We soon arrived at a block of flats and once Sherlock found the buzzer for Van Coon, he pressed it, but there was no answer. He pushed it again, but still nothing.
"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?" John questioned.
Sherlock looked around for a second, before responding. "Just moved in."
"What?"
"The floor above. New label." He said, pointing to another buzzer.
"Could've just replaced it."
"No one ever does that."
Just then, a feminine voice came over the speaker box. "Hello?"
Sherlock smiled, putting on an act that had me struggling to keep from laughing. "Hi, um, I live in the flat just below you. I don't think we've met."
"No, well, uh, I've just moved in."
Sherlock turned to us both with a smug grin, before looking back at the security camera.
"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat." He said, biting his lip.
"You want me to buzz you in?"
"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?"
"What?"
"It's the only way I'll be able to get in." He explained.
"Oh…Well, alright then."
The door buzzed and Sherlock smirked triumphantly as we all headed in. Once we'd reached the woman's flat, Sherlock turned to look at John.
"John, I want you to wait for Sam and I outside Van Coon's flat."
"What? Why?"
I glanced between the two of them, also very confused.
Sherlock though, rolled his eyes as he knocked on the door. "Because, John."
The woman answered and let us in as John headed down to Van Coon's flat, but I felt a bit bad. It feels like I'm almost taking John's place. I don't want to do that. John is…he's Sherlock's best friend. If I take that away, not only will I end up hurting them both, but it'll mess up the plot really bad. I felt upset about that, but had no time to think about it before Sherlock pulled me in after him and we headed to the balcony. He started to climb over the side, but looked at me with furrowed brows.
"What's wrong?"
I looked up and shook my head, passing a hand through my hair. "Nothing…Maybe I should go down and meet with John."
"No." He said; more like demanded. "It's not that big of a drop and I need you to help me find clues."
He dropped himself over to the balcony below and I sighed.
"That's not why I don't want to go…" I muttered, before reluctantly climbing over the side of the balcony too, dropping down below with a cringe; having rolled my ankle in the landing.
Once I stood, favoring my right ankle, I followed after Sherlock as he walked into Van Coon's living room. It looked pretty modern with white leather furniture and nice black tables, missing the expected mess of a bachelor. There were some books stacked up on a side table and I skimmed my eyes over them as Sherlock went into the kitchen and checked the man's fridge, as the door buzzer went off a few times.
"Sherlock! Sam! Are you two okay?"
"We're fine!" I called back, though not answering the door to let him in as I wandered into the hall.
"Yeah, any time you two feel like letting me in."
I watched as Sherlock peaked into the bathroom before checking the bedroom doors to find them locked.
"You, uh, want some help?" I questioned, earning a raised brow from the man as I held up a small black case I kept on me, containing a lock picking set.
What can I say? Sherlock influenced me in a lot of ways.
"No. Would take too long." He replied, before slamming his shoulder into the door and breaking it open, the two of us walking into the room to find Van Coon lying dead on the bed with a single gunshot through the temple.
Now, I could handle a bit of blood and I've seen photos of dead bodies and such, but being there with a dead body in person was a lot different. The ashen white skin, the lifeless eyes, the blood dripping down the side of his head. I felt myself swallowing the bile building up in my throat and, upon seeing my internal dilemma, Sherlock spoke to me.
"Sam, let John in and tell him to call Scotland Yard. Ask for Detective Inspector Lestrade."
I heard him, but my eyes were fixed on the body and I hadn't yet moved.
"Sam!"
I jumped, looking up at him as he nodded to the door, before I walked out and let John in, explaining the situation. Once he'd finished calling the Yard, he turned to me.
"You okay?"
I nodded, though my voice trembled slightly. "Y-Yeah. It's just…the classes don't really prepare you for the real thing, you know?"
I gave him a miniscule smile and he nodded, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"That's okay. It happens to everyone. Do you want to wait out here?"
I shook my head, steeling my nerves. "No. I can do it…I think…"
He nodded. "Don't push yourself. You're free to walk out if it's too much."
The two of us entered the room as soon as the police had shown up, standing beside Sherlock as they set up their equipment and began taking photographs and dusting for fingerprints. I'd noticed that Sherlock had taken his coat off and was in the process of putting on a pair of latex gloves, which John and I also did.
"Do you think he's lost a lot of money?" John asked, arms folded as the three of us looked down at the body. "Suicide is pretty common among city boys."
"We don't know it's suicide." I said, looking over at him. "We shouldn't make conclusions just because of what it looks like."
"Come on." John said, giving me a look before turning to Sherlock as he ruffled through Van Coon's laundry. "The door was locked from the inside. You two had to climb down the balcony."
I shrugged, watching Sherlock as he rifled through Van Coon's things.
"Been away three days, judging by the laundry." He stood then, looking at the two of us.
"Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."
"Thanks. I'll take your word for it." John said, and Sherlock turned his gaze to me.
"Sam?"
I cringed a little, having shifted my weight to my bad ankle for a moment.
"I'd, uh, rather not."
"Problem?"
"Yeah." John said. "I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear."
Sherlock glanced at me as I fidgeted quietly, before dropping it.
"Those symbols at the bank. The graffiti. Why were they put there?"
"Some sort of code?" John offered as Sherlock went towards the body and began looking it over.
"Obviously. Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use email?"
"Maybe he wasn't answering."
"Oh good. You follow."
John turned to me and I shrugged, playing the idiot card for now.
"Mm, nope." John said to Sherlock, who looked up from digging through the body's clothes.
"What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?"
"A death threat?" I suggested.
Sherlock pulled out something black from the man's mouth, making me cringe.
"Yes. He was being threatened."
"Not by the gas board." John said, having leaned close to look at the origami flower Sherlock put away into an evidence bag, the same moment Dimmock walked into the room.
"Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met." Sherlock said, walking over to the man and holding out a hand, only for Dimmock to frown at him and place his hands on his hips.
"Yeah. I know who you are, and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."
Sherlock reluctantly handed over the origami flower to the man. "I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"
"He's busy. I'm in charge…and it's not Sergeant. It's Detective Inspector Dimmock."
