Sherlock

I pushed my thumb against the buzzer as rain began to patter down. Maxine dug into her bag and pulled out a bright green pocket umbrella and popped it open to hold it over both of us. We were just outside the listed residence of Arthur and Kyle Quinn. The building was rather well-kept, but it was still a part of town that was inhabited by those of lower-income.

After a few moments, I tried the buzzer again. I frowned as I looked up—the Quinn residence was on the second floor. I would attempt the balcony jump trick again, but I didn't see any evidence of new people in the building. I frowned at the buzzer and intercom as the silence stretched on.

"Perhaps he's out?" Maxine suggested.

"Unlikely," I replied. I pointed to the bike rack near the front doors. "Bicycle there—the red one—it has initials carved into the side of the frame just under the handlebars. KQ. Kyle Quinn. Why have a bike that old and that worn if you have a car? Most don't own cars in London anyway—especially those of low-income. No, he's here..."

I pursed my lips and walked toward the main building. Luckily, it didn't require one to be buzzed in. As I stepped inside, Maxine hurriedly closed her umbrella and followed after me.

"He did just lose his brother," she noted as we ascended a flight of stairs to the second floor. "Could be he doesn't fancy company."

"True," I said. "But regardless, we need to speak to him."

We found the Quinns' flat number and I knocked heavily on the door. We stood there for a few seconds, waiting, but there wasn't any sound from inside—no indication that there was anyone inside at all.

Maxine began to frown and she shook off the droplets from her umbrella before fully folding it up and putting it in her pocket. She lowered herself onto the ground and laid herself up against the door to peer beneath it.

"What are you hoping to see?" I asked her with a furrowed brow. "There's not enough space."

"And no light inside," Maxine replied. "I'm not trying to see. I'm trying to smell."

"Smell? Oh." It suddenly hit me. "You think he's dead?"

"Well, last time we snuck into someone's flat when they were supposedly not home, we found them dead in their bedroom," Maxine said. "Er, well, it wasn't the last time we broke into someone's flat, but you understand..."

She shoved her nose close to the bottom of the door and inhaled deeply. She took a few experimental sniffs before giving a small cough and recoiling.

"What—what is it?" I asked as she got to her feet.

"Well, something smells a bit off in there," Maxine said, rubbing her nose. "At first it just smelled like dirty socks, but then something else hit me. Something rotten."

I pursed my lips and looked over the door, trying to decide between kicking it down and picking the lock. Before I could decide, Maxine pulled out a bobby pin from her pocket and knelt down in front of the door. I raised my brows at her.

"Since when did you learn to pick a lock?" I asked.

"Since I was fifteen," Maxine replied. "You've just never given methe chance to have a go."

I laughed softly as she got to work. Her stone-blue eyes were sharp as she inserted the twisted bobby pin and began to jiggle it about carefully. After a moment, there was a click and she twisted the pin with a triumphant grin. The door opened wide and she got to her feet, casting me a smile.

"Impressive," I told her.

Maxine seemed pleased, but then her face twisted in mild disgust at the stench that came wafting out of the flat.

"Oh, that's rank," she said through small coughs.

"That's death," I murmured, stepping inside.

The first area was a small entrance hall where shoes and coats were put up. It bloomed into a living room with a sofa, two beanbag chairs, and an entertainment system with an old gaming console hooked up to it. Given the two controllers near it, I took that the brothers must have spent a lot of time playing together—they were close.

We didn't have to explore the hall to our left or the kitchen on our right to find the source of the smell. There was blood spots on the beige carpet leading around to the sofa. The back was facing us and when we got close enough to look over it, we saw the body.

Maxine gave a small gasp and took a step back. It wasn't often something could get to her; by now she'd seen plenty of bodies. She'd even just seen the strung up girl with her gut torn open and organs missing. I looked down at the corpse of who could only be Kyle Quinn and tried to discern what set off her discomfort.

Kyle was the older of the brothers, but he was smaller in stature. His hair was dyed a bright blond and was wild—whether that was his preferred style or just how it was in his death I couldn't tell yet. His eyes were wide and staring up at the ceiling. There was far more blood on this side of the sofa. I wasn't a doctor like John, but I assumed the loss of it was ultimately what stole Kyle's life. There was a deep gash in his abdomen that sliced up toward his sternum. It was pried wider—post-mortem, I guessed—to reveal his ravaged insides. It looked as if someone took an electronic egg beater to his guts.

