#sherlock is worried

[j-eryewrites]

The Blind Banker (IV)

Part 13 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221b Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

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Word Count: 9.4k

Warnings: Gun violence, descriptions of murder, character death, Y/N is in danger, mentions of strangulation, Sherlock gets scared, Sherlock is Sherlock. Sherlock fluff, Sherlock is still sherlock. 

If I missed anything let me know!

Notes: Thank you all for your patience! I tried making this chapter a little extra length with some more Sherlock x Reader stuff. Can’t leave you guys hanging now, can I? ;)

In times like these, John appreciated Y/N’s addition to the crime-solving group. The two of them sat on a bench in the museum, eyes darting back and forth as they watched Sherlock pace around the room. His mouth was open and moving as he asked Andy the questions that plagued his brilliant mind. 

Andy, the poor man, had developed a cold sweat. When he arrived at work today, he did not have been interrogated by a stern and cold consulting detective. John felt pity for the man. Most people did not know how to handle Sherlock’s sherlockiness. 

“So…” John began. His dark eyes were no longer on Sherlock but are now instead on the woman next to him. Y/N bore an expression of worry that had only increased since she and Sherlock had emerged from the apartment. Her worry sparked a tiny voice of doubt about John’s original idea of what happened earlier that day. 

Y/N’s eyes darted from Sherlock to John briefly. “So…?”

“What really happened in the apartment?” John whispered. He briefly looked at Sherlock to make sure he wasn’t listening before he turned his body to face her. 

She frowned. “I…”

“He’s not going to find out,” John assured Y/N. 

“Yes, he will, he’s Sherlock,” Y/N said harshly. She winced seeing John flinch at her tone. “Sorry, just–” She sighed in defeat. “He was strangled.”

John could barely hear her response. “He what?”

Y/N leaned in closer to John. “The intruder was still in the apartment. When I left the room to let you in, Sherlock got attacked and then strangled.”

John stared into Y/N’s eyes which were trembling. “That’s why…” John began. 

The two of them went silent as they heard Sherlock’s thundering footsteps near them. 

“When was the last time that you saw her?” Sherlock interrogated Andy. 

“Three days ago, um, here at the museum.” Andy motioned to the room around them. 

Sherlock’s pacing paused as he observed a glass case in front of him. In this case, there were clay teapots. The reddish-brown clay was brittle and dry all except for one. The glossy and shiny surface made it shine like a diamond. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in thought. 

“This morning they told me she’d resigned just like that,” Andy said. 

Sherlock whipped around to the other cases in the room. One of which contained some jade figurines and the other pieces of artwork. 

“Just left her work unfinished.” Andy’s voice grew sombre. 

“What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?” Sherlock questioned. 

“The tea ceremony. She would have packed her things and put them back in the archive.”  

Y/N’s head perked up. She turned to John. “I was there three days ago. Jim took me to the tea ceremony for a date.”

John raised a brow and turned to her. “Really?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and marched over to his friends. “Care to share with the rest of us?”

Y/N’s mouth went slack. “I was just…” Sherlock’s eyes peered at her. “I was here three days ago for the tea ceremony. It was for a date.”

Sherlock involuntarily flinched, but he played it off as him going into thought. “Show us the archive,” Sherlock commanded. 

Andy nodded and motioned for them to follow him. As they walked down the elegant halls of the museum Y/N thought of Jim. She thought of how she led him around the museum. She smiled at the memory. It was strange to have been here three days prior for extremely different circumstances than she was there for now. The paintings and artefacts of old no longer seemed to hold the awe and mystery that they held when she came with Jim. Now, the paintings of great artists and historical objects seemed lifeless. 

Soon, they descended the stairs and into the basement of the museum. The basement was colder than the rest of the building. Its dim lights only did so much to illuminate the place. Statues and paintings were leaned up against the sides of the walls. Pristine white sheets covered them. Each object mourned for its turn to be in the sun and in the gaze of guests of the museum. 

“SooLin does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So, she would have packed up her things and just put them in here.” Andy explained. He led them over to a row of shelves. He carefully opened the drawers to where Soo Lin kept the teapots. 

John and Y/N walked down the hall after Andy, but Sherlock stood as stiff as the marble statues filling the basement. He steps farther away from John and Y/N to a sculpture of a nude woman. The sparkling snow-like surface was tainted by a bright yellow streak. The same yellow spray paint from before vandalized the surface of the statue leaving the Chinese numbers 1 and 15 to stand out. 

“John! Y/N!” Sherlock called out. The two of them including Andy emerged from behind the shelves. Their eyes widened as they took in the view Sherlock had noticed moments before. 

“We have to get to Soo Lin Yao,” Sherlock stated. 

John approached Sherlock. The view of the graffiti on the statue became more vibrant. 

“If she’s still alive,” John croaked. 

Sherlock, John, and Y/N shared a look of worry and concern. So far two people have died and if it were up to the trio, they wouldn’t allow for any more. 

They hastily thanked Andy for answering their questions and showing them around. Then Sherlock, John, and Y/N dashed out of the museum. 

The sun was blaring down on them as they descended into the sky. Shades of pink, purple, orange, and hints of red mixed together. People were out and about. Everything seemed cheerful around the three of them despite the grim news they had just discovered. Y/N was the first to collect her breath from their quick exit. “How are we going to find her? London is huge. She could be anywhere!”

Sherlock, whose face was flushed from the run, opened his mouth to answer but he was silenced by a shout of his name. 

A familiar red jacket filled their view. It was Raz. 

“Sherlock!” Raz called again. 

“Oh, look who it is,” John grumbled. 

Raz has reached the group. A large grin adorned his face. “Found something you’ll like,” he said. Then he turned on his heel and was off. Sherlock, John, and Y/N trotted after him.

Raz seemed to have the three of them follow him a great distance. An ever-present soreness plagued the feet of Y/N. She swore to herself that she’d invest in some shoes that would not hurt her feet. 

It was dark when the three of them crossed over a bridge. The streetlights were the only source of illumination as they journeyed along the south side of the river. Raz’s pace had slowed down allowing John and Y/N to walk alongside him and Sherlock. 