The man turned around to head back into the living room and Sherlock looked at us in disbelief that Dimmock would act this way towards him. The three of us followed after the man though, as he announced what he thought.
"We're obviously looking at a suicide."
"It does seem the only explanation of all the facts." John said, making me frown.
"Not it doesn't." I muttered quietly as Sherlock turned around looking frustrated.
"Wrong! It's one possible explanation of some of the facts. You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."
"Like?"
"The wound's on the right side of his head."
"And?"
"Van Coon was left handed." Sherlock quipped back, twisting his arms about his head to explain. "Requires quite a bit of contortion."
"Left handed?" Dimmock said, voice a bit high.
"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around this flat." He said, pointing at the couch. "Coffee table on the left hand side, coffee mug handle pointing to the left, power sockets habitually used the ones on the left, pen and paper on the left hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. You want me to go on?"
"No. I think you've covered it." John said.
"Oh, I might as well. I'm almost at the bottom of the list. Sam? You want to give it a go?"
"O-Oh, um…the knife in the kitchen has butter on the right side…because he spread it with his left?"
Sherlock nodded, turning to Dimmock impatiently. "Hence, it's highly unlikely that a left handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion, someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all of the facts."
"But the gun, why—"
"He was waiting for the killer." I said, piping up now that I had a bit of confidence. "He had been threatened."
Sherlock turned and gave me a smug grin, before grabbing his scarf and putting it on along with his coat as John explained to Dimmock about the warning at the bank.
"He fired a shot when his attacker came in." Sherlock said, catching everyone's attention again.
"And the bullet?"
"Out the open window." I muttered, slowly smiling.
Dimmock though, wasn't convinced. "Oh come on. What are the chances of that? You expect me to believe some kid?"
I frowned, but Sherlock came to my defense, surprisingly enough.
"Sam is no mere kid, detective. Already found more than you and your officers did. And wait until you get a look at the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it."
Dimmock gave me a glance as I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"
I went to mention that I believed the killer climbed, but Sherlock cut me off before I could.
"Good. You're finally asking the right questions."
He left the room then and John and I shared a glance before following him out, the three of us taking a cab somewhere, but before I could get out of the cab to follow them, Sherlock pushed me back in.
"Stay. We won't be long."
I stared up at him in surprise. "What? But why?"
He bent over and grabbed my ankle, enticing a pained yelp from me as he stood back upright.
"You twisted it on the landing. I'm not stupid. Now stay."
I frowned, but gave in and sat back in the cab as Sherlock and John headed into the restaurant, silently wondering why Sherlock was being so nice to me. Maybe he feels guilty? About the whole assassin thing this morning? They didn't take too long and we were soon back at Baker Street, where John wrapped up my ankle and told me to put some ice on it. I did as he said and stayed up most of the night typing away at the paper I was going to need finished soon, putting in as many vague details as I could, so as not to incriminate anyone or give out any names. By the time I finished, it was nearing 3am and I sighed upon realizing that, not only had I gotten carried away with my paper, but I was not even close to being tired and my hand twitched; wanting to do something, be it writing or violin playing or a smoke. I'd prefer violin, but it is three in the morning and I don't want to upset John...and my violin's not here, I forgot… I sighed and glanced over at Sherlock, whose eyes were closed, hands steepled under his chin. I don't want to disturb him either. Taking his violin would probably be taboo…but I don't feel like writing and I'm not even the slightest bit tired. My brothers will be ticked if they realize my insomnia is back… I grimaced at the thought when Sherlock's voice suddenly snapped me out of my thoughts.
"If you want me to play, then I'll play."
"W-Wha…but John—"
Sherlock cracked open an eye and glared at me. "He's sleeping and your fidgeting is annoying." He reached over and pulled out his violin and bow.
I reluctantly gave in, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't leave me be until he got me to sleep or something, so he pulled out the old instrument, tuned it and lifted it to his chin. I was always nervous about playing in front of people, but I found if I closed my eyes, it was easier for me to get lost in what I was playing. Sherlock, surprisingly, was doing that now and soon, my own eyes slid closed as he began to play a smooth, soft, sad melody. After that, he began playing other songs and eventually stopped sometime after the sun rose. I was a little tired, but not enough to warrant sleep and John came downstairs with a yawn, fully dressed and looking ready to go out and get a job. He spotted us though and paused, eyeing the violin Sherlock was putting away.
"That was you playing?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, not providing him an answer.
I shifted nervously before getting up to grab a bit to eat. "I couldn't sleep. Sorry."
He shook his head. "No. It's, uh…It's fine. Sherlock does it all the time anyway, so I'm used to it."
He smiled reassuringly before grabbing a piece of bread and quickly making some toast as I made tea and coffee and grabbed an apple, hopping up on the counter and chomping down on it as I gazed off into space. Not soon enough, the kettle went off and I hopped down to pour the hot water into my cup and some into Sherlock's mug.
"You want any, John?"
He shook his head, grabbing his toast. "No thanks, Sam. I'm off out to get an interview for a job."
I glanced at him from over my shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want me to find one? I don't mind helping out."
"It's up to you if you want to or not. I'm not going to make you help with the bills since we're technically the ones who decided to bring you along, but if you want to, I'm not going to stop you."
I nodded, smiling a bit as I picked up the glasses. "Okay. I'll see what I can find. I probably need some extra spending cash anyway. My brothers wanted souvenirs."
He chuckled as I rolled my eyes and headed into the living room, setting Sherlock's coffee down on the table in front of him and returning to the kitchen to grab my half-eaten apple. When I went back in, John was putting on his coat and turned to look at Sherlock, who apparently hadn't moved since last night.
"Sherlock, I'm heading out. I'd say keep an eye on Sam, but I think she's the one keeping an eye on you." John turned to me with a grin and he waved before leaving.
It took Sherlock a moment to move, but he finally did and spotted the coffee on the table.
"Where's John?"
"Job interview." I said, apple in one hand, legs crossed in the more masculine fashion, which were holding up my notebook that I was skimming through. "I made you coffee. It's not poisoned. Promise."
