A/N::: Sorry this is a tad late, and sorry it's a tad shorter than usual. I didn't space the chapters quite right, and this one concludes The Blind Banker case. However, next week you lucky darlings get The Great Game! I'm so excited to introduce Moriarty. In any case, enjoy the chapter!

Maxine

In the tramway tunnel, I closed my eyes and controlled my breathing. This was something else that Miyako had trained me in—emptying myself of distracting emotions, calming myself to the point of being perfectly accurate.

Perfectly deadly.

"Don't do anything rash," Sherlock had told me on the cab drive over. "I know it's your brother, but let me do the first push—they don't even have to know you're there until it's too late for them."

"So... be an assassin," I had replied flatly.

Sherlock's smile was humorless. "Just be careful and be... unpredictable. You're good at that last bit."

The detective crouched beside me now and we peered down the tunnel at the large group of people surrounding John and Sarah. They were both tied to chairs, however the great crossbow from the circus act was there and it was pointing right at Sarah. I could make out my brother's anguished face in the dim lighting and wanting nothing more than to sprint in and stab the Opera Singer—or as we now knew—Shan, in the face.

"Ladies and gentleman," Shan said grandly to the other gangsters gathered around her. "From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes' pretty companion in a death-defying act."

"Please!" John shouted, straining against his binds.

"They think..." I whispered.

Sherlock merely nodded beside me. Yes, they thought my brother was Sherlock and that he had to know where their treasure was. Not good.

"You've seen the act before," Shan said, almost sadly. She had just placed something in Sarah's lap; I couldn't tell what it was from my spot. "How dull for

you. You know how it ends."

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes!" John bellowed with rising panic.

"I don't believe you," Shan replied bluntly.

Sherlock gripped my shoulder briefly before he spoke out down the tunnel.

"You should, you know," he said.

Shan spun in time to see the detective flit across the tunnel to hide behind another shadow cast by what seemed like some kind of storage container.

"Sherlock Holmes is nothing like him," he went on.

I began to creep along the side of the tunnel and closer to some of the men toward the edge of the group. The dagger was tight in my hand, but Sherlock had asked me to avoid killing if I could; too much paperwork to deal with.

One of the thugs began to hurry toward the source of Sherlock's voice. Now that the two of us were on separate sides of the tunnel, this gave me a nice advantage. Everyone was focused on him; if I was careful, I could slip in and take out a few of them to get to Sarah and John.

"How would you describe me, John?" Sherlock asked. "Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?"

"Late?" John offered crossly.

Shan had lifted her pistol and was aiming it toward the same direction Sherlock's voice was coming from. I decided she would be a good target; if I could get at her and put my dagger to her throat, perhaps her men would stand down.

"That's a semi-automatic," Sherlock warned. "If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand meters per second."

"Well?" Shan pressed, clearly irate with being given a lesson on her gun right then.

"Well..." Sherlock's voice echoed from the darkness—even I couldn't place where he was. One of the men stormed toward the source, but the moment he got close, the detective appeared from behind him and thwacked a large metal pipe straight into the thug's gut. As the man collapsed, Sherlock slipped back into the shadows and went on. "...the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you."

I wasn't entirely certain if that information was accurate, but clearly Shan thought so since she didn't fire. Sherlock once again burst out of the darkness and sprinted to the nearby burning dustbin and kicked it over. The flames sputtered out and wreathed our side of the tunnel in even more shadows. With the extra cover, I slinked forward, intent on reaching Shan and forcing her to release my brother.

Meanwhile, Sherlock reached Sarah and squatted down behind her to start undoing her binds. Unfortunately, someone spotted him before he could finish. One of the men ran over to the detective and looped a long red scarf around his neck. It had to be Zhi Zhu—the Spider that was Soo Lin's brother which we had contended with before.

I froze, suddenly forced into a decision. Sherlock cried out as he jumped to his feet and attempted to free himself, but just like back in Soo Lin's flat, he didn't seem to be a match for Zhi Zhu's strength—at least not when he was throttling the detective from behind. The cut sandbag was raising higher and higher as its contents emptied and the weight on the other end of the string was nearing the bowl to trigger the crossbow.

The crossbow was still pointed right at Sarah.

