Maxine

Later in the day, Sherlock and I had gone through more books than I could count. I eventually got sick of the clutter and put the already-checked books into neat piles on one end of the room while scolding the detective every time he tossed another book to the floor. So far, we hadn't found anything that made sense with the code.

I was taking a break and putting some tea on, eager to have Sherlock try Royal Milk Tea—a recipe I fell in love with from Japan. As I partially filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove, I heard Sherlock muttering to himself.

"A book that everyone would own."

I turned to see him going to his own bookcase and pulling down three books from random spots. I was able to see the first two were the Concise Oxford English Dictionary while the other was a copy of the Holy Bible.

"Fifteen. Entry one," Sherlock said, flipping open the dictionary first.

Whatever he saw there wasn't anything useful, given how Sherlock slapped it close and plopped it back on the bookcase without bothering to push it back in its previous spot. He seemed to have the same luck with the other two books. As he grunted in irritation and tossed them aside.

"It was a clever thought," I told him.

From the stairwell came the sound of a door closing. Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair to ruffle it on end just before John stepped into the flat. He had gotten back from work about fifteen minutes ago and after checking to see if we found anything new, immediately retreated to his room. Now he was in fresh clothes—fancy ones at that. I raised a brow at him but before I could ask about his attire, Sherlock spoke up.

"I need to get some air," he said. "We're going out tonight."

"Actually, I've, er, got a date," John replied with a smug smile.

"What?" Sherlock and I said in unison.

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun," John said.

"That's what I was suggesting," Sherlock said. "Well, with Max that makes three, but—"

"No it wasn't," John interrupted, "...at least I hope not."

Sherlock leaned back in his seat and his sulky expression nearly made me crack a smile.

"Where are you taking her?" the detective demanded.

"Er, cinema," John replied.

"Oh, dull, boring, predictable," Sherlock scoffed.

"C'mon, Sherlock," I said as I added the Assam tea leaves to the kettle. "Let him have his date."

"Thank you, Maddie," John said pointedly while shooting a look at Sherlock.

Sherlock got up out of his chair and rummaged in his trousers' pocket as he approached my brother. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to John while tilting his head down for a moment as if to watch his step. While he blocked his expression from John under that head of curly hair, at my angle I caught the small smirk tugging his lips.

"Why don't you try this?" he suggested.

John took the paper and examined it. I left my tea to steep and came over to look over his shoulder to see the paper was actually a strip of a poster. It was advertising something called the Yellow Dragon Circus with a telephone number of the Box Office. I frowned, wondering where in the world Sherlock got this; he'd been in the flat with me all day.

"In London for one night only," Sherlock declared.

John gave a small chuckle and gave the paper back to the detective. "Thanks, but I don't come to you for dating advice," he said.

Sherlock gave him a smile that told me John was going to see a circus show tonight and knowing Sherlock, it wasn't because he thought it was a good idea for a romantic date.

John

I still wasn't certain how Sherlock convinced me this was a good idea, but I had to admit, Sarah's excited expression was starting to make me wonder if the detective really knew what he was doing when it came to date ideas.

"It's years since anyone took me to the circus," Sarah confessed with a gleeful smile. She looked absolutely lovely tonight. The chilly weather still called for her to wear an overcoat, but when I'd gone to pick her up I'd gotten to glimpse her evening gown.

"Right, yes!" I said with a nervous laugh. "Well, it's... a friend recommended it to me. He phoned up."

"Ah," Sarah replied. "What are they, a touring company or something?"

"I don't know much about it," I admitted.

I was pleased that Sarah had forgiven me for falling asleep on the job today—even more pleased it landed me a date with her—but I couldn't help but feel a small sense of tension in my shoulders. It could be Sherlock was merely trying to be a good friend; hell, even Maxine had jumped in to really drive home the idea of this being a good date. Still, though...

We paused just outside the building to look at a large number of paper lanterns strung outside the entry hall.

"I think they're probably from China!" Sarah exclaimed.

"Yes, I think... I think so, yes," I said, feeling a small grimace coming on. "There's a coincidence," I added under my breath.