He eyed it, but picked it up and sipped it, eyes widening.
"John told me. If that's what you're wondering." I lied, assuming that he was surprised that I knew what he liked in his coffee, and took a bite from my apple.
"Hm." Sherlock drank some more, settling back in his chair as I set my notebook aside and grabbed the newspaper instead, going to the job section. "Dull."
I glanced up with a raised brow.
"I'll pay you."
I shook my head. "No point in me getting paid by you when you don't take money from your clients and I'm going to be helping pay your bills."
Sherlock smirked, setting his cup down. "Ah, so this is your true self. I was wondering when you were going to show it. I didn't expect you to get comfortable so soon."
I frowned a bit, but went back to looking through the paper. "Yeah, well…Why hide it when you're just going to figure it out anyway?"
"Apathetic, semi-intelligent, curious, introverted, and fiery. Oh, how I would enjoy seeing you and my brother together in the same room."
I played dumb. "You mean that crazy guy who tried to kidnap me?"
Sherlock closed his eyes and steepled his hands under his chin. "The very one."
I let out a long sigh. "I wouldn't get anywhere with him. Once I get to know people I ease up a bit, but strangers are…a different story." I muttered, writing an address down on a piece of paper and tearing it out of John's notepad that was on the end table beside me, before standing with a grimace, ankle still sore. "I'm, uh, going to head out. I might have found someplace I can work for a little while without interfering with cases." I paused after pulling on my hoodie, looking at Sherlock from over my shoulder. "If I get kidnapped by your brother, I'll, uh, shoot you a text."
"If he offers you money to spy on me, take it. We can split it."
I chuckled and nodded, leaving and heading out to hail a cab, giving the cabbie the address and enjoying the quiet ride to my possible job.
John walked back into Baker Street after his interview and Sherlock, who had moved to sitting and staring at the wall full of case notes and photographs, called out to him.
"I said, 'could you pass me a pen'?"
"What? When?"
"'bout an hour ago."
John sighed and began searching for a pen. "Didn't notice I'd gone out, then." He tossed it to Sherlock and headed over to the wall Sherlock was staring at. "I went to see about a job at that surgery. I'm surprised Sam didn't tell you." He looked around the room once more. "Where is she?"
"Searching for a job. Said she'll text should my brother catch her." Sherlock replied, eyes still scanning the photos. "How was it? The interview?"
"It's great. She's great."
"Who?"
John looked at him, suddenly realizing what he'd let slip. "The job."
"'She'?"
"…It." He said, trying to cover up his mistake. "And don't you think we should be a bit worried about Sam?"
"She's not a child, John, so stop treating her like one."
John sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. "I guess you're right."
"Of course, I'm right." Sherlock scoffed, before nodding towards the laptop open on his desk. "Here, have a look."
"Hm?"
John went over and looked at the news article that was on the screen. "The intruder who can walk through walls."
"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked, windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon."
"God, you think…"
"He's killed another one."
Just then, his phone went off and he pulled it out, looking at the text he'd received.
"Perfect." He stood up and grabbed his coat with John standing there confused. "Come along, John."
"Where are we going? What about Sam?"
"Scotland Yard. She'll meet us there."
They soon arrived at the Yard to find a frustrated looking Sam. John was the first to hurry over and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Are you alright, Sam?"
"Fine. I'm fine."
"No you're—"
"John." Sherlock said, almost snapping.
John stopped and looked down at Sam with worry, but stayed silent as the three of them headed inside Scotland Yard. Once Sherlock had asked to meet with Detective Inspector Dimmock, they waited only a moment before heading over to his desk.
"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat." Sherlock turned the detective's laptop round to show the article he'd shown John not long ago. "Doors locked from the inside."
"You got to admit, it's similar." John said, eyeing the man. "Both men killed by someone who can walk through solid walls."
Sam just stood by, silently, hands stuffed in her pockets to keep from fidgeting impatiently.
"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide?"
Dimmock looked down, pursing his lips as Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose."
Dimmock nodded.
"And the shot that killed him? Was it fired from his own gun?"
"No."
"No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker, if you were to take my word as gospel."
Dimmock looked reluctant and Sherlock leaned closer to further push the man.
"I've just handed you a murder inquiry. Five minutes. In his flat."
Dimmock reluctantly agreed and began packing up his things, as Sherlock grabbed Sam's wrist and tugged her down the hall, leaving John floundering.
"Sherlock?!"
"We're going on ahead!" He called back, rushing out of the building with Sam in tow.
"Sherlock…"
Sherlock didn't hear her.
"Sherlock."
Still no response as he hurried down the stairs and into the lobby.
"Sherlock!"
He stopped, turning around with a glare, but seeing something was wrong.
"Could you…slow down? Just a bit? My ankle…"
Sherlock had completely forgotten that Sam's ankle was injured and he stared down at it briefly before nodding and taking the walk a bit slower until they were outside and he hailed a cab. Once in the cab, he turned to Sam with a frown.
"What happened?"
Sam looked back, confused. "Wha—"
"With my brother. What did he do?"
"N-Nothing."
Sherlock grew angrier. "Hands quivering, clenched jaw and fists, eyes scanning the room frantically. You were angry. Why?"
Sam frowned slightly, glaring at him. "Well, maybe I don't appreciate being kidnapped."
"That's not it. You knew it was going to happen. You're not stupid, as much as you want the rest of the world to believe so. Now tell me. What happened?"
Sam's glare softened and she glanced down, but looked up at Sherlock. "Have you ever been afraid of something, Sherlock?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.
"As a kid, or adult. Death? Fire? The dark? Crowds?"
He scowled ever so slightly, an image coming to mind, but he shoved it back. "No."
Sam smiled a little, though the gesture was broken, tainted with something other than happiness. "I am…I'm afraid of a few things. Loneliness…Failure…Losing people…"
"He threatened you." Sherlock concluded.
Sam nodded, frown returning. "Nothing much. I feel stupid just for being so angry about it, but… everyone has a pressure point. And you're jerk of a brother is pretty good at finding them, it seems."
