DI Dimmock is standing at a desk in Scotland Yard, rummaging through a box of Brian Lukis' possessions.
"Your friend..." Dimmock began.
"Listen: whatever you say, I'm behind you one hundred per cent," John said, standing on the other side of the desk.
"...he's an arrogant sod."
"Well, that was mild." The doctor chuckled. "People say a lot worse than that."
"And, um, Y/N..." John's jaw clenched subconsciously, prepared to defend his sister as Dimmock spoke "Is she single?"
"Oh." He breathed a sigh of relief as the inspector pulled a diary out of the box. "Yeah, she is."
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He handed it to John. "The journalist's diary?"
John smiled gratefully, flicking through the diary, opening at a page that had been bookmarked with a boarding pass to Dalian Zhoushuizi International Airport from London Heathrow Airport.
•••
Sherlock and Y/N stand beside Amanda, Van Coons personal assistant, as she pulled up an online calendar.
"Flew back from Dalian Friday. Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team."
"Could you print a copy for us?" Y/N asked Amanda, smiling gratefully as she agreed.
"What about the day he died?" Sherlock interjected. "Can you tell me where he was?"
"Sorry, bit of a gap." Amanda looked back at the screen. Sherlock's jaw ticked as he sighed, glancing at Y/N before the P.A. spoke up, drawing his attention. "I have all his receipts."
Amanda excused herself, disappearing around the corner. Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose as he began pacing.
"Why can't I figure this out?" He exclaimed frustratedly, slamming his hands down on the table, causing Y/N to jump slightly. "I can't think!"
"Sherlock," Y/N called out as he began pacing again. "Sherlock!" She placed her hands on his shoulders forcing him to stop and face her. "Look at me."
The simple sound of her voice was enough to calm Sherlock down, his breathing evening out.
"We will solve this," Y/N whispered softly as stepped closer, gazing into his eyes. "I believe in you."
"I wouldn't have made it this far without you." Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug as he mumbled into her ear. "Thank you, Y/N."
The clicking of heels getting louder caused them to pull apart as Amanda returned with Van Coons receipts, spreading them out on her desk.
"What kind of boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?" Y/N asked the woman as Sherlock kneeled on the floor by the desk.
"Um, no, that's not a word I'd use." Amanda chuckled nervously. "The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag."
"Like that hand cream," Sherlock said, referring to the luxury bottle on her desk as he removed his gloves, stuffing them into his pocket. "He bought that for you, didn't he?"
Amanda looked at the detective in surprise, fiddling with a pin in her hair. Y/N went and stood behind Sherlock, scanning over the pile of paper as he began shuffling through them.
"Look at this one." Sherlock handed a taxi receipt, dated the day he died, to Amanda, who looked over it briefly before handing it to Y/N. "Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty."
"That would get him to the office," Amanda said slightly confused.
"During rush hour. Mid-morning." Y/N pointed out, showing Amanda the receipt was timed at 10:35. "Eighteen pounds would get him as far as..."
"The West End. I remember him saying." Amanda realized as Sherlock handed her a London Underground ticket with the same date on it.
"Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly."
"So he got a Tube back to the office." Amanda turned to Y/N, who was chewing her nails thoughtfully. "Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?"
"Because he was delivering something heavy. You wouldn't lug a package up the escalator." Sherlock explained, still shuffling through the receipts.
"Delivering?" Amanda shook her head slightly, going to say something before Y/N spoke up.
"Somewhere near Piccadilly Station. Delivered the package, and then..." She bent forward slightly, placing one hand on Sherlock's shoulder to steady herself as the other one reached to pick up a receipt from an Italian restaurant, holding it up so Sherlock could read it.
"Stopped on his way. He got peckish." he finished, his voice slightly breathy due to Y/N's close proximity.
•••
Y/N and Sherlock found the espresso bar, the detective talking, more to himself than to Y/N as they walked down the street.
"So you bought your lunch from here en route to the station, but where were you headed from? Where did the taxi drop you?.." Sherlock was spinning around, bumping into someone, both men grunting as they collided. Turning around to see none other than John, Sherlock began rapidly blurting out. "Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died - whatever was hidden in that case. We've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information..."
"Sherlock-" John tried to interject, but the detective paid no mind as he continued.
"...credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here."
"Sherlock." John tried, yet again unsuccessful. He shot an exasperated glance at his sister, who was leaning against a stone pillar, arms crossed as she watched in amusement.
"Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don't know where, but..."
"That shop, over there," John stated, slightly annoyed as he pointed to the other side of the road. Sherlock looked at the shop, then frowned, turning back to John.
"How can you tell?"
"Lukis' diary." John showed Sherlock the entry he had been reading when they bumped into each other. "He was here too. He wrote down the address."
"Oh," Sherlock mumbled as John headed towards the shop. Y/N came up from behind him, grabbing his hand and dragging him along as she followed her brother.
The trio entered a touristy shop, consisting largely of decorative cats, aptly named The Lucky Cat Emporium.
"Hello." John greeted the female shopkeeper politely as they looked around the items on display.