However, the most peculiar thing was the headphones.

There was a pair of large, over-the-ear, sound-canceling headphones loosely gripped in Kyle's hand which laid on the edge of the sofa cushions. The cord coiled around his tricep and then led inside his stomach. The jack wasn't visible beyond the gore that was left within his fatal wound.

It was bizarre, to say the least. My curiosity and hunger for knowledge throbbed against my skull, demanding answers. I knew Arthur was killed and now we find his older brother dead as well and with some sort of... calling card, perhaps? I turned to Maxine, narrowing my eyes. She hadn't been this appalled at the state of the girl's body, which meant that the headphones were what set her off; it was the only key difference between the two.

"You make something of this," I stated rather than asked. "What is it, Max?"

"I..." Maxine slowly shook her head and started blinking rapidly. "Sh-Sherlock, I think this is my fault." Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

I frowned and stepped toward her, seeing the rising horror in her expression. "What d'you mean? How could it possibly be your fault?"

"Arthur Quinn, his brother here, and... and Heather Peterson—there deaths are all connected, Sherlock," Maxine said, meeting my gaze. "They're all for me."

I furrowed my brow, completely confused. "H-how do you mean? The From Hell note was for me, not you—how could all three deaths be connected?"

"You really haven't read my manga, have you?" Maxine asked.

I adverted my gaze nervously. "I-I glanced over the first volume..."

"It's all right," Maxine assured. "Manga isn't for everyone—but that's besides the point. Sherlock, in my manga, MANA, there are four major characters." She swallowed and took a deep breath. "Hawthorne, Sephare, Kazros, and... and his brother Arthus."

"Arthur..." I murmured, eyes widening. "It's a play off that name. And this-this Kazros, he's the—?"

"The older brother, yes," Maxine said. "And... his magic is sound-based. He... he actually has a headphone jack installed into his chest where he keeps headphones plugged in because his magic is so strong—that's besides the point. The point is that whoever did this put a pair of headphones plugged into this man. And-and Arthus? My character, Arthus? His nickname is Canine because he has a massive dog as his familiar and a sword that can bite, sort of."

"And Arthur Quinn's death looked like a dog killed him." I ran my hands through my hair and turned around in a circle, my head beginning to thrum. "Wh-what about the girl? Heather Peterson? How do you know she's connected?"

"We know she wasn't killed with that sickle," Maxine explained. "My character Hawthorne... she uses a scythe as a weapon. Why would the killer leave that there for us to find when it wasn't even the murder weapon? Why else but to... to show me...?"

Maxine staggered a few steps back and gripped the sides of her head, her fingers tangling in her curly ginger locks as she stared across the room in sheer horror.

"Max, Max." I went to her side and grabbed her shoulders. "Calm down, all right? Calm down. You need to talk to me. What is going on here? Why would someone do this? Do you have any idea?"

"I should've just told you," Maxine whispered weakly, closing her eyes tightly.

"Told me?" I ducked my head to stare into her face. "Told me what?"

Maxine exhaled shakily and opened her eyes to meet mine. She looked anguished and remorseful.

"This morning... I got an email from Kaida Miyako," Maxine said softly. "On my new email—the one I never gave her. The subject line read: AKAGE PLEASE READ in all caps. I didn't open it, I swear. I just wanted time to process it before I told you or John about it."

I slowly released her and took a step back, pursing my lips. Maxine looked horrified at my expression of disappointment.

"Sherlock, I was going to tell you," she began to insist.

"You do recall what I told you the day I had you send your last email to her?" I said, my voice low and cold. "That it could lead the Yakuza to track down the IP address, therefore our location, therefore your identity."

"I never emailed her again after that!" Maxine said. "I did as you asked, I swear. This is the first time since then that I've heard from her. I have no idea how she got the new email, you have to believe me!"

"This can't be a coincidence," I muttered, glancing toward Kyle Quinn's body. "He's been here for a day, possibly longer. His brother was killed four days ago. They were planning this. And if they're killing people in this manner, that means they know who you are. They know you're the creator of that manga and they want this message to reach you."