“Tuesday morning, all you’ve gotta do is turn up and say the bag was yours,” John told Raz who completely ignored the comment. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Forget about your court date.”

John sighed and Y/N patted him on the shoulder in a comforting manner. 

Soon the sounds of wheels against concrete, loud rap music, grunts, cheers, and light chatter filled Y/N’s ears. Teens and young adults skated across the ground. Occasionally flipping the board in the air as they did tricks. 

“Dude, that was rad!” a teenager cheered as one of their friends successfully jumped off the railing. 

“If you want to hide a tree in the middle of a forest, this is the best place to do it, wouldn’t you say? People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message.” Sherlock muttered to the group. His bright blue eyes scanned their surroundings. Every wall was decorated with vibrant graffiti designs. Skulls, flames, roses, and symbols scattered the walls and ground of the skate park. 

Raz nodded at Sherlock’s comment. He pointed his hand to the right of where the group stood. “There. I spotted it earlier.” 

Sherlock, John and Y/N approached the area which Raz had directed them to. Amongst the colourful expressions of art and protest there stood slashes of yellow paint forming the Chinese symbols. Some of the symbols had already been painted over by other artists. 

The consulting detective’s eyes widened. “They have been here.” Sherlock turned to Raz. “And that’s the exact same paint?”

The young man nodded. “Yeah.”

“John, Y/N,” Sherlock stated. “If we’re going to decipher this code, we’re gonna need to look for more evidence.” 

The three of them shared a look of understanding as they split up around the skate park. Eyes wide as they took step by step, scanning the walls and floor to not miss anything. They turn up nothing in the skate park. The group’s search radius now spread to the railway system next door to the park. Sherlock went off on his own. John and Y/N stood next to each other walking in the opposite direction.

Y/N and John walked through a nearby underpass. The rumbling of the train passing overhead shook the walls. The thundering sound only added to the eeriness of the dark passageway. What disturbed her the most was the silence that came. She hadn’t heard a silence like that since she was locked away in the classroom. Separated from Sherlock, trapped by a serial killer and chained to a heater. The walls around her seemed to close in. The darkness swarmed her mind. Y/N found herself walking closer to John. Her arm brushed by his as the sounds of the train screeching against the railing above echoed throughout the chamber. The sound of his footsteps next to hers kept the monsters at bay. 

Soon the two of them found themselves outside the underpass staring at a brick wall covered with dirt, grim, posters, and graffiti. Again, they had no luck finding any clues, so they moved on to the next wall. The underpass area seemed to be a sort of museum for graffiti artists. Unlike the oil paintings from the masters of old showcased in golden frames, the lively and vibrant art created by just anyone brought a sense of peace to Y/N. It was art and art was to be respected. For some reason, the smell of spray paint and the depictions of the artist’s inner conflicts and trials on the wall brought a sense of peace to Y/N. This was a place of reverence. The ground was scattered with litter. The glass bottles of beer shattered and mixed with the cobblestone. The faint sounds of the skate park in the background. The dimly lit lights flickered as they fought off the darkness of the night. 

Y/N found her step fell behind. The distance she desperately sought to close between her and John grew. Whilst he was looking for familiar symbols, Y/N browsed the art. Her pace was the same as when Jim had taken her to the museum a few nights ago. The woman grinned. Jim would like this. The graffiti, the art. She was sure of it. 

“Y/N!” John called out. 

Y/N snapped out of her trance and jogged over to John. His mouth hugged agape. His eyes were practically sticking to the wall in front of him. 

“What is it?” She asked. 

John could only point his flashlight at the wall in front of them. Not that they needed to. The bright yellow streaks of paint illuminated in the dark like the stars in the night sky. Their bright golden hue was a stark contrast to the worn and dirtied bricks on which they were painted on. The entire wall was filled from top to bottom with numbers. 

Quickly, Y/N yanked out her phone and took a picture of the wall. There were the familiar numbers of one and fifteen, but those weren’t the only numbers present. Y/N’s lips pursed as she tried to decipher the numbers. The yellow spray paint wasn’t the cleanest with drips and leaks spreading from one number to the next. 

John reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to call Sherlock. The phone buzzed before clicking. A robotic voice chimed over the speakers. It had gone to voicemail. 

“Damn it, Sherlock. Y/N, we’ve got to find him,” John said. His words passed through Y/N’s ears. Her mind focused on the numbers. 

The rocks underneath his feet crunched as he took a hesitant step away from the woman. 

“Y/N.” He said again. John was unsure to leave her here by herself. 

She turned to him at the mention of her name. “Coming.” She had to peel herself away from the wall to follow John. 

When the two of them found Sherlock, he was staring at the side of a freight container. 

“Answer your phone! I’ve been calling you! We’ve found it.” John explained. 

“Where?” Sherlock asked. 

“Near the underpass,” Y/N said. 

Sherlock's eyes met hers. They held an uncertainty to them. A part of him was still surprised she was standing next to John–talking to him. Another was worried. What he wasn’t sure. Though he found himself being concerned for the woman more than was appropriate. Sherlock shook himself from his daze and motioned for the two of them to lead him to the location. 

______

Sherlock stares at the wall. John groans and Y/N curses under her breath. The wall was now blank. A fresh coat of black paint now covered the entire surface. John shook his head. He looked between the walls. He was sure that this was it. The numbers had been here a second ago. How…

“It’s been painted over!” John cried in frustration. This case was really getting to him. 

“I don’t understand. It-it was here …” John stumbled backwards. “... ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti! Y/N saw it too.”

“It was here, I swear Sherlock,” Y/N responded. 

Sherlock nodded. He believed his friends. “Somebody doesn’t want me to see it,” he muttered. 

Suddenly, Sherlock had his hands on John’s shoulders. His long fingers wrapped tightly around John, and he began to spin his friend around. 

John’s eyes widened at his friend's action. “Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing ...?”

“Shh, John, concentrate,” Sherlock replied. “I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes.” 