Inside the Box Office, a manager is standing behind a counter and just finishing up giving some tickets to the customer in front of us. As they thanked the woman and stepped farther into the building, I led Sarah up to the counter and smiled at the manager.

"Hi. I have, er, two tickets reserved for tonight," I said.

"And what's the name?" the woman asked pleasantly.

I began to take out me wallet from my jacket. "Er, Holmes."

The manager began to rifle through a small box with envelopes inside it. After a moment, she pulled one free and examined it.

"Actually, I have four in that name," she said.

I blinked. "No, I don't think so. We only booked two," I insisted.

"And then I phoned back and got one for myself and Max as well."

My head snapped up from the envelop and I whirled to see Sherlock and Maxine walking in from around the corner. Sherlock's green eyes found Sarah and he went to her to offer his hand.

"I'm Sherlock," he said. With a small gesture of his head toward Maxine, he added, "This is Maxine, John's younger sister. Figured we could do a little double-date."

Maxine responded with a small wave. She was wearing dark pants and some slim black boots that looked like they were built more for hiking rather than going to a formal event. Her navy blue coat shrouded whatever top she might have on and her yellow scarf was around her neck as usual. Her hair looked like she'd actually paid a bit more attention to it than just running a comb through the ginger strands and there was a small touch of makeup around her eyes.

It might not look like much to anyone else, but to me, this was Maxine really going the extra mile to doll herself up.

Sarah took Sherlock's hand and shook it awkwardly. "Er, hi," she greeted.

"Hello," Sherlock said before flashing her a fake smile and walking deeper into the building.

"So... you're John's sister?" Sarah said to Maxine. "I didn't know he had one. I'm Sarah."

"I—er, well, if you recall, I was a touch tired today," I muttered as Maxine perked a brow at me.

"Are you the one who kept him up with the books?" Sarah asked with a small laugh.

Maxine shook her head and pointed to where Sherlock vanished. "That'd be our flatmate," she said before following after him.

"Oh," Sarah said, clearly surprised.

I let out an exacerbated exhale through my nostrils. I really should have seen this coming.

Maxine

I stood next to Sherlock and John a few steps up the stairs leading into the main room. Sarah had stepped off to freshen up before the show started, which left us alone to deal with John's wrath.

"You couldn't let me have just one night off?" he demanded of Sherlock.

"Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits," Sherlock insisted. "The Tong sent an assassin to England..."

"...dressed as a tightrope walker," John finished the sentence for him with stinging skepticism. "Come on, Sherlock, behave!"

"We're looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity?" Sherlock pressed. "Exit visas are scarce in China. They need a pretty good reason to get out of the country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look around the place."

"Fine." John flexed his fingers in a gesture stating he was giving up. "You do that; I'm gonna take Sarah for a pint."

"We need your help," Sherlock said sternly.

"We?" John echoed; then he glanced between Sherlock and me. "Oh. Oh, no. You're not dragging Maddie into this."

"Not your say, Johnny," I said, staring at him without yield.

"This is dangerous," John snapped.

I grinned lightly. "That's why I'm doing it."

I was still getting used to being open about my new hobby of pursuing peril and clearly so was John. He blinked rapidly and took a small step back.

"So not only do I have to somehow assist with this scheme of Sherlock's, but I have to worry about you the entire time too?" he said. "I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!"

"Like what?" Sherlock demanded.

John blinked again and stared at the detective. "You are kidding."

"What's so important?" Sherlock asked tightly.

"Sherlock, I'm right in the middle of a date," John replied. "D'you want me to chase some killer while I'm trying to..." He trailed off and his thumb ran over his fingertips; he seemed to be trying to find the right words and he shot me a nervous glance.

"What?" Sherlock pressed.

John's expression pinched with lost patience and frustration and his next words came out much louder. "While I'm trying to get off with Sarah!"

His timing was impeccable, for at that exact moment Sarah came around the corner to join us. John turned to her and smiled awkwardly. Judging by Sarah's expression, she either didn't hear it or she was doing a good job not letting it show.