"I-I don't know how they could have figured it out," Maxine rasped. "I-I was so careful and Miyako—she'd never betray me. Besides, why would they do anything to her to get my information? I was the one they wanted to control her—if they somehow got their hands on her, not only would she never divulge that information, but they wouldn't really have a need for me."

I shook my head. "There's more going on here," I said. "There are four major characters, you said? This Sephare, what are her unique traits? We know the pattern now, perhaps we can anticipate their next move."

"Er, Sephare uses concussive magic," Maxine explained quickly. "Breaks down walls and structures and the like. She can bust up someone's bones without having to wound them on the outside. Her familiar is this big suit of armor—it's even bigger than she is—something like eight feet tall."

"Suit of armor," I repeated. "That's most likely what they'll go for next."

"Or a collapsed building," Maxine said.

"No, suit of armor attracts more attention," I countered. "They want you to notice them."

Maxine stared down at the mutilated dead body for a moment before covering her mouth and turning away. Her shoulders trembled and she quickly left the flat. I exhaled through my nose before pulling out my mobile to text Lestrade. Maxine was used to solving crimes and catching killers but now she was the reason a killer was here—it didn't sit well with her. I wanted to examine the crime scene closer, but not only did I feel Maxine needed someone with her, but now I knew there was someone in London targeting her.

After the message was sent to Lestrade, I looked over the flat one more time before following Maxine outside.

She was sitting on the curb, her arms around her knees with her head resting in them. Her stone-blue eyes stared blankly ahead and her brows were drawn low over them into an expression of confusion and despair.

"Max..." I began, slowly sitting down beside her.

"It's my fault," Maxine whispered. "Three innocent people are dead because of me."

I pursed my lips. Admittedly, I had felt a certain level of guilt when Moriarty killed the old woman and the others in her building with the bomb. I knew that she would have never been in harm's way if I didn't exist. However, I didn't believe that I felt it as deeply as Maxine was feeling this. In some ways, she was more human than me—more connected with the world.

"You are not the one who killed them," I insisted. "You aren't the one who started to train you as an assassin to target the Yakuza. You're not whoever the Yakuza sent to do this. Max..." I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into my side. "This couldn't be farther from your fault."

Maxine closed her eyes and I saw a single tear roll down her cheek. I'd never seen Maxine cry, so the sight sent a jolt through me. I was trapped in a bizarre state where I wanted to let her go to scoot away. However, instead I pulled her closer to me, wrapping both my arms around her and kissed her hair gently. It smelled of strawberries and graphite.

"It's all right," I assured her softly. "We'll figure this out, I promise."

An intense fire ignited within me. I wasn't going to let anyone hurt Maxine—not physically or emotionally. We had to find this murderer before they made their fourth kill.

Maxine

When I stumbled into the flat's living room, John was sitting in his normal chair by the fireplace typing away on his laptop. Sherlock came in after me and helped me take off my coat to hang it up. I gave him a weak nod of thanks, unable to muster much else.

The Yakuza were in London and they were trying to get at me to get at Miyako. However, their methods made no sense to me. If they knew who I was, why not just try to come get me? Sure, they'd have Sherlock and John to contend with, but not if they waited for me to be out on my own picking up Chinese or shopping. So why? Why murder three people just to get my attention?

"Date go well?" John asked, finally looking up from his computer's screen.

When my brother saw the expression on my face, his grew angry. He closed his laptop and got to his feet, fixating Sherlock in a heated glare.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

"John," I murmured softly. "Don't. It's not about Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed as he took off his own coat. "Seen the telly?"

"No? Should I have?" John said.

"You probably would have seen it on the news," Sherlock explained, hanging up his coat next to mine. "A girl was murdered at 29 Hanbury Street."

John's brow furrowed. "Why does that sound familiar?"

Sherlock gently took my arm and guided me over to his chair and had me sit down. I wordlessly allowed this, too focused on dissecting these murders and why they were connected to me.

"Jack the Ripper," Sherlock said, eyeing me one last time before turning to face my brother. "That's where his second victim was found."

"Oh," John said, his face falling. "Oh, no, do we have a copy cat killer over one century later?"

"Not exactly," Sherlock replied.