The two kept spinning in circles. Y/N grew dizzy just watching them dancing around her. She could only imagine how John was feeling right now. 

John tried to fight Sherlock’s grasp on him. “No, what? Why? Why?!”

“Sherlock,” Y/N shouted. 

“What are you doing?!” John asked again. 

Sherlock kept spinning John and completely ignored his friends' questions. Sherlock leaned in closer to John. 

“I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?”

John rolled his eyes. Something he wished he hadn’t done. Now it felt like his whole body was rolling. “Yeah,” he groaned. 

“Can you remember it?” Sherlock interrogated. 

“Sort of.” John was feeling sick now. If Sherlock didn’t stop spinning him around soon, he was going to be sick. 

“Can you remember the pattern?”

“Sherlock,” Y/N called warningly. 

“How much can you remember it, John?” Sherlock asked. 

John snapped his arms around, breaking himself free from Sherlock’s grasp. With a thud, he fell to the floor. John’s head spun around. 

“The average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two per cent accurate,” Sherlock said. 

Y/N’s voice grew in pitch. “Yeah, well, don’t worry Sherlock. I remember all of it.”

Now, this got his attention. Sherlock left John’s side and marched over to her. 

He raised his brow in disbelief. “Really?”

Y/N nodded before shoving a picture of the wall into Sherlock’s face. 

“You took a photograph,” Sherlock stated. 

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. That’s my job,” she said. 

He took the phone out of her hands, and his finger buzzed when they touched hers. There it was. The photo of the graffitied wall. John groans as he gets up off the ground. Sherlock flashed a look of embarrassment before zooming in on the photo on Y/N’s phone. 

________

The photo was now placed on the wall. Each section zoomed in so that Sherlock could see the whole message clearly. Underneath each number, was Y/N delicate handwriting. She had been so kind as to translate each of the numbers for Sherlock. Not that he could do it himself, she was just faster. 

The fireplace crackled to life as the warm fire lit up the room. John sat in his chair with a large quilted blanket over him. In his hand, he held a cup of tea to help settle his stomach. John was begging to think that he was getting old. It had only taken Sherlock a few seconds of swirling him around before he was on the floor sick to his stomach. 

Y/N sat on the couch. She drank her own cup of tea. John had told her she could have gone to bed for the night to which she just shook her head. She had been with him and Sherlock long enough to know nothing was really over until the case was solved. Though by the looks of John dozing off in his chair, it seemed he needed to sleep more than she did. By now she was used to the long restless nights. Bjørn on the other hand did not agree. She felt bad for her cat even though Mrs Hudson spoiled him rotten when she was away. Y/N swore her cat gained a few pounds every time he visited her aunt.

“Always in pairs, John,” Sherlock noted. 

John felt his eyes grow heavy, closing them briefly before prying them open again. “Hmm?” He hummed.

“Numbers come with partners.” Sherlock’s baritone voice rang. 

John gazed blankly at his friend. The warm orange flames lulled him into a daze. He shook himself awake. 

“God, I need to sleep,” he groaned. 

“Why did he paint it so near the tracks?” Sherlock asked. 

“No idea,” Y/N replied. 

“Thousands of people pass by there every day.” Sherlock continued. 

“Just twenty minutes,” John mumbled before he dropped his head back against the chair’s cushion. 

Sherlock stepped back from the fire. The light of the fire reflected the sparks of his brilliant mind at work. “Of course.” He took one more look at the photos before turning to his friends. “Of course! He wants information. He’s trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back. Somewhere here in the code.” 

His longer fingers ran over the papers until they stopped on the original photo. He yanked it off the mirror and shoved it in his pocket. 

“We can’t crack this without Soo Lin Yao,” Sherlock stated as he walked to the door, threw on his coat, and jumped down the stairs.

“Oh, good,” John groaned. He pushed himself off the chair and tiredly stepped over to the door. A hand stuck out in front of him. It was Y/N and she was holding out his coat for him. 

“Here you go,” she said softly. A soft smile formed on her face. A smile that John returned. He was glad to have Y/N by his and Sherlock’s side. 

“Thanks,” he whispered back as she helped him put on the coat. She led him out of the flat. The door closed behind them. 

“Let’s go!” Sherlock shouted from down the stairs. 

“Coming,” Y/N replied. “Some patience would be appreciated.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her response. 

______

“The National Antiquities Museum will be closing in 30 minutes. Please make your way to the exit soon. Thank you.”

John groaned. The museum closed around eight at night and he was already exhausted. By now he would’ve had a word with Sherlock, but his body only had the strength to follow his friend around. 

Andy was surprised to see them back. Sherlock strolled over to the man and began his questions again. 

“Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals.” 

Andy’s eyes went wide at the mention of a killer. 

“Soo Lin Yao’s in danger.” Y/N told him. Her voice full of concern contrasted with Sherlock’s neutral informative tone. Andy’s body trembled. It was clear he cared for Soo Lin. “Now, that cypher – it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well.”

Andy shook his head. His hands ran through his curly brown locks. “Look, I’ve tried everywhere: um, friends, colleagues. I-I don’t know where she’s gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away.��

Sherlock shook his head, and a glimmer in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He walked over to a case in the room. His lips pursed. 

“What are you looking at?” John asked. 

“Tell me more about those teapots,” Sherlock asked Andy. 

“Th-the pots were her obsession,” he replied. “Um, they need urgent work. If-if they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently, you have to just keep making tea in them.”

Sherlock bent down to get a better look at the shelf of teapots. “Earlier today, only one of those pots was shining. Now there are two.”

He stood up. His eyes looked at Andy. Then to Y/N and to John. John grumbled. He knew that look well. He wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. 

_______

A silence fell upon the museum. It had been a few hours since the building had closed. Only the sound of the air conditioning could be heard, but that soon changed with the sound of footsteps. A figure entered the display room and walked towards the display case that held the tea pots. Slender and delicate hands carefully picked up a dull teapot. The woman, Soo Lin, took the tea pot into the back of the museum. She placed it gently on the desk and began to work away. 