"Hm." She's hiding something…though I doubt she will tell it to me now. Sherlock relaxed back in his seat, but his eyes went down to Sam who, while looking visibly calmer now, still fidgeted uncomfortably. "Is your ankle alright?"
Sam nodded, not stopping her nervous habits like Sherlock expected. I'll need something more then. Something to distract her and keep her occupied…
"This case."
"Huh?" Sam questioned, looking up with slightly curious eyes.
Got you. Sherlock held back a smile. "I expect you to find some evidence in this case when we get to Brian Lukis's home."
Sam finally smiled with a mock salute. "Yes, sir."
Sherlock didn't know why, but he liked it when Sam smiled. Sure, he liked to tease her and get into debates with her, but he found her smile a lot better. Of course, the moment he thought this, he threw the thought to the back of his mind and instead focused on the task at hand; finding out who killed Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis.
I felt a bit better after Sherlock's little pick-me-up and followed him, Dimmock, and John up the stairs to Lukis' flat. The first thing I noticed was the little black origami flower on the ground and the pure amount of clutter around the room. Definitely a bachelor's home. I thought, watching as Sherlock went over to the window and peeked outside.
"Four floors up. That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door, bolt it shut, they think they're impregnable. They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in."
"I don't understand." Dimmock said, clueless.
I already knew that the windows had been bolted shut from what I remembered about this case, and I also knew that the skylight was the most likely place the killer could come from, so I pointed it out to Sherlock and the others.
"What about the skylight, Sherlock?"
Sherlock nodded with a grin, heading over to said skylight and hopping up on a box to get a better look. "We're dealing with a killer who can climb."
"What're you doing?"
"He clings to the walls like an insect." Sherlock said, pushing the skylight open. "That's how he got in."
"What?"
"He climbed up the side of the walls." I said. "And then slipped in through the skylight from the roof."
"You're not serious…Like Spiderman?" Dimmock said, giving me a disbelieving look, to which I frowned.
"I'd like to see you come up with a better explanation." I said, keeping confident. "I could do it, if you want. It's not that hard if you know parkour or acrobatics."
"Is that so?" Dimmock said, frowning at me.
"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon."
"Oh, h-hold on!" Dimmock said, turning back to Sherlock and not even giving me the time of day.
Sherlock didn't stop though. "And of course, that's how he got into the bank. He'd run along the window ledge and onto the terrace." Sherlock climbed down and began looking around as I did the same. "We have to find out what connects these two men."
"He's got a lot of books, Sherlock." I said. "He's got to get them from somewhere. Maybe that'll give us a hint?"
He nodded and scooted past me, picking up a book off the top of a pile and flipping it open. Without saying a word, he snapped the book closed and hurried out of the flat, forcing me and John to hurry after him before he left us behind. My ankle was giving me a bit of trouble with all the running around, but I stayed strong for now, though I was grateful of the escalators in the large library. Unfortunately, Sherlock was in such a hurry that we had to climb up them and once we found out where the book was taken from, I leaned against the shelves to keep the weight off my ankle.
"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." Sherlock said, pulling out some books and checking them.
John was the one to find the message though. "Sherlock."
Sherlock headed over and began pulling books off the shelf, revealing the same message from the bank. Heaving a sigh, we replaced the books and John alerted one of the staff about the graffiti before we went back to Baker Street. John and Sherlock stood in front of the mirror over the mantelpiece, while I sat on the couch with an ice pack on my ankle.
"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon. Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies." Sherlock said, followed by John.
"The killer finds Lukis at the library. He writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen. Lukis goes home…"
"Later that night, he dies too." I hummed from the couch.
"Why did they die, Sherlock?" John breathed out as Sherlock brushed a finger over a photograph.
"Only the cipher can tell us."
He turns his head then, tapping his fingers on the photo, before glancing at me.
"Sam, do you know anything about this graffiti?"
"Huh?" I tilted my head in confusion, though on the inside I was panicking.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The symbols, the paint, anything."
I closed my eyes, thinking to myself. This isn't good. I knew he'd ask about it, but not this soon. What should I tell him? I can't tell him what it is and if I suggest Chinese, he'll probably figure it out too quick. I could tell him the paint type, but then he'd ask how I knew and I don't have a good answer for that that won't bring up my past…There's nothing I could give him… I sighed, shaking my head.
"Sorry, Sherlock. I've got nothing."
"Ugh, useless." He groaned, making me internally cringe as a miniscule frown formed on my face.
"I just want to be needed!"
I turned my head to the side quickly, searching for the voice, but no one was there.
"Sam?"
I turned around to see John giving me an odd look as Sherlock pulled on his coat and scarf, eyeing me as well. I just gave a nervous chuckle.
"Heh, sorry. Spaced out a bit there."
They watched me for a bit longer, before Sherlock fixed his scarf and spoke to me the moment I went to get up.
"No need, Sam. We won't be that long."
"What? But I can help!" I called out, not liking that I was being left behind again.
John, though, was also against it. "Sorry Sam. He's right. You're ankle's not healed yet and we've already been walking all over the place. It'd be better if you stayed here."
I hated the tone he used and scowled as I raised my voice. "I'm twenty-one years old, John! I'm not a child! I can make my own decisions!"
"Then make an intelligent one and stay put." Sherlock scolded, eyes set in a glare. "I can't have you possibly holding us back, Sam. So stop this childishness and grow-up."
I stared back at him, hurt by his words, but he swiftly hurried out the door with John following behind, sending me one last look before disappearing down the stairs as well. Once I heard the door close, I dropped my head, hands fisted around the union jack pillow I had taken off John's chair, before I threw the object across the room with a curse.
"Dammit!"
The pillow fell to the ground limply as I fumed on the couch. What did I expect? Of course they were going to keep me here. I'm nothing more than a tag-along and getting hurt on the first day? I'm lucky they didn't send me back to the dorms. I went from angry to sad in less than a second, feeling tears well up in the corner of my eyes. No. I can't do this. I-I know I'm sensitive to things like this, but…crying is the last thing I want to do. Sherlock will know right away and all that'll do is disappoint him…Though, it seems I already did that. I wiped my eyes before the tears fell and instead tried to distract myself. Unfortunately, the first thing I thought of was who I bumped into on the way to the job I was looking at.
