Maxine
I was going to have Dimmock's office memorized at this point. After grabbing a cup of coffee, I headed back toward the main area just in time to see the Detective Inspector arrive. We'd gotten here when he was technically not on the clock, but of course with a job like his, I assumed he was always on call. He stormed right by me and into his office. I raised my brows at Sherlock, John, and the still confused-looking Sarah before turning to follow Dimmock.
The others weren't far behind me and once all of us were in the office, Dimmock glanced over his shoulder without stopping. I was going to guess this latest development didn't have him in a good mood.
"I sent a couple of cars," he said. "The old hall is totally deserted."
"Of course it is," I muttered under my breath before having another drink of coffee.
"Look, I saw the mark at the circus—that tattoo that we saw on the two bodies: the mark of the Tong," Sherlock insisted.
Dimmock reached his desk and finally turned to face us. He looked exhausted; not physically—there were no circles under his eyes or stubble on his face—but instead like someone had been siphoning away his soul during this case. I glanced down at my cup and contemplated offering him some coffee.
"Lukis and Van Coon were part of a-a smuggling operation," John said. "Now, one of them stole something when they were in China; something valuable."
"These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back," Sherlock pressed.
"Get what back?" Dimmock demanded.
Sherlock bit his lip and adverted his gaze with clear frustration filling his expression. He'd told me about how he and John had gone online in an attempt to find the exact item, but came up with nothing. We still hadn't figured out the code with all the damn books in the flat, so...
"We don't know," John finally answered hesitantly.
"You don't know," Dimmock said, deadpan.
Sherlock still wouldn't meet his eyes. I stepped closer to the detective's side and fixated my gaze on the Detective Inspector instead.
"We've uncovered a lot more than you have throughout this whole mess," I pointed out.
The cords on Dimmock's neck stood out and for a brief moment, I expected him to start shouting. However, he instead let out a long exhale and plopped down in his chair.
"Yeah, Miss Watson, I get that," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "Mr. Holmes... I've done everything you asked. Lestrade—he seems to think your advice is worth something."
Sherlock lifted his head at those words and gave a faint but proud smile.
"I gave the order for a raid," Dimmock said. "Please tell me I'll have something to show for it—other than a massive bill for overtime."
I grinned and nodded approvingly at Dimmock. "Wait there, Detective Inspector. You look like you need some coffee."
Back at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock shrugged off his coat and went to examine the pictures on the mirror. Sarah was still with us, which I thought might be for the best. Miyako told me how these type of gangs worked and if someone saw her face and knew she was with us, well... she could be in danger on her own.
"They'll be back in China by now," John said as he politely helped Sarah with her coat.
"No, they won't leave without what they came for," Sherlock replied. "We need to find their hide-out; the rendezvous."
The detective moved closer to the photographs and stared at them intensely before running his fingers over the main picture of the painted brick wall John took on his mobile.
"Somewhere in this message it must tell us," Sherlock murmured.
I came to his left side as John approached the right. The three of us eyed the pictures as if hoping mere staring would pry the answers free. I was fairly certain we'd gone through all of the books and none of them had provided a logical translation.
After a moment of silence, Sarah's voice sounded from behind us.
"Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it," she said.
John turned around instantly. "No, no, you don't have to go..." He glanced at our flatmate. "...does she?" Without waiting for a reply, he looked back at Sarah. "You can stay."
At the same time that John spoke those last three words, Sherlock said, "Yes, it would be better to study if you left now."
While the detective set a pointed stare on Sarah, John shot him a dark glare before turning back to her.
"He's kidding," my brother insisted. "Please stay if you like."
Sarah looked nervously toward Sherlock, who already turned back to the photographs with slightly tensed shoulders. I began to open my mouth to point out her potential danger in order to get Sherlock to let her stay without this weird tension he was throwing in, but then it seemed Sarah decided to accept John's invitation.
"Is it just me, or is anyone else starving?" she asked with an awkward smile.
Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes in exasperation. "Ooh, God," he muttered.