The hot liquid of the tea poured over the surface of the pot. Soo Lin’s finger brushed over the pot, rubbing the tea into the surface. Then she placed the pot down and reached for a few small cups. Each one filled to the brim with the tea. She picked up the cups and poured the tea over the pot.The leftover liquid dripped down into the tray. 

“Fancy a biscuit with that?” A voice shot out. 

Soo Lin gasped and turned towards the sound. The teacup in her hand slipped from her fingers. A gloved hand shot out and caught the cup moments before it hit the ground. Sherlock placed the cup back onto the table. 

“Centuries old. Don’t wanna break that.” He said. His eyes met Soo Lin’s. 

The woman took her hand and flipped on the desk light. The room came to life. She gasped again seeing two more people in the room with her. 

“Hello.” John waved. 

Soo Lin looked from John to the woman standing next to him. 

“你看到了。” Soo Lin spoke. Her voice was directed to Y/N. She nodded. 

“English please,” Sherlock asked. 

“You saw the cypher. Then you know he is coming for me,” Soo Lin whispered. 

“You’ve been clever to avoid him so far.” Sherlock chimed. 

“I had to finish ... to finish this work,” She pointed to the pot in front of her. “It’s only a matter of time. I know he will find me.” Her voice got quiet. 

“Who is he? Have you met him before?” Sherlock questioned. 

Soo Lin nodded. “When I was a girl, I lived back in China. I recognise his ... ‘signature’.” 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “The cypher.”

“Only he would do this. 蜘蛛(Zhi Zhu).“

“Zhi Zhu?” John wondered. He looked at Y/N. 

“The Spider.”

Then Soo Lin lifted her foot. Her hands worked quickly to untie the shoes. She removed the shoe and ran her hand over her heel. 

“You know this mark?” She asked. Sherlock peered at her foot. It was a black lotus flower inside a circle. 

”Yes. It’s the mark of Tong.” Sherlock replied. 

“Hmm? John and Y/N asked. 

“Ancient crime syndicate based in China,” Sherlock explained. 

Soo Lin’s shoulders sank. “Every foot soldier bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them.”

“Hauls?” Y/N wondered. 

Soo Lin’s dark almond eyes met hers. There was a sense of regret in them. “Y-you mean you were a smuggler?” Y/N clarified. 

“I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses.” Soo Lin explained. Her head lowered and she placed her shoe back on. 

“Who are they?” Sherlock queried. 

“They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England.” A soft smile adorned her face. “They gave me a job here. Everything was good; a new life.”

“Then he came looking for you,” Sherlock guessed. 

“Yes.” The smile wiped from Soo Lin’s face. A tear fell down her cheek. “I had hoped after five years maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave. A small community like ours – they are never very far away. He came to my flat. He asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen.”

“And you’ve no idea what it was?” John asked. 

“I refused to help.” 

“So, you knew him well when you were living back in China?” John asked. 

Soo Lin nodded. There were tears that now flowed freely down her face. “我哥哥。”

Y/N gasped. “Her brother.”

“Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one they call Shan – the Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. The next day I came to work, and the cypher was waiting.”

Sherlock ruffled through his pocket before he pulled out the photo. He laid it on the table in front of Soo Lin. “Can you decipher these?”

She leaned forward and ran a hand over them just like she did with the teapot. “These are numbers.”

“I know,” Sherlock said. “But what’s the code?”

“All the smugglers know it. It’s based upon a book …” Soo Lin began.

Suddenly the lights cut out. Soo Lin shot out of her seat. Dread filled her face. Sherlock and John looked around sharply. Their heads darted around the room for any sign of an intruder. 

“He’s here. Zhi Zhu. He has found me.” Soo Lin whimpered.

Sherlock doesn’t waste a second running out of the room in search of the intruder. 

“Sh-Sherlock. Sherlock, wait!” John called. He turned to Y/N and Soo Lin. “Stay here.” He led the two women into a cupboard in the back of the room. “Get in!” He commanded. Y/N and Soo Lin stepped. It was a tight fit, but they made it work. John nodded and closed the door. Then he ran after Sherlock. 

____SHERLOCK’s POV____

My feet clatter against the stone floor of the museum. The noise of my steps would no doubt give me away. Not that I cared. I came to a stop in a large open foyer. Above me was a glass roof. Possible entrance, I thought. My head whips around for any sign of the intruder. 

Bang!

I ducked to the floor. 

Bang!

I quickly ran out of the foyer and down a hallway. The figure jumped to the ground with a thud. Their quickening footsteps chased after mine. I came to halt. 

The room was filled with glass cases holding skulls and artefacts that have lived throughout the ages. Each case was transparent allowing one to see into the next. Not much of a place to hide, I grumble to myself. 

Bang!

The intruder is close behind me now. I dart behind a nearby case. The display sign blocked the view from the other side. It would have to do for now. 

Unsure footsteps clattered against the floor. The sound echoed throughout the room and in my mind. My breath stills. A second pair of running footsteps dulls the sound of the nearby footsteps. John. 

The figure turned around and ran out of the hall. I peer over the corner of the case and quickly make my way out of the room. In the corner of my eye, I see John. He’s standing behind a column. His back was against the marble surface as he looked over his shoulder. I try to make my way to John. My feet lift off the floor and move in his direction. 

Bang!

I duck to the floor and dash into a nearby room. The gunman is on my tail. To my luck, there is more cover in the room. The display cases were opaque. Tables and wooden platforms are scattered in the room. 

Bang!

I slide to the ground and behind a display case. 

Bang!

“Careful!” I call out. 

Bang!

“Some of those skulls are over two hundred thousand years old! Have a bit of respect!” My breath is heavy. My heart is pumping, and adrenaline runs through my system. My hands feel clammy as I brace myself against the case. 

“Thank you,” I grumble into the silence. 

Silence. Which means quiet. It’s too quiet. I frown. My eyes widen as I peer through the glass case. The figure is gone. 