I had just left the small café where I had been hired as a waiter—the boss being really nice about calling me a 'waiter' and not a 'waitress' since the friendly elder woman claimed I was more handsome than her own son, which was odd, to say the least—and not half a block later, I spotted the familiar black tinted windows of Mycroft's car and decided that I didn't really want to run around today, instead, just sending Sherlock a quick text about being quote-on-quote 'kidnapped'. What I didn't appreciate though, was the two guys who suddenly came out of nowhere, grabbing my arm tightly and basically dragging me to the awaiting vehicle.
"Hey! What the hell?! Let me go!"
They didn't say a word, just shoved me into the car where someone shoved a black bag over my head and began restraining me. Now, I knew it was Mycroft's men—thanks to their fancy coats and shoes—but that didn't mean I wasn't a little freaked out about this whole execution style kidnapping. I can't be that dangerous! After a while of driving and internal panicking (on my part), the car finally pulled to a stop and one of the men roughly grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the car, leading me somewhere and shoving me into a hard metal chair before ripping the bag off my head and unbinding my wrists.
I had apparently been driven to a similar looking warehouse as John had and Mycroft stood not far away, leaning on his familiar umbrella. Immediately, I frowned, not pleased with how I had been brought here and deciding that I wasn't going to be polite like I was planning on being, now that Mycroft had gone and treated me like a criminal.
"Apologies for bringing you here like this, Miss Foxe, but surely you can understand after our previous attempts were thwarted due to your skills at parkour."
He smiled in a sickening sweet manner as though that apology would make up for everything and I stood up abruptly with a snarl.
"Well sorry for acting like a normal person who feels threatened, you pompous arse!"
His men grabbed my shoulders and shoved me back down into the chair as Mycroft blinked in surprise.
"My sources told me you were more soft-spoken. Seems you're more fiery than you first appeared." He mused, pulling out a little notebook and writing something down.
I scoffed, leaning back in my seat and folding my arms over my chest, crossing my legs with my ankle resting on my knee. "Sherlock said the same thing, but he was more amused by it than you."
"Yes, well…My brother and I think differently on many such aspects." He smiled, pocketing the little book. "Now then, how about we get down to business? Hm? My little brother has taken quite an interest in you, Miss Foxe. Now why do you think that is?"
"It's Sam." I complained. "And maybe he just liked that I can help him with cases."
"But he has John, why take on another liability?"
I felt my lip twitch up in a snarl. "John is not a liability and neither am I."
He raised a brow, gesturing to my ankle with his umbrella. "Yet here you are, injured, and you've only been with him a day."
I flinched, knowing that what he said was true, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
"What do you care?" I growled. "You're just some government official who's too afraid of his own brother to apologize for something that happened ages ago."
His face immediately contorted into a frown and I quickly realized the mistake I made.
"Who told you that?"
Swallowing thickly, but keeping up my frustrated expression, I played it off. "It's not hard to figure out. What kind of brother would pay someone else to spy on their sibling when they are perfectly capable of doing so themselves?"
His eyes narrowed, no doubt suspicious of me, but he seemed to drop it for the moment… or so I thought.
"You have a few brothers of your own, yes?"
"…Yeah, and?"
"I hope my relationship with my brother won't get out to any unwanted ears." He said calmly. "I'd hate for anything to go wrong with your elder brother's new promotion at the firm."
"You're…threatening me…" I muttered, feeling my chest tighten in anger and worry for my brothers, fists clenching at my sides as I stood. "I don't take kindly to threats, Mycroft."
"Then we have an understanding." He mused, leaning on his umbrella with a smirk once more. "Do take good care of my brother in my absence."
I curled my lips up in a snarl. "Go to hell." I spat, before leaving, giving one of his lackeys a good shove before I got in the waiting car and discovered that I would be meeting with Sherlock at Scotland Yard.
Even now, I was still frustrated with the way Mycroft acted about everything and huffed as I leaned back into the couch. My hand touched my arm where his lackey had grabbed me and I winced, already knowing that he had left a nice hand shaped bruise there, something Sherlock didn't notice because I was wearing my hoodie and he hadn't touched it; probably the only thing that would cause me to show that it hurt. I threw the thought from my mind though and instead laid back on the couch, to sleep since I hadn't had a chance to last night and the exhaustion was finally hitting me. And if I'm lucky, I won't have a nightmare…
I woke up briefly when Sherlock returned without John, but slipped back to sleep before he even noticed I was awake. When I actually woke up, feeling a lot more refreshed, it was when John had returned, shouting about the summons he was going to have to go to, thanks to some guy and Sherlock ditching him with a bag full of spray paint. What was that guy's name? Raz? Maybe it was something else…Rat? Rab? Rak? I heard a chuckle and opened my eyes to find John laughing at me and Sherlock giving me an amused look.
"What?" I grumbled, not fully awake yet.
"It seems you salivate in your sleep too."
My eyes widened and I wiped my mouth to find a bit of drool, feeling my face heat up in embarrassment, before John came over, still chuckling.
"It's okay, Sam! No need to be too embarrassed."
I frowned. "Says you. Don't you have something to go do?"
"Huh? Not that I know of."
He raised a brow, when Sherlock came over, grabbing his coat as he began pulling it off his shoulders, and putting it back on.
"No, Sam's right. I need you to go down to the police station."
"Oi, oi, oi!"
Sherlock blew right over his complaints, shoving him out the door. "Ask about the journalist. His personal effects will have been impounded. Get a hold of his diary or something that will tell us his movements."
Sherlock too grabbed his coat, but stopped and turned to me. "Are you coming, Sam?"
My eyes widened and I practically jumped up from the couch, hurrying after them, though limping slightly. We headed out and Sherlock put on some gloves while speaking.
