Why Fireflies Flash
Chapter Eight
"Promiscuous Girl"
Yellow Dragon Circus
"Hi, I have two tickets reserved for tonight," John stated as he and his date, Sarah, approached the window.
"And what's the name?" asks the Ticketmaster.
John reaches for his wallet answering "Uh, Holmes."
The young man behind the counter turns around and reaches for the appropriate envelope. "Actually, I have four in that name."
John looks at the envelope in confusion. "No, I don't think so. We only booked two."
"And then I phoned back and got one for myself and one for Anabeth."
John sighed heavily, and turned to look at the consulting detective as he walked towards them with the (whatever she is) on his left arm. Anabeth had an apologetic look on her face.
"I'm Sherlock," he says holding his hand out.
"Uh," Sarah took his hand, "hi."
"Hello," Sherlock expresses before leaving them alone.
Anabeth stays behind to apologize. "I am sorry about this. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't have any of it."
John shook his head. "I should've known he was going to do this. Pardon me, ladies."
Anabeth turned to watch him walk away. "I'm Anabeth, by the way," she tells turning back around.
"Sarah," the other woman answers.
Anabeth smiles. "Well, it's lovely to meet you, Sarah."
"Likewise."
A moment passes silently as they look over to the two conversing men.
"How long have you and Sherlock been together?" Sarah questions.
"Oh!" Anabeth gave a half snort half giggle kind of laugh. "Oh, we're not together. I've known him all of four days. I just moved into the flat beneath theirs. I came up for a cup of tea with John three days ago and left following Holmes on a case."
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that-"
Anabeth waved her off. "Think of it as payback for crashing your date."
"What do you think they're talking about?"
She shrugged pulling her lips into a mischievous grin. "Let's find out, shall we?"
"-trying to get off with Sarah! Oh, hey," John says spying the two women climbing the stairs. "Ready?"
Anabeth giggled. "Awkward."
"You said circus," John whispers to Sherlock as the latter man looked about. "This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is... odd."
"Give me a moment and I'm sure I can come up with a statistic or fact about Chinese circuses," Anabeth tells the man.
"This is not their day job," Sherlock reminds the other two.
John rolls his eyes. "No, sorry, I forgot, they're not a circus, they're a gang of international smugglers."
"The Western term "circus" isn't at all accurate," Anabeth begins," when describing a quote-unquote Chinese Circus. The Western term implies the use of clowns and large animals, such as tigers, elephants, et cetera, whereas the "Chinese Circus" has none. It traditionally being mainly made of various acrobatic and contortionist acts as well as more dangerous acts, such as tightrope walking, fire breathing, escapology, and so forth.
"With that being said, the tern "variety act" is much more appropriate. Though the Yellow Dragon Circus sounds much more entertaining and mystic than the Yellow Dragon Variety Act. What we see tonight will most likely be very traditional..." Anabeth glanced around at the small crowd that had gathered around to hear what she had to say. "Erm... sorry."
The sound of a finger drum draws their attention back to the circle of candles. The beat quickly escalates in tempo as a short Chinese woman in a red and gold silk robe and traditional headdress walked to the center. The woman raises her hand as the tempo plateaus before stopping altogether. She lowers her hand as a much larger drum is beat upon.
The small woman moves quick and graceful to the cloaked item in the ring and uncovers it. Beneath the shiny cloth lie a large dragon-shaped crossbow and a basket of feathered arrows. The woman lifts an arrow and places it in its designated slot on the bow after showing the crowd. She removes a feather from the headdress and drops it into the silver bowl attached to the crossbow. The arrow races from its starting point to crash into a large decorative wooden board on the other side of the circle. The majority of the crowd gasped at the sudden onslaught.
A man dressed as a classical Chinese warrior steps into the circle and to the board. Two other men place him in chains and lock him "tightly" to the board.
"Classic Chinese escapology act," Sherlock breathed to his three companions.
"Mmm, Indeed," Anabeth agrees. "Crossbow's on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."
The men finish chaining up the warrior and step back into the shadows. A gong is struck somewhere, the sound of it causing Sarah to jump and clutch John. She quickly realizes what she's done and jumps back in embarrassment still holding onto his arm, giggling at her stupidity. Anabeth rolled her eyes, such an illogical reaction, she thinks.
The small woman draws a dagger from the basket and punctured a sand bag hanging above her.
"She splits the sandbag, the sand pours out," Sherlock explains, "Gradually the weight lowers into the bowl."
Anabeth's eyes trace the rope attached to the sandbag to the weight attached to the other end.