____Y/N’s POV____

Silence. That’s all I could hear or at least try to hear. My lungs exhale like the wind thrashing against my window on a stormy night. My body was trembling. My body rumbles like an earthquake shaking through the city. My hands grip tightly around my legs hugging them close. I wouldn’t dare shut my eyes. Even in the darkness, my eyes were on alert. The drumming of my heart pounds louder and louder. It slams against my rib cage threatening to break free–threatening to give our hiding location away. 

There was a creak beside me and my head whips to Soo Lin. She pushes open the cabinet door and extends her legs. I reach out and grab her wrist. I shake my head and dare to whisper. 

“No.” 

Soo Lin places her hand on mine in a soothing manner. Her soft fingers wrap around mine and gently pulls them off. She brings a finger to her lips and smiles. All I can do is shake my head as she closes the door to the cupboard once more. Faint light leaks into the cabinet and I shuffle my position. My eyes now catch sight of Soo Lin creeping over to the desk. Her hand works away at solving the cypher that we had brought her. The light flashes. I stifle a cry. My hand glued over my mouth as tears flooded my view. 

Behind Soo Lin was a man. He stood slightly taller than her. I could see her smile. Her hand came to cup her brother’s cheek. 

“亮 ” She whispers. “大哥 ”

I shake my head. Soo Lin looks behind her brother at me. She smiles softly. Her tear-stained cheeks crinkle. She turns back to her brother. 

“请你” Soo Lin pleads. 

Bang!

A cry escapes my lips as Soo Lin’s body crumbles to the floor. The man–her brother turned around. His eyes scan the room. He heard me. My nails dig into my hands in an attempt to freeze my shaking body. My ears whimper as the man steps towards the cupboard. The light disappears and I can see no longer. 

___SHERLOCK’s POV___

I ran out to find John. He was still hidden behind the column. I ran over to him, my hands grasping his shoulders. There it was. A single gunshot. The sound rang out from a distance. I look at John. His face grows cold, and his eyes fill with horror. 

My face drops. “Where’s Y/N?” I ask. My hands shake his shoulders. “John!” I yelled. My voice broke. 

“Oh, my God.” John cries. He runs in the direction of the back room. A grim feeling creeps up my body. My eyes darken and I run. My feet are tumbling against the floor. John and I race back to the stairs. We dash up the steps and run into the room. The doors slam open banging against the walls. 

I ran into the room. My eyes frantically dart from wall to wall. One word in my mind. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. John crumbles to the floor next to Soo Lin’s desk. I look over in his direction. 

___Third POV___

They say that the human body is made up of 60% water. For Sherlock. At this moment, the image of Soo Lin’s lifeless bleeding body is in his mind. His body was 100% filled with a sea of dread. Tears threatened to escape his eyes the longer he looked at the body. He wouldn’t dare move for fear of stepping into some dark corner and finding her. Y/N. Hair strewed across her face. Her beautiful eyes now hazed over. Her body lying limp against the floor. 

A creaking noise came from the left of John and Sherlock. The two stood defensively fists held close to their body. 

Then there she was. Full of life. Her eyes were red and tears were flowing from them. Her body shook as her feet hit the floor. Sherlock darted over to her, his hands wrapped around her, holding her close. He pulled back slightly. His eyes filled with worry as he cupped her face. Her lips trembled as she tried to make out words. Sherlock’s hands dropped from her face to her neck. Her pulse beat fast underneath his cool hands. She was alive. 

John ran over to the two of them. His doctor instincts took over. He asked her questions checking her physical well-being. Once, John was sure that Y/N was alright. They all turned back to Soo Lin. Y/N sobbed at the sight. She leaned into John who took her into a hug.

Sherlock’s face dropped at the sight of them. Then he crouched down to the body. His hands picked up the origami black lotus flower in the palm of Soo Lin’s hands. 

____

“How many murders is it gonna take before you start believing that this maniac’s out there?” John said to Dimmock. 

The Detective was trying his very best to, what seemed to John and Sherlock, ignore them. His hands rummaged through the paperwork on his desk. 

John placed his hands on his hips and stepped closer to Dimmock. A sense of urgency in his voice. “A young girl was gunned down tonight. That’s three victims in three days. You’re supposed to be finding him.”

Behind John sat Y/N. She had a far-off look in her eyes. They were frozen over. A layer of frost covered them. Her mind was far from the walls of the precinct of Scotland Yard. Her eyes cast down at her feet. She was sitting so still that someone could have mistaken her for a dummy. Sherlock sat next to her. His hand ran up and down her arm in an attempt to comfort her. 

Sherlock’s hand fell still and he gave Y/N’s shoulder a squeeze before releasing her. Reluctantly, Sherlock left Y/N’s side and walked over to where John and Dimmock stood. 

“Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers,” Sherlock said. “A gang called the Black Lotus operating here in London right under your nose.” His smooth voice grew tense as the last words spilt from his mouth. The fear from this evening mixed with the anger and frustration from the case. 

Dimmock stilled his motions. “Can you prove that?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “John,” he said. “Take Y/N home.”

John looked between Dimmock and Sherlock then over at the slumped figure of his friend. He sighed and agreed to Sherlock’s request. John carefully made his way over to Y/N. He placed a hand on her shoulder, just as Sherlock had done. He helped her out of her chair. 

Y/N found her feet mindlessly moving as John guided her out of Scotland Yard. Sherlock’s eye never left her figure until she was out of view.  

This case had gone on long enough, thought Sherlock. 

_____ 

“Let’s get you inside,” whispered John. He held a steady hand on Y/N’s lower back as he led her inside 221B Baker Street. The hallway was dark. The only light to be seen was the light that escaped from under Mrs Hudson’s apartment door. A door which soon creaked open. 

“Is that you, N/N?” Mrs Hudson asked into the darkness. 

“It’s us,” John replied. 

The hallway light flickered on and Mrs Hudson felt her heart sink at the sight. Y/N was leaning onto John. His arms around her holding her up. Y/N’s face was lax. No emotion held in her features except for her eyes. They were glossed over. The frost had melted and now there were tears. 

