We arrive straight into the dragons den, so to speak. I know for sure that both Sarah and I are conscious throughout the journey, but if John is also, then he's lying still, up against the side of the van. They've placed a cloth gag in my mouth, bound my hands tight together, and put a small potato sack over my head so I can't see, but apart from that, I'm grand. Beside me, I sense Sarah shaking with fear as the van jolts to a stop and the doors are opened. A couple of men step in and take the bags off our heads and lead us out, whilst a third lifts John out, bridal style.
We're lead down some steps into a dark tunnel, lit only by some dim, flickering lights which bounce clumsily off of the grimy walls. Sleek hide out. I don't resist as they lead us down, as I need to gather as much information about this hideout to return, prepared, with backup from dad and perhaps the police. Either way, if I struggle, they're likely to kill John or Sarah, so I keep quiet.
We walk past some stacked up containers against the tunnel walls and it seems as if we've arrived at the main part of their headquarters, as a fire burns in a dustbin in front, flickering lights against the tunnel walls. Three chairs are laid out for our use, and Sarah and I are lead over to two of them, whilst John is carefully lowered into the third and bonded tightly. I notice now a small cut across his left temple, supposedly knocked out with a gun or something similar along with a large object in the centre of the tunnel which is covered with a large cloth. Looking around, it doesn't seem as if I'll be able to use my gun, without the risk of it hitting one if us.
I notice tear marks down Sarah's face as we're tied to the chairs in a similar fashion as John is, and I give her a comforting smile as my kidnapper takes the gag from my mouth. I was right about what I said earlier; she certainly wouldn't have been expecting all this to happen.
A Chinese woman approaches from behind one of the containers in front of me and I narrow my eyes as I recognise her as the 'tourist' which I've seen several times around London. I'd thought it was paranoia, but in this case, she really was watching us. Despite the darkness of the tunnel, she's still wearing sunglasses, but underneath, I think I'd also recognise her as the Opera Singer from tonight's performance. The ringmaster of this entire operation. General Shan.
"Good evening, ladies," Shan says, spreading her arms in mock welcome a she steps into the firelight. "I am sorry if my men had hurt you, but you are needed for this part of the plan."
"What plan?" I ask, dumbing myself down and willing that Sarah plays along too. "Please, I don't know what you mean!" Shan steps forward, closer towards me.
"I have seen you many times around Mr. Holmes and his companion, yet I don't have a name for you." She doesn't know who I am? Then I can stop us from being involved in this plot, therefore withdrawing the threat that dad will have to choose between us or giving up the information that he knows.
"I'm Ellie Watson, and this is my mum, Sally Watson," I reply, breathlessly.
"I was in town for a few weeks, so I just wanted to see my daughter," Sarah pleads, accepting the role. "Please, let her go!" I glance over to her and we exchange looks of mock terror. Well, mine is, anyway. I know what I'm doing.
"I see no reason not to believe you," Shan says slowly after watching us for a moment. "But still, Mr Holmes seems to value his companion, so family will also count into the bargain." I curse silently under my breath; this is not working out how I'd planned. "You will be realised, unharmed, if Sherlock Holmes gives me then treasure, if not, then I'm sure we can make a deal over your bodies." I shiver slightly as the fire blows away, but I keep my eyes on her as she turns away from us. The men who brought us here step forward from the shadows once more and fasten the gags back into our mouths as we struggle. In front, I watch as John regains consciousness and raises his hand to the cut on his head. As he grimaces in pain, General Shan starts to talk.
"'A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket,'" she says, quoting an old Chinese proverb which I've heard countless times. John looks around the tunnel and sees us, wincing with the pain in his head. I give him a weak smile. Shan walks closer to him. "Chinese proverb, Mr. Holmes." John and I both look to her with startled panic. This is not what I had planned.
"I ... I'm not Sherlock Holmes," John protests, and Shan smiles at him, humourlessly.
"Forgive me if I do not take your word for it." She reaches towards him and rummages through his inside pocket.
"Ow," John mutters in obvious pain. "Ow." She slides out his wallet and takes something from it - something I can't see from this angle. Sarah looks at me, terrified.