I wasn't entirely certain what Sherlock's problem with Sarah was; she hadn't exactly done anything to wrong him except perhaps inadvertently distract John from the case—
"Ah... Sherlock..." I breathed when it clicked.
John had stepped away into the kitchen while Sarah peered at the piles and piles of books scattered around the flat.
"What?" Sherlock shot back in an irritated whisper.
"We'll talk about it later," I said. "For now, just behave."
"Behave?" Sherlock repeated indignantly.
"So this is what you do, you two and John," Sarah suddenly said, breaking off our whispered conversation. "You solve puzzles for a living."
"Consulting detective," Sherlock corrected her tightly.
"Oh," Sarah said, clearly not prepared for Sherlock's cross tone.
"He helps the police when they're out of their depth," I said, remembering Sherlock describing his job to John and me on our first taxi ride together. "Which is nearly all of the time, apparently."
I saw Sherlock shift his posture a bit and though he hadn't cracked a smile, I could tell my words cheered him up, much to his irritation, most likely.
"That's... wow," Sarah said, smiling and laughing nervously. "Is their normally so much, er, fighting?"
I remembered tangling with the robed assailant in this very room not but a week ago with Sherlock.
"On occasion," I answered vaguely while casting a wary look toward John.
My brother was peering in the fridge; I had looked in there earlier that day and knew for a fact it was next to empty. John sighed and closed it before moving elsewhere in the hunt for food.
Meanwhile, Sherlock stepped away from the mirror and strode over to the desk which was scattered with photos, notes, and drawings of various pictograms. He began to rummage through them and Sarah moved toward him, her expression starting to transform from anxious to curious.
I frowned after them and wondered if I should help Sherlock with his notes or John with his hunt. However, the moment I took a step, my decision was made for me.
"Max, come look over these with me one more time," Sherlock insisted. I wondered if he was looking for an excuse to get Sarah to leave him alone.
"Oh!" John exclaimed before I could move. My brother had found a jar on one of the shelves of what looked like pickled onions and opened it to test the contents by his sense of smell. Given his twisted face, that sense was probably going to be useless for at least an hour.
"What are these squiggles?" Sarah asked. She'd come to look over Sherlock's shoulder and she now pointed at the paper the detective was looking at.
Sherlock lifted his head and his face was set as if he were trying very hard not to kill her in that moment.
"Numbers," I answered for him in hopes he wouldn't explode. "Er, an ancient Chinese dialect, to be specific."
"Oh, right!" Sarah continued to stare at the paper. "Yeah, well, of course I should have known that."
Glancing back into the kitchen I spotted John awkwardly filling a bowl full of Wotsits cheese puffs. I nearly laughed; he must be getting desperate. Then somewhere from behind me, I heard a door squeak. Looking over my shoulder I spotted Mrs. Hudson stepping into the flat with tray covered in a tea towel.
John's face illuminated with sheer delight as our landlady placed the tray on the kitchen table.
"I've done punch, and a bowl of nibbles," she announced in a whisper. When she removed the tea towel, it revealed a jug of punch with slices of fruit on top, two glasses, a bowl of crisps and another bowl presumably containing some sort of dip.
"Mrs. Hudson, you're a saint!" John told her softly.
"If it was Monday, I'd have been to the supermarket," Mrs. Hudson confessed, still in a hushed voice.
"No; thank you!" John beamed at her. "Thank you!"
Glancing back toward Sherlock and Sarah, I saw neither of them seemed to notice Mrs. Hudson sneak in treats. Sarah was staring at the photographs on the mirror again and Sherlock was peering at more pictures on the table, one of which was the one of the brick wall. All of them were in clear evidence bags and part of me wondered if they were supposed to be in our flat.
"Max," he said suddenly, making me jump.
"Sorry?" I came to his side. "What?"
"The notes," Sherlock pressed. "Just... sit, will you?"
I peered down at his face, but he wasn't meeting my gaze. His expression is clearly uncomfortable, but I couldn't place why. Then Sarah was back and she leaned over to pluck the photograph of the brick wall off the table. The detective looked like he was about to commit murder as his jaw clenched and he fixated his glare on the spot the picture have been a moment ago.
