Why Fireflies Flash
Chapter Seven
"American Psycho"
St. Bart's
"What are you thinking pork or the pasta?"
Molly jumped at the all too familiar voice. "Oh, it's you," she says with a too bright smile.
"I'd stick with the pasta. Wouldn't be doing roast pork. Not if you're slicing up cadavers." Sherlock gives her a small smile, while Molly's falters.
"What are you having?" she asks.
"Don't eat when I'm working. Digesting slows me down," he responds as he spies the less than appealing food.
"So you're working here tonight?" Molly wonders.
"Need to examine some bodies."
"Some?"
"Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis."
She glanced down at her clipboard. "They're on my list."
Sherlock gives faux gasp of shock as his eyes light up.
Oh, I know that look. And whatever you're about to ask the answer is no, Molly thinks to herself.
"Could you roll them out again for me?" he asks with a fake look of... whatever, Molly decided she didn't want to know as she glances down.
"W-well, their paperwork's already gone through." That means no.
He starts to frown before he's sidetracked by something.
Probably going to compliment me somehow, just like always. But this time I won't give in.
"Oh, you changed your hair," he says pointing it out.
"What?" My hair looks horrible. I just pulled it up to keep out of my way.
"The style. It's normally parted down the middle."
"Yes, well-" Don't give in. Don't give in. Don't give in.
"No, it's good. It, um, it suits you better this way."
Molly smiles and blushes. Damn you, Sherlock, damn you and your perfect cheekbones and your coat and you. Damn you, she thinks as she leads him down to the mortuary.
Molly unzips the bag containing Brian Lukis, giving the lifeless man a solemn smile.
"We're just interested in the feet," Sherlock says as he strides into the sterile room with two people she'd never met at his heels, a man and skimpily dressed woman.
"The feet?" Molly asks confused.
Sherlock shoots her a demeaning look changing it into something softer before she turned. "Yes. Would you mind if we had a look at them?"
With a huff she unzips the bottom of the bag and moves the plastic so they could see all of them. On the heel of his right foot was a tattoo of a black lotus. With a disdainful smirk, Sherlock asks for Van Coon's feet to be revealed. When the new man saw the feet, his brow raised.
"Oh, so-"
"So, either they decided to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlor, or I'm right." Molly was taken aback but the condescending and entirely pissed off tone in the American woman's voice. So she was working with Sherlock.
"What do you want?" the man asks.
The woman goes to open her mouth but Sherlock beats her asking for every book in both men's apartment.
221B Baker Street
"It's not just a criminal organization, it's a cult," Sherlock says hanging up his coat on the door. "Her brother was corrupted by one of the leaders."
"Yes, Soo Lin said the name," John says from his seat.
Quinn took a seat on the sofa. "Yes, General Shan."
"We're still no closer to finding to finding them."
"Wrong," Sherlock and Quinn say simultaneously. They share a look in which Sherlock's curiosity is piqued by her yet again that night and gives her the go-ahead to explain. "We have almost all we need to know," she explains. "Soo Lin filled in most of the missing pieces. Why did Zhīzhū need to visit his sister? Why did he need her expertise?"
"She worked at the museum," John answered.
"Exactly."
"An expert in antiquities." He shook his head like he should have gotten it sooner. Which, according to the other two in the room, he should have.
"Valuable antiquities, John," Sherlock explains further. "Ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China's home to thousands of treasures hidden after Mao's Revolution."
"The Black Lotus is selling them."
"Check for the dates..." Sherlock mumbled to himself as he skimmed the list of items for auction at Crispian's. A pair of Ming Vases appear on the screen and Quinn jabs her finger at it.
"There! John, look," she says. He walks up to the other side of Sherlock using the chair and desk to keep his balance.
"'Arrived from china four days ago'," Sherlock reads. "'Anonymous'. Vender doesn't give his name. 'Two undiscovered treasures from the East'."
"One in Lukis's suitcase. One in Van Coon's."
Sherlock pulls up another search page. "Chinese antiquities sold at auction."
"There," Quinn says. "Arrived a month ago. Chinese ceramic statue. Sold for four hundred thousand. Congruent with Lukis's schedule. And the one below that. The painting sold for half a million, coinciding with Van Coon's schedule. The same with the rest of them."
John glances at her. She was right of course, he'd been checking himself, but as far as he saw she never took her eyes from the screen.
"So what if one of them got greedy in China?" Sherlock asked. "What if one of them stole something?"
"That's why Zhīzhū's come," John agrees.