"Debit card, name of S. Holmes." The card dad lent him to get the shopping with. How did they know he had that in his possession? I never saw them check his pockets.
"Yes; that's not actually mine," John argues. "He lent that to me." Shan ignores him, continuing to flick through his wallet. I know what she's going to find now.
"A cheque for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes." As I thought.
"Yeah, he gave me that to look after." Not strictly true, but the General continues to go through his wallet and pulls out a small slip of paper.
"Tickets from the theatre, collected by you, name of Holmes," Shan persists.
"Yes, okay ..." John fades off as he bites back a silent curse. He really needs to be more careful about whose identity he keeps in his pockets if he wants to stay safe. "I realise what this looks like, but I'm not him."
"We heard it from your own mouth." It's my turn to curse now. Surely he couldn't have been so stupid?
"What?" John replies obviously confused himself.
"'I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone.'" Shan quotes emotionlessly as John stares into space in front of him in utter disbelief. I share the same feelings.
"Did I really say that?" he chuckles weakly, and then lowers his head as a spark of pain shoots through him. "I s'ppose there's no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression." Sarah gasps from beside me as Shan pulls out a small pistol and points it at his head. A shot at that range would be less of a risk, but it's still likely that it could hit someone else, if John was to move suddenly. She won't take that chance.
"I am Shan," Shan introduces herself, and John stares up at her, obviously surprised that a middle-aged Chinese woman could be the leader of an international smuggling cult.
"You're ... you're Shan."
"Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr. Holmes," Shan continues, ignoring him. "What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?" I think of a cocky reply I could call out, but think better of it, focusing my attention instead on causing enough friction between my jacket and the cloth so a fire is made, therefore freeing me of my bonds and causing a temporary distraction as we run for it. I've gathered all the information I need now to have her put down in prison for the rest of her life.
In front, Shan brings another hand to the gun and cocks it. John cringes back at the sound, turning away. I hear him mutter a soft plea, but I don't hear the words uttered as he struggles against his bonds also. I can't see the details of what is happening because Shan has moved so she is facing away from me, but from John's heavy breathing, I can tell that grip is tightening on the pistol. He looks back at the gun, his face full of terror as she pulls the trigger further back. She's bluffing. She has to be. The gun clicks, and John grunts in shock as the bullet never fires. The fire lights up Shans face as she turns slightly, smiling smugly. "It tells you that they're not really trying." John breathes heavily, trying to calm himself down. It's moments like this where I wish I had a knife.
We exchange quick looks again as Shan returns with a clip, which she slides into the pistol and cocks it again, pointing it at Johns head. He cringes away once more.
"Not blank bullets now," she teases, although the gun was empty before.
"Okay," John breathes out, trying, and failing to calm his nerves.
"If we wanted to kill you, Mr. Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive." And we fell into that trap. Shan looks at him, stern and serious. "Do you have it?"
"Do I have what?" John questions, obviously playing stupid as we've talked about this enough times.
"The treasure," Shan replies, impatience growing in her voice.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he lies again as I continue to rub.
"I would prefer to make certain," Shan says as she turns away and I see her gesture to one of the men who stand to the side. In one swift movement, he pulls the cover off of the large object to reveal the crossbow from the theatre, already loaded and ready to fire. We're about to take part in an escapology act, for information John doesn't have. Not the way I had anticipated dying, but there could still be a way out. "Everything in the West has its price; and the price for her life ..." she gestures towards Sarah, and John turns to stare at her. "... Information." Obviously they think Sarah is worth more to John then I am, at this point, and I suppose, to some extent, she is. I'm just his 'friends' daughter.
I watch as the two men walk over to where we sit and pick up Sarah's chair, ignoring her cries of protest through her gag as they continue to carry her towards the crossbow.
"Sorry," John mutters despairingly from under his breath, his voice only just travelling close enough for me to hear it. "I'm sorry."
