Sherlock and Emili hurried up to finish their expedition. Emili found paper towels in the kitchen, soaked them in warm water, and rubbed all of the blood that she could get out of her hair while Sherlock searched for her earring. They didn't want to leave evidence that they'd been there for anyone to find, police included.

She took her other earring out and pocketed them both, hoping John wouldn't notice. He probably wouldn't. They went down the stairs to stealthily leave through the door rather than down the fire escape.

Just outside on the doorstep, the doctor was waiting. He stood up swiftly, turned around, and glowered at them as soon as he saw that they weren't visibly maimed. Emili shrank back and smiled apologetically.

Sherlock didn't really care that John was irritated. "The – uh –" his voice cracked. He swallowed. "The milk's gone off and the washing's started to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago."

"Somebody?" John repeated, raising his eyebrows and grudgingly letting go of his issues.

Sherlock nodded and held out a piece of paper he'd picked up from just inside the door. "Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her."

"But how, exactly?" John prompted.

Sherlock pushed the note towards John. The doctor took it and as soon as he had it, Sherlock started to stalk towards the mouth of the alley. John read the note quickly, Emili peering at it over his shoulder. It was made on official stationery. At the top of the paper was the logo and the fancy font of the National Antiquities Museum.

Soo Lin, please ring me, tell me you're okay – Andy

"Maybe we could start with this," Sherlock rumbled.

John folded the note. Emili and he started to follow after their neighbor, but John sympathetically reached for his neck. "You've gone all croaky," he stated in concern. "Are you getting a cold?"

Trust that to be the next thing he asks, Emili thought fondly.

"I'm fine," Sherlock insisted.

Clearly not believing the detective, John turned to her for a second opinion. Emili put a smile on her face and shrugged. "We've got a lead," she said. "You know how he gets. There's too much going on now to explain that we were almost choked to death while you were doing your impressions."

John's response was to look at her as if she'd lost her mind. She gestured to her pants. John checked unsurely and when he saw bloodstains, he grabbed onto her wrist and started pulling to keep her in pace with him.

"You're going to tell me everything that happened," he ordered. He rarely gave commands, but when he did, Emili was reminded that he'd been in the army. "Don't you leave out a single thing, Emili Holmes. If you've got so much as a scratch, I want to know about it."


The National Antiquities Museum was closing when they arrived, but luckily, the security guard paged Andy when they (read: John) said politely that they were looking to talk to an Andy about a mutual friend named Soo Lin. The guard was friendly with both of the employees, inadvertently telling them that Soo Lin also worked in the building.

Andy let them come with him on his rounds. He was closing up, which meant he was locking the displays, turning off the lights, and sweeping to make sure that no stragglers had attempted to hide away until the staff left.

"When did you last see her?" Emili asked Andy, taking quick strides to keep up with him. He stood several inches taller than her and had a faster walk. She looked up at him curiously, noticing privately that he was a very nice-looking guy.

She would never admit it out loud, but she considered herself lucky that she got to live in a country full of British-accented people right around the time she was old enough to start dating. His dark hair was messy but he wore a nice vest with his trousers, and so while he didn't look old and stuffy, he also didn't look messy or roguish. Emili liked men who looked composed and well-kept.

"Three days ago," Andy answered, sliding his keys with clicking noises out of a display case. He turned his head to look at her as he pulled experimentally on the edge of the case, ensuring that it was locked. He dropped his keys to dangle on the chain around his neck. "Here, at the museum. This morning they told me she'd resigned, just like that. And left her work unfinished," he added with a slight humph, his lips twisting into an unsatisfied frown.

The first impression Em got was that he was annoyed Soo Lin took off without finishing her tasks, but then she remembered the note. Someone who just wanted their coworker to do their job wouldn't bother going all the way to Soo Lin's residence, nor would they write such an informal note and stick it through the mail slot. She knew it had been delivered in person because there hadn't been an envelope or postage.

Sherlock came to a conclusion about Soo Lin's work ethic before Emili did. Although it frustrated her that her mental exercises were continually cut short, she was glad that he could think so quickly. It had probably kept them ahead of the game more often than it pissed her off.

"What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?" Sherlock questioned, walking around Emili and stepping into Andy's path to prevent him from merely locking more cases.

Emili thought he could've handled it better simply by being less intimidating.


Emili sometimes considered the things she did now that she never would've thought of a year ago. One of those things was to habitually spy on things that other people tried to conceal – PIN numbers, passcodes, card information. It wasn't like she picked pockets to commit identity theft. It was just that she was curious, and she was a little scared that someone would be commissioned to hurt her again, and when the two combined, she was a little paranoid. She wanted to know about the people and the things around her.