"Heyyy..." John greeted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to head up the stairs. He gripped my hand to pull me along after him and I nearly tripped on the steps, not at all prepared for it. He did state we were going to be acting as a couple here to better blend in and explain our appearance to Sarah—a double-date as he had told her. However, I still wasn't used to the detective showing... affection. Of course, it was a tad hard to call his hand-holding affectionate. His face was schooled into neutrality and he didn't even look at me as we went to find our seats.

In the performance area, there was a stage on the side of a large hall with heavy-looking red curtains that were closed. However, when I examined the rest of the expansive room, it didn't appear like the stage itself was going to be used. A circle of candles were laid out in the middle of the floor about ten meters in diameter and the room was dimly lit. All of the patrons were gathered around the circle, but there were no provided seats. There was plenty of room for all of us, so I couldn't help but wonder if they limited the amount of tickets.

John and Sarah stood side-by-side near the front of the ring of people. I was glad we were up toward the front; no seats meant I had to rely on my height to see over anyone in front of me. I was on John's other side, but back about a step so I could hover close to Sherlock. The detective was just behind my brother and his date and he had his back to them. He was examining the ceiling and the rest of the room with his green eyes sharp and calculating.

"You said circus," John muttered to us so Sarah couldn't hear. "This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is..." He grimaced with distaste. "...art."

I made a face and John waved me off before I could open my mouth. I supposed to some people, art could be anything, but I took offense to him calling this setup such.

"This is not their day job," Sherlock replied quietly over his shoulder.

"No, sorry, I forgot," John muttered. "They're not a circus; they're a gang of international smugglers."

A rhythm began to pound toward us; someone was tapping on a small hand drum, signaling the start of the performance. Sherlock turned around and took a step closer to me so that I didn't have to be stuck behind my brother where I couldn't see in order to stay by the detective's side. John cast us a small glance at which Sherlock returned with a quirked eyebrow as if to say, What? It's part of the act, I have to be close to her. John exhaled in defeat and looked forward again.

Into the center of the circle strode an ornately-costumed Chinese woman with a heavily painted face. If I could recall correctly, the style was traditionally known as the Opera Singer. She stared around imperiously at the audience before raising a hand in the air. The riff of the drum died off and the Opera Singer then walked across the circle to a large, bulky object shrouded in a cloth. The woman gripped the sheet and pulled it back with one, fluid flourish to reveal an antique-looking crossbow on a stand.

With practiced delicacy, the Opera Singer picked up a long wooden arrow with white feathers decorating one end and a lethal metal point at the other. She showed it to the crowd wordlessly before fitting it into place in the crossbow. When she straightened up, she pulled a single white feather from her headdress and once again showed her possession to the audience. Toward the back of the crossbow was a small metal cup and she gently dropped the feather into it.

With a startling SNAP the crossbow was triggered and the arrow was loosed. It pierced through the arrow at blinding speed across the room and embedded itself in a large painted board on the other side of the circle. Sherlock and I had followed the arrows progress, but apparently the rest of the crowd had been too shocked by the initial sound of the crossbow firing. They looked to where it was now and I saw Sarah turn back to John and give a nervous but excited laugh as she put a hand to her chest.

Traditional music started and the audience applauded as a new character entered the circle. He wore chainmail and an ornate mask over his head to conceal his face. Silently, he held out his arms to the sides and two men stepped forward and began to attack heavy chains and straps to him. They folded his arms in front of him and bound them into place before backing him up to stand against the board with the target to chain him to it.

"Classic Chinese escapology act," Sherlock murmured.

I grimaced as John and Sarah turned to look at him.

"Hmm?" John prompted.

"The crossbow's on a delicate string," Sherlock explained. "The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."

"If he doesn't, well..." I furrowed my brow and wondered if that would be considered murder or manslaughter in court.

The Opera Singer loaded another arrow in the crossbow. The men across the circle attached more padlocks and chains before pulling everything tight and yanking the man's head back against the board. He let out a cry and the men looped the chains through solid metal rings on board to secure the warrior. Once again, he cried out; it was difficult to discern whether it was out of discomfort of thrill.