They set her chair down on the other side of the crossbow so that Sarah is facing, and directly opposite, the sharpened arrow tip. Tears trickle down her cheeks as she struggles in vain at her bonds. I, in the other hand, have found the knot, and have been able to untie it. I keep my hands behind my back though, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
"Where's the hairpin?" Shan demands, Sarah still safe for the moment whilst the sand is contained in the bag. John tugs at his own bonds, despite the pistol which is being pointed at him.
"What?" I may have neglected telling him about the pin before we were taken, but it matters very little now.
"The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling," Shan says, sounding incredibly impatient and demanding. "We already had a buyer in the West; and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you, Mr. Holmes, have been searching."
"Please," John begs. "Please, listen to me. I'm not ... I'm not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. I haven't found whatever it is you're looking for."
"I need a volunteer from the audience!" Shan announces, treating this as just another performance.
"No, please," John repeats, desperately. Some date. "Please."
"Ah, thank you, lady," she continues, walking towards Sarah. "Yes, you'll do very nicely." Sarah wails as she tugs at the ropes in desperation. I can't move just yet.
Shan smiles, taking out a small knife from her pocket and reaching up to the sandbag, repeating the processes as she did before. The sand begins to trickle out, lifting the bag steadily higher as the weight lowers. Sarah continues to cry out as John just stares in absolute horror at the bag, unable to do anything to save his date. I sit still in my seat, watching with calculated thoughts. Shan smiles again, looking around at the absent audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen. From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes' pretty companion in a death-defying act."
"Please!" John cries, but Shan continues to ignore him, choosing instead to walk over to Sarah and place an origami flower on her lap. The sign of a death committed by the Black Lotus. "You've seen the act before," she states. "How dull for you. You know how it ends."
"I'm not Sherlock Holmes!" John calls, frantically.
"I don't believe you," Shan snaps back. A shadow flickers in the firelight which is cast upon the wall, and I smile slightly as I recognise the outline.
"You should, you know." Shan twirls around and sees the silhouette on the tunnel walls. "Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him." I drop the ropes from my hands but freeze as Shan raises her pistol and aims it towards him. I hear dad's footsteps as he immediately shifts to the side of the tunnel, vanishing into the shadows. One of Shans men starts to run forward to meet him. "How would you describe me, John?" he questions from the shadows as John let's put a breath of exasperation. "Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?"
"Late?" John mutters tetchily.
"That's a semi-automatic," dad continues, ignoring John and stating Shans problem, giving me enough of a distraction to slip into the shadows. "If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second." Shan doesn't lower her aim, still ignorant to what her problem is.
"Well?"
"Well ..." dad pauses for a minute as the man who had ran forward reaches the large storage container. He runs from out behind it and I hear a metal bar come into contact with the man's stomach, and he falls to the floor, groaning in pain. Dad slips back into the dark. "... The radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres," dad continues, quick firing. "If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you." He darts out of the darkness and kicks over the nearest, burning dustbin, extinguishing even more of the light. John flinches at the sound and I turn thoughtfully around to the bin closest to me, but I guess it wouldn't achieve much except to draw attention to myself.
Dad scuttles through the shadows and appears just behind Sarah, beginning to untie her bonds after noticing that I've already gotten free. I recognise the figure of Soo Lin's brother as he runs up behind him, looping a long, red scarf around his throat a couple of times. The sand is still trickling out, the weight getting ever higher during the fight. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I twirl around, looking into the darkness behind me. A leg kicks out, coming in contact with my stomach, causing me to stumble back. I really need to be more observant. I straighten up, panting heavily as I try to recover my loss of oxygen, and find myself able to defend myself from his next attack, grabbing his fist and twisting it around. We continue to fight, both of us matching each other's abilities so that there is no clear leader. I risk a glance at what the others are doing as I duck beneath a kick aimed, again, at my chest, and see dad and Soo Lin's brother still struggling as John stumbles forward, which is hard considering he's still bound to the chair, towards Sarah, obviously realising that neither of us are going to get free quick enough to save her. I send out a kick of my own, a low one in comparison, but he jumps it easily, lashing out with his fists once more. Johns chair clatters to the floor as he loses balance, but he continues to squirm forward, getting ever closer to the cross bow. I spin back around in time to defend myself from what would have been a rather painful hit, and finish the fight with an uppercut, not unlike the one dad ended our fight with a few days ago. My attacker falls to the floor, unconscious for now.