Whatever her justification for it was, it wasn't entirely her fault that she knew Andy's passcode into the basement archives, where the museum stored what wasn't currently on display. He could've tried a little harder to hide it.

There were long rows of walk-in lockers on the right, and on the left was mostly just bare wall. The lockers were big enough that even larger pieces, like old statues, could usually be hidden safely away inside them. Some were still out, but only very large ones that Emili doubted they moved more than they absolutely had to. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all a boring dull grey, except for the handles on the lockers, which were bright red metal, and the keyholes, which gleamed with a clean silver finish. The entire place seemed overly tidy and too large for something with so few visible artifacts, so it seemed more appropriate for a morgue or limbo than a museum basement. Then again, she didn't have many other museum basements to compare it to.

"She always does this demonstration for the tourists – a tea ceremony." Andy fumbled through the keys on his ring, stopping beside a locker in the double-digits. He slipped the key in and turned it until they heard a click. "So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here."

Once he had opened the door to the locker, he glanced at Sherlock and made to go inside, expecting to be followed or questioned further, but none of the investigators were paying attention to Andy anymore – their attention had been stolen away by a nude statue of a Grecian woman, standing at least three feet higher than Emili with her shoulders and hips nearly a foot wider than the teenager's. Her pale, stony arm was across her chest, and across the smooth, narrow forearm was a semi-straight line of bright yellow spray paint.

Underneath the first line, a second Hangzhou number was sprayed onto the woman's abdomen, marring her toned stomach and crossing down close to her waist before the symbol's furthest lines ended. The two paired to create the same cipher that had warned both of the previous murder victims. Emili felt her stomach turn.

"What the hell is that?!" Andy spluttered, shocked and anxious, probably worried that he would get in trouble for the vandalism.

"That's a death threat," Emili answered in a very small voice. "And it's why you haven't seen Soo Lin for three days."


"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao." Sherlock determined as they left the museum quickly, feet pounding down the stone steps. For once, Emili, John, and Sherlock were all on the exact same page.

John said worriedly, "If she's alive," and it made Emili's chest feel tight for a quick moment. She had already found one dead body so far, and she wasn't hoping to discover another.

"I bet she is," Em pointed out, hopefully grasping at what little evidence they had. "If the assassin had already found her, why would he have been in her apartment?" As she recalled the assault, one of her hands drifted up to the side of her head and felt her earlobe, which was still sore from having her earring ripped out.

Sherlock's long legs and stalking gait put him in the lead. Emili's stride matched John's and she fell into step beside the doctor, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness outside. The sun had set rapidly after they entered the museum, and now they had only the faintest glows of sunlight left by the horizon. Light shining down on them now was artificial and yellowy from streetlights and displays from the front of the museum, attracting tourists and mimicking its postcards.

John huddled down a little in his snug, knit sweater. "Maybe he was looking for something?" He suggested, rubbing his hands together and tucking them in his pockets.

Em knew from looking around that Soo Lin didn't have much space to hide priceless antiques in her apartment, and the assassin had left without taking anything with him. Plus, there were the obvious details they knew about her – unlike Van Coon and Lukis, Soo Lin didn't have many opportunities to travel.

"Soo Lin's not a smuggler," she argued. "She has a steady job. Andy said she hadn't taken any trips since he started work, two years ago."

"Sherlock!" A man's voice called, footsteps quickly becoming audible. A large, long, and distorted shadow twisted on the pavement as they were approached. Em took a sidestep to bring herself closer to John, but before she had really moved, she remembered the voice.

"Oh, look who it is," John snarked, still upset about being left to take the blame for the graffiti.

Sherlock stopped so quickly that his Belstaff coat hit the backs of his legs, turning to the side to meet Raz. Raz had ditched the bright orange community service jacket since they'd last met, and Emili could see slight flecks of paint on his loose-fitting, ankle-length denim jeans. His big black hoodie would've made her wary of him if she didn't already know who he was – because if that was coupled with sprinting up to someone at night, it seemed very alarming.

Raz ignored John's bitter remark and gave Sherlock a smirk. "Found something you'll like," he said, seemingly proud of himself as Sherlock's eyes narrowed.


When she'd come to London with Mycroft, one of the first things Em had bought were a nice pair of walking shoes. She'd had them broken in by the time the medical examiner collected Jeff Hope's body. They were turning out to be one of the best investments she'd made.

They walked up onto the Hungerford Bridge towards the embankment by Southbank. Looking in one direction, she could see the brightening moonlight glittering over the Thames and point out reflections of lights from London on the softly splashing waves. Over her shoulder, she could point out the hulking figure of Big Ben and see the faint blue glow of the London Eye.