There was a knock behind them drawing all their attentions around. "Yoohoo," Mrs Hudson calls. "Sorry to bother you boys. And you Anabeth. But are we collecting for charity?"
"What?"
"A young man's outside with crates of books."
"Dimmick," Quinn remembered. "Tell him to bring them up, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you."
Mrs. Hudson gives a nod before she goes back down stairs.
Soon, they're surrounded by what is undoubtedly hundreds of books, their hope of figuring the code diminishing more and more with each crate that passed the doorway.
"The numbers are references," Sherlock begins to tell his partner.
"To books?" John guesses.
"To specific pages in a book and a specific word on that page," Quinn replies.
"Right. So fifteen and one..."
"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read," continues Sherlock.
"Okay, so what the message?"
"Depends on the book. That's the cunning of the book code. Has to be one that they both own."
"Right, shouldn't take long," John uttered sarcastic. He half expected Quinn to say something about it as she seemingly did every time he used the device, but with a glance at her he knew she wouldn't. The (again, they've spent the majority of three days with the woman, and he still had yet to come up with an occupation suitable for her) was staring quite intently at the detective across from her, unblinking, but with a closer look, he could see the same traits Sherlock got when he reverted into his mind palace.
It made sense to him, she did just lose, well, he assumed she was a close friend. The way she reassured Soo Lin certainly told him they were close. He found himself apologizing yet again to her, his hand on her shoulder. He let it rest there for a moment and was about to remove it when she blinked rapidly and turned to face him.
"She was just an asset," she said emotionless before reverting back into herself.
His hand slid off her shoulder as he spared his flat mate a glance. The consultant was elbow deep in a crate of books seemingly unfazed by their conversation. Just so, John went back to work.
Meanwhile, deep in her head, Quinn ran her finger down shelves of books making note of which ones she spotted in both flats. They were in no particular order that she could see. Perhaps chronological, yes that seems – no she read that last week.
Her head was always like this. Jumbled with random facts and things she didn't need. The more important things though were clustered together. Filed away in a clean office area depending on what case they belonged to. She'd already gone through Soo Lin's file with a fine tooth comb, and there was nothing in there that hinted at what book as used for the code. She'd just gotten to the door to the library when John interrupted her. Just to apologize at something that couldn't be helped.
Soo Lin's death could not have been prevented. Zhīzhū would have found her eventually. And Quinn would not have been there remotely to prevent it.
Something in the scene before her catches her attention and she blinks rapidly, bringing herself back into reality.
"Cigarette," she pronounces.
Sherlock paused in his flipping of pages to stare at the woman questioningly. "Pardon?"
She points to the book in his hands. "The first word on the fifteenth page. Cigarette."
"Oh." She gives him a weak smile before resorting back into her head. John looked up at the pair and sighed. It was going to be a long night.
By the time Quinn came out of her head, it was light out. Sherlock was still riffling around in crates and John long gone. She blinked rapidly and stared at Sherlock's back as he reached up onto a higher shelf. Sometime through the night, he'd shed his suit jacket and now only wore a purple oxford. "A book that everyone owns." His fingers landed on a dictionary, about to pull it down when Quinn stopped him.
"Add," she says her voice hoarse from nonuse. "The first entry on the fifteenth page."
Sherlock sighs and turns to her. "So she does respond. Is there anything else you want to add?"
"It is not any dictionary, thesaurus, or reference book that I have ever read, and I have read a lot in multiple languages. Nor is it any translation of the Bible."
He heaves another sigh and scruffs up his hair. John walked in at that moment.
"We need to get some air," Sherlock says suddenly. "We're going out tonight."
"Actually," John dissents "I've, uh, got a date."
"What?"
"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun."
"That's what I was suggesting."
"No it wasn't," John rebukes. "At least I hope not."
"Where are you taking her?" Quinn wonders.
"The cinema."
"Oh, dull," she speaks the same time as Sherlock.
John looked between the two. "That's the second time you've done that."
"We do not plan it, I assure you," Quinn tells.
Sherlock hands the other man a small slip of paper. "Why don't you try this? In London for one night only."
John gave a halfhearted dry chuckle. "Thanks but I don't come to you for dating advice."
"Just do not take her someplace as predictable as the cinema." Quinn pulls out her phone. Three missed calls and four new messages.
Brunch?
Where are you?
Have tea with me? Wait, you don't like tea... Coffee then?
Annie-belle, I'm worried. Has something happened?
Quinn sighed. "I will be back in time for that outing, Holmes. I just need clean up and make a call." She leaves the flat typing away on her mobile.
On a case. Can't talk now. Tomorrow I'm yours. -Annie