The Soldier and Consulting Detective

The Black Lotus

I wake up, my eyesight blurry and head pounding. I blink a couple of times to try and wake myself up. My neck feels stiff as I try to turn my head, but I can only go so far. I look to my right and see my brother, knocked out and bleeding from the temple. I try to call out to my brother but it is then that I realized I am gagged.

I look around some more and realize we are in a tunnel, on the ground are old ram tracks. And pointed straight at me is the crossbow from the circus, covered yet again for the element of surprise.

Oh fuck me.

"A book is like a magic garden, carried in your pocket." A soft, feminine voice calls out. I look over at John and notice he is awake, looking right at me.

"Hazel, I'm so sorry." He whispers softly.

I shrug my shoulders, thinking it could be worse. But I don't want him to see the slight terror in my eyes. I'm worried Sherlock won't get here in time.

"Chinese proverb, Mr. Holmes." The opera singer explains, stepping out of the darkness and into the dim lit area surrounding us.

"I'm not actually," John says deliriously. "I'm not actually Sherlock Holmes."

The opera singer gives John a disbelieving smile. "Forgive me if I do not take your word for it."

She walks over slowly to my brother, like a tigress hunting her prey. Quickly she snatches John's wallet out of his pocket and rummages through it. She pulls out a card and reads the inscription.

"Debit card. Name of S. Holmes."

"Ah that's not actually mine. He lent that to me." John tries to explain, but the opera singer keeps going, pulling out another item from his wallet.

"And a cheque for five thousand pounds. Made out in the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

I start to laugh from my chair, realizing that no matter how hard he tries, the evidence is piled against my brother.

"He asked me to look after that." John states weakly.

"Tickets from the theater. Collected by you. Name of Holmes."

"Yes okay, I realize how this looks, but honestly I'm not-" he began but was cut off by the short woman in front of him.

"We heard it from your own mouth."

I make a confused sound and look at John, who is looking back at me equally confused.

"'I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone'." She quotes.

I then start laughing, harder this time, realizing the situation.

"What is so funny?" She asks me. She makes a motion with her hand and I feel the gag loosen on my face.

I continue laughing and I managed to form a sentence. "We're in the mess because he was a sarcastic arsehole!" I scream out, laughing my arse off. I know I shouldn't but this is simply hilarious.

"I suppose there's no point in persuading you that I was doing an impression?" John says weakly laughing at the end.

The singer produces a revolver and presses it against John who begins to squirm.

"Hey, leave him alone you bloody son of a-" I cry out in fury, but I am cut off when the gag is almost placed back in my mouth.

I bite the hand of the person in front of me who cries out in pain. He pulls his hand back and sees that his hand is bleeding. I give him a malicious grin, blood in my teeth.

"Want to try again?" I ask darkly.

In response, I get a hard slap across my face, but I just laugh it off. Suddenly,  hands are around my throat, cutting off my laughter, and the gag is carefully placed back in my mouth, tightened roughly.