You and Sherlock

Writing on the Statue

The uneasiness followed you back to the hospital, and it wasn't until you were back in the lab, Molly scurrying around you and corpses...well... not scurrying, that the unease faded. You caught up on all the work that had slowly been getting backlogged, and it was well into the evening when you left. Molly had gone home at a reasonable hour, sometime around five, with a cheery farewell. Your phone had buzzed a few times -- mostly passing messages from your parents, who had recently decided they were moving. And then messages from Sherlock. At some point in time, John had created a group chat with you three, and he'd sent an attachment.

Stepping out into the cooler night air, you wrapped your coat a little more tightly around yourself and pulled out your phone. The attachment John had sent was a photograph -- a plain brick wall and spray-painted over it a message, you assumed. In the same almost-garish yellow glyphs as you'd seen at the bank. Sherlock hadn't said anything in the group, but he'd texted you individually twice. 

Requiring your presence. Come quickly. -SH

He'd sent that at four-thirty. And then, another message, this one from twenty minutes ago.

National Antiquities Museum. Come immediately. -SH

And so, you did what you always did when Sherlock summoned you like this. You hailed a cab and told him, "National Antiquities Museum, please."

The ride over was quiet, as pleasant as you let it be. Standing in front of the dark building, noticeable even in the night, were two silhouettes well-known to you. You paid the cabbie hurriedly and made your way over to them.

"Oh, hey Y/N," John greeted you. He looked tired, and a bit surprised. "I thought Sherlock might leave you be and let you sleep."

"Oh now," you shrugged, lips involuntarily quirking up. "How Sherlock would that be of Sherlock to do?"

John chuckled a bit, and Sherlock hushed him irritably, eyes catching on you. You smiled at him, and he nodded his head in acknowledgment. You thought you caught his lips tilting up too, but you couldn't be sure -- it was too dark to tell clearly.  

A man opened the door to the museum then; he was plainly attractive and altogether wholly forgettable. He paused when he saw you.

"Y/N. I'm with these two," you indicated the connection between you and the boys with your finger. The man looked uncertainly at Sherlock, who nodded impatiently. 

"Erm, I'm Andy. Nice to meet you. I'll, uh, guide you back to the display room." He stepped back and Sherlock surged forward through the doorway, and you and John followed. 

The museum was a little creepy, all dark and deserted, you thought. Like someone could jump out and grab you while Andy and John made awkward small talk. Your steps echoing, Andy led you through the museum deftly, to a display room with a little shelf of teapots. 

Sherlock examined the teapots thoughtfully.

"Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals."

"Soo Lin Yao's in danger. Now, that cipher – it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well."

You still weren't entirely sure who Soo Lin Yao was and what role she played in the context of a killer who liked spray paint, beyond the fact that she was a person of interest, so you tried to pay close attention.

"Look," Andy said, ", I've tried everywhere: um, friends, colleagues. I-I don't know where she's gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away."

And then Sherlock's Cheshire grin appeared. John frowned.

"What are you looking at?"

Sherlock tapped the glass case of teapots. 

"Tell me more about those teapots,"

"Uh," Andry shot you and John an uncertain look. "Th-the pots were her obsession. Um, they need urgent work. If-if they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently you have to just keep making tea in them."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. 

"Yesterday, only one of those pots was shining. Now there are two."

Andy frowned, not connecting the dots.

"Y/N," Sherlock quirked a brow up, looking at you. 

"Hm?"

"The game is on. Will you play?"

This wasn't the first time he'd asked a question like that to you. It meant that you were going to be out late. You had work in the morning, like every other normal person, but his eyes were earnest, and you couldn't resist.

"How could I not?" You smiled wryly. 

Sherlock nodded and turned back to Andy decisively.

"When was the last time that you saw her?"

Andy frowned thoughtfully.

"Three days ago, um, here at the museum. This morning they told me she'd resigned just like that." He looked around the room hopeless and bewildered, and you felt a twinge of sympathy for him. "She just... left her work unfinished."

"What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?"

"The tea ceremony," he replied, shrugging.

"What's that?" John interjected, sharing a confused look with you. 

"It's a ceremony of sorts -- for the tourists. She does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here." Andy sighed. "I'll show you to the archives where we can them."

He led the three of you through a few back halls and a little door marked "personnel" and then down a set of plain industrial stairs. The basement was a little eerie, you had to admit. Night At the Museum seemed plausible here, in between half-covered statues and boxed-up artifacts. Andy walked to one of the open stacks and turned the handle to open it further. You and John peered curiously into the stack to see what it held, but Sherlock turned away.

It took you a second to register that Sherlock was walking in the opposite direction, toward the shadows a little further along in the room. Pulling away from John and Andy, you watched Sherlock as he stopped near something. Before you realized it, you'd taken three steps forward and saw that Sherlock was staring at a life-sized sculpture of a nude woman... who'd been marked in that familiar yellow spray paint. 

A line slashed across her eyes and her body had the upside-down eight with the horizontal line above it. 

Three things happened simultaneously: first, the realization that the killer was here -- or had been here; second, this asshole, whoever they were, defiled a piece of art -- and the audacity was truly absurd of this killer; and third, this killer was after Soo Lin and Soo Lin must have known. 

---

A/N: I was feeling a little lost with this story, but then I rewatched the episode. And honestly, who thinks it's okay to defile museum artwork?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Please vote/comment if you did :)