know about the pin?" Sherlock asked then, growing more and more curious about this woman who was making amazing leaps of logic that about rivaled his own.
"I didn't. I knew they stole something that warranted getting killed, meaning it had to be small enough to smuggle away, but Shan told me it was a pin."
"But you said jade," John added.
"Most jewelry in China is made of jade over some of the more precious metals, especially if it's an old antique," Avery explained. "Though, I wouldn't have told them where it was. I was just hoping to get you out of there."
"Hold on. But you thought they were after you," John reminded her.
"She's the one who got into a fight in Soo Lin's flat," Sherlock pointed out. "I mentioned the smell there as well, did I not?"
John's eyes widened. "That's why your throat was all bruised!"
"He snuck up on me," Avery replied. "I'm glad I always carry a knife. He shoved a little origami flower in my coat though, which helped me confirm that it was a smuggling ring called the Black Lotus. Also, I'm guessing this was you?"
She pulled out a paper with some scribbles of code on it and slid her phone over to show them the Chinese markings on a brick wall.
"How did you…" John breathed.
"We have the same informant apparently," Avery replied. "Raz didn't tell me anything about you, but when I mentioned China he offered to let me know if it has anything to do with what I was looking into. All I could figure out was it was a message using book code, once I saw the symbols matched up with the Chinese number system used in the markets. Stumbling upon Soo Lin's flat was just happenstance."
John's mouth dropped open. "Y-You figured all that out from this?"
Avery's brows furrowed. "There's only so many codes that use two number symbols. It would have to be an easy one since it was smugglers using it." She looked over at Sherlock. "Is it really that hard to figure out?"
Sherlock was beaming though, thrilled that Avery was someone who could follow his train of thought without nearly as much information as he had. Sure, she hadn't figured out all of it, but with what she was given? No average goldfish could have gotten as far as she did.
Avery just shook her head and sipped at her tea again. "If they refused to let you go though, John, I'd probably have been forced to tell them where the pin was. Or tried to figure something out from there."
"You know where it is?" Sherlock questioned, not expecting her to have figured that out.
"A jade hairpin?" Avery noted, brow raised as she set the tea down. "One of the smugglers gave it to a woman they fancied. Probably had no idea of its worth and just took it with them. Smugglers either killed them without bothering to question them on it or whoever it was died to keep her safe. I couldn't tell you who exactly has it, but shouldn't be hard to figure out."
"Brilliant," Sherlock breathed with a smirk, surprising John who'd never heard the man utter any compliment to anyone, much less a woman.
Avery snorted though, waving a hand. "It's hardly brilliant. I just do odd jobs."
"A waste of your time, surely," Sherlock scoffed, and Avery glanced away again.
"I sometimes get a few cases myself, but nothing so elaborate. Mostly finding cheating spouses or lost pets. I'm not a licensed PI and probably can't be with the jail time." Her expression fell. "And I'm not about to bother with police work. I get what I can and occasionally snoop around bigger cases if I can avoid getting into more trouble."
Sherlock hummed, leaning forward and steepling his hands in front of his mouth, resting his elbows on the table. "Where are you staying?"
Avery blinked in confusion but answered. "On Porter Street. Not the best place, but the landlord's decent, neighbors are all right."
"What will it take to get you here?"
Avery frowned. "I'm sorry?"
"Here. Downstairs even. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson would willingly sell you 221C for a decent price if you asked," Sherlock rattled on, leaning back and getting up as even John shook his head in disbelief.
"I'm sorry. Are you asking her to move in?"
"Well, how else am I going to bring her along for cases?" Sherlock hummed, dumping the dregs of his drink and moving into the living room to sit in his chair—hands steepled once more.
"Cases?" John gaped, looking between him and Avery as she frowned, suspicious. "Sherlock, you two only just met!"
"And she already figured out the entirety of the case we were working with half as much information," Sherlock bit back, peering open an eye to frown at John. "As I said, a mind like that is wasted doing odd jobs in peoples' flats, and taking an added trip to Porter Street would be a waste of my time."