"Going to go and see Van Coon's P.A. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide. Sam, you're with me."
I nodded, going to follow after him when I noticed a Chinese woman with dark sunglasses across the street. Quickly, I tapped John's shoulder.
"Hey, John? Sherlock wants me to get his card back for him and is that alright?"
"Huh? Yeah, sure. Here ya go."
He pulled out his wallet as he hailed a cab, and I took it from him, grabbing the card and sneaking out the check Sebastian had given him as well, before handing his wallet back with a smile.
"Thanks."
"Sam!"
I turned to see Sherlock frowning at me and hurried off to catch up, wincing every once in a while when I put too much weight on my ankle. Sherlock and I soon hailed our own cab and we headed off to the bank where we met with Van Coon's personal assistant.
"Flew back from Dalian Friday. Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team." She told us, checking her computer screen.
"Can you print me up a copy?"
She glanced at him before turning back to the screen. "Sure."
"What about the day he died? Can you tell me where he was?"
"Sorry. A bit of a gap." Wanting to make it up to us, it seemed, she continued. "I have all his receipts."
I noticed a bottle of hand cream on her desk and took a chance to alert Sherlock, elbowing him and nodding to it.
"What kind of a boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?" He asked, upon spotting it.
"Um, no. That's not a word I'd use. The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag."
"Like that hand cream. He bought that for you, didn't he?"
I watched as Sherlock sat in her seat to look over the receipts and I eyed the hairpin she was fiddling with. Could save us a lot of trouble if I just took care of that for her…but then there'd be so many things that would change…I threw away the thought and waited for Sherlock to sort through the receipts.
"Look at this one. Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty."
"That would get him to the office." She said.
"Not rush hour; check the time. Mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as …"
"The West End. I remember him saying."
Sherlock picked up another one, handing it to the P.A. "Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly."
"So he got a Tube back to the office. Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?" She questioned.
"Because he was delivering something heavy. Didn't want to lug a package up the escalator."
"Delivering?" She looked confused, eyeing me to which I just shrugged.
If there's one thing I know for certain, it's that I couldn't tell you how far one can get on a certain amount of cab fare…I'm not a cab person. I usually walk or bike where I need to go. So…I guess I'm not any help here.
"To somewhere near Piccadilly Station. Dropped the package, delivered it and then…" Sherlock stopped, picking up a receipt and standing. "…stopped on his way. He got peckish…Come along, Sam!"
I thanked the woman for her help as he dashed off and I hurried after him, just barely climbing into the cab he'd called as it headed towards the West End.
"You don't know cab fares." He mused, not even looking at me.
"Well, yeah." I grumbled. "I may live in New York, but that doesn't mean I take a cab. My salary doesn't give me the chance. They're too expensive, so I usually bike or walk to wherever I need to go."
"Hm."
The rest of the ride was silent and when we showed up at the West End, we climbed out and began walking to the café where Van Coon had eaten, Sherlock twisting and turning to get a good look at everything.
"So you bought your lunch from here in route to the station, but where were you headed from?"
"Ah, Sherlock!"
He ignored me. "Where did the taxi drop you—Ugh."
Turning around to apologize, he spotted John and turned to me.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I did!" I said, tossing my hands up.
He rolled his eyes and turned back around to John. "Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died; whatever was hidden inside that case. I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information."
"Sherlock…"
"Credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here."
"Sherlock!" I called out, but he ignored me too.
"Somewhere in this street. Somewhere near. I don't know where, but—"
As Sherlock turned around, John pointed across the street. "That shop. Over there."
Sherlock turned back, looking almost jealous that John had figured something out before he did.
"How did you know?"
"Lukis's diary." John held up the small booklet he had. "He was here too. He wrote down the address."
John hurried off and Sherlock stood there for a moment.
"Oh." He turned away then as I rolled my eyes.
We went ahead and entered the shop, Sherlock pausing briefly to look at the objects in the window, where a nice lady offered us a lucky cat.
"You want lucky cat?"
"Nope. Thanks. No." John said, turning back to the tea set in front of him as I headed over.
"Ten pound. Ten pound!"
"I'll take it." I said, pulling out ten pounds from my own wallet.
The lady smiled. "You want bag?"
I nodded. "Sure."
She went ahead and packed it up, handing it to me as she took my money, and I held onto it as John picked up a white and blue tea cup, checking the bottom.
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock headed over as I did, looking with him.
"The label there."
"Yes, I see it."
"Exactly the same as the cipher." John cleared his throat, before we hurried out and began walking along the street where various street vendors had their goods out to sell.
"It's an ancient number system. Hangzhou. These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and the library." Sherlock went over to a stand and picked up a vegetable. "Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect."
"It's a fifteen." John said, checking the vegetable prices too. "What we thought was the artist's tag…It's a number fifteen."
"And the blindfold, the horizontal line, that was a number as well."
"The number one." I said, trying to keep quiet, but Sherlock heard me.
"How did you know that?"
I flinched, but quickly found my excuse. "I, uh, had a teacher who went over the Chinese number system once. Only went from one to ten, but I thought the tag was a blindfold too."
He sighed and we started to head off once more, but I spotted the same Chinese woman from before taking a photo with her phone, just before she disappeared into the crowd. Because John was next to me, I couldn't tell if she was photographing him or myself, but hopefully, I could get John out of getting kidnapped. Though I'm still a bit freaked out about it, but…I can try and be brave…I guess… My stomach growled then, catching Sherlock and John's attention, to which Sherlock brought us over to the café across from the Lucky Cat.
"Can't have Lestrade finding out I starved my college assistant."
I stuck out my tongue, childishly, and ordered some food as John spoke.
"Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?"
Sherlock put away the notepad he had been writing on before answering. "It's not what they saw. It's what they both brought back in those suitcases."
"And you don't mean duty free."
The waitress came by then and I greedily chowed down on my noodles, as John thanked her and Sherlock kept the conversation going.
"Think about what Sebastian told us. About Van Coon. About how he stayed afloat in the market."
"Lost five million …"
"... made it back in a week."
"Mmm." John hummed, eating his food.