The men finished up and stepped away from the board to leave the warrior to his fate. The music began to build and there was an abrupt crash of cymbals. Sarah jumped and clutched John's arm out of fright.

"Oh, God!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry." She laughed in embarrassment and gripped my brother's arm with her other hand as well.

I started to wonder if she'd done that on purpose as John laughed too and they smiled with delight at one another. Sarah let one hand fall, but she kept her other arm twined in his.

The Opera Singer picked up a small knife from beside the crossbow and displayed it to the audience.

"She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl," Sherlock breathed.

I started wondering what sandbag he was talking about but then the Opera Singer reached up to a small sandbag hanging on a long cable overhead. I hadn't even seen it; I must be too distracted with how Sarah was acting around my brother. Perhaps John wasn't the only protective sibling in our family.

The Opera Singer stabbed the blade into the bottom of the sandbag and its contents began to spill out. The warrior was crying out again; this time with clear effort as he began to tug at his chains. The sandbag's cable was looped over a pulley and a metal ball was attached to the other end. As the sand kept pouring out of the bag the weight lowered toward the bowl at the back of the crossbow. The warrior managed to get one hand free, but that wasn't going to be enough to save him if he didn't hurry.

I could sense the sudden apprehension rise in the crowd around me. John and Sarah were staring at the weight lowering toward the bowl nervously as it crossed paths with the sandbag on its way up. They looked back to the warrior to see him get his other hand free. He began to pull at the chains around his neck with rising urgency.

A hand suddenly closed around mine and pulled me to the side. I blinked and looked around to find Sherlock leading me swiftly out of the crowd. His expression was playful as he cast a small smirk back at me. I had no idea why he was giving me such an odd look, but I went along with him willingly, guessing he wanted to use the distraction of the show to look around.

As Sherlock pulled me around the outer edge of the circle toward the stage, I turned my head to keep watching the show.

The weight was now only a meter above the bowl and I could see Sarah clung tightly to John's arm with a anxious grimace. The warrior yelled loudly with furious effort as the weight drooped closer and closer down to his immediate death. Just as it reached the lip of the bowl, the warrior loosened the chains around his neck.

With an ear-shattering SNAP, the weight reached the bowl and loosed the arrow. It streaked across the room with sinister intent, however with a split second to spare, the warrior yanked himself free of the chains and ducked down. The arrow slammed into the board where his head had been a heartbeat before.

By then, Sherlock and I reached a small hall that most likely led backstage. He released my hand and his face returned to normal as applause broke out from the audience we left behind. I suddenly understood.

"If anyone saw us leaving, you wanted to make it look like we were going to go snog or something," I said.

The detective glanced at me. "You could have at least smiled back to make it more convincing."

"I was a little too weirded out by your smug smirk, so forgive me," I muttered as we made our way up and onto the stage.

It was even more dimly lit than the area outside. There were racks of costumes and other props scattered about. I spied the chainmail armor and mask hanging on a stand toward the back wall and was almost convinced it was another warrior like the one that avoided the crossbow. Beyond the thick curtains, I heard the applause come to a halt and a woman's voice- the Opera Singer I presumed- spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "from the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird-spider."

Sherlock and I exchanged a knowing look before swiftly going to the curtains to peer out to the performance area. From the ceiling descended a masked acrobat. He rolled through the air as a broad red band of fabric unraveled from around his waist. Just before he hit the floor, he halted and hovered parallel to the ground. Delicately touching down on the floor, the acrobat removed the band from around his waist and split it to reveal that it was made up of two strips of material.

Wrapping them around his arms he then ran around the circle before taking his weight on the bands, lifting into the air and soaring around the circle several feet above the ground with the red bands streaming behind him. The audience gazed at the display with slack jaws.

"Well, well," Sherlock breathed.

"Zhi Zhu," I murmured. We were pressed together to watch the display without parting the curtains too much. He twitched a little when I spoke and I looked up to see my breath must have gone over the skin of his neck. "Sorry."

Before Sherlock could reply, the sound of a door opening came our way. We both instantly bolted to take cover, our footsteps swift but silent. Sherlock pushed himself through the middle of the clothes on one of the racks while I slid beneath one of the tables toward the back with less lighting near it. The Opera Singer strode calmly across the stage to one of the other tables and picked up a mobile phone to check it.

