The Silent Banker
The Silence of Soo Lin Yao
"Two men who travelled back from China were murdered." Sherlock rounded on the worker. "And their killer left them messages in Hang Zhou numerals."
"Soo Lin Yao is in danger." She explained. "Now that cipher is the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well."
"Look, I've tried everywhere. I've called friends, colleagues. I don't know where she's gone, I mean she could be a thousand miles away."
But Rose had seen that Sherlock had stopped his searching of the room and was staring somewhere behind her. "What are you looking at?" She turned to see a glass display case.
"Tell me more about those pots." He demanded, walking over to them for further inspection.
"The pots were her obsession. They need urgent work; if the clay dries out, it can start to crumble. Apparently you just have to keep making tea in them." The worker explained, walking over to stand by Sherlock.
"Yesterday only one of those pots was shining." Deduced Sherlock, bending down to get a better look. "Now there are two…"
An hour later, the pair of them were sat on a bench out side of the little gift shop near the entrance to the museum. They had been to see the supervisor, explained what they needed, and gotten permission to carry out the plan, after much persuasion and the threat of someone's imminent death.
So now they sat, waiting. It was a credit to how bored they were that Sherlock was making conversation.
"You see that man over there with the hat? Holding hands with his wife?" He said.
"Yeah.." She said, wondering what he was going to come up with.
"He's having an affair, but doesn't know which woman he wants. His friend has said he should pick one and is pressuring him to do so. Right now, he is trying to figure out if he really wants to be with his wife, and so has been avoiding the woman on the side. So, she has taken to stalking him. She knows about his wife, but he's obviously told her that he will leave his wife for her, and just hasn't found the right way of telling his wife." He said it all in a low voice pointing out the appropriate people; the husband holding hands with the wife, and the blond woman in the sunglasses.
She took in a breath but then thought of a better question than how did you know that? "That's incredible" She complemented. "Could you teach me how to do it?"
The question threw him for a minute, and he frowned in thought. She waited for an answer patiently, though had an idea of what it would be when he frowned.
Teach her? He had never thought about teaching someone else to do what he did. He saw things when he was young but, admittedly, it had been Mycroft who taught him how to interpret and use what he saw. He thought for another minute or so, and as he did her hopes diminished bit by bit. Just as she was about to give up all hope what so ever, he spoke up.
"I suppose." He looked down at her, and she spun around to look up at him. He saw the light shine in her eyes, the hope gleam in them. "We may as well try it. We can start today and see where we go."
She was ecstatic! She loved to learn and now she could learn to learn all the time. And he was going to teach her; the best and most insane detective in the country was going to teach her. She could have hugged him, though she restrained herself from doing so - she didn't know what he would do, and it would probably only make things awkward for a while.
"So," He started, "What do you see?"
And that was how they spent the day; sitting in the museum, occasionally walking about to see different types of people and popping out once so Rose could have a cigarette. That had been an interesting conversation for the both of them.
Sherlock had though she was doing well for someone just starting out, so when she asked if he minded if she went for a cigarette, he let her, and even went with her.
"Can I ask you a question Sherlock?" She had asked, leaning against the wall of the alley, similar to where they first met Raz. It was deserted now, but quiet and peaceful.
He only raised an eyebrow at her, wondering what she may want to know.
"Why did you stop smoking?" She asked curiously, looking at her own half burnt cigarette.
"It's impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days." He replied in a rehearsed fashion. She had seen the cold and slightly annoyed look in his guarded eyes though. Mycroft made him quit, she deduced.
Feeling a little guilty at having pried, she told him, "My parents don't know I smoke, neither do my brothers. My uncle only knows because I went to him after I left my parents. I was a wreck." She laughed humourlessly. She glanced to him out of the corner of her eyes, and caught him looking rather bored. She didn't take offence though, it was just his way. So they stood in silence as she finished her cigarette, Rose going over what she had learned in the past few hours, Sherlock going over what he had learned in the past few minutes.
After the little break, they had gone back inside to carry on their "lessons." She was getting used to knowing the basics of what to look for - tan lines, jewellery and how the person moved - it was just a matter of getting into the habit of using it.
At four, John text Sherlock, asking where they were. He had gone to the flat and found it empty; something that could never be good. Sherlock had text him to come to the museum, and when he did, they explained everything to him.
When the museum started to close up, the three of them had gone down the store room they hand been to earlier, hiding against the far side wall, behind the various art works, their dark clothing blending with the shadows.
As predicted, the oriental woman had snuck out of her hiding place a few hours after the museum had closed, getting out her work and started to make her tea.
Without her noticing, Sherlock approached her. "Fancy a biscuit with that?" He said, startling her into dropping the pot she had been holding. Sherlock's quick reflexes however caught it before it hit the ground, handing it back to her. "Centuries old, don't want to break that." He stood up straight again. "Hello."
Her eyes flickered to the door as the lights came on, showing John and Rose standing not far away.
She explained how she grew up and became a smuggler, working for a gang called The Black Lotus. She explained about her brother, Zi Zju, meaning spider, and how only he would do what is being done. That he had become a puppet for Shan, the Black Lotus General. She showed them her tattoo, a black flower in a circle, and how it was the mark of a foot soldier of the Black Lotus.
She explained that five years after she left, her brother came looking for her, wanting her help. She turned him away, but he had said she betrayed him.
"The next day, I came to work, and the cipher was waiting." She finished.
Sherlock took out the hard copy of the picture John had taken as well as one of the cipher on the wall of the bank, and showed it to her. "Can you decipher these?"