Emili never considered herself athletic but walking around in London was surprisingly pleasant to her. Although she was tired, hearing the water below and seeing the city from the bridge was worth giving up her sleep. She tried focusing on the lulling noise of the Thames rather than worrying about Soo Lin.

John, on the other hand, was doing the opposite. "Look," he said, exasperated, to Raz, following closely behind him and Sherlock. "All I'm saying is to turn up to the station, tell the nice officers that the bag was yours, and clear my name!"

"Forget about your reputation!" Sherlock scoffed impatiently.

Mycroft had gotten their records cleared, but John was still humiliated to have been arrested. Emili doubted he'd see many of those officers again, if any, and – realistically speaking – they probably hadn't paid him any special attention, so she didn't really understand why he was so upset. It was taken care of, and they had a homicidal smuggling ring to deal with.

She shivered – not because of the breeze from the river. Em wasn't a fan of murderers, but organized crime was really not her thing. Jeff Hope had only been one man, and the attempted bank heist had been a small group. The smugglers were a strong operation with lots of practice, and they had proven twice now that they were very capable of tying up their loose ends. Her anxiety was beginning to lift the hair on her neck like she was being watched.

Emili stopped suddenly. Being watched. Maybe her paranoia wasn't just paranoia. She took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder again, while none of the men realized right away that she had stopped. The teenager didn't see anyone else on the bridge, but her mind flashed back to the woman in black who she'd seen taking photographs. Of her. Of John.

Suddenly, walking across London in the dark didn't seem as enjoyable.

She looked around again nervously, scanning the bridge behind them. There wasn't anywhere for someone to hide, except by ducking underneath the other side of the median or by jumping over the edge and into the Thames. Emili had stopped and turned quickly enough that she doubted there would've been time for the former, and she hadn't heard anyone land in the latter.

Shoving back the voice that told her she might've been slow enough for someone who could scale the outside of Tower 42, she shivered again, hugged herself closely, and hurried to catch up with the others.


On the other side of the bridge, at the southern bank of the Thames, it hardly looked like the highly populated urban city that Emili was growing to love. Maybe it was the darkness hiding things in shadows, or maybe it was the odd, eerie glow of the orangey streetlights. Raz took them across an undercroft and Emili started to hear grating and rolling noises.

Before long, she heard someone whoop enthusiastically – a boy, probably her age. They came into view of a skate park that had been fenced off, but the gate had been cut at the lock with industrial clippers and a handful of people were doing tricks on bikes and skateboards. None of them were younger than her, but none were older than Sherlock – and at least they all appeared more coordinated than John.

The little park had cement ramps and dips, yet wasn't very large. The biggest attraction was a dip that looked like it had been carved out of the ground, then been poured over. There were lines drawn by the edges in reflective yellow paint for safety. A skateboarder pushed off of one side to glide down while a bicyclist raced up the inner wall, shot up over the side, and pushed his feet off of the petals, twisting his torso and his bike in opposite directions. Em cringed preemptively, expecting an ugly crash, but was pleasantly surprised when he straightened out and turned quickly enough to slide back down into the ramp without losing his balance.

Behind the skate park, though, was an old station that looked like a storage shed, and behind those, Emili could make out the shadows of where train tracks ran through the area. The train station may have still been in use, but if it was, Emili doubted that it was used as much more than a refueling station, if that. The more interesting aspect of the station was the yellow paint on the side, making some rigid lines and quick curves. They weren't the exact same as the cipher the investigators had been tracking, but it looked like the same paint, and they all looked like the Hangzhou from the Chinatown market.

"I spotted it earlier," Raz proudly proclaimed, pointing out the lines of paint from the short distance. "Dunno if there's more. That's the end of my problem."

Sherlock stopped on one side of the park, ignoring the skaters. "If you want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say?" The station building went on for a while, and on the other side of the tracks, there were shadows from more storage buildings. The reloading station looked like it could go way back up towards the bridge the quartet had crossed. Emili began suspecting that there was a ton more graffiti on the other structures, but because Hangzhou wasn't at all common anymore and the location was odd and isolated, the only people who understood it were probably involved in the operation. "People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message.

"They've been in here." Sherlock scanned the park, dismissed the skaters, and nodded slightly to himself. "And that's the exact same paint?" He confirmed with Raz, for some reason trusting the other man's knowledge.

"Yeah." Raz crossed his arms. Emili caught the way he leaned back, very smug to have followed through on his commitment and just be done with it.

Sherlock nodded, coming to his own decision and seemingly dismissing Raz. "John, Emili," the detective began, his tone both imperious and matter-of-fact. "If we're going to decipher this code, we're gonna need to look for more evidence." There wasn't a command explicitly stated, but both veteran and student shared a look behind Sherlock's back, hearing the unspoken demand that they get to searching.