"He smuggled." I piped in, eating another forkful and easily talking around my food in my mouth. "Not that odd, coming from China and not hard for them, being people who traveled there frequently. Wouldn't be too hard, if you ask me."
Sherlock nodded as John hummed, eating his food happily. I'm guessing he hasn't eaten a decent meal in a while then.
"A business man and a journalist writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff out and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off."
"But why did they die?" John breathed out. "I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?"
"They took something." I said, drinking from my cup of water, apparently catching Sherlock off guard. "Ah, but that's just pure speculation…"
"No. It's exactly right." He said, eyeing me.
"And the killer doesn't know which of them took it, so he threatens them both. Right." John said, Sherlock turning to look out the café window as I hurriedly shoveled my food in my mouth, knowing that we were going to be off again.
"Remind me…" Sherlock said. "When was the last time that it rained?"
He practically jumped out of his seat and hurried out of the café, leaving John and I to follow after him, but I had a big decision to make. I can either help Sherlock by keeping him from being strangled, or I can stay outside with John and continue to play the 'I'm Sherlock' card to keep him from being kidnapped. I really want to help Sherlock, but…I bit my bottom lip, before sighing quietly and giving in. Sorry, Sherlock. John comes first in this case. Sherlock bent over and flicked a finger over the edge of the yellow pages book sitting in front of Soo Lin Yao's door.
"It's been here since Monday." He said, straightening up and pressing on the doorbell.
No one answered and he looked around, catching sight of the alleyway off to the right and walking down it, John and I following.
"No one's been in that flat for at least three days."
"Could've gone on holiday." John mused.
"Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?" Sherlock questioned, before jumping up and pulling down the fire escape ladder and climbing up before John or I managed to follow him.
"Sherlock!" John hissed, running towards the front door with me behind him.
Once there, we stood outside, unable to hear Sherlock talking about the vase being knocked over, and John rang the doorbell.
"Do you think maybe you could let me in this time?"
We received no answer and John leaned down and opened the letterbox.
"Can you not keep doing this, please?"
We heard him saying something, but the noise from the street was too loud.
"What?" I called out, leaning over and taking John's place in front of the letterbox.
He said something more, but we still couldn't hear him and I leaned back, shrugging to John, who bent over to speak once more.
"What are you saying?"
There were a few more mumbles, but John stood back up in frustration. "I'm wasting my breath."
He pushed the doorbell again, but nothing, so I took over at yelling at Sherlock in order to keep John from getting into trouble with the Black Lotus.
"Anytime you want to include us!" I called out, swallowing thickly, knowing that at this moment, right now, Sherlock was being strangled.
I stood back upright and began mocking him, just as John would have done.
"No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no one else can compete with my massive intellect!" I shouted, having leaned back down to the letterbox.
"Oh, you think so too?" John asked me with a small smile, before going over and ringing the doorbell angrily.
He then checked his watch and we waited, none to patiently until the door finally opened and Sherlock stood there, looking a bit pale and speaking with a hoarse voice.
"The, uh, milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago."
"Somebody?" John questioned.
Sherlock nodded. "Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her."
He bent down to pick up a note off the floor as John continued to question him.
"But how, exactly?"
"We could start with this."
We all started walking and I eyed Sherlock nervously, eyes searching for the bruising I know must be on his neck.
"You've gone all croaky." John said. "Are you getting a cold?"
Sherlock coughed a bit. "I'm fine."
We took a cab over to the National Antiquities Museum and Sherlock soon turned to me with a frustrated look on his face.
"What?"
I realized that I had been staring at him for some time now and shook my head, looking away.
"Nothing…It's just, uh…Are you alright?"
He raised a brow at my concern and looked away. "As I told John, I'm fine."
I nodded solemnly and stayed silent the rest of the ride before we headed into the museum and Sherlock and John began asking questions to the people who work there. I didn't really have anything I could do and my eyes wandered off to where a group of students were checking out a few museum pieces. Oddly enough, I recognized them and a frown slowly formed on my face which caught John's attention.
"Something wrong, Sam?"
I turned to him and shook my head. "No. Nothing's wr—"
"Sam!"
I cringed, recognizing the voice of the absolute last person I wanted to run into, and nearly falling over as said person practically tackled me from behind with an arm over my shoulders.
"Sam! I can't believe we met up like this! The professor told me what happened and it's super cool how you get to go off and hang out with a detective instead of attending these boring lectures we have to go to."
I straightened up with a scowl, glaring at Bobbie and pushing him away from me.
"That's nice, Bobbie." I grumbled. "Shouldn't you be with our class?"
He smiled, slinging his arm back over my shoulders as if I hadn't just shoved him off.
"Nope! The professor just gave us our break. We're free for the next fifteen minutes!"
"Great." I said, sarcastically, something Bobbie didn't understand.
"I know, right?! Now what have you been up to? Catching criminals?! Exposing spies?! Destroying terrorist plots?!"
I groaned before turning my glare over to John, who was chuckling at my predicament.
"Friend of yours?"
"No."/"You bet!" Bobbie and I said at the same time.
I glared at Bobbie, but he was oblivious to it and instead stuck his hand out.
"I'm Bobbie Reiss. Nice to meet you!"
"John Watson." John replied, shaking his hand with a smile just as Sherlock came over.
"Are you two coming?"
"Yes!" I called out, peeling Bobbie's arm off me once more as John laughed.
"Bye Sam!" Bobbie called out as I picked up my pace.
On our way down to the archives, John continued to chuckle whereas I continued to scowl.
"Shut up." I growled.
"You've got to admit, it was a bit funny."
"No, it wasn't."
"You guys must have known each other a long time."
I looked up at him in shock. "We've known each other for a day at most! He asked me for a piece of gum and apparently that means we're best friends!" I grabbed John's sleeve, pulling him closer and growling. "He won't leave me alone."
John continued to laugh. "It can't be that bad."
I let him go and frowned. "It's like pairing up Sherlock with a peppy teenage girl."