Sherlock was clearly in danger, but so was Sarah, and her predicament was a tad more imminent. I cast one look toward Sherlock, surprised by how difficult this choice was for me. Saving Sarah was a risk on Sherlock's life, but clearly it was the more logical choice. I bit my lip, then darted forward out of the shadows.

I gripped my dagger, ready to cut Sarah free as I slid behind her. However, before I could even reach forward, something hard slammed into the side of my head. I sprawled across the ground, dazed. When I twisted around, I saw one of the other thugs had ran in to face me. He wasn't armed, but he was a lot bigger than me.

There was a loud grunt behind me as Sherlock managed to break free of his chokehold. The detective ran forward, shoving my assailant aside, but Zhi Zhu came back like an angry snake. He looped his red scarf swiftly around Sherlock's neck twice before dragging him away.

John started struggling to move forward, but he was quite effectively bound to the chair he was seated on, which made his movements small and awkward. I forced myself to my feet again, but the man who struck me had recovered as well. He flung out a kick toward me, forcing me to jump backward to avoid it. I tightened the grip on my dagger and narrowed my eyes.

Miyako had taught me all the lethal and non-lethal areas to strike at on the human body. I knew where every artery was, every vital organ, every weakness to exploit in order to win against my opponents. I also knew where to hit in order to leave them alive. At the time, I thought it was the Aikido training bleeding in, but now I think it was a method Miyako used to gain information.

Regardless, tonight I was going to use it to subdue my opponent since Sherlock was so insistent on not killing anyone.

When the man lunged for me again, I ducked beneath his punch and moved toward Sarah in the same motion. I knew there was no time to cut her free—not before the crossbow fired or my attacker managed to pull me away again. I'd have to push Sarah down so the arrow just went over her head.

I saw John had made some progress toward us. He had lost his balance at some point and was now on the ground, However, like some kind of mudskipper, he was thrashing and jerking his way towards Sarah.

When I was close enough, I reached toward one of the legs of Sarah's chair. Just before I could fully close my grip around it, the thug darted out a hand and gripped me by the throat. With one, heavy swing, he tossed me aside, sending me sliding across the tunnel floor until I collided painfully with the wall. Either this guy was stupidly strong or I needed to start eating more Chinese.

Lifting my head, I spotted my opponent stalking toward me while Sherlock continued to be strangled and John continued to squirm his way toward Sarah. I pushed myself up and knew that even if there wasn't a man that seemed almost twice as tall as me in my path, that I would never make it to Sarah on time. The weight was a millimeter from the bowl on the crossbow.

However, right when it touched the silver cup, John intervened. H managed to free one of his feet and he delivered a sharp kick up at the crossbow. It shifted the weapon's position just as the arrow was loosed. It streaked across the tunnel and met a new mark: Zhi Zhu's stomach.

Sherlock had put some distance between himself and the Spider, allowing for the sharp tip of the arrow to bury into the acrobat's gut. Zhi Zhu stared at it before looking up blankly in pure shock. He let out a breathy groan before slowly toppling to the floor.

Gasping for breath, Sherlock got to his feet. However before I could see more, my own opponent rushed at me. I wasn't certain if I was their last ditch effort to control the detective or what, but when the thug made to grab my by the neck again, I twisted around and stabbed my dagger into his hand.

The blade went clean through to burst out the back of his palm and the man screamed in agony. I tore my dagger free and stepped back deftly to avoid any sort of retaliation; but it seemed the man was through with me. He and the rest of the thugs were fleeing out of the tunnel, their footsteps gradually growing fainter in the distance. Their leader, Shan, was nowhere to be seen.

Sherlock seemed to be debating over following them, but then the muffled sobs of Sarah forced his attention elsewhere. The detective tore the red scarf from his neck and dropped to his knees beside her.

"It's all right," he soothed in a voice much softer than I realized he was capable of.

As Sherlock worked on freeing Sarah, I hurried over to John while hastily cleaning the blood off of my blade on the cloth of my shirt. My brother was still on the ground and struggling to get up onto his elbows. When I reached him, I used the now clean blade to cut his binds.

"You're gonna be all right," Sherlock murmured as he took the gag out of Sarah's mouth. "It's over now. It's over."

I glanced back to see him stroking her arms comfortingly with his hands before undoing more of the ropes. Sarah, now free of her gag, began to sob openly.

So this is how normal people react to life-threatening situations, I thought with a small sense of awe. I could hardly think about crying right now despite how I knew that big man would have killed me if he could.