"So these numbers—it's a cipher," Sarah said, oblivious to his rage.
"Exactly," Sherlock replied, his tone clipped.
"And each pair of numbers is a word," Sarah went on.
In that moment, Sherlock's expression relaxed into one of curiosity and he slowly lifted his head to look at her. "How did you know that?" he asked.
"Well, two words have already been translated, here," Sarah explained. She set the photo back on the desk and pointed.
Sherlock picked it up and stared while I went behind him and placed my hands on my knees to peer at it from directly over his shoulder. Written in fine pen, a word had been written across each of the first two sets of symbols on the photograph.
NINE. MILL.
"John," Sherlock said sharply.
"Mmm?" John looked around from the kitchen table.
Sherlock got to his feet so abruptly, he nearly knocked me over. I caught myself by grabbing his arm and regained my balance.
"Honestly," I breathed, but Sherlock was too far gone in the case to hear me now.
"John, look at this," he insisted. The detective slipped the photograph out of the evidence bag as John stepped out of the kitchen. "Soo Lin at the museum—she started to translate the code for us. We didn't see it!"
It was a bit surprising, to be honest. We had been so absorbed in all the books that we didn't bother going over the photographs again.
"Nine, mill," Sherlock read the words aloud.
John squinted at the picture. "Does that mean 'millions?'" he breathed.
"Nine million quid," Sherlock murmured. "For what?"
He turned and strode back to where he'd left his coat and scarf.
"Sherlock?" I said, frowning at him.
"We need to know the end of the sentence," Sherlock said.
"Where are you going?" John asked.
Sherlock began to yank on his coat. "To the museum; to the restoration room." He suddenly grimaced with annoyance. "Oh, we must have been starting right at it!"
"At-at what?" John stammered.
"The book John," Sherlock snapped. "The book—the key to cracking the cipher!" He brandished the photograph at my brother. "Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk."
With that, he started to turn toward the door.
"Sherlock, wait!" I yelled. "I'm coming with, just let me get my coat!"
"You're what?" John said.
I glanced back at him. "Last time the two of you went off without me and I missed a lot; it's not happening again!"
"But—Maddie, we need to talk about the circus show!" John insisted.
About the dagger, I'd assumed, and how I was so skilled with it.
"She learned Aikido in Japan, John," Sherlock said shortly. "Martial arts—she took classes and she's very good at it. Now you won't have to worry about her as much; you're welcome."
John opened his mouth to argue, but Sherlock grabbed my coat and threw it at me; I was still wearing my yellow scarf. I caught the coat and started pulling it on as I chased Sherlock out of the flat.
"Be back later!" I called over my shoulder.
I only managed to hear Johns exasperated sigh before the door closed behind us.
I blinked in the dreary sunlight, realizing I'd gone yet another night without sleep, but oddly enough I wasn't nearly as tired as I was when I spent all night plotting, writing, and drawing. Sherlock was like his own brand of caffeine, infecting me with energy.
The detective ran toward the street to hail a passing cab. "Taxi!" he called.
However, in his haste, Sherlock knocked his shoulder into a passing man so hard it made the passerby drop his book. He was tall and a touch imposing in my opinion. There was a woman at his side that seemed more concerned than her companion; her husband according to their rings.
"Hey, du!" the man barked at Sherlock. "Siehst du nicht wo du hingehst?"
German. I didn't know German.
Sherlock picked up the fallen book and offered it back to the man. It was the London A-Z, which wasn't surprising; the couple must be tourists.
"Entschuldigen Sie, bitte," Sherlock said.
Apparently the detective did know German. Was there anything he didn't know or have skill in?
The man snatched the book out of Sherlock's hand. "Ja, danke!" he replied with a venomous tone. I at least knew that one: Yeah, thanks. As the man turned away and put an arm around his wife's shoulders, he muttered more. "Und dann sagen die, dass die Engländer höflich sind!"