I barely listened as Sherlock explained how our date involved working on another case which connected to the girl's death and the second body we found afterward. John's voice grew tight, then loud when he realized I was the common denominator, but I couldn't hear his words. I stared at the fireplace, my mind spinning as it searched desperately for an answer.

"Maxine!" John finally shouted.

I blinked and looked over at my brother. He seemed out of breath and there was color on his face and rising up from his chest; I could see the red on his neck. I didn't think I'd ever seen him look so stressed—at least not since the bomb incident with Moriarty.

"There are members from the largest criminal organization here in London that are clearly after you," John said. "We have to get you somewhere safe. They'll know to look here."

"Hang on..." I said, a thought clicking into place in my head. "What if they don't?"

Sherlock and John both looked at me in confusion.

"What d'you mean?" John asked.

"They're purposefully setting up these murders so that whoever made MANA will realize they're connected to the manga—that they're meant to catch the author's attention. I use a pen name: Dakota Lyheart," I explained, my words coming out faster as it pieced together. "At the murder scene of the girl—Heather Peterson—there was a note left there for Sherlock. Sherlock, not me. If these people knew that I was Lyheart, why not address the note to me if they're so intent on getting my attention?"

I got up from the chair and began to pace around the living room. Sherlock and John backed up out of my way as I went, staring at me with lingering confusion and growing interest.

"No, they want Sherlock on the case," I said. "Because they know Sherlock working it would gain the media's attention—that he would see the connection between the bodies—that he would discover that the manga was the common theme and he would find Lyheart. They want him to do their work for them."

I paused and turned to face the boys, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh.

"They have no idea that it's me," I breathed. "All they know is that Akage and Dakota Lyheart are one and the same, and she's in London. That's all they've got."

John gave a shaky laugh of relief and looked at Sherlock. "Is that right? D'you reckon that they just want you to lead them to Lyheart?"

Sherlock's expression was that of shock and pride. He smiled at me and snapped his fingers. "It makes sense," he said. "If they knew Max was Lyheart, why haven't they attempted to get at her here in the flat? Or when she's out on errands? That's why they're killing people like this."

"So... so what do we do?" John queried. "We can't risk them finally putting two and two together. I've never mentioned Maddie's manga on my blogs, but I do talk about how she's an artist. And remember how Mycroft's friend at the Palace knew she wrote MANA? So, your brother and his friends know."

"Bold of you to assume Mycroft has friends. Regardless, I don't think they'll figure it out just from that," Sherlock said. He pursed his lips for a moment. "We need to find them before they find Max; it's simple as that. In the meantime, we need to keep Max in a safe place."

"Wait, what?" I exclaimed. "I just proved how they don't know it's me. I can help!"

"Yes, and say they see how well you fight or notice that John's first blog mentions you spent time in Japan," Sherlock retorted sharply. "Max, they're trying to lure you out in order to use you to get your old teacher. For all we know, they could smuggle you back to Japan if you got caught. Yakuza's dabbled in human trafficking more than enough to be efficient at it."

"I can't just do nothing," I argued. "This is my fault—I'm the reason they're here!"

"And we can't let you get hurt, or worse," John snapped. "Maxine, we all know you're capable, but these people are on a whole other level."

"Miyako was training me to assassinate their members," I pointed out. "High-ranking members. She told me I was even beyond the skills of those she sent before me."

"This is not up for debate," Sherlock said, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm calling Lestrade and taking you to the Scotland Yard. You'll stay with him until this whole matter is settled."

"You're putting me with a babysitter?" I said incredulously.

"Yes," Sherlock replied curtly.

I loosed a long exhale. It was rare when Sherlock and John were both on the same page and a different one from mine. Them gaining up on me made me feel small and helpless. I wanted to help—I wanted to stop whoever came here and was killing people to gain my attention. However, with both my boyfriend and brother so strongly united in their opposition of that, I didn't stand much of a chance.

"Fine, fine," I sighed in defeat, waving him off. "Give the Inspector a ring. He's probably still at the Quinn flat anyway."

"Thank you," Sherlock sighed before putting his phone to his ear.

As Sherlock walked a few paces away, John came to my side and peered into my face.

"What?" I demanded.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"What d'you think?" I sighed, shaking my head.