John got to his feet once I freed him, wincing slightly. He probably gained a few bruises from this ordeal, at least. He darted to Sherlock's side and began helping him with Sarah's binds. Oddly, I got the feeling that my brother was avoiding my eyes.

"Don't worry," John said, smiling wearily. "Next date won't be like this."

I knew he was trying to use a bit of humor to help calm the woman, but all Sarah did was continue to bawl her eyes out. She hardly seemed to realize she was free when the boys finished. John put his arms around her and hushed in her ear soothingly while Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder for reassurance.

When the detective looked wistfully down the tunnel where Shan and her cohorts fled, something jolted within my core. I couldn't exactly place what it was; I had never felt anything like it before. Yet, I found that I didn't hate the feeling. It was like the spark that flooded me when I was engaged in dangerous acts.

I knew Sherlock wanted more than anything to track down Shan and officially solve this case, but he had stayed behind in order to help free Sarah and comfort her at the same time. I could have gotten her and John out of here while he went after our target, yet he still decided to remain.

It was the right thing to do—the decent and... human thing to do.

Sherlock turned to look at me and caught me staring. He perked a brow at me.

"Max?"

I adverted my gaze and cleared my throat awkwardly.

"Are you all right?" the detective pressed.

"Fine," I said.

It was so odd. In some ways, I coped with other people better than Sherlock did. However, now I realized why he stayed behind. I wouldn't have been able to comfort Sarah like he had; I wouldn't have been able to see that what just happened to her was awful. All I could think was that she survived, so shouldn't she be happy? Shouldn't she be flooded with energy and excitement?

No, of course not. Because normal people didn't do that after nearly being killed. It traumatized them.

Sherlock was intelligent enough to grasp that—he probably had come to terms with that ages ago; but I was still new to this. I had only figured out what makes me tick and sputter fire less than a year ago. More times than not, I understood how not to be rude to other people. John had taught me since I was little that if I was ever in a situation where I wanted to speak my mind and it was something negative to someone, to just walk away. The detective didn't have that filter, but when it came to this—when it came to the things that really mattered...

He was practically a saint.

About thirty minutes later, the police arrived to clear up the mess. The four of us were finally leaving the scene. John and Sarah were in front of Sherlock and me; Sarah had one of those shock blankets on and John had an arm around her shoulders. My brother gently guided her away from the tunnel as Sherlock paused.

I automatically stopped beside him and peered around to see Dimmock waiting beside one of the police cars. His expression was grim, but at the same time, a bit relieved.

"We'll just be off," Sherlock told him. "No need to mention us in your report."

"Mr. Holmes..." Dimmock began.

"I have high hopes for you, Inspector," Sherlock interjected. "A glittering career."

"I go where you point me," Dimmock said.

Sherlock began walking again. "Exactly."

I glanced over at Dimmock to give him a small appreciative smile before trotting to catch up to the detective.

"You could have—" I started to say in a quiet tone.

"No," Sherlock interrupted me just like he had with Dimmock. "No, I couldn't have, and you know why."

I exhaled tightly through my nose. "How d'you do it?"

"Do what?" Sherlock frowned at me.

"When you were calming her down, you sounded so genuine. So concerned. How d'you manage to..." I trailed off, fathomed.

"You make it sound like I don't have any decency," Sherlock said, sounding a tad insulted.

I shook my head. "Every time I think that we're alike, something happens to challenge that," I admitted.

"You think we're alike?" Sherlock asked, his tone growing soft.

I glanced at him to see he was staring at me with curious intent. I pursed my lips and looked away.

"I haven't mentioned it before?" I muttered.

"Clearly not," Sherlock replied.

I sighed again. "I just—you're the first one that I've met that... that's like me. That likes danger and complex situations—anything to strike fire into... I dunno what I'm saying."

"Your brother likes danger," Sherlock pointed out. "He wouldn't still be around if he didn't."

"John..." I trailed off, trying to find the right words before starting again. "John understands other people. And, I mean, so do I—so do you—you especially! But I can't... connect with others like John can. I know what it's like to care about someone; I care about my brother. I panicked when we saw that symbol at the flat and him and Sarah gone—panicked like I never have in my life."