"You want lucky cat?" The shopkeeper lifted up one of the cats from the desk.
"No, thanks. No." John shook his head as Sherlock looked around and smirked.
"Ten pound! Ten pound!" The woman tried to convince him, but John continued to decline. The shopkeep gestured towards Y/N. "I think your wife, she will like."
"She-she's not-" John choked out, Sherlock and Y/N sniggering at his flustered state.
"I'm his sister," Y/N explained kindly to the woman, who just smiled and vanished behind a curtain to the back room. John sighed heavily, going to examine a display of ceramic cups, as Sherlock inspected a shelf of clay statues.
"Sherlock..." John began slightly shakily. He had turned one of the cups over to look at the price tag, seeing the same symbol they had seen beside Sir William's portrait and the library shelf. "The label there."
"Yes, I see it," Sherlock spoke softly as he walked over to John.
"Same as the cypher?" Y/N questioned as she turned around, holding a decorative plate. "I've got it, too."
Sherlock suddenly lifted his head, a look of realization dawning on him as he dashed out of the shop, the Watsons close behind him.
"It's an ancient number system! Hangzhou." Sherlock exclaimed as they walked down the street.
"What, like the city?" Y/N questioned as she speed-walked to stand next to Sherlock, pulling her coat tighter around her exposed neck. She hadn't had time to put a jumper on before they left the flat, and all she was wearing under her coat was a tank top, which left her shivering in the cool March air.
"These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library." Sherlock walked over to a greengrocers that had some wares displayed outside, removing his navy blue scarf and handing it to grateful Y/N before inspecting various signs, and numbers written in both Hangzhou and English.
"Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect," Y/N mumbled as she wrapped the scarf around her, making a mental note to herself to buy a scarf of her own. Although, it wouldn't have the comforting scent of Sherlock's cologne embedded within the fibres.
"It's a fifteen!" John spotted a sign with the same symbol as the one next to the portrait. "What we thought was the artist tag - it's a number fifteen."
"And the blindfold - the horizontal line? That was a number as well." Sherlock showed John and Y/N a price tag that had an almost horizontal line at the top and '£1' written underneath. Sherlock grinned triumphantly, "The Chinese number one."
"See, knew you could do it." Y/N smiled, nudging Sherlock slightly before they turned and began walking away. As John went to follow them, he spotted the same woman he saw outside the flat standing nearby, with her camera raised again, pointed towards him. Someone walked in front of her, obscuring John's view momentarily, and by the time the person had passed, the mysterious woman had vanished. John frowned, hurrying to catch up with his sister and best friend.
•••
In the restaurant opposite The Lucky Cat, the trio sits at a table by the corner, staking out said tourist shop. John and Sherlock are both writing some notes while Y/N sat subconsciously bouncing her leg as she watched the bustling street through the window.
"Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat Emporium. What did they see?" John tapped his pen against the table, glancing out the window.
"It's not what they saw." Sherlock began, placing his large hand on Y/Ns shaking thigh, smirking slightly as her breath hitched. "It's what they both brought back in those suitcases."
"And you don't mean duty-free." John quipped, thanking as a waitress brought him the food he had ordered.
"Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon." Sherlock began, leaning forward. "About how he stayed afloat in the market."
"Lost five million..." John began, shooting Y/N a glare as she plucked a piece of garlic bread from his plate.
"...made it back in a week." Y/N finished for her brother, taking a bite of the steaming piece of bread.
"That's how he made such easy money." Sherlock turned to look out of the window.
"He was a smuggler." John nodded, taking a mouthful of food.
"A guy like him - it would have been perfect. Business man making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same, a journalist writing about China."
"Both of them smuggled stuff about, and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off spot." Y/N surmised, earning a proud smile from Sherlock as he squeezed her thigh reassuringly.
"But why did they die?" John questioned, leaning forward as he glanced towards the shop. "I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?"
Sherlock sat back, deep in thought for a few seconds, a smile spreading across his face as he realized something. "What if one of them was light-fingered?"
"Of course!" Y/N exclaimed, jumping slightly in excitement as she leaned forward in her seat. "One of them stole something from the hoard."
"And the killer doesn't know which one of them took it, so he threatens them both, right." John took another bite of his food. Sherlock looks out of the window towards the shop, gaze drifting up to the windows above it.
"Remind me..." Sherlock began, noticing a Yellow Pages phone directory sealed in plastic that had been left outside the door to a flat beside the Lucky Cat. "...when was the last time that it rained?"
Grabbing Y/Ns hand, they dashed out of the restaurant. John sat back in exasperation before getting up and following them across the street.
"It last rained on Monday." Y/N shoved her phone back into her pocket. The three of them were now standing outside the front door, the label reading Soo Lin Yao. Sherlock pressed the doorbell, waiting a few seconds before heading off down the alleyway beside the flat. "No one's been in that flat for at least three days."
"Could've gone on holiday," John suggested half-heartedly.
"Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?" Sherlock retorted once they had reached the rear of the building. Spotting a metal fire escape above him, Sherlock took a short run, jumped up, and grabbed the end, pulling it down to the ground. He smirked at Y/N. "Ladies first."