"What'd he say?" I asked softly.
"He said 'And they say the English are polite,'" Sherlock said, raising his arm and trying to get a cab again.
I shook my head. "You said sorry, didn't you?"
"'Course," Sherlock said, starting to walk down the road when the cab sails right on by us without stopping.
The detective was answering all my questions a bit offhandedly, as if he weren't really paying attention to the conversation. I knew his mind was fixated on getting answers that he now knew were so close. I could feel the excitement pouring off of him, but also the frustration when the street was suddenly void of taxis.
"I could phone one," I offered.
Sherlock opened his mouth to answer me, but suddenly his gaze was locked onto something down the street and over my shoulder. I turned to see an Asian couple standing on the corner over the road consulting the London A-Z. Looking back around, I saw Sherlock's pale green eyes narrow and sharpen.
"What?" I prompted. "You've figured something out- you always get that expression when you have. What is it?"
Without any explanation, Sherlock suddenly whirled and began to sprint back after the German couple.
"Please, wait!" he shouted. "Bitte!"
I ran after him, bewildered. What the hell was he doing? What sort of idea struck him to go running back to this unpleasant jerk?
The German couple paused and turned back with confusion. The man scowled when he saw who it was.
"Was wollt er? Was will er?" the man grumbled.
Sherlock came to a halt before them just to snatch the A-Z out of the man's hands and turn away. He flipped it open and began to peer in it with his back to the tourists.
"Hey, du!" the man exclaimed. "Was macht du?"
"Minute!" Sherlock snapped over his shoulder before returning his attention to the book.
I suddenly understood. Of course. A book everyone would own.
"Gib mir doch mein Buch zurück!" the German tourist shouted angrily.
Sherlock ignored him, turning his back fully to the couple and opening the book. The German man waved his hand in exasperation before putting his arm around his wife and walking away.
"Page fifteen, entry one. Page fifteen entry one..." Sherlock murmured, flipping through the pages of the book.
I came to his side to peer over his shoulder just when he found it. The first entry on page fifteen read: Deadmans Lane NW9.
"Dead man," I breathed.
"They were threatening to kill them," Sherlock said. "It's the first cipher."
"The photo— Sherlock, with this we can—" I began.
"Yes." The detective looked at the photograph and then hurriedly began to flip through the pages.
John
"Yeah! No, absolutely. I mean, well, a quiet night in's just-just what the doctor ordered!"
I laughed lightly at Sarah's words and glanced at her from my spot at the side table in the kitchen. She was standing nearby and grinning at me. Honestly, I couldn't believe she was still here- that all of that nonsense with the circus show didn't scare her off.
"Er, I mean, I'd love to go out of an evening and wrestle a few Chinese gangsters, you know, generally, but a girl can get too much," she went on.
Giggles wreaked havoc on my body at her words. The luck I had. She was actually just shrugging this off with light-hearted humor.
"No, okay," I said while nodding in agreement.
For a moment, we merely smiled at one another, then Sarah glanced away bashfully with a small laugh.
"Hmm," I said, trying to think for a moment about what to say or do next, then I noticed that the nibbles Mrs. Hudson brought were running dangerously low. "Shall we get a takeaway?"
"Yeah!" Sarah agreed cheerfully.
After showing her a menu and getting her order, I called the Chinese place down the street for the delivery. When I hung up the phone, I went back to the table and sat down next to Sarah. She was frowning at her folded hands, as if contemplating something.
"So... you and Sherlock and... you're little sister?" she said.
I knew what she was getting at. "Yeah, um... it's a bit of a long story, actually," I admitted. "We— er— we met him around October. An old friend of mine set us up to be flatmates. Within three days, we already went through a case with him."
"A case being... this type of madness with Chinese gangsters?" Sarah asked.
I laughed again. "No, no, this is the first one with those. It was with this serial killer who was a cabbie."
Sarah's eyes lit up. "I think I saw that on the news!"
"Yeah." I nodded awkwardly.
