As the performance began, John could not help muttering to Sherlock who was standing as far away from Petrichor (and the giant arrows the Chinese were using in their act) as possible,
“You said circus; look at this crowd, this isn’t a circus: this is art.”
“This is not their day job,” Sherlock whispered back.
Petrichor overheard the last bit and put in witheringly,
“No, sorry, I forgot: they’re an international gang of smugglers.”
Sherlock just scoffed and she wrinkled her nose back at him as if he were some bad smell she wished to ward off.
The “circus” commenced; several different acts took place with the Deadtree Bird Spider being the last. Just before he appeared, however, Sherlock vanished with some lame excuse of using the toilet. Petrichor guessed immediately where the liar was really going and without a word quietly followed, at least glad that she could give poor John and Sarah some time alone.
She snuck to the back of the theater where the supplies and such were kept and then froze as she heard rustling. It was the woman who had introduced all the acts; and she was coming towards Petrichor. Cora looked wildly around for half a second, then jumped behind a rack of costumes…only to find out that Sherlock had had the same idea.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she mouthed sourly.
“What are you doing?” he mouthed back.
“Following you!” she answered noiselessly.
The woman went out; shutting the door behind her and leaving the pair of them in silence. Sherlock looked down, and behind the clothes was a bag with the yellow paint.
He looked up at Cora and whispered, “Found…you.”
They stood up, and Petrichor took a can of the paint and sprayed the 1 cipher on the mirror. It was the exact same paint indeed, and the symbol looked just the same.
Suddenly she stiffened: the Chinese statue behind her was moving.
“Um, Iceberg….small problem,” she said quietly.
“What?” Sherlock turned around and saw her jump to avoid the enormous saber the figure was holding. Sherlock grabbed another ornamental sword and the two began fencing; the curtain behind them and in front of the stage billowing and buffeting. Fortunately no one seemed to be noticing…except for John, who stared nervously above and wondered what was going on.
Sherlock aimed a blow at the masked assassin and missed; the figure turned to strike a blow and would have, had not a size 10 oxford slammed into his knee, making him double over in pain. Petrichor jumped up, grabbed the paint can and sprayed it profusely in the assassin’s eyes, making him stumble backwards. But he regained his balance with admirable speed, jumping back up and then throwing his body weight into Sherlock who then fell back against Petrichor who then fell backwards into thin air. All three of them tumbled onto the stage, where the Bird Spider upon seeing the mess of confused people and angry sociopaths promptly fled. The masked assassin was at last overpowered not by John or Sherlock or even Petrichor…it was Sarah who knocked him out with a metal arrow used in the performance.
“Nice shot,” Cora smiled at her.
Sherlock groaned. “Not in the mood for irony, Petrichor.”
She knelt down to where he was lying and couldn’t resist pouting, “Oh, I’m sorry, Iceberg, but that wasn’t irony; that was revenge in advance.”
John just laughed and helped get the dazed detective back to his feet, where they then ran for it…all the way to the street, called a cab and got to Dimuk’s office in ten minutes.
Needless to say the trip was not devoid of awkwardness.
And Petrichor loved all of it.
Dimuk raided the old hall as promised, but the Chinese had already fled away to some corner and could not be found. Needless to say, this did not please Petrichor in the least, and even less so Sherlock who had the pleasurable company of two women this fine evening in the flat. Sarah looked around the flat, and then came over by Sherlock’s desk and picked up the cipher picture. Sherlock looked annoyed, and Cora stifled a giggle. She was enjoying this first bit of revenge immensely.
“So these numbers…it’s a cipher?” Sarah deduced.
Sherlock looked up as if this were so obvious she should run under a rock and hide, “Yes; exactly.”
“And each pair of numbers is a word,” Sarah smiled as she understood.
But a strange change came over Sherlock’s face.”How did you know that?”
Sarah bent down to show him the picture; “Well two words have been translated already, do you see?”
Sherlock looked it over, his eyes widened. “John! Petrichor! He called; “Look at this!”
Both of them ran over to where Sherlock was sitting. “So Soo Lin DID translate part of it for us!” Petrichor’s eyes were dancing.
She looked over Sherlock’s shoulder and read the words out loud. “Nine Mill.”
“Nine million quid…for what?” Sherlock asked softly, more to himself than anyone else.
He got up rapidly and threw on his coat.
“Where are you going?” John demanded.
“Museum, I need answers,” Sherlock replied shortly.
Petrichor put on her shoes. “Then I’m coming too. You need all the help you can get and John will have Sarah to look after.”
John smile gratefully and Sherlock shrugged. “Come on then,” he headed for the staircase with her close behind and they left John and Sarah at the flat alone.
“Alright,” Petrichor demanded as they got out onto the street, “what do we need to find?”
“The book!” Sherlock cried, “the book that will give us the answers.”
Petrichor’s eyes widened and she snapped her fingers. “The book Soo Lin said all the smugglers know!”
“Exactly!” Sherlock was hurrying along the street. “What book would any Londoner have, any tourist, any visitor?”
Suddenly Sherlock, without looking ahead, crashed into two people; German by the looks of it.
“Sorry, sorry,” Petrichor smiled apologetically as she handed them their London A-Z book back.
Sherlock began running again with Petrichor running directly behind…and then stopped and turned so suddenly that Petrichor crashed right into his arms.
“Oi, watch it, Iceberg! I’d say you’re made of ice by the hardness of your reception!” Cora cried, rubbing her arm.
“Never mind that,” Sherlock muttered as he ran after the couple shouting,
“Excuse me! I need that!”
He grabbed the London A-Z and started flipping through it without bothering to look at the astonished and confused newcomers. Petrichor hastily apologized in broken German and after darting a fearful look at Sherlock they moved off.
“That’s two you owe me, Iceberg,” she said, eyeing him with an annoyed expression.
“I’ve got the book now,” Sherlock grinned, looking up at her. “They’ll thank me later.”
“Will I thank you later?” Cora demanded tapping her Oxfords rhythmically on the ground.
He shrugged, and motioned her onwards, pocketing the book. “Still, isn’t this fun?”
She relaxed a little as she walked beside him and smiled back. “Loads.”
-=-=-=-=-