John finally reaches the crossbow and I watch with relief as he kicks a part of the crossbow and rather from luck than judgement, the arrow realises, making its way across the tunnel and burying itself in Soo Lin's brothers chest, who falls to the floor with little more than a grunt of surprise. But where's Shan? I look around the tunnel as dad stands up, gasping for breath as the red scarf is still wrapped around his neck, and hear the distant quick-paced footsteps of General Shan, fleeing before she can be convicted. For a moment, I think both dad and I consider heading after her, but dad turns to a whimpering Sarah instead, choosing to untie her bonds and give her emotional support. After a moment of deliberation, I leave her too. She's lost the Jade pin and one of her best Tong agents. If she was working for someone, then she'll be dealt with in their hands, their way.
Dad soothes Sarah gently, dropping to his knees and untying her gag as he mutters soft words of encouragement.
"Don't worry," John mutters softly from the floor as I run over to him. "Next date won't be like this." I smile at his sense of humour and begin to untie his knots as Sarah continues to sob. Dad throws me his phone.
"Get onto Dimmock," he requests as be continues to soothe Sarah. "Tell him that a civilian was taken, but she's safe. I nod in return and dial the number.
A little later, the police arrive outside, their blue and red lights shining though the darkness. We walk out to meet them and a paramedic runs over to Sarah, wrapping a shock blanket around her as she shivers into it. I shiver too. The adrenaline had been keeping me warm throughout, but now it's over, nearly. John wraps his arm around Sarah and walks her away whilst we walk over to Dimmock by his car before we slip away.
"We'll just slip off," dad announces. "No need to mention us in your report."
"Mr. Holmes ..."
"I have high hopes for you, Inspector," dad admits. "A glittering career." I smile at the Inspector before I turn away.
"I go where you point me," Dimmock replies, in total contrast to his original actions to our help.
"Exactly," dad says beginning to walk away. We follow the road along until we reach the nearest cafe and we file in together. Now that I sit down in the booth with all the action over, my stomach rumbles against the newly formed bruise. "John thinks you're anorexic, you know," dad says suddenly. I look up from my hot chocolate with surprise.
"Really?" I answer, frowning.
"Yes, something about you not eating for a while?" I groan as we approach this subject.
"I'm absolutely fine!" I emphasise. Dad laughs.
"Yeah, I told him you were." He reaches forward, taking my hands as I put my cup down "I know you are, and I know you enjoy this type of life, but if it all gets too much, I'm here for you." I look up and smile weakly.
"Thanks, but I'm fine, really." He nods, and slips back into his usual state as our food arrives.
I wonder what's caused him to suddenly think about the human parts of us instead of the bits we use most in cases. I know it's been hard for the both of us after mothers death, and excluding ourselves from ourselves has been our way to cope. So why now?
A waitress comes over with our meals and smiles as she lays the plates down in front of us. Her current facade covering up for the fact that she's just caught her boyfriend cheating, in her own house.
The news flicks on from the TV behind the counter and I look up, curious to see whether our little adventure has hit the media at all, but when the journalist starts talking about rehoming a load of puppies, we pack away. Our story is unlikely to be broadcasted for government protection or whatever, which leaves us anonymous as usual.
I don't wake up until around ten the next morning. The previous sleepless nights finally caught up on me, leaving me to refresh myself for a while. I brush my hair quickly and slip on some clothes before I leave the room, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table as I walk through.
"Morning," dad says softly as I sit down at the table, and he gets up to put the kettle on. "Hot chocolate?"
"Please," I agree, nodding, and peering at a newspaper. Some article about a series of disappearances capture my eye, but I draw them away again as dad hands me my mug.
"So, 'Nine mill' ..." John says, looking up from the kitchen table as he receives his tea.
"Million," dad corrects, as he pours his own up.
