Why Fireflies Flash
Chapter Five
"Oranges"
Soo Lin Yao's Flat
Quinn winced at the sound of Sherlock knocking the vase off the table next to the window. The wet spot on the rug caught his attention. "Someone else has been here. Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase, just like I did."
"My father helped Soo Lin Yao escape from the Black Lotus crime syndicate," Quinn says as she checked the drier. The clothes smelled heavily of mildew. "Back before he was promoted. After that, the only person she would talk to was me or my brother, Alfie."
The doorbell buzzed. "Do you think maybe you two could let me in this time?"
Sherlock ignored John's pleas as he felt the fabric hanging on the door. "Interesting."
"Could you not keep doing this please?" John begged. Again his cries were ignored.
Quinn went to the counter and scribbled a note in Mandarin before turning around in time to watch Sherlock choke back a gag brought forth from the smell of rancid milk. She had to stifle a giggle. "Should have checked the date."
"We're not the first," he says ignoring her.
"Obviously. She would be at the museum if we were. Somebody is after her." She walked over to an older photo of Soo Lin and her brother.
"Size eight feet," Sherlock states, "small but athletic."
"Small, strong hands," Quinn whispers analyzing the hand print on the glass. "Our acrobat."
"Why didn't he close the window when he lef- oh... Stupid, stupid! He's still here." He looked around spotting the changing screen in the corner. Slowly walking towards it, he reached out, and when his fingers graced the edge, pulled it aside to reveal an empty space behind it. Behind him, Quinn gasped and began choking.
He spun around to spy the killer choking Quinn with a piece of white fabric. He didn't move a foot before Quinn picked her foot up and stomped on the assailant's foot. He loosened his grip just enough for Quinn to pull what turned out to be Soo Lin's dish towel from his hand. She managed to spin around before the man gripped her neck and threw her into the vanity across the room. The mirror shattered on impact, slicing through the silk of her dress and giving Quinn a two inch long cut on her left shoulder blade.
"Anytime you want to include me!" John calls through the mail flap.
"John!" Sherlock tries. The call, however, is too weak to be heard by him.
Standing up straight, Quinn tore herself from the pain in her shoulder to the scene of Sherlock now being strangled by the killer. Shaking the glass from her hair, she bound over to them, kicking the smaller man squarely in the chest, effectively causing him to back off.
"-MASSIVE INTELLECT!"
The move cost Quinn her balance, allowing the man to slip something in Sherlock's coat pocket before slipping back out the window.
Sherlock pulled the towel from around his neck and started hacking trying to bring air back into his lungs. He sits up and slips his hand into his pocket pulling out a black origami lotus.
"He was not planning to kill us," Quinn says breathless.
"Certainly felt li..." he clears his throat, "like he was."
"Strangulation is not his M.O. We need to find Soo Lin. Before he does." She held her left hand out to him to help him up. Her took her up on her offer and clasped it. Needless to say, she pulled him up but with a slight wince as the move tugged at the newly made wound.
"Are you hur... ahem... hurt?"
"Please do not feel like you must feign worry over me. It is not needed. I am fine." She pulls her hair out of the knot holding it on the crown of her head.
"Best not to ment... ahem... mention this t..." he coughed, "to John."
"Agreed."
Sherlock opens the front door, clearing his throat once more. "The uh milk's gone funny, washing's starting to smell, somebody left here in a hurry three days ago."
"Somebody?" John asks.
"Soo Lin Yao," Quinn says from behind Sherlock. "We have to find her."
"But how exactly?"
Sherlock bent down, drawing in a deep breath and picked up and envelope from the ground.
Soo Lin, it read, please ring me. Tell me you're OK. Andy.
The Consulting Detective flipped it open.
National Antiques Museum
"We can start with this," he says holding it up.
"You've gone all broken. Are you getting cold?" John asks, finally noticing his friend's distress as the trio head down the street.
Sherlock shakes his head. "I'm fine."
National Antiques Museum
"When was the last time that you saw her?" Quinn asks as she paces the Asian wing of the museum.
"Three days ago," Andy answers, "Here at the museum. This morning they told me she'd resigned. Just like that. Left her work unfinished."
"That does not sound like the Soo Lin I know. This museum was her life. Was she acting any different when you last spoke?"
Andy shook his head. "Not that I could tell."
"What was the last thing she did on the final afternoon?" Sherlock asks.
"She was working on those tea pots, was she not?" Quinn questions jerking her thumb over her shoulder.
Andy nods and motions for them to follow him. He leads them to the back storage area.
"She does this tea ceremony for the tourists," he explains as he flips on the light. "So she would've packed up her things and put them in here." He ushers the group to where he knew Soo Lin would've put her things.
The marble statue hiding in the shadows pulls Sherlock's attention away from whatever Andy was about to say. The cypher covers her.
"Oh dear Lord," Quinn breathes behind him.
"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao," Sherlock states as they leave the museum.