There was a metallic clattering sound and I bit my lip as I looked over to see Sherlock managed to knock one of the wire hangers down off the rack. The Opera Singer heard it as well, for her head snapped around and she narrowed her painted eyes. Sherlock was out of sight still but the woman still came over toward the rack. At first, I thought she was going to investigate; then she just kept on walking to leave the stage.

I loosed a breath of relief and crawled out from my hiding spot.

"Max," Sherlock whispered sharply.

Curious, I went around the clothes rack to his side. The detective had found a bag on the floor and inside were several cans of spray paint. Yellow Michigan Zinc paint to be specific.

"Found you," Sherlock sang quietly.

He reached down and gripped one of the cans; probably to bring as evidence to Dimmock, I assumed. With a small gesture of his hand, he pushed back through the clothes to get back to our search. Before I followed, I decided to snag one of the cans as well.

When I emerged from the clothes, Sherlock had gone to a table that was laden with mirrors of various shapes and sizes. Sherlock shook his paint can and sprayed a horizontal streak across one.

"Is that necessary?" I sighed. "You know this has to be the right stuff."

Before Sherlock could answer, we both saw something that made us whirl and brandish our paint cans like proper weapons: the suit of armor we passed earlier began to move. It was no longer on its stand and someone was wearing it. The man charged at us, brandishing a large knife. Sherlock instantly darted in front of me to gain the warrior's attention, expertly dodging the blade's lashing edge.

I stepped deftly to the side and started to shake my can of paint after tossing the cap to the side. The sound alerted the warrior to my presence and he turned his head toward me. Sherlock took full advantage of his distracted state and slammed his own can of paint hard down on the man's elbow. I assumed that the detective was trying to disarm our assailant but the warrior only grunted and responded by kicking Sherlock hard in the stomach toward the curtains.

As the warrior turned his attention toward me, I planted my feet in an Aikido stance and waited with narrowed eyes. The man lunged at me, flashing his knife toward my center. The second he was within reach, I twisted my body to avoid the attack and sprayed the yellow paint in his face. It coated the mask and the man behind it yelled in discomfort and surprise; it had to have gotten in his eyes.

Sherlock got back to his feet and was at my side, panting.

"Good thinking," he rasped.

I shrugged just before the man turned around to face us again. I could see rapidly blinking eyes fluttering in the holes of the mask and grinned. However, my smugness was short-lived, for the warrior barreled forward with vicious intent. He twisted and rammed his shoulder into Sherlock before swinging out his arm to crack me across the side of the head with the back of his armored fist. I crashed to the ground, starts sprouting across my vision.

After shaking my head a few times, I looked over to see the warrior had abandoned his knife to clamp his hands around Sherlock's throat. The detective managed to knock the man's hand away from his neck and then sprayed more paint into the man's face. I wondered if blinding the assailant didn't work, perhaps the fumes would make him too foggy to fight. Just as I got to my feet, Sherlock surged his body upward to shove the man away.

The warrior fell onto his back but he then used the momentum to raise his legs and roll forward to flip to his feet once again. Without giving Sherlock the chance to fully stand, he took a flying leap at the detective, spinning as he went. The man's feet struck Sherlock so hard in the chest, it sent him soaring backward through the curtains and straight over the edge of the stage.

I brandished my paint can again and sprinted at the man but my hurried footsteps must have given me away. He whirled around and caught me by my upper arms; his grip was so hard it made my yelp in pain. The warrior spun me in a circle before tossing me after Sherlock as if I weighed nothing.

Yelling, I was flung out of the curtains and landed hard on top of something that was awkward but strangely softer than the hard floor I had been expecting. Of course, the fact that it grunted when I crashed atop it confirmed that it wasn't the floor at all. Pushing my torso up by my arms, I looked down to see Sherlock beneath me, his face pinched with pain.

"Sorry," I said just before I heard someone land directly behind me.