"Million, yes; 'Nine million for jade pin. Dragon den, black Tramway.'"
"An instruction to all their London operatives," dad explains, and John nods in mild understanding. "A message; what they were trying to reclaim."
"What, a jade pin?" John confirms.
"Worth nine million pounds," dad agrees. "Bring it to the Tramway, their London hideout."
"Hang on: a 'hairpin' worth nine million pounds?" John frowns.
"Apparently."
"Why so much?"
"Depends who owned it," dad points out.
"Who's was it?" John questions and I roll my eyes.
"Shan said in the tunnel," I remind him. "It's the 'Empress pin'. Extremely valuable on its own, but in a collection - priceless."
"So who's got it now?" John inquires. "I mean, both of the men the group suspected are both dead."
"Van Coon," dad begins, putting his cup down on the side. "We need to go to the bank. I need to have a chat with his PA." He walks towards the door, putting his coat on, and I stand up, joining him at the stairs. "Coming?"
"Yeah, hang on!" John mutters, finishing his own tea off before grabbing his coat and following us out.
"Two operatives based in London," dad explains, reciting the background information of the smugglers as we step out of the taxi and walk towards Shad. "They travel over to Dalian to smuggle those vases. One of them helps himself to something: a little hairpin."
"Worth nine million pounds," John adds.
"Belonging to the Empress of China," I finish.
"Eddie Van Coon was the thief," dad says again. "He stole the treasure when he was in China."
"How d'you know it was Van Coon, not Lukis?" John challenges. "Even the killer didn't know that."
"Because of the soap," dad says simply as we navigate through the revolving doors, and he looks smugly back at John. In surprise, even to dads high standards, he stops for a moment, staring forward blankly at dad before moving on again.
"How did you possibly get that from a bottle of soap?" John demands in badly suppressed amazement.
"Sophie," dad says, waving at me to explain as he walks over to talk to reception.
"Quite simple actually," I begin, and John rolls his eyes.
"Not for us all," he mutters, but I continue, ignoring him.
"I noticed that both Van Coon and his PA had the same brand of soap in their possession, a 'ladies' brand, if you like. Known for its soft texture and sweet scent. Van Coon was certainly not the type of man to buy himself scented soap, and the bottle was nearly empty, which means someone had been using it besides him. He'd had a lady over." Dad returns back to us.
"Sebastian is in his office, John. I'll let you two collect the cheque," he says, walking away in the direction of Van Coons office.
"But how did you get that he had the pin from that?!" John persists.
"I wasn't sure until recently," I admit, leading John through to Sebastian's office. "When we were looking through Van Coons receipts with his PA a couple of days ago, I noticed she had a pin in her hair. Looked rather expensive, but I didn't think much more about it. The soap, however, told us that Van Coon was in a relationship with his PA, but his frequent trips abroad meant that he had to apologise with gifts. To make up for his absence recently, Van Coon stole a hairpin for his girlfriend, with no idea of what its value or history was." I finish, and smile at John as his jaw drops open.
"Amazing."
"Thank you."
"Ah, Miss Holmes, Doctor Watson," Sebastian calls as he enters his office. "How's our little problem going?"
"All solved," I reply, calmly. "Your burglar scaled the side of the building, hopped onto the balcony, and came through the window to Sir Shads office which just happened to be open to leave a message to one if your staff." He raises his eyes in some skeptism, but pulls the draw on his desk open, withdrawing a chequebook and pen.
"I think we agreed on twenty grand?" Sebastian recalls, as he signs it. "Who am I making this payable to?"
"Mr Sherlock Holmes," I reply, looking out the window thoughtfully as he addresses it.
"He really climbed up onto the balcony?" Wilkes questions as he slips the piece of paper into an envelope.
"Nail a plank across the window and all your problems are over," John replies, scornfully. Looking slightly irritated, Sebastian holds the envelope out to John.
"Thanks," he says, handing it immediately over to me for safe keeping, now self-conscious about possessing anything of dads. As we turn to leave, I hear a piercing shriek of happiness, and smile myself as I recognise it as the PA. She's suddenly become a very lucky lady.