“Come here, dear.” Mrs Hudson urged. She crept towards Y/N and wrapped her in a hug. “Why don’t you come in? Have some tea. Bjørn’s here. I’m sure he misses you.” She comforted her niece. “John, you too.”

The three of them made their way into Mrs Hudson’s home. The walls were decorated with a whimsical wallpaper. Almost fairytale like with all the birds and greenery. On the walls hung photos of Mrs Hudson and her family. Young Y/N in grade school, her front two teeth missing. A spark in her eyes, that was absent now. 

Bjørn’s ears perked up at the sight of his owner. His tail twitched as he sat up. Mrs Hudson had sat Y/N down on the couch next to her. Bjørn meowed sweetly. His sound was like that of a kitten. The cat’s golden eyes softened at the sight of his owner. It didn’t take long before Y/N shot out a hand and pulled her cat close. Her tears stained his brown fur a few shades darker. 

“What happened?” Mrs Hudson asked. John wasn’t sure to whom she asked, but he answered. 

“The case.” John wouldn’t dare say more for fear of worsening Y/N’s condition. 

Mrs Hudson shook her head in understanding before asking John to sit down in the open chair. A seat his tired form gladly took. 

Gently Y/N peeled away from Bjørn and laid her head down on her aunt's lap. Bjørn snuggled in close to his owner. His tail wrapped around her forearms as she held him close. Mrs Hudson ran her hands through Y/N’s hair. Her nails softly scratched Y/N’s scalp in a calming manner. 

John sat in his seat. His brow furrowed with worry as he looked at his friend. He couldn’t help but blame himself. For her state and the death of Soo Lin. He thought about what would have happened if he had stayed with the two women. Would Soo Lin be dead? What if he and Sherlock hadn’t made it in time. What if the man had found where he hid them. There were so many what if’s for his tired mind. It didn’t help that Mrs Hudson had turned on a soap opera. The faint voices in the background pulled John to sleep. His head hung heavy against the chair’s cushion. 

Mrs Hudson began to braid her niece's hair. A soft lullaby in the form of a hum fell from her lips. In the corner of her eye, she saw John asleep. Beneath her, she saw her niece. The light from the screen flashed as it changed from scene to scene. The niece’s reddened eyes and trembling lips were in full view. Y/N laid with Bjørn in her arms. 

“Auntie M.” Y/N croaked. Her voice was sore from all the crying. 

Mrs Hudson’s hands stopped as they finished a braid. “Yes?”

“Can I have some tea?” Y/N asked. Her voice was so quiet. There was a remnant of shakiness to it. 

Mrs Hudson smiled lovingly and nodded. “Of course.” 

Y/N lifted her head up and let Mrs Hudson stand up. Y/N laid back down on the couch. Her eyes focused on the screen in front of her. In the soap opera, a man appeared on the screen. He was chasing after a beautiful woman with tears in his eyes. The actor had deep brown eyes. Eyes that reminded her of Jim. Oh, how she wished he was here. She’d cuddle close to him. His warm embrace protected her from the horrors she had just witnessed. But Jim wasn’t there. Sherlock was. She remembered how he ran to her and held her close. His eyes frantically looked her over with a hand on her neck. Her beating pulse pounded underneath his cool hands. There she felt safe. In Sherlock’s arms, she felt safe. She closed her eyes shut and allowed a few tears to escape. She wanted him to hold her now. 

“Y/N” Mrs Hudson whispered. “Tea’s ready.”

Y/N nodded and sat up. Her hand wiped away her tears and she sniffled. Mrs Hudson handed over the cup and then settled back down in her seat. Y/N brought the warm beverage to her lips. The sweetness of the tea mixed with honey soothed her throat. The comfort of the tea seeped into her bones and for once that night she finally felt her mind relax. Y/N tucked her legs and laid her head against her aunt’s shoulder. Bjørn occupied her lap. 

“Thanks,” whispered Y/N. 

Mrs Hudson smiled. “Anything for you dear.” She replied. 

With another sip of her tea, Y/N pointed to the screen. “Mind telling me what that’s all about?”

“Well, you see that man there, he’s in love with the blonde…” began Mrs Hudson. She knew her niece wasn’t really interested in some soap operas she watched on daily. However, she knew that’s what Y/N needed. A distraction. Something else to focus on other than whatever happened that night. So, from love triangles to long-lost siblings Mrs Hudson explained. 

______

John shook himself awake. His eyes winced as they tried to adjust to the bright screen of the television. The door to 221 B had opened. Mrs Hudson turned away from her door and looked at John. 

“That must be Sherlock.” She said, her voice was just above a whisper. On her lap lay Y/N. Her face lay peaceful as she slept. 

“Right,” John replied. “I’d better go. Want me to?” He pointed to Y/N. 

Mrs Hudson waved her hand. “Let her sleep a bit longer. I’ll wake her up soon enough.”

John nodded and looked at Y/N once more. Then he pushed himself from his seat and made his way up out of Mrs Hudson’s flat and up the stairs to his own home. 

John found Sherlock standing in the living room. His hand propped up against the mantle. 

“Sherlock,” John said. 

“Is she…?” 

“Asleep. She’s with Mrs Hudson.” John explained. 

Sherlock nodded. A silence fell over them. “You left her there,” Sherlock said coldly. 

John looked at his friend. Sherlock’s jaw was so tense he could have ground up steel nails with his teeth. “If I had known…” John began.

“She–she could have been killed,” Sherlock spat. 

John gasped. “You don’t think I know that? What about you, Sherlock? You ran out of there with no regard for her. I did my best to…” 

There was a glint in Sherlock’s eye. John’s words changed course. “You already know. You’re angry with yourself.”

Sherlock’s eyes closed. John knew he hit the nail on the head. “You like her. Don’t you?”

Sherlock turned around and faced John. “I care as much as you do.”

John rolled his eyes. “Right.” He knew Sherlock wasn’t going to say anything more, but in his heart, he knew. Sherlock cared for Y/N. 

Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I…” He began. John tilted his head. Was Sherlock going to say it? 