When I looked over my shoulder, I saw the warrior had jumped out from behind the curtains after us. The audience began to scream and shout as they scrambled to get away; most likely because the armored man had the knife again. I was trying to find the breath that had been knocked from me in order to get up and defend myself and Sherlock, but before the warrior could take a step, John came charging in and shoved him against the stage. The warrior stumbled and then snapped out a swift kick that caught John in his center and sent him stumbling across the room.

I managed to roll off of Sherlock and now stood at an awkward crouch at the detective's side, still panting. I had lost my can of paint when I was tossed, so now I reached for a new weapon: the dagger in my boot. With deft fingers, I lifted the hem of my pant leg and gripped its hilt. The warrior discarded his knife and picked up something else that had been propped against the stage- a double-edged sword.

Glancing one more time at Sherlock, who was still too winded to hardly even move, I unsheathed my dagger from my boot and forced myself to my feet. There had been several times during training with Miyako that she would force me to try and fight back after knocking the breath out of me. She had said that being able to recover quickly could save my life one day; perhaps she was right.

With my dagger at the ready, I placed myself between the warrior and Sherlock and got into a defensive stance. The warrior paused for a moment, spotting my dagger and clearly surprised by it. He hesitated for one more heartbeat, then rushed forward while lashing out the sword.

I have never fought or even practiced against someone using a real sword—one that could cut into me and drain out all of my blood. However, as the blade came down toward me, I forced my mind to see not a lethal weapon- but Miyako's sparring stick. I had deflected her blows countless times with my dagger toward the end of our training together; I could do this now.

A long, slow breath exhaled from my pursed lips and I took one careful step forward while twisted my dagger and bracing myself for the weight of the hit. This man was bigger than Miyako and I guessed he swung harder too.

There was the scream of metal striking metal and I jerked my arm up while twisting my body around in the same motion. The sword was knocked back, but not before its tip left a shallow cut in my cheek. I grimaced as hot blood began to trickle down to my jawline; I would have to work on this move to accommodate for people larger than me.

The warrior staggered backward and I placed myself back into the stance for his next attack. However, before the man could gain his balance, Sarah came sprinting in with one of the massive arrows for the crossbow in her hands. She slammed the side of the metal end across the back of the warrior's head, forcing him to cry out in pain. Before he could react or even turn to face her, Sarah delivered a second blow on the same spot and the man slumped to the ground, grunting and on the brink of losing consciousness.

Sarah straightened up, breathless, as Sherlock finally managed to push himself off the ground. He leaned forward and and gripped the right shoe of the fallen warrior and pulled it off to reveal a tattoo of a black flower.

"Big surprise there," I rasped.

The rest of the performance area was abandoned. I went to Sherlock as he started to struggle to his feet and grabbed his arm to support him. John came over to us, his face still tight with pain as he grabbed Sarah's hand.

"Come on," he breathed, starting to pull her toward the exit.

Sherlock began to jog off ahead of them us. "Come on!" he called. "Let's go!"

I glanced back at the dazed warrior and gestured to him. "But shouldn't we—"

"Now, Max!" Sherlock shouted.

I let out a huff and trotted after them. "We could get information from him, don't you think?" I called.

Sherlock waved me off and kept running. The four of us kept running until we were out of the building and only then did we slow to a fast walk. Sherlock paused for only a moment to allow us to reach his side.

"Taking someone of the Black Lotus would lead to more problems than solving them," the detective explained. "I highly doubt we would get any information from him and we would incite more wrath from their organization—directly at us. Not worth it."

"We're also not officers," John pointed out. "Pretty sure us taking him in would be considered kidnapping..."

Sarah looked completely bewildered. She still had her hand in John's but her eyes were glossed over as she stared blankly ahead.

"Er, Johnny," I said, nodding toward her. "Is she...?"

John turned his head to see Sarah and his expression tightened with concern. "Sarah?"

"Huh?" Sarah looked around, blinking rapidly. "Ah. Sorry. I just—well, I wasn't expecting that." She laughed nervously.

"Yeah, that was my reaction the first time I met Sherlock too," I said and shot the detective a grin.

He rolled his eyes at me, but I could still see the small hint of a smug smirk tugging his lips.