The Silent Banker
A Silent Friendship
"Two men travel back from China, both head straight for the Lucky Cat Emporium." Said John. "What did they see?"
They were all sitting around a small table near the window of the restaurant Van Coon had come to the day he died. John had been brought his plate of food, and Rose had a small glass of coke in her hand.
"It's not what they saw," Said Sherlock. "It's what they both brought back in those suitcases." He was scanning the street constantly, barely blinking, and fiddling with a napkin on the table.
John looked up at his comment. "And... You don't mean duty free." He stated.
Sherlock leaned forward, and lowered his voice, looking between the other two occupants of their small table. "Think about what Sebastian told us about Eddie Van Coon."
"Lost five million…" Remembered John.
"Made it back in a week." Finished Sherlock. He motioned to the Lucky Cat. "That's how he made such easy money."
"He was a smuggler!" Realised John in a low voice.
"It would have been perfect; businessman, taking frequent trips to Asia. Lucas was the same, a journalist, writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop off."
Rose nodded her understanding, while John asked "But why did they die?" She thought for a minute, while Sherlock sat up a little straighter. "It doesn't make since. If they dropped off the goods, why did someone threaten them, and then kill them? After they finished the job…"
"Maybe one of them was a little light fingered." Said Rose, taking a swig of her cool drink.
"What do you mean?" Asked John, not used to the phrase.
"What if one of them stole something?" She asked.
"And the killer doesn't know which one of them took it, so he threatens them both." Said John.
"Exactly." She answered.
Sherlock, still looking out into the street, suddenly got that gleam in his eyes again, and she quickly started to finish her drink.
"Remind me… when was the last time it rained…" Muttered Sherlock, who then got up, and walked out the door, Rose close behind, expecting him to do it. John just mumbled around a mouth of food, and hurriedly grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, following them again, regretfully leaving behind half a plate of good food.
Crossing the road, John noticed that his two friends were outside a block of flats, tucked away right next to the Lucky Cat. Sherlock was inspecting what looked like a water damaged Yellow Pages, and Rose was pressing the buzzer.
"What are you up to, now?" Said John, knowing he would probably go along with it anyway.
"It's been here since Monday…" Muttered Sherlock, not explaining to John. He stood up, and pressed the buzzer again, holding it down for a few seconds.
"I just did that." Said Rose, also being ignored by the detective, who had turned around and walked into the alley way behind the flats. John and Rose looked to each other, sighed and followed him.
"No ones been in that flat for at least three days." Said Sherlock, thinking they would understand.
"Could have gone on holiday." Said John, trying to figure out if his friend really would do what he thought he was going to.
Looking up, Sherlock pointed to an open window. "Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?"
He carried on walking a few more steps, turned and ran back the other way. But after a few steps, he jumped, threw his arms into the air, and caught the fire escape ladder, pulling it down with him as he landed.
As the creaking metal hit the floor, Sherlock climbed up it. Rose, seeing that he wouldn't wait for them, made a dash for the ladder, scampering up it quickly before it snapped up again. John had been too busy watching them, to realise he was left behind, again, and Rose gave him an apologetic smile. She wasn't strong enough, or heavy enough to pull it down again, and John was too short to reach it. Sighing, he went back around front to wait for them.
Sherlock climbed in through the open window, almost knocking over a vase on the way, but he caught it, only spilling a little water on the rug. He noticed that the rug was already damp though. Frowning, he carried on his way, only noticing the young woman followed him as she came through the window after him.
"What are you doing?" He said.
"Following you." She said as though it were obvious. "And if I get arrested for house breaking, I'm blaming you." She assured him with a cheeky smile.
"Didn't have a problem at Van Coons." He replied with a small smile of his own. He went on to explain his deduction a moment ago. "Someone was here before us, they knocked over the vase, just like I did."
"Clumsy…" She muttered, but he didn't know if she meant him, or the person before them, and so just ignored the comment.
He turned and went to the kitchen, smelling laundry from the washing machine, and pulling a face. She rolled her eyes, and went to check to milk, finding it was gone off.
As he went to check the bedroom, she went to the living room. There she found it was all in order, but a photo of a young girl and a slightly older boy had a small hand print on it. She heard a creek on the floor boards behind her, and turned to see what Sherlock had found. She didn't see Sherlock though. She barely had time to make out much before she had a mans hands around her throat, cutting off her air and choking the life from her.
Sherlock went to the bedroom, noting a foot print on the carpet. "Size eight shoes, but a man's shoe." He muttered, thinking that the only woman he knew with men's shoes was in the next room. "Small, but athletic; our acrobat…" He muttered. But why didn't he closed the window when he left? He thought, then the realisation came to him. He didn't leave. Then the thought really hit him. "He's still here!"
He ran to the living room, only to find his flat mate being choked by the man. Before he could move however, she did.
Thanking her uncle for what again had seemed like pointless knowledge, she threw her arms in between the mans, pushing them apart and loosening his grip. She then brought up her knew aiming for a very painful hit towards part of a mans genetic makeup, but he twisted, and she hit his hip. That will leave a bruise, she though randomly. Before she could do much else though, Sherlock had appeared out of no where and thrown the man off of her, letting her fall to the ground, gasping for breath while they both fell to the floor.
He thought it was a good idea, but then the attacker turned to him, pinning him with a knee to the chest before Sherlock could move, and tightening his scarf painfully around his throat, choking him instead.