"It's not your fault, Maddie," John assured. "Sherlock and I will put a stop to it, I promise."

"I just feel like I should be helping," I murmured. "I should be facing off against whoever this is and—"

"No," John interjected. "No, you shouldn't. You're going to go to Scotland Yard with Lestrade and stay there until this is sorted."

I shook my head, knowing I wasn't going to convince him otherwise.

Lestrade looked rather confused when I walked into his office a half hour later, alone.

"Where's Sherlock and John?" he asked.

"Oh, they didn't tell you?" I sighed. "You're babysitting."

"What?" Lestrade blinked. "Sherlock told me he was bringing someone to me for protection—someone that this killer is targeting."

I nodded at him and held his gaze meaningfully. Lestrade's eyes widened.

"You?" he exclaimed. "B-but why you, Maxine?"

"When I was in Japan, my Aikido teacher secretly trained me to be an assassin to attack high-ranking members of the Yakuza," I replied dryly and I plopped down in a chair. "I never actually did, though, because Miyako grew fond of me. Didn't figure this out until the day she told me to leave Japan. So now, someone knows her old student, Akage, and the manga artist Dakota Lyheart, are one and the same."

"The-the killings, they're like your story characters," Lestrade rasped. "God, how didn't I see it sooner?" He shook his head in disbelief. "How does someone like you end up mixed in with the Yakuza?"

"Good news is, they don't know Dakota Lyheart is Maxine Watson," I said rather than answer.

Lestrade slumped back in his chair, his expression a mix between astonishment and a sense of numbness. "Just when I think you can't get stranger," he murmured.

I perked a brow at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're dating Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade replied. "Anyone who can cause that man to express any sort of emotion, well... it's a downright miracle."

I snorted. "Well, the same could be said for me," I said.

"Yes, John's said as much." Lestrade got up from his chair. "Tea?"

"Please." I nodded.

Sherlock

I walked briskly down the street with no true destination, John at my side. My mind was racing endlessly and it was difficult to dissect them into making sense. Yakuza in London and after the author of MANA, Dakota Lyheart—who was also Maxine. They didn't know the two were the same, yet. I had to intersect this killer before he made the connection and ideally before he found another victim.

Pulling out my mobile, I brought up a internet search engine and began to type swiftly. John watched me warily; I could sense the stress he carried—it was evident in his tensed shoulders and tight expression.

"What's the plan?" he asked.

"I'm looking for places in London that carry suits of armor," I explained, still typing away and scrolling through the results. "Museums, shops, known collectors... We need to keep an eye on all of them in hopes of seeing this killer attempting to steal one."

"Suits of armor?" John echoed.

"The fourth major character in the manga," I said. "She has a massive suit of armor as her familiar, according to Max. We think that they're going to use that in the next murder."

"I really should read Ma—" John began but I halted and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't," I breathed in a soft voice. "When we're out in public, don't mention who the author really is. If they want us to lead them to Lyheart, they very well might be watching us."

"Right, of course..." John shook his head in exasperation. "This is a mess."

I started typing and walking again. "There's too many locations in London to watch at once... We may have to wait for his next victim to be found."

"What?" John exclaimed. "No, we can't do that. We're not going to let another innocent person get hurt—besides you said this killer is incredibly efficient. There wasn't much left at any of his crime scenes, why would the fourth be any different?"

I shook my head, pursing my lips. I wanted to jump to the quickest and more effective way to keep Max safe and clearly my concern for her was clouding my judgement. John was right; the fourth crime scene would probably be just as clean and staged as the previous ones. We didn't have time to wait for forensics on this, either.

"What about..." John trailed off for a moment and paused in his walking.

I stopped and looked back at him with a raised brow. John met my eyes; he seemed somewhat reluctant.

"What about Mycroft?" he suggested.

Appalled, I turned and kept walking. "Do you have no faith in me to figure this out?" I snapped.

John trotted after me. "It's not that! It's just, Mycroft has access to surveillance all across the city. He could keep an eye on all those locations for us, don't you think?"

"We can find another way. Getting him involved is only going to complicate things," I muttered.

"Complicate things? For who—you? Sherlock, Ma—there are lives on the line here." John snatched my arm and pulled me to a halt. "Just swallow your pride and call him."