“I…It’s not just a criminal organization; it’s a cult. Her brother was corrupted by one of its leaders,” Sherlock stated. 

“Soo Lin said the name.”

“Yes, Shan; General Shan,” continued Sherlock. 

John moved to his seat and sat down. His head resting on his hands. “We’re still no closer to finding them.”

“Wrong,” Sherlock said. John looked up at his friend with a brow raised. “We’ve got almost all we need to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces.”

“Why did he need to visit his sister? Why did he need her expertise?” Sherlock asked in John’s silence.

“She worked at the museum,” John muttered. 

“Exactly!”

“She was an expert in antiquities. Mmm, of course. I see.” John responded. 

“Valuable antiquities, John. Ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China’s home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao’s revolution,” Sherlock clarified. 

“And the Black Lotus is selling them.” John finished. 

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. An idea forming in his mind. Quickly he reached for the computer next to his chair and pried it open. His hands furiously typing away at the keys. John stood up and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder. He was on a website–an auction website. Sherlock scrolled through the screen, numerous Chinese and Asian artworks were listed. 

“Check for the dates …”  Sherlock mumbled to himself. His eyes widened and he pointed to the screen. “Here, John. Arrived from China four days ago.” His eyes scanned the details of the listing. “Anonymous. Vendor doesn’t give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East.”

“One in Lukis’ suitcase and one in Van Coon’s,” John said. 

Sherlock nodded and scrolled down the screen once again. “Look, here’s another one. Arrived from China a month ago: Chinese ceramic statue, sold for four hundred thousand.

John had removed himself from Sherlock’s side and retrieved Lukis’ diary. As Sherlock read the dates, John flipped through the diary. “Ah, look a month before that – a Chinese painting, half a million.”

“All of them from an anonymous source. They’re stealing them back in China and one by one they’re feeding them into Britain.”

“And every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China,” John said as he compared the diary to Van Coon’s schedule. 

Sherlock looked up from the computer screen. A brow cocked up. “So what if one of them got greedy when they were in China? What if one of them stole something?”

“That’s why Zhi Zhu comes,” John said in a hushed voice. 

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Mrs Hudson’s head appeared from behind it. “Sorry. Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?” She asked. 

“What?” Sherlock asked in confusion. 

“A young man’s outside with crates of books.”

Sherlock nodded and shortly afterwards two police officers were carrying in plastic crates of books. Crate after crate, the free space in Sherlock and John’s flat seemed to disappear. 

“So, the numbers are references,” Sherlock explained. 

“To books,” John said quizzically. He didn’t understand how people could own so many books. 

“To specific pages and specific words on those pages,” Sherlock stated. 

“Right, so ... fifteen and one: that means …”

“Turn to page fifteen and it’s the first word you read.”

“Okay. So what’s the message?”

“Depends on the book.” Sherlock declared. “That’s the cunning of the book code. Has to be one that they both owned.”

 John looked around the room. A sense of despair filled his mind. “Okay, right. Well, this shouldn’t take too long, should it?”

John walked over to the nearest crate and flips open the lid. The sight before him elicits a sigh. He most definitely wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Beside him, Sherlock opened another crate. With his hands full he looked over the covers of each book. John, copying Sherlock, took a handful from his crate and carried them over to the dining table. The books thudded to the table. Dust flying from the surface. 

“We found these, at the museum,” a voice spoke out from behind the towers of crates. 

It was Dimmock. In his hand, he held a plastic bag. Inside was the photograph of the cypher that they had taken to Soo Lin. 

“Is this your writing?” Dimmock asked. John and Sherlock walked over to him. 

John was the first, taking the bag into his hands. 

“Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us,” he explained. 

Dimmock nodded. His eyes scanned the room. “Anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean?” He asked Sherlock. 

“Some silence right now would be marvellous,” Sherlock replied. His eyes focused on the bag in John’s hand. 

Dimmock just stares at Sherlock. John flashed an apologetic look at him. Then Dimmock turned on his heel and was out the door. 

John returned to his seat by the table. Sherlock took out another handful of books.  His eyes froze over one. He had seen this cover before. He found the second book and laid them side by side before cracking one open. Page fifteen. Word One.

“Cigarettes.” Sherlock sighed in disappointment. He closed the book shut and delivered it to John at the table before searching through the books again. 

Again, Sherlock finds two copies of a book. Page fifteen. Word one. “Freakonomics.” then it was “Imagine” in another book. A frown appeared on Sherlock’s face. He dumped the books on the table and picked up his search once more. A pile that once was two books tall now stood sixteen. Next to that pile, there were three more. One could hardly see John from underneath all the books. Behind him stood Sherlock. His hands made quick work through the crates of novels. 

Page by page. Word by word flew by John’s mind. The words muddled together one after the other. His eyes blurred and his head sunken deeper and deeper. The book's stacks got higher and higher as John fell deeper and deeper into a restless sleep. His back and neck strained as they rested against the table. 

_______

Sherlock placed, yet again, another pair of books when the floorboards near the door creaked. 

His eyes, with dark circles underneath them, gazed in the direction of the noise. Y/N stood against the door frame. A blanket wrapped around her slumped shoulders. 

“Hi,” she whispered. 

Sherlock smiled. “Hello.”

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room, and a chuckle left her mouth. “Either you really like books, or this is for the case.”

“The case.” 

“Knew it,” she replied. “I, uh…” She began before she shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

Sherlock placed the books in his hands back into the crate. He walked over to the woman. “Tell me,” he said. 

“I couldn’t sleep, so thought I’d come to bother you.” She said, her eyes lifted up to meet his. She wanted to say more. She wanted to say that she didn’t feel safe alone and that the only place she considered safe was in his arms. 

“Perfect. I’m going to need all the help I can get, especially since John fell asleep a while ago.”

“What can I do?” She asked. Her hands hung at her sides brushing the loose fabric of her sleep shirt. 

Sherlock led her over to the crate and briefly explained the process. The numbers correlated to pages and the word on the page. Y/N nodded her head trying to understand it all. It was simple. However, for her tired mind with the reminisce of fear from earlier that evening, it was hard to grasp. 