"And that didn't... it didn't make you two want to find a different flatmate?" Sarah queried, meeting my gaze again. "I mean... it must be dangerous, from what I've seen."
I shrugged. "Uh, yes, it can be a bit... perilous at times."
Sarah peered at me thoughtfully. "Back at the show— you didn't seem to be expecting to see your sister be so..."
"Really, really good with a dagger?" I finished for her. "No, no I really wasn't. All she told me was she took self defense classes in Japan."
Sarah frowned. "I guess I'm just trying to understand. You worry about her, that's clear—so why do you let her keep doing this?"
"I might be the older brother, but she's still an adult," I said. "I can't very well tell my twenty-seven-year-old sister she can't do something. Even if I did, it'd probably increase the chances of her doing it."
I turned my head to glare at the table. I'd been kicked one time by that armored man and been done in. Yet somehow, my kid sister had faced off against him with a dagger while he had a damned sword. The way she's held herself- the confidence in her posture... I'd never seen anything like that in her before. Of course, I'd never seen her fight with anyone before...
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." Sarah began nervously.
"No, no, it's fine," I assured her. "Maddie just... she's always been a bit of a mystery to me and the second I think I got her figured out, she pulls a dagger out of her boot and parries away a sword like she's been doing it all her life."
Sarah laughed but cut off. "Sorry, I shouldn't laugh."
I smiled at her. "Don't worry about it. I think taking some humor out of all this is actually a bit helpful."
"Okay." Sarah returned my grin. "But—one last question—you call her Maddie, Sherlock introduced her as Maxine and then he calls her Max. So... what should I call her?"
Yet another laugh left me. "Ah, yeah, that must be confusing, now that I think about it. I guess just stick to Maxine for now."
"Got it," Sarah said. "Why do you call her Maddie? I understand 'Max' but..."
I smiled. "Well, when I was in high school, my sister was just starting grade school. We're eleven years apart, see. So one day I stayed late at school for a project and Maddie got upset that I hadn't come to get her yet; I used to, er, walk her home from school since hers was nearby." I glance away and rubbed the back of my neck in embarrassment.
"That's sweet," Sarah said, gripping my shoulder.
Her touch sent a small jolt through me and I had to swallow and clear my throat before continuing. "Maddie didn't really understand that there were certain things a six-year-old shouldn't do. So she ended up walking over to my school to get me. Meanwhile, I started to gather my things to leave- I hadn't realized how much time had passed and started to panic about going to get her. But on my way out, this kid stopped me near one of the exits... kids that I'd had to deal with before."
"Bully?" Sarah guessed.
I smiled wanly. "How'd you know?"
"Jerks tend to pick on those who are leagues above them in maturity and intellect," Sarah replied with a shrug.
Her praise caught me off guard and once again another jolt of the willies went through me; the good kind of the willies. Very good. I gave her a grin to show my appreciation before going on.
"Yeah, so they start pushing me around. But then in comes little six-year-old Maxine, yelling at them to stop," I said. "And they do, but I'm terrified they're going to do something to her. I told her to run, but it was like she couldn't hear me. She set her eyes on the other kid—Alec, was his name—and just reamed him."
"Reamed him?" Sarah echoed curiously.
I nodded. "Maddie always had a really good vocabulary for her age—she was way smarter than the rest of her class. So I'd imagine Alec had a hard time believing that this little girl was capable of such words."
"What did she say?" Sarah pressed. She was fully engrossed by now.
"I can't recall the exact words, to be honest," I admitted. "It happened so fast, and I wasn't prepared for any of it. But it was something along the lines of what you said, actually. Told him that he had no right to take whatever inner issues he was dealing with on someone who was clearly more intelligent and dignified than him and to scram before he had to tell all of his friends how he got a black eye from a grade schooler."
Sarah laughed. "She's got guts!"
I nodded again, smiling. "It seemed that most of our school found out about her scaring Alec off, because from then on, she came to get me at my school instead of the other way round; hers got out earlier anyway. When everyone saw how scared and apprehensive Alec was of her, they started calling her 'Mad Max' and she grew fond over it."