"It's not about connecting, exactly," Sherlock said. "There are still plenty of things other people do that simply baffles me. You remember the first case we worked together, how that woman wrote her daughter's name on the floor and everyone else thought it was out of sentiment? Even if that was the case—why would someone obsess over the same thing for so long?"

I nodded in agreement.

"Now, I'm not saying that my actions with Sarah tonight were false or insincere," Sherlock went on. "I could tell she was upset and the best action to take was to console her and get her out of that situation. The Black Lotus don't get to claim another victim, even if it's just her mental state, not if I have anything to say about it. And... John likes her." He shrugged.

"And John is your friend too," I said, smiling a little. "You've at least connected with us."

"And you two have connected with me," Sherlock pointed out. "What in the world does that say about the pair of you?"

I shrugged. "Probably nothing good."

"Are you sassing me right now?" Sherlock raise his brows.

"You said that sentence purely fishing for compliments; don't act all dejected," I scolded him.

Sherlock grunted in something between amusement and annoyance. Then, his expression grew serious and he gripped my arm to cause us to pause. I stopped walking and frowned up at him.

"What?" I asked.

"Are you ever planning on telling John about Kaida Miyako?" Sherlock's eyes searched my own.

I bit my lip before responding. "I... don't see it happening any time soon."

"He's clever, Max," Sherlock said. "He's seen how you can fight now. I'm just saying that perhaps it would be best if he heard it from you before he found out some other way."

"Well, you're not going to tell him, are you?" I demanded.

"Of course not, I promised you," Sherlock assured.

"Then I don't have to worry about it just yet," I replied, turning and starting to walk again. "A moment will come, I'm certain. But after him seeing what these kind of organizations are capable of, I don't want him worrying about me."

"As long as you don't keep contacting your old teacher, then he won't have anything to worry about," Sherlock said.

"I won't," I told him, then repeated his own words back to him. "I promised you."

The detective fell in step beside me and we allowed silence to grow between us. I suppose the odd thing was, I wasn't certain who was trying to figure out if I was lying more: Sherlock or myself.

In the end, it turned out I was right about Van Coon being the thief, but even he hadn't realized how valuable the object he took was worth. He merely thought that the cute little jade hairpin would suit his P. A., Amanda, who he had been involved with. When Sherlock told the woman about its true value, she just about lost her mind. He'd pieced everything together when he noticed the same brand of hand cream in Van Coon's flat as the bottle on her desk.

Two days later, I trotted down the steps from my room and into the kitchen wearing pajama pants and a T-Shirt that was three sizes too big for me. I found Sherlock and John sitting opposite each other at the dining table reading the paper.

"Over a thousand years old and it's sitting on her bedside table every night," John was saying. He heard my approach and turned his head. "Well, someone finally awakes. You realize that your hair looks like a duster, right?"

I ran my hand over my ginger locks that had curled wildly atop my head in my sleep. "I'm making up for lost hours," I mumbled.

"Of sleep?" John said. "It doesn't work like that."

I waved him off as I headed toward the cabinets to pull out the tea kettle. "Talking about that pin?"

"He didn't know it's value; didn't know why they were chasing him," Sherlock said, confirming my suspicions.

"Hmm. Should've just got her a lucky cat," John said cheekily.

Sherlock gave him a brief smile before looking away. "Hmm."

John peered at our flatmate closely. "You mind, don't you?"

"What?" Sherlock's head turned round to look back at him.

"That she escaped—General Shan," John clarified. "It's not enough that we got her two henchmen."

"It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives," Sherlock said. "You, Max, and I, we barely scratched the surface."

"You cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it."

"No," Sherlock replied. "No. I cracked this code—all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book." The detective then picked up the paper again and began to look through it.

I frowned as I filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. Sherlock was right; how deep did this organization go? Was it like the Yakuza? Was it just as dangerous? Now that Shan knew our names and faces, did that make us targets?

Honestly, it didn't seem that bad to tell John about Miyako and how I was trained. Living and working with Sherlock was proving to be just as dangerous as the Yakuza. Perhaps if I approached the subject like that, John wouldn't worry as much. However, even knowing that, I still couldn't bring myself to tell him—not yet.

So, I continued to prep my tea and my brother and I entered into friendly conversation; even Sherlock eventually joined in. Although as we laughed and smiled, I couldn't help but yearn for whatever thrilling case would come our way next.