Rolling her eyes at him, Y/N climbed up the steps, Sherlock following quickly behind her. Once they had reached the top, the ladder squeaked as it swung back to the horizontal position behind them.
"Sherlock! Y/N!" John called after them, realizing that he was too short to reach the ladder to pull it down again, he ran back along the alley to the front of the building.
Climbing through the window after Y/N, Sherlock cried out in muffled alarm as he almost knocked a vase of flowers off the table beside the window. Using his quick reflexes to catch it before it hit the floor, he noticed a wet patch on the rug where the vase would have hit the floor.
"Someone else has been here," Sherlock called out to Y/N, who was standing by the fridge, as he straightened up, placing the vase back on the table. Looking around the kitchen, Sherlock bent down to the washing machine and opened it. Taking out an item of clothing, Y/N let out a groan of disgust as Sherlock sniffed it, grimacing, before throwing it back in the machine.
"Do you think maybe you could let me in this time?" John yelled from outside as Y/N grabbed a pint of milk from the fridge, smelling it before holding it out to Sherlock, who did the same. John bent down, pushing open the letterbox "Can you not keep doing this, please?"
"We're not the first," Sherlock called out as Y/N put the bottle back into the fridge.
"What?" With the everyday noise of the street all around him, John couldn't hear what he was saying, bending down and putting his ear to the letterbox.
"Somebody's been in here before," Y/N called out louder, as Sherlock pulled out his pocket magnifier, brushing past her to inspect where a foot had creased the rug, leaving an impression of the intruder's shoe.
"Size eight feet." Sherlock pushed through the beaded curtain between the kitchen and living room and bent forward as he examined the rug. "Small, but... athletic."
"A woman, maybe?" Y/N suggested as she vanished to explore another part of the flat.
"I'm wasting my breath." John straightened up, sighing in exasperation as he took a couple of steps back in annoyance, before turning back and ringing the doorbell again. Inside, Sherlock picked up a framed photograph of two young Chinese children, a fresh handprint on the glass.
"Small, strong hands," Sherlock spoke softly as he gently ran his gloved fingers along them to gauge the size. "Our acrobat." Closing the magnifier, and placing the photograph down, he frowned looking around. "But why didn't he close the window when he left?..." Sherlock trailed off, rolling his eyes at himself. "Oh, stupid. Stupid. Obvious. He's still here."
Looking around the room, he sees an ornately decorated folding screen. Putting his magnifier back into his pocket, Sherlock carefully walked towards it, grabbing the edge and pulling it back to reveal two stuffed toys staring back at him. As he went to turn around, someone wrapped a long white silk scarf around his neck from behind, pulling him down to the floor on his back, and strangling him. Sherlock grabs at the scarf, trying to relieve the pressure on his throat, but the assailant, dressed in all black, pulls the scarf tighter.
"Any time you want to include me," John yelled through the letterbox he had flipped open again.
"John! Y/N!" Sherlock called faintly, struggling against his attacker. Downstairs, John straightened up, shaking his head in frustration as he began pacing outside the door.
"'No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no one else can compete with...'" he stormed back to the letterbox, flipping it open as he angrily shouted through it. "'...my MASSIVE INTELLECT'."
"Oi!" Y/N appeared in the doorway, wielding a wooden rolling pin, startling the assailant enough to release their grip on Sherlock, stuffing something in the detective's pocket before they pushed past Y/N, escaping through the kitchen window. Dropping her makeshift bat, she ran up to him. "Sherlock!"
Sherlock choked and coughed as Y/N kneeled down beside him, tugging the scarf from his neck. He rolled over onto his front, clutching at the collar of his shirt as Y/N helped him get onto his hands and knees, rubbing his back while he gasped to get his breath back. "I'm fine, I'm fine..."
"I'm sorry, I should have done something sooner, or-" Y/N was cut off by Sherlock abruptly throwing his arms around her, still breathing heavily.
"Thank you." He whispered hoarsely, pulling away slightly to wipe away the stray tear that was rolling down Y/Ns cheek. Rummaging through his coat pocket, Sherlock pulled out a familiar black origami flower. He looked at it for a moment before stumbling to his feet, Y/N quickly wrapping her arm around his waist to support him as he wobbled slightly.
As they opened the front door downstairs, John made an exasperated sound, glaring at them as Sherlock spoke croakily. "The, uh, milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago."
"Somebody?" John questioned, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously.
"Soo Lin Yao," Y/N spoke up, saving the detective's voice. "We have to find her."
"But how, exactly?" John said as Sherlock bent down and picked up a folded envelope from the floor just inside the door. On the back is written: 'Soo Lin, please ring me, tell me you're OK -Andy' He unfolded it, showing Y/N the bottom corner printed with the logo for the National Antiquities Museum.
"Maybe we could start with this," Sherlock said croakily, handing the envelope to Y/N as she headed down the street, Sherlock closed the door before he and John followed after her.
"You've gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?" John asked Sherlock.
"I'm fine." Sherlock coughed as they walked down the street.