Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Blind Banker- Nine

Chapter Nine

John left to collect his date, So I got ready. I didn't choose anything fancy. Just some black jeans with a cream turtleneck matched with some red heels. And of course pale red lipstick. Placing my hair in a low bun I grabbed a jacket and we left Baker Street, walking to the circus. "So what's the plan?" I asked Sherlock. "We are going to go backstage and investigate." Nodding my head we carried on walking in silence. It wasn't a uncomfortable silence it was quite comfortable. "You know, Mycroft said I could cost Mr Wilkes his job." He chuckled lowly but that baritone voice he uses filled me. "Rightly so, Never liked him anyways..."

"Did he always bully you? In University I mean?"

"Yes but you get used to it." I slipped my arm through his, patting my other hand on his shoulder. "You're not so bad Sherlock. Just a chip of the old block." I leaned my head on his arm. "You're not so bad yourself. Your just more than a chip of a block." I laughed lowly. Surely this was what people call flirting? But it came so naturally. We arrived at the Circus only to hear John complain. "Actually, I have four in that name."

"Oh, no. I think that's an error. He booked two."

"And then I phoned back and got two for myself and Michelle." I un-slipped my arm from Sherlock greeting the girl. "Hi, I'm Michelle. John's told me so much about you." I lied to make John feel better. "Has he? I'm Sarah." We began talking whilst the boys sorted out their differences. Walking up to the lads I noticed that my better judgement was indeed wrong. "Whilst I'm trying to get off with Sarah!  Hey." John forced a smile but Sarah seemed startled. I walked away from the pair and followed Sherlock ahead. Slipping my arm in his.

There were no seats in the derelict music hall. We stood in the empty place by the ring of candles. In the centre was a tall tripod covered in cloth. A female performer enters, dressed in the make-up and robes of a Chinese opera. A drummer bangs out a monotonous beat a sound which seems oddly familiar.

The women pulls off the cloth. Balanced on the tripod is a ballista. At one end is the long metal shaft, ready to fire. At the other end hangs a metal bowl on a chain, dangling from the trigger. A loud bang comes from the drummer. The women produces from her robes a lethal-looking crossbow bolt. She puts it in the ballista mechanism and cocks the spring. Raising her hand for silence the drummer lowly pelts at the drum and the audience begins their silence. Extracting a white feather from her head-dress, she gently drops it into the metal bowl.

The mechanism is so sensitive that the weight of the feather pulls the trigger down and releases the spring. The dart fires straight into the plank. Gasps come from the audience and music continues. A masked warrior enters, dressed all in black. "I think I know what's coming." John mutters. The masked man stands against the plank and people begin to chain him up. "Dear God. What are they going to do now?"

"Ancient Chinese escapology act. The crossbow is on a delicate spring. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."

"Well, that sounds like ideal entertainment for a Friday night." Sarah jumps at the sudden crash, clutching to John for comfort. The ballista is pulled back. A long golden rope is lowered from the ceiling. Attached to the bottom is a sandbag. The rope runs up over a beam, Attached to the end in the roof is a metal weight, shaped like a teardrop. "They split the sandbag so the sand pours out. The weight is gradually lowered on to the bowl. Classic Chinese circus act."

"I would have been happy with a bit of juggling and a couple of clowns... Then again..." The masked warrior is in place, strapped to the plank. The women takes out a knife; cuts a gash in the sandbag. The sand starts to pour out. Slowly, slowly it rises to the ceiling, spinning all the while. On the other end of the rope the metal weight is gradually lowered towards the waiting bowl. The drummer begins his crescendo. The warrior struggles in his bonds. The metal that binds him don't seem to budge. Sarah seemed terrified and John seemed tense.

The sandbag is almost bereft of sand, higher and higher it rises. The metal weight drops down, almost touching the bowl. Then, after struggling the warrior seems to be loosening some of the bonds that confine him. The sand runs out; the weight lands in the bowl; the warrior pulls away and ducks. The ballista is triggered; the dart fires into the plank; he steps aside and it misses him by a whisker.

Sherlock laced his hand in mine and pulled me in the direction behind the stage. We find the dressing area empty. Chinese costumes litter the tables and chairs. Sticks of greasepaint and abandoned opera masks. In the corner we notice a mannequin dressed in green. A head-dress rests on the top, the face of a Chinese Warlord. Sherlock examines the piece, taking the head-dress of. Applause could be heard of in the distance. I peer through the curtain and saw the human spider act commencing. "Well, well."

Sherlock's quick to grab me darting towards a dressing rack. I carefully and quietly unzip the small black bag and retrieve a yellow spray paint can. "Found you." Passing it to Sherlock we then jump to our feet him, spray painting the mirror. I look through the mirror of the green Warlord. Something seemed different about it.

Did it have hands before? And were they holding swords? "Sherlock." Someone was wearing the Warlord costume now. He comes up to me ready to attack but I brandish him from his swords. Locking in hand to hand combat I point to Sherlock, who the Warlord then looks to and attacks him. Sherlock narrowly manages to dodge him as well as trying the 'Watch out' routine. "Hey." He turns and I land a blow to his jaw. Seizing the moment I dash at him with a mighty force which leads us crashing into the curtain landing on the auditorium floor.

I dive on him but he lands a punch on me. Advancing towards me he kicks me down and I heard a snap of my arm. Not too soon after Sarah comes closer bearing a plank and smashing it on his back. Sherlock rips the shoe revealing the Black Lotus tattoo. The Warlord kicks at Sherlock before staggering and flailing with his sword. Taking the sword away from him I land a karate kick to his chin.

"Michelle your wrist..."

"Not now." We run to the station barging, yet again to Dimmock's desk reporting whets happened. "I sent a couple of cars. The old music hall is totally deserted."

"Look I saw the mark at the theatre. The tattoo we saw on the bodies. The mark of the Tong."

"They were part of a smuggling operation. One of them stole something when he was in China. Something valuable."

"These circus performers they were gang members, sent here to get it back."

"Get what back."

"We don't -."

"It was something jade." I stated. All heads turned to face me. "How do you know?" Dimmock asked. "I didn't, I noticed Lukis's secretary Amanda had a jade pin in her hair."

"Yes but how do you know it was that exactly?"

"What are you deaf, I've just said." He then turned to Sherlock. "Mr. Holmes, I've done everything you've asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something... I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I'll have something to show for it. Other than a massive bill for overtime."

Walking out of the building I felt a stinging sensation. I turned and noticed my wrist. Making our way back to the flat John tried to tend to my wrist. 'Try' being the key word. "Michelle please, your being insufferable."

"Look I know it's broke just give me the first aid kit I can do it myself."

"No!" I gave up fighting him so I closed my eyes and moved my arm towards him. "Be quick, say nothing!" He lifted the sleeve and got to work with casting my arm up. "John I think she needs the hospital.."

"No! No thank you Sarah. I assure you I am fine besides a broken wrist." I said knowingly, knowing what she was talking about. My scars. "There. Done. Thank you for cooperating." John stated a little irritated. "They won't leave without finding what they came for. We need to find a hideout. A rendezvous... Somewhere in this message, it must tell us."