The warrior makes a lot of unnecessary moaning and struggles more than he needed, all for a good show of course, before pulling out his hands one at a time. He finds the key and unlocks himself just it time to move out of the way of the arrow.
Sometime during the ridiculous acting, Sherlock gently grasped Anabeth's elbow and led her backstage. Out in the main room, the ringleader could be heard announcing the performance of the deadly Chinese bird spider. Anabeth murmured the phrase beneath her breath in Mandarin, deciding it sounded much better in its intended language.
"You speak Mandarin?" Sherlock questions as he eyes a warrior costume.
Anabeth shrugs. "I speak a lot of languages. And technically English is my second."
He looks at her, a look of intrigue masking his face. He has no time to comment as the woman from earlier enters and they dive into the costume rack. The woman checks her phone as Sherlock peers over the rack. He hits a few of the costumes, their hangers clanking together. The woman pauses glancing their way as the two spies duck down so as not to be seen. The woman leaves a moment later, the door slamming behind her.
Sherlock turns his head as he waits just another moment and spots a black bag full of spray paint. The very same spray paint used to make the code. He picks a can up and studies it before giving a little smirk.
"Oh dear," he says before shrugging back through the clothes. He goes to a vanity and sprays a single line of paint across the mirror. He glances at the warrior costume behind them through the mirror just in time to see him raise his sword to hit Anabeth in the head with it. Anabeth was staring off into space, her face bare and expressionless.
He shouts her name as he goes to deflect the hit. Anabeth was shoved out of the way and onto the ground, the skirt of her dress getting caught on something and tearing her skirt. The sound stopped her. Looking down at the aftermath, she winced. It wasn't a major tear, still the thought of it was enough to bring tears to anybody's eyes.
"This is a six thousand dollar Oscar de la Renta original, and you two idiots caused me to rip it." She slips her heels off and glances up right as Sherlock is kicked off the stage. His attacker jumps off with some kind of flip.
John comes running towards the man and shoves him into the stage. The man quickly throws John away and Anabeth takes that as her cue to jump down and put her ten years in the Marines to good use. She holds her own, managing to land a few bruising hits on him. But by that time, Sarah had decided to come to the rescue with a pipe from somewhere and hit the man over the head a couple of times.
Sherlock finally manages to catch his breath and sits up to pull off the mans shoe to reveal the Black Lotus tattoo.
Tossing the shoe away, he stands up and goes to pull Sarah along before thinking better of it.
"Come on," he says. "Let's go."
"I don't think I want to go anywhere with you," Anabeth snapped. "You ripped my dress."
Scotland Yard
"I sent a couple of cars," Dimmick says. "The old hall is totally deserted."
"Look, I saw the mark at the circus," Sherlock explains. "That tattoo that we saw on the two bodies, the mark of the Tong."
"Van Coon and Lukis were part of a smuggling ring," Quinn snaps. "One of them stole something whilst in China, something valuable, and now they want it back."
"These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back."
Dimmick glares at them. "Get what back?"
"Whatever it is that was stolen," Quinn breathes.
"So, you don't know?"
Quinn's eyes flutter closed and she draws a deep breath.
"Mr. Holmes," Dimmick say sharply. "I've done everything you asked. Lestrade; he seems to think your advice is worth something. I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I'll have something to show for it. Other than a massive bill for overtime."
"Oh, please," Quinn whispers.
"And you Miss Ryder. Not exactly the cleanest woman in London."
Quinn shrugged. "Never said I was. I know I have a bit of a rap sheet. I have always been a bit of a promiscuous girl."
"Busted for prostitution, breaking and entering, and possession of a controlled substance twice. And that's in London the past six months alone. Shall we go back farther? I'm sure we can find some kind of outstanding warrant."
She gave him a disdainful smile. "I am pretty positive you wouldn't. There are all of six things I have been arrested for, four of which you already shed light onto, the other two involve me and a group of kids breaking into our high school and some defacing of public property. Everything else has been expunged. I know some people pretty high up in the food chain."
She turned and limped away her ankle suddenly in massive pain.
"I thought you said you weren't a call girl," Sherlock says catching up to her.
"I am not. I was trying to convince a friend of a friend who saved my life once to leave that particular line of business. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"While you stayed in it?"
She glances up at him. "I'm starting to think that you have no idea what I do for a living."
He ignores her. Yep, she hit a nerve. "And what of the rest of it?"
She shrugged. "Misunderstanding. Except for the B&E and defacing in America. That I actually did. And I would do it again given the choice... It was fun."
That caught him off guard and he paused, watching her walk ahead of him, a sway in her hips.