"These are numbers…" She replied. "The line across the mans eyes, it is Chinese number one."
"And this one means fifteen, but what is the code?" He asked.
"All the smugglers know it. It is based upon a book-" She was cut off then by the buzzing of the lights as they flickered into darkness.
Sherlock stood up straight, looked to John, who stood from his seat, and they looked around. Rose who was already standing, having sat all day, gave the men a confused look.
"He's here." Declared Soo Lin. "Zi Zju, has found me." She closed her eyes in fear, as Sherlock ran to the door.
John took Soo Lin's arm and placed a hand on Rose's back, guiding them over to a large wooden box. They ducked behind it, but seconds later, they heard gun shots. John looked to Rose, silently telling her she was in charge now. "I have to go help him. Bolt the door after me." With that, he got up and ran for the door.
"Stay here, I'm going to do the door." Whispered Rose, getting up. She stuck to the shadows, and carefully but quickly made her way to the door, bolting it shut, but as she did, she heard a gun shot, and dived into the shadows of the art work along the wall. Despite her efforts though, as she landed, her hands hit the floor, the metal band on her finger ringing out sharply, loud enough to be heard across the room in the deathly silence.
Holding her breath, she tried to hear for any movement. She waited a moment, and turned around. Her eyes flew wide open in fear, and she back against the wall as he approached her.
She had run out of room though, her back hitting the wall and he was still advancing. Raising his hands, he gripped her throat as he had done just the day before, only this time, when she tried to get out of it, he was expecting it, and held strong.
But his thumbs weren't pressing her windpipe, she noted with a fresh wave of fear, they were pressing the flesh either side of it. Sleeper hold, her mind threw out randomly, though it didn't offer anything of any real use.
As black dots covered her vision, she hear foot steps from far away, heavy and fast. It was the last thing she noticed before she blacked out.
John got to the middle of a large, moon light room, full of shadows and silence. He looked around for any sign of Sherlock, but upon seeing none, he thought he would go looking around.
He soon changed his mind when he heard a gun shot sound from the room he had just left.
"Oh, god…" He muttered.
Only one shot, he assured himself as he ran down the corridor, can't be as bad as you think. On thinking this he ran faster than before, praying that Sherlock was actually unharmed and didn't need him.
As he turned the corner, he saw the door in sight and carried on running. But he came to a problem. They had listened to him as he left, and had bolted the door. He didn't know any other way in, and was too panicked to do anything more than try to force it open.
On his fourth try to break down the door with his shoulder, ignoring the pain shooting through the limb, Sherlock rounded the corner and came running towards him.
"They bolted the door after I left." Explained John quickly, and together they got the door open after two more tries of combined effort.
Upon entering, they saw Soo Lin, laying on the table, with an open palm containing a folded black lotus. She had a single gun shot wound to the head, eyes closed as if she were sleeping.
"John…" Sherlock's voice called him back from his thoughts of regret, war and death, brought to the surface by the sight before him. John looked up to see his friends face unusually concerned and puzzled. Then he remembered, kicking himself for ever forgetting.
John cursed, but Sherlock frowned, whipping out his phone.
"What are you doing?" John asked him, doubting he was calling the police.
"She has her phone on her. If she's still here, we'll hear it." Explained Sherlock, clicking the call button on his phone. They listened,
Buzz…Buzz…Buzz…
Following the sound towards the door, the men stopped short, turning to look into the shadows. There they saw a crumpled young woman, looking more like a fragile little girl, sprawled on the floor, long brown hair covering her face and neck.
John went straight into doctor mode, swiftly walking past Sherlock, who cancelled the call. John knelt beside her and checked her pulse at her neck, pulling away her scarf to reveal yesterdays bruises.
"She's alright." Cleared John, with a sigh of relief. "Just unconcious."
"Sleeper choke." Clarified Sherlock, noting the angrier bruises on the sides of her throat. "Cool water, and a cigarette should do the trick."
The doctor huffed at the idea that a cigarette would help anyone get better from anything, though smiled at the fact the Sherlock had cared. He picked up the scarf that he had taken off of his friend, exposing her neck, collar bones and a bit of chest. "Come on, help me get her up. She doesn't want to come around to this."
And with that, Sherlock and John carried their flatmate and friend up to where the entrance was, laying her on the bench where they had sat earlier.
While John went to get a bottle of water from one of the vending machines, Sherlock sat on another bench, leaning his elbows on his knees, hands pressed together in thought, as was his habit.
He wondered about the young woman who had still not left. She had been kidnapped and choked twice. She put up with him playing his violin at the most ungodly hours, his experiments, his sociopathic tendencies on a daily basis as well as whatever body parts were in the kitchen.
And yet she stayed. She accepted his methods, and tried to come to a compromise with Mycroft, who was basically stalking her - even if she did know about it - she even defended him when Zach had said he was a freak.
He wondered why she was still here, after all this. He also wondered what it would take for her to just leave. Would it have to be something big and elaborate? Or would she one day, just snap at the smallest little thing?
John came back, bottle of water in hand, to see an unconscious and uncomfortable looking young woman on one bench, and Sherlock in his "thinking" pose on the other. He would wait for her to come around before he examined her neck, if only to give her some form of choice in the matter; he knew she wasn't one to be doctored.
Sherlock looked up to john, and saw him cross the room to sit next to him. "When she comes round, we need to have a word with Dimmock." He said in a low and dangerous voice. John just nodded, thinking about how many people had died in the case so far, and how many more might follow them.