I exhaled sharply and glared at my phone. "Why does it have to be Mycroft?" I spar sourly before going to my text messages and finding my brother's name.

Mycroft's office was as large and over-compensating as ever. I paced about in room while John sat in one of the chairs and Mycroft was seated behind the desk as if he sat in a throne.

"So, I do win the bet, then," he said when John finished explaining everything.

I shot Mycroft an irascible glare. "That's all you're getting out of this?"

"Bet? What bet?" John asked, looking between the brothers.

"That Max and I couldn't go out on a normal date—and yes, Mycroft, you were right, because Max and I aren't like the rest of the boring and dull people going about London," I barked. "But do you know who else is going about London? The Yakuza."

"Yes, it is troubling," Mycroft admitted. "We can't very well allow them to set in seeds for any sort of smuggling or drug trade, can we? It's a matter of national security. I will ensure surveillance is utilized at the locations you indicated and any more I might find that carry suits of armor."

"Thank you," John said earnestly.

Mycroft merely nodded at him. "However, I feel in the meantime your top priority should be discovering just what they want Maxine for—or rather, what they want her old mentor, Kaida Miyako, for."

"Don't you think I've been working on that ever since she initially told me?" Sherlock demanded. "There's nothing on a Kaida Miyako in Japan other than her owning a small building that she used as her Aikido dojo. It's been since sold and Miyako is in the wind. It's rather difficult to conduct a case when it's across the ocean."

"My, my, aren't you riled up," Mycroft sighed. "You're not normally this agitated about cases, little brother."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You know why. This is Max we're talking about. I don't care what you think, I happen to care for her and I'm not going to let anything happen to her."

I turned and began to storm out the room. John hastily got up to follow me.

"Thank you again," he said to Mycroft. "Call or text if you get anything on the surveillance."

"Of course," Mycroft replied just as I was walking through the doors of his office.

I didn't speak until we were outside. My brisk walk forced John to trot to keep up. Once on the sidewalk, he grabbed my arm to slow me down.

"I've got shorter legs, in case you've forgotten," he said irritably.

I compensated my stride to match his and placed my hands in a prayer position in front of my mouth.

"Why would the Yakuza go through such great lengths to get at Kaida Miyako?" I pondered aloud. "Obviously, it's not her real name, but all my searching hasn't provided me anything of worth. I already discerned when I was first told that they want Miyako alive—why else would they need Lyheart? They need leverage against Miyako—but what for? To get her to do something? To get her to give up something?"

"Maybe this Miyako has information," John suggested. "What do the Yakuza deal in, exactly?"

I scoffed softly. "A better question would be what don't they deal in. Drugs, sex trafficking, human smuggling, arms-dealing, money laundering... Anything to make their clans more money. Miyako had the tip of her pinky cut off—a disciplinary tool the Yakuza use when a member does something worth significant punishment. Could be stealing from the clan, could be messing up a job, could be helping the people in the human trafficking..."

I was once again walking aimlessly. I didn't want to talk about this in a cab and speaking aloud helped me figure out my own thoughts. John listened intently, clearly still distraught about his sister.

"This means what they need from Miyako now must be incredibly important since she already used up her first chance. And having high-ranked members assassinated..." I shook my head and exhaled a long breath through my nose. "Any ordinary member would have just been killed. So what is it Miyako has...?"

"Location of a drug stash?" John said. "Maybe she stole something like that case we had with Sebastian Wilkes. Or perhaps she's so good at her job they want her back. Or maybe she freed some people they were smugg—"

"Shut up!" I shouted. "I can't think with you spouting off all this nonsense."

"But aren't all of those plausible?" John demanded.

"It's something more," I insisted. "Something bizarre. They sent an assassin to collect Lyheart. Why? It isn't their style." I ran my hands through my hair. "It's too direct—too personal. They want to be certain they can get what they want."

"Well, she has been sending assassins to kill members of the clans," John pointed out. "Perhaps it's their form of... poetic justice?"

I pursed my lips into a grimace. "No... no, that's not it. It's something more—something obvious, but I can't see it." Abruptly I let out an angry shout and gestured threw my arms back to my sides. "Why can't I see it?!"