"If she's still allive," John retorts.
Quinn shoots a glare at John. "Your pessimism is not amusing."
"Sherlock!"
The trio pause on the landing and turn around.
"Sherlock!" The kid from earlier came running towards them.
"Ah look who it is," John quipped.
"Found something you'll like," the kid says breathless walking past him.
Quinn freezes remembering that she does in fact have a steady job every night. "Holmes. Promise me you will find Soo Lin."
Sherlock looks at her curiously, trying to decipher her emotionless face, not even her eyes held a drop of worry. She was good. Another something to add about the enigma that was Anabeth Ryder. "You can't work."
"Excuse me?"
"You're arm," he points out. "It might not have bothered you earlier, but it is now. I can tell by the way your shoulders are set." True enough, Quinn had taken up a slightly different posture unconsciously, so as to relieve the slight pain and lack of comfortableness from her injury. "There's no way you'll be able to hold yourself up. Plus it's too raw for any amount of make-up. Wouldn't want your boss to think your boyfriend's abusing you, do you? Bad form. So the floor routine is out as well."
"I cannot just not show."
"Call in sick. You'll be doing yourself a favor."
Underground Skate Park
Technically, it probably wasn't originally a skate park, but with years of wanna-be "cool kids" covering it in their 'tags' and whatnot, it's what it ended up being.
"If you want to hide a tree, then the best place is in a forest," chides Sherlock. "Wouldn't you say? People would just walk right by, not knowing, not able to decipher it."
"There." The kid points ahead of him. "Spotted it earlier."
"And that's the exact same paint?" he questioned.
"Yeah."
"If we're going to decipher this," Sherlock begins, "we're going to need more evidence."
Quinn had placed herself with John under the ruse that spending time with a fellow soldier would be good for her. That and she needed to talk to him about the "she" from earlier.
"She's no one," John pushes for the umpteenth time as they walk down the train tracks.
"Fine," Quinn finally relents. "I will not ask again."
"Good."
A comfortable silence settles between them. It doesn't last long, however, for John looks over and catches the slight pained look on Quinn's face.
"What happened to your arm?"
She shrugged. "I saw a spider and jumped, lost my balance and crashed into Soo Lin's vanity. The mirror shattered and now my shoulder blade is sore. It is no big deal. I have had worse."
He paused. "Let me see it."
Quinn shook her head, continuing on. "It is fine, John. Figuring this code before Soo Lin shows up dead is more important than me babying a wound."
"Fine. But you will let me see it when we return to the flat." There was finality to his voice that impressed Quinn. "If Sherlock said something about it, it has to be bad."
"Holmes is a worry wart."
"No," John retorted. "Sherlock doesn't care. Much less about someone he met three days ago."
"Look," Quinn says raising her hand.
"No you look-"
"Oh, do shut up. It is one of your worst qualities. Look there." She points to a brick wall just ahead of them.
The markings are hard to make out in the shadows but with a quick shine of John's torch, her suspicions are confirmed. One quick swipe with her eyes and the sequence is forever imbedded in her head. Still, John takes a picture with his phone just for good measure.
He places a few calls on his mobile before he realizes that the receiver wasn't going to pick up.
"Answer your phone, I've been calling you," John calls out as soon as he and Quinn are within earshot of Sherlock.
They race back to the wall. A brief thought passes through Sherlock's head wondering how Quinn can still be wearing those heels after walking all day in them. Most women would be complaining by now.
"It's been painted over," John says as they return.
"Obviously," Quinn breathed. "Is this what you have to put up with all the time?" She receives a brief nod from the consultant. "My handler would never say something that obvious."
Sherlock raised a brow at her choice of words but didn't comment.
"I don't understand. It was," he touched the now black wall with a finger, "here. Ten minutes ago. We saw it a whole lot of graffiti."
"Somebody doesn't want me to see it." Sherlock spins swiftly and places his hands on either side of Quinn's face, she being the closest to the detective.
Her breath quickened. She didn't like being this close to people she just met. "Holmes, what are you-"
"Shh. Anabeth, concentrate. I need you to concentrate, close your eyes."
"What? Why? I'm not-" She was cut off by him moving his hands down to her upper arms, pressing on her scrape lightly as he passed it. Oh, so that's what this was about. "What are you doing?"
He started to spin her around with himself being the focal point. "I need you to maximize your visual memory. I need you to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"
"Yes."
"Can you remember it?"
"Yes."
"Can you remember the pattern?"
"Damn skippy."
"How much can you remember it?"
"All of it. Do not worry."
"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate."
"It is a good thing that I am not average then, is it not?"
"Really?" He didn't sound like he agreed with her. She'd have to fix that.
Quinn shrugged out of his... embrace, for lack of a better word, and backed away. "Eidetic memory, remember? Besides, John took a photo."
A/n: Big thank you to theladyofthelost, YouCanButterMyToast, and Dream01 for thier thoughts and comments. Hope you enjoyed!