Seeing her friends predicament, Rose pulled herself off the floor, and kicked the attacker in his lower spine, hard enough to make him spasm involuntary, and fall to the side of Sherlock. Before she could do much else though, he pulled himself up with a groan of pain, and ran out of the window, slamming it closed, to bide him a little more time.
She wasn't interested about chasing him down though. She was more interested about her friend on the floor who was a little out of it from oxygen deprivation, and unable to loosen his scarf that was still choking him a little, making it harder to breath, and aggravating his neck.
She moved quickly over to him, loosening his scarf and undoing it, leaving it next to him, as she tried to get him to come to a little. "Come on, Sherlock. You made me break a promise for you." She muttered.
Sherlock sat up suddenly, rolling over onto his hands an knees. Blinking away the pain, he sat up, putting a cold glove to his neck. He heard something about breaking a promise, but that wasn't what was on his mind right now. Putting his other hand in his coat pocket, he pulled out a small, black, origami flower. It was identical to the others they had found.
Sitting back on his heels, he looked over to the young woman, noting the bruising starting to form around her neck already. "You alright?" He asked in a low, croaky whisper.
"Yeah," She replied in the same voice. "And you?"
Nodding he got up and made his way to the front door, putting on his scarf again on the way.
John was getting annoyed now. They left him behind - again - and weren't even letting him in the front door - again.
"Because I'm Sherlock Holmes, and no one can compete with my massive intellect!" He shouted through the letter box. He sighed, realising he was getting anywhere, and so decided to wait for them to just come back out.
He didn't have to wait long until the door opened, revealing a dishevelled Sherlock and a grumbling Rose.
"The milks gone off, and the washings started to smell. Somebody left in a hurry three days ago." Wheezed Sherlock, getting a worried glance from Rose.
"Somebody?" Replied John, not putting the pieces together yet.
"Soo Lin Yao." Nodded Sherlock. "We have to find her." He then saw something on the floor, and picked it up, finding it was a note for the woman residing in the empty flat. It was written on an envelope, folded in half.
"And how do we do that?" Asked John.
Sherlock unfolded the envelope, revealing a stamp from the National Antiques Museum.
"It's not that far." Said Rose. "We could do with the walk, and I could do with the cigarette." Pulling out her cigarettes and lighter.
Walking down the street, John noticed that she had taken the bandanna off of her wrist and wrapped it around her throat. It was loose though and John swore he saw some discolouration around the young woman's neck. Frowning, he put it away for later, thinking she must want to hide it for a reason.
"What did you mean, you broke a promise?" Asked Sherlock abruptly.
John was lost, but Rose just laughed, which turned into a small cough. Rubbing her neck - moving the scrap of material and showing John the discolouration more clearly - she turned to Sherlock with a smile on her face. "When my parents bought me my steel toe cap boots, it was on the condition that I didn't repeatedly kick any walls, and that I never kicked a person while wearing them." She took another pull on her cigarette, letting the smoke billow around her as she closed her eyes for a second.
"Ahh…" Replied Sherlock, with a small smile tugging the corner of his lips.
Quickening his steps, John walked in front of his two companions, turning to face them with a worried and frustrated expression covering his usually calm face.
"Ok, what happened in that flat?" He asked, looking from one to the other.
"What do you mean?" Countered Rose, but he could see the flicker of fear the recent memory brought up.
"Don't give me that." He said to her, suddenly sounding like one of her older brothers she noted, not sure if this was a good thing or not. Her brothers were as stubborn as they come. "You've got a red throat, turning purple, and the pair of you are as croaky as they get!"
"Good, but you've missed something there John." Said Sherlock. She rolled her eyes, taking another puff of her cigarette. Trust Sherlock to turn this into an observational lesson.
But John saw what he was really trying to do - he was changing the subject. So, crossing his arms, he turned his exasperated gaze to the taller of his flatmates. "Care to tell us then Sherlock?" Getting the subject out of the way.
"Rose is also limping." He pointed out, making her shift under the observation.
"What?" John caught the shift she made though, and the wince she gave at moving her knee. "What happened?" He asked again, but a little more sympathetic now he realised she was in pain.
"The killer was there, and he tried strangling her." Stated Sherlock, as though it was the most boring thing he had to do of the week. "So I intervened and got strangled for my troubles. So Rose kicked him, and he ran away. Satisfied?"
John looked between the two and noticed that they seemed to be more comfortable around each other. Whether it was from them spending more time together, or the fact that they were both nearly killed, John didn't know. But he was happy they were getting along, and seemed to at least be friends - even, he thought fondly, if neither would ever admit it.
So he rolled his eyes, and looked to Rose, going into doctor mode. "You should let me look at that knee."
She shook her head, giving him a look. "It's just a bruise, John." He tried to stare her down, but she just looked at him, a serious look creeping into her eyes. She didn't like anything medical. It wasn't needles or blood or anything like that; she didn't like being studied like some experiment.
Sherlock watched the two while they had their silent argument, intrigued that she wouldn't let the doctor have a look at her knee. After a minute though, he once again became bored, and sighed loudly, letting them both know it. Their eyes flicked over to his face and then back to each other.
Smiling, they all carried on their way, Sherlock thinking about where Soo Lin Yao could be, John watching out of the corner of his eye to keep an eye on the woman who was concentrating on not limping, but finding it difficult to do so without clenching her jaw in pain.
Somehow, though they were all completely different - and completely barmy - they had come together, and now they were friends, though none of them had said a word of the sort.