"Ah!" Sarah said with sudden realization. "That's where Maddie comes from."
"Yeah," I said. "It kinda just slipped out one day and stuck. But she doesn't let anyone else call her that- not even other members of the family."
Sarah was grinning again. "You two seem like you're close. It's nice to see siblings care so much about each other."
I sighed. "I just wished she stopped throwing herself into dangerous situations."
"Well, it does seem like she can handle herself," Sarah pointed out.
There was a sudden knock on the door.
"Ooh, blimey, that was quick," I said. "I'll just pop down."
I got up and began to head toward the kitchen door.
"Do you want me to lay the table?" Sarah asked.
I glanced back at the table which was still littered with Sherlock's paperwork and various experiments.
"Um, eat off trays?" I suggested.
"Yeah," Sarah agreed with a small look at the table and a chuckle.
"Yeah!" I agreed before going through the door and heading down the stairs.
When I opened the door I gave a smile at the Chinese man on the doorstep. He was wearing a jacket with his hood up, but given the still chilly weather of April, I didn't blame him.
"Sorry to keep you," I said, digging into my trouser pocket. "How much d'you want?"
"Do you have it?" the man asked.
I blinked and looked up with a frown. "What?" I assumed he meant the money for the delivery- but now that I looked he didn't seem to have any bags or boxes with him.
"Do you have the treasure?" the man pressed.
"I don't understand," I replied, starting to get a touch apprehensive.
However, before I could make a move, the man suddenly pulled out a pistol and slammed the butt of it against the left side of my head. I briefly saw the world tilt before I blacked out.
Maxine
"Nine mill for jade pin dragon den black tramway."
Just after Sherlock read the fully translated message, he lifted his head and stared at nothing in particular, his eyes wide.
"Jade pin," I breathed. "Sherlock—we've seen—"
"Yes, yes we have," Sherlock said, smiling over at me. "C'mon!"
He shoved the picture and the book into his coat pocket before grabbing my hand and pulling me back toward our flat. I was pleased we didn't have to go all the way to the museum to finally decode the message; now that we know the item the Black Lotus were after and where it was, we could go to Dimmock and put this case to rest.
However, when we came bursting into the kitchen of the flat, it seemed things weren't going to be so easy.
"John!" Sherlock called. "John! We've got it!"
He was already in the living room and brandishing the book with triumph as I paused in the kitchen and glanced around.
"The cipher!" Sherlock went on. "The book! It's the London A to Z that they're using..."
The detective trailed off into silence and I assumed he noticed what I had.
"Are they not here?" I said.
When Sherlock didn't respond, I turned to see him gaping at something in the living room. I trotted to his side and stopped dead when I spotted what he was looking at.
On the left-hand window was the exact same Chinese numbers that had been left for Van Coon and Lukis; the numbers 15 and 1.
"Dead man," I breathed. "Oh God. Sherlock—they have John."
My heart was beginning to hammer in my chest and I took a step back from the window as if distancing myself would somehow make the threat illegitimate.
"Tramway," Sherlock said, hurrying over to the bookcase. He stared at the books on the shelf, eyes darting every which way. It was as if he'd lost his usual razor-sharp focus; like his mind was scrambled and panicked. "Oh, Christ."
I came to his side, trying to wrestle my own brain into submission. "They took him and Sarah—which is odd because with the other two they just killed them," I whispered to myself under my breath. "That's good—that means they're still alive—that means there's a chance..."
Sherlock glanced at me and I took that as a sign that he heard my words. They seemed to bring him some clarity, for when he turned back to the bookcase, he instantly found what he was looking for: a folding map of London. He went to the dining table and spread it out on the surface with slightly shaking hands. He ran his green eyes over it for perhaps two heartbeats before he stabbed his finger down on it at a particular spot.
"There," he declared and removed his hand before I could even see what he had been pointing at.
With that, he turned and headed out the door at a trot. I ran after him after shimmying my ankle slightly to feel the reassuring press of the flat of my dagger's blade against my leg.