The Jack of All Trades {Sherlock Holmes}

Chapter Eight

"John! John! I've got it!" Sherlock ran through the kitchen door, seeing nobody in there. He quickly raced into the living room, brandishing the A-Z.

"The cipher! The book! It's the London A to Z that they're usin-..." His voice trailed off and he dropped the book. He stared at the windows in horror. On the windows were the cipher.

15, 1.

Deadman.

Noticing there was no sign of John, nor Evelyn, Sherlock spotted a blue rag on the ground. He didn't have to smell it in order to know what it was, and without wasting any more time, he raced out of the flat.

~~~~~~~~~~

Evelyn watched, completely bored, as John regained consciousness in the dark. A fire burning in a dustbin behind him let only a bit of light as he raised his head. His left temple was bleeding and he grimaced in pain as a voice rang out.

"A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket," The female voice of the Opera Singer said. John looked to the left to see Evelyn sitting patiently with a gag in her mouth. She looked at him, almost looking terrified, but calm.

Despite the darkness, the woman was wearing dark sunglasses. She walked towards them in the abandoned tunnel, two Chinese men following behind her, only visible by the couple of fires burning. A few feet ahead of Evelyn and John, who were tied to their chairs by their hands and feet, was a large object covered with cloth.

"Chinese proverb, Mr. Holmes," the woman said. Evelyn rolled her eyes. John was so unlike Sherlock in every way.

"I... I'm not Sherlock holmes."

"Forgive me if I do not take your word for it," she said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his wallet and opening it. "Debit card, name of S. Holmes."

Evelyn glared at John, and he looked slightly embarrassed when he noticed her frustration with him. Tonight was really not going well.

"A cheque for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Evelyn widened her eyes at him, questioning.

"Yeah, he gave that to me to look after."

"Tickets from the theatre, collected by you, name of Holmes." Evelyn clenched her jaw as best as she could, looking around the tunnel frustrated. John might as well be Sherlock's boyfriend.

"Yes, okay, I realise what this looks like, but I'm not him."

"We heard it from your own mouth." John looked up at the woman in disbelief. Evelyn was completely done with all this, frustrated beyond belief. She huffed through her nose, not even bothering to react anymore.

"I am Sherlock Holmes, and I always work alone, because no-one else can compete with my massive intellect." Evelyn snorted quietly. It was a little funny. John stared ahead of himself in disbelief.

"Did I really say that?" John chuckled. "I s'ppose there's no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression." Before he could finish the sentence, the woman raised a small pistol and pointed it at his head. Evelyn whined through the gag as she tried to escape her bonds.

"Keep her quiet," the woman ordered. A man came up to Evelyn and cracked his hand across her face. She sat there, stunned. This was so vaguely familiar, but so distantly foreign. "I am Shan."

"You're... You're Shan."

"Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr. Holmes," Shan said. "What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?"

She lifted her hand, cocking the pistol. John cringed back, turning his head away and whispered, "Don't, don't," as he struggled against his bonds. Shan looked down at him, her expression becoming ominous. John breathed out heavily as her finger tightened on the trigger.

John stared directly into the barrel of the gun, his face full of terror as she pulled the trigger all the way.