Sherlock could see that. So, instead, he suggested she’d read the pages and he’d find the books.  She nodded in agreement. She turned away from him and found a seat on the couch. The soft cushion sank underneath her, enveloping her in comfort. She pulled the blanket around her tighter as Sherlock carried a set of books over to her. 

“Page fifteen. Word one,” he said. He handed her a notebook. “Write down the word and the book title.”

She took the pen and paper from her hand and opened the first book. Her eyes found the page and jotted down the word. It was a task to keep her mind busy. Her left hand moved across the pages of the books and with her right she scribbled down the information. 

As she worked through her fifth book, Sherlock turned to her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Y/N’s hands stopped moving. She peered up at him. Her lips slightly parted. 

“I’m sorry about leaving John behind. I’m sorry for–” his voice threatened to break. “For leaving you in the room with Soo Lin by yourself. You’re too important to…” Sherlock paused, “to John and I.”

“I forgive you,” she replied. A soft smile appeared on her face and Sherlock felt a weight lift off his chest.  

“I’m sorry for being stubborn,” Y/N jokingly said. “But at least I’m not as stubborn as you are.”

Sherlock grinned. “I’m not stubborn. I’m right.” 

“Oh sure,” Y/N rolled her eyes. The smile was still on her face. 

The two of them settled into a comfortable silence. Sherlock dived through the books as Y/N tried to find the code that the Black Lotus used. The weight of her blanket and the way the couch’s cushion swirled around her, Y/N found herself dozing off to the same spell that put John to sleep. Her body went lax and her head sank into the pillow behind her. 

Sherlock looked up from his pile of books at the sleeping woman. He shut the cover and moved towards her. He didn’t know how, but his arms slipped around her legs and back. He lifted her off the couch. His mind followed the map of the apartment to his room. The door swung open and Sherlock carried Y/N over to the bed. He reasoned with himself, saying her neck would be sore in the morning from the position it lay in, as he laid her on his bed. 

She whimpered in her sleep at the loss of Sherlock’s warmth. After he had placed the blankets on top of her, that whimper soon faded. Instinctively, Y/N snuggled into the sheets. Her head lay against Sherlock’s pillow. Eyes closed and relaxed. 

Sherlock didn’t know how long he had stood there watching over her sleeping figure. His blue eyes roamed her face. Her lips parted slightly, and a few stray hairs fell against her cheeks. Sherlock reached a hand to brush away the hairs. His hand lingered. Y/N’s chest rose and fell. She was alive. She was safe. Sherlock’s heart couldn’t take it any longer. Soon he found himself leaning over. His lips brushed against her forehead. His eyes closed as if he was in reverent prayer. Her skin felt like silk underneath his lips. 

Reluctantly, Sherlock pulled away. His feet took him backwards until he reached the door. His hands ran through his curly locks. His cheeks flushed. He had kissed her. His eyes fell over Y/N once more before he forced himself out of the room. He needed to think. He needed to work and not think about her, but that’s all his mind seemed to think about nowadays. With a soft click, the door had shut, and Sherlock made his way over to the books–the distractions. Without another sound, he picked up the book he had placed down earlier. His eyes scanned the cover before he dropped it down once again. His eyes darted over to his bedroom door. 

This was going to be a long night, Sherlock thought.

____________________________________________________________

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____________________________________________________________

[sygneth]

I often see canon Holmes and Watson's default state pictured as

but what I read them as, is rather

and I think that's a lot funnier

[abstractfrog]

THE GLORIA SCOTT - part 2, and a follow up to my comic for the first half of this scene! thanks sm to @crashingmeteorz for allowing me to source validation for my whimsical cosmic approach to this moment <3

[thedanceronthestreets]

I think we need to talk about the fact that sherlock's been flirting his little autistic arse off but unfortunately he is doing so at john, the human embodiment of a social brick wall

[noodles-and-tea]

Hello! Do you have any art from Silver Blaze? I’d love to see Sherlock on John’s shoulders ruffling his hair 🥰

Had to wait a week for the second episode to come out to get context but gosh that scENe KILLED ME

[spooksicl-e]

little granada!holmes drawing i did as a request over on insta:]

[lariej]

me? leaving fandoms? no no no you misunderstand me, i have never left a single fandom i’ve ever been in, i just find other fandoms to entertain myself with until i eventually go back to other fandoms i was in years ago

[contact-guy]

watched The Final Problem and The Empty House last night (Granada Holmes) and I am feeling incredibly normal thank you

[ineffabletwaddle13]

Holmes tastes the mystery liquid found on the murder suspect

[noonewilleverknowistealkneecaps]

Look they are anxious golden retriever x mental support black cat coded

P. S. Ignore the amount of different signs, it just that i have different signatures for different art accounts on different platforms, confusing i know, i think ill have to unite them sometime soon.

[livviem-009]

Mycroft, holding Albert's hand: I've been meaning to tell you something.

Albert: What is it?

Mycroft: I-I think...

Albert *thinking*: He's going to confess to me? Although I wanted to do that first, I'm excited.

Mycroft: I think our little brothers are following us.

Liam holding Sherly's hand behind them: Sorry, we wanted to make sure you're fine. *looking behind him* Louis, put down the knife.

Louis, dropping the knife: You never let me do this.

[jay-wasreblogging]

John: do you think the podcast is problematic?

Viewers:

AHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHA!!!

[crazydaymycrazyway]

William: Sherly, why are you covered in blood?

Sherlock: Oh, I got stabbed

William: What?! Why?!

Sherlock: How should I know? You should probably ask the person who stabbed me

[4thelneyj0nes]

@fluffbruary Day 8

Grass | sunshine | fashion

Rosie would be sooo into entomology

[ogsherlockholmes]

After all the discourse over whether Watson was a woman (thanks Rex Stout), if Holmes was a trans man, if they’re both gay men, one day ACD is going to rise from the dead and say ‘they’re both lesbian girls, duh’

[littlecourtjester]

Saw this post and was struck with a vision