"It's just down the block! And might I remind you she was kidnapped and threatened because of your cases. She might not even want to deal with you!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes with a sigh. "And if you were listening, you would've heard that she was just as involved as we were and undoubtedly will get involved in our future cases given my tendency to take the more interesting ones. I'm simply suggesting an easier way to get in contact." He glanced at Avery who was standing now, just eyeing him. "I'll pay you, of course. Can't have my new assistant struggling financially."
John frowned, grumbling under his breath. "You're not paying me anything."
Sherlock overheard him though. "You just got two checks from Sebastian, John. it worked out, did it not?"
John shook his head and moved to grab his coat. "You know what? You two can figure this out. I'm going out. Sarah's been worried and I've got a check to cash. It was nice having you around, Avery. You have my number if anything comes up."
Avery nodded, watching him go before looking at Sherlock. Neither said anything for a moment, though Sherlock was silently wondering why she kept staring at him. So, he peeked open an eye and frowned.
"You're staring."
Avery frowned with that same subtle disappointed expression from before. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"
Sherlock lowered his hands, frowning at her. "Avery Clarke. Ex-criminal who apparently didn't commit a crime. You live on Porter Street, have multiple tattoos, work odd jobs, and have a large dog with dark fur. You smoke MS cigarettes, once lived in Spain, Italy, or the Mediterranean. What else is there to know?"
Her expression dropped further still before she shook her head, running a hand through her hair and turning towards the door. "Never mind. I'll… I'll think about the flat thing."
Sherlock continued to frown as she muttered a goodbye and left, feeling as though he'd missed something important that would continue to nag him for a long while longer. This is why she needs to be here. I need to figure out what it is about her that has caught my attention. It can't just be her being clever. There's something more. Something I'm missing.
Avery stepped into her flat building and let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the door and dragging her hand down her face. He doesn't remember me. Was I really that small of a person? Did I really mean so little to him? She dropped her hand and tipped her aching head back, hitting the door with a light "thump." She stayed there for a moment before she heard the light whining of Deimos coming from Mac's flat and sighed softly as she headed over to pick him up. She knocked on the door that opened quickly, Mac standing there with a smirk on his face as Deimos hurried out and skid to a stop right before her.
It was moments like these, where her head ached and her shoulder throbbed that she was grateful Deimos was well trained and could restrain himself from jumping all over her. The dog really was her lifesaver, terribly in tune with her emotions and knowing when he could and couldn't muck about. Avery smiled softly and ruffled his face and toyed with his ears, as he wagged his stump of a tail happily.
"He was a good boy, I assume?" She asked, glancing up at Mac.
"Oh, the best. I mean, I know you put a lot of time and effort into him, but he really is just the best dog around, ya know."
Avery cracked a smile. "Had to get him service dog credentials to make sure he can come with me wherever I go. Wasn't looking for a dog, but him landing in my lap is the best thing that's happened so far."
"No pets when you were younger?" Mac asked, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame.
Avery shook her head. "Mum thought they were messy."
Never let me have anything of my own anyway.
"Shame, that. You're a damn good trainer. Might put your name out for that sort of job too. Could make some decent money with all the dogs I see pullin' their owners down the street."
Avery cracked a small smile. "Yeah, well, not till the shoulder's fixed. Have to wait on finishing up that flat for Mrs. Hudson too, thanks to this. Can't install the heating system proper with my shoulder."
Mac eyed her shoulder, knowing something was suspicious about it but willing to let it go. "So long as you're not stirring up trouble. You know the rules."
"Everything's legal, Mac," Avery emphasized, waving at her shoulder. "This was just wrong place wrong time."
He grunted, not thoroughly convinced but cracked a smile once more as he gave Deimos a pat. "Well, you get on upstairs then. I'm sure it's been a long day for ya."
"Thanks again, Mac, for watching him."
"Nah. It's not a problem. I'd do anything for 'im."
