𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 || 𝐁𝐁𝐂 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

33: Black Lotus, Flourishing

As I was making my way back to Baker Street, I got a message from Sherlock. He'd sent me an address, telling me to meet him and John there.

Is it interesting? If not, I'm not coming. -AN

There's murder :) -SH

...I'm on my way. -AN

Turns out, they had broken into Van Coon's flat and found his body. He had been dead for a while, judging by the stages of decomposition on the body. Around a week.

Just as I had predicted.

The Black Lotus never forgave traitors to their organisation.

"And where have you been?" John asked me as soon as I had arrived, hands on his hips like a teacher scolding a tardy schoolgirl.

"Places," I said vaguely, slightly irked by his tone.

Since when did I have to report my whereabouts to you?

"Sherlock's in there with the body," John said, sounding resigned, knowing he wouldn't be getting any further information from me. I clapped my hands together with glee.

"Ooh, a nice murder to brighten up my day." Earning myself a couple of weird looks from the forensic team that was present, I strode towards the room.

The bedroom door looked like it had been forcibly entered. Sherlock's work no doubt.

He was currently prying something out of the dead man's mouth. A small screwed up ball of black paper – moist with saliva. He stretched it open, but I knew he'd only find it to be blank.

An origami black lotus. It was their signature, letting others know that this kill was theirs.

Another man was standing over him, looking displeased. A detective no doubt, but not the likeable one. The 'Not Lestrade' was glaring at Sherlock.

"I know who you are. And I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence." Sherlock put the soggy ball of blank paper into an evidence bag and wordlessly handed it over.

"I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way...?" Sherlock looked around expectantly.

"He's busy, so I'm in charge. And it's Detective Inspector Dimmock." The man looked annoyed at Sherlock's presence, no doubt the newest member of Donovan and Anderson's 'Anti-Sherlock' club.

Sherlock glanced over and spotted me watching the scene unfold, a wry smile on my face.

"You took your time," He came over to me, scanning me for anything that would help him glean about my whereabouts.

Good thing I made sure to wipe the blood off my shoes, otherwise his hawk-like eyes would have no doubt spotted it.

"I was busy."
"Busy with what?"

"Nothing you could prove in a court of law."

By now, Sherlock was used to my antics, and like John, he tactfully dropped his line of questioning.

Having followed us into the lounge, the 'Not Lestrade' looked around in satisfaction.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide." I rolled my eyes.

"How dull. You expect what you want to see."

"It does seem the only explanation of the fact," John said in an attempt to placate the 'Not Lestrade,' who bristled in indignation.

"Wrong. It's one possible explanation of some of the facts." I glanced at Sherlock appreciatively. At least someone else had a brain around here.

"You'd got a solution that you like, but you're just choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."