John winced. "I guess you have a point…"
I scoffed and moved up a bit to walk beside Sherlock. Yeah, like pairing up Sherlock with a fan girl…I glanced up at the stoic detective, before looking back down. Like that'll ever happen…I mentally sighed and watched silently as Andy turned on the lights and led us into the basement archive.
"She does this demonstration for the tourists. A-A tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here."
He moved over and began turning a crank on one of the doors, but I spotted Sherlock wandering off the other way and followed him, before looking upon the statue that now had bright yellow spray paint on it, warning Soo Lin Yao of her eminent danger.
"Uh, John?"
John looked over and stared back with a serious expression, getting the same hint as I did. She's been targeted as well…though I already knew that. Thing is, should I try and save her too? We left the museum and begin walking down the steps, John buttoning up his coat.
"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao."
"If she's still alive."
"She is." I said, confidently, catching a few looks from the two of them, when Raz suddenly ran up out of nowhere.
"Sherlock!"
"Oh, look who it is." John said, none too pleased.
"Found something you'll like." Raz replied, ignoring John.
He headed off down the stairs and we followed him, taking a long walk across Hungerford Bridge, a train passing by not far away. John though, wasn't into the scenery at the moment like I was. He was a bit too busy trying to talk to Raz and get out of his ASBO.
"Tuesday morning. All you've got to do is turn up and say the bag was yours."
"Forget about your court date." Sherlock complained.
I though, wasn't real listening, instead catching eyes with the Chinese woman, just before she disappeared again. She gives me chills. After some more walking, we ended up in a skate park and I watched in awe as a couple of guys did tricks on their bikes and skateboards.
"Oh man. A downside tailwhip? So cool."
Raz turned my way. "You bike?"
I nodded. "Used to. Skateboarding was more my thing. I could do a mean mctwist."
Raz let out a long whistle. "Nice."
I scratched the back of my head nervously. "The other guys I hung out with could do better."
Sherlock cleared his throat suddenly and I chuckled awkwardly.
"Right. Sorry."
He rolled his eyes, taking the steps quickly. "If you wanna hide a tree in the middle of a forest, this is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say? People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message."
"There." Raz said, pointing at a wall full of graffiti. "I spotted it earlier."
"They have been in here. And that's exactly the same paint?" Sherlock asked Raz.
"Looks like it." I mused, wiping a finger over it. It's not wet, but it hasn't been here long.
"John, if we're going to decipher this code, we're going to need to look for more evidence."
He handed him and I a flashlight, to which we stared at them in question, until Sherlock waved his hands about. "Well, go on! Get looking!"
We headed off and began searching, each of us going our separate ways. John went off towards the train tracks and Sherlock off towards the warehouses nearby, whereas I checked the graffiti on the walls where the bikers were hanging out at. I wasn't finding much and even asked a few of the skaters, who were more than willing to tell me a few things after I pulled a few tricks for them. They pointed out a couple of other tags that were the same yellow paint, but most of them were too covered up to be useful. I took photos of them with my phone anyway, just before John and Sherlock rounded the corner and hurried towards me.
"You find something?" I asked, and John nodded.
"Sure did. Come on. I'll show you."
I waved to the skaters who waved and hollered back—earning me looks from John and Sherlock—and followed the two as they headed to a wall facing the train tracks. I looked at the wall to find it completely blacked out and tilted my head, hearing John panic as I moved forward and touched it, earning a couple of black finger tips.
"I don't understand. I-It was…here…Ten minutes ago, I saw it. A whole lot of graffiti."
"It's been painted over." I said, showing them my fingers. "The paint's fresh."
"Somebody doesn't want me to see it." Sherlock said, before suddenly rushing over to John and taking his face in his hands.
I blinked, bad fantasies popping up in my head before I quickly shooed them away. Nope. No, Johnlock tonight. Nu-uh.
"Hey, S-Sherlock, what are you doing?" John questioned, eyes shut for a moment.
"Shh!" Sherlock hushed, loudly. "John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes."
"No, what? Why? Why? What are you doing?" John questioned as Sherlock brought his hands down to his shoulder and began spinning him in a circle.
"I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"
"Yeah…"
"Can you remember it?"
"Yes, definitely."
"Can you remember the pattern?"
"Yes!"
"How much can you remember it?"
"Well, don't worry—"
"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only 62% accurate." Sherlock spouted.
"Yeah, well, don't worry. I remember all of it."
Sherlock stared back in disbelief. "Really?"
"Or at least I would if I could get to my pocket!" John shouted, pulling away from Sherlock and taking out his phone, pausing when they both heard a distinct 'click' followed by a flash.
Sherlock and John turned to me.
"Did you just…take a photograph?"
I lowered my phone a bit, looking at them innocently. "…No."
I then pulled my phone back and snuck it into my pocket, not saying another word. Actually, that was the fourth photo…the first three were while they were holding each other, but let's not mention that. John finally got back to the task at hand and pulled out his phone, searching through the photographs.
"I took a photograph." He said, showing Sherlock the screen as I headed over to look as well.
There was a bit of awkward silence, before Sherlock started walking back towards the main road and John and I dutifully followed, getting into the cab he hailed back to Baker Street. Once there, I looked over at John, as he yawned.
"You should get some sleep, John." I said.
He glanced at me. "So should you. You were up all last night, weren't you?"
"I'll be fine, but you have work the day after tomorrow."
"What about your job?"
I blinked. "What about it?"
He sighed. "I can't have you getting in trouble your first day of work."
"And you shouldn't be sleeping during your work." I said, folding my arms. "I'll be fine, John. I could probably get some sleep tomorrow and if you go now, I'll see what I can do about keeping him quiet the whole night."
John raised a brow, before rolling his eyes. "Fine. Just try to get some sleep while he's off in his mind palace or something."
I shrugged, hands up. "Okay."
He headed to his room and I moved to sit on the couch, just in time for Sherlock to toss me a book and a handful of papers.
"Translate those." He ordered, skimming his own book and writing something down on his papers.
"Yes, sir." I muttered, getting to work on translating half of the code that had been spray painted on the wall John had found. It's going to be a long night…