Avery headed upstairs to her flat then, putting the key in the latch but pausing. Deimos was stiff, ears perked and facing the door, a low growl rumbling in his throat. That, and the door wasn't locked. Avery was paranoid and always latched things up before she stepped out. Some subtle scratches on the knob showed it was picked by someone who knew what they were doing and given Mac hadn't mentioned a visitor, they were quiet and got in unnoticed. Avery hooked her fingers in Deimos's collar and reached back to grab the knife tucked in her boot. She could throw it if needed. It would buy her time to leave or take down the threat depending on how high the risk was.
Avery pushed the door open, prepared for a fight only to relax a bit at the suited man sitting on her sofa. Mycroft Holmes rested his hands on the handle of his umbrella, attempting to maintain his calm appearance even though his gaze drifted to Deimos as the dog continued to growl—not yet barking since Avery had relaxed.
"Atura," (Stop) she commanded Deimos in Catalan, who stopped growling and glanced at her as she let him go. "Lloc." (Place)
Deimos relaxed and went over to a cot in the corner of the room, lying down on it as commanded but keeping his gaze on Mycroft. Said man cleared his throat and relaxed the tight grip on his umbrella as Avery closed the door behind her and moved towards the kitchen.
"Tea?"
"Very well."
Avery made tea in silence, bringing out a cup for Mycroft and setting it on the coffee table as she sat on the chair across from him.
"Why are you here?" She asked him.
"You found my brother," Mycroft shrugged. "I tend to know everything he's getting into, including who he meets."
"Nosey as always," Avery scoffed into her cup. "You're lucky Deimos was staying with my landlord or you wouldn't have gotten in."
"Yes, well, he's very…" Mycroft gave the dog a glance. "...loyal."
Avery cracked a small smile and put her tea down. "I helped him, so he helps me. How's your… connection thing going?"
Mycroft puffed up a little, proud. "I occupy a… minor position within the British government."
Avery shot him a look. "So, you run the place."
Mycroft sighed with a roll of his eyes. "I've forgotten how much you and my brother are alike. Though, I suppose it was a good thing he wasn't surrounded by complete goldfish."
Avery frowned a bit, solemn. "He doesn't remember me."
Mycroft went quiet as well, leaning forward and picking up his own tea. "My younger brother has repressed a lot of what happened on Cordona. Some… issues occurred regarding our mother that forced him to cope in the only way he knew how."
"You mean Jon," Avery replied, understanding immediately.
"Yes, his imaginary friend was quite… a unique coping mechanism."
Avery dragged a hand down over her face, remembering how confused she'd been as a child when she met Sherlock and his imaginary friend Jon. She too was a child and it didn't take long for her to just go along with it, but now that she was older, she saw it for what it was. Sherlock was a genius child who didn't know how to handle things and used Jon to help himself get through stressful situations.
"Though I'm not sure a dog is much better."
Avery glared at him for that, though he didn't seem to care.
"Still, I felt compelled to check in on my brother's newest interest. It's not every day he becomes close with an ex-criminal."
"I'm not a criminal."
"Yes, well, the Cordona police didn't seem to believe that."
"Because they're incompetent morons who have the rich lining their pockets daily to keep things hushed up."
"Hm, I suppose you owe Sherlock for that then, given he's the one who found the real culprit for you."
Avery lowered her hunched shoulders in shock. "That was him?"
"Yes. He always loved to meddle and while he worked out the truth of our mother's death, he took up a few cases in Cordona and happened upon yours."
Avery sighed heavily and leaned back on the sofa. Deimos whined and got up, making Mycroft stiffen, but the dog just wandered over to Avery and dropped his head on her lap for her to pet.
"Do you think he'll remember?" Avery asked, voice a bit defeated.
"I'm not an expert on the human consciousness. It's possible with time, I suppose…" Mycroft stood, shooting her a look. "But then, one would have to stay close, wouldn't they?"
Avery glared at him as he started for the door.
"Do be careful, Miss Clarke. Associating with my brother is a dangerous pastime, as I'm sure you've noticed. Though, I could also say the same to him for associating with you."
Mycroft left and Avery closed her eyes with yet another sigh.
