Sherlock x John: Sweet Tyler

Chapter 19: Gone-Off Milk

Shortly afterwards, the three are staking out the tourist shop, The Lucky Cat, the shop outside which Andy Galbraith was standing when he tried Soo Lin’s doorbell. Sitting at a table in the window of the restaurant opposite the shop, Sherlock was writing the two Hangzhou numbers and their English equivalents onto a paper napkin. John sat opposite him, also writing notes. Tyler nibbled on a small bread roll, watching over John.
“Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?” asked John.
Sherlock sighed, “It’s not what they saw; it’s what they both brought back in those suitcases.”
“And you don’t mean duty free.”
A waiter brought over a plate of food and placed it down in front of John.
“Thank you” smiled John. The waiter winked and walked back to his station. Sherlock paid no attention to the waiter and Tyler glanced up at John; who seemed to be quite embarrassed.
“Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market” said Sherlock, cutting in.
“Lost five million...” said John.
“...made it back in a week” finished Sherlock.
“Mmm.”
“That’s how he made such easy money” said Tyler.
“He was a smuggler. Mmm.”
John took a mouthful of food. Tyler noticed the waiter looking at him again.
“A guy like him – it would have been perfect.”

Sherlock imagined Van Coon paying a taxi driver just outside the Lucky Cat and then carrying his suitcase towards the shop.
“Business man...” said Sherlock.
“Mmm-hmm” hummed John. You could practically hear Sherlock brain whirring.
“...making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same...”
Sherlock then imagined Lukis carrying his suitcase into the Lucky Cat and lifting it onto the counter.
“...a journalist writing about China.”
“Mmm.”
“Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off” muttered Sherlock.
“But why did they die?” asked John after he finished his mouthful, “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 thoughtfully for a few seconds, then smiled as he realised the answer.
“What if one of them was light-fingered?” he asked.
“How d’you mean?” said John. Tyler’s brain started whirring now.
“Stole something; something from the hoard” said Sherlock.
John nodded, “And the killer doesn’t know which of them took it, so he threatens them both. Right.”

Sherlock looked out of the window towards the shop, and then raised his eyes to the windows above it. Looking down to the ground floor level again, his gaze sharpened.
“Remind me...” muttered Sherlock. He focused on a Yellow Pages phone directory sealed in a plastic wrapper which had been left outside the door to the flat beside the Lucky Cat.
“...when was the last time that it rained?”
Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and left the restaurant. John, who had probably managed only two mouthfuls of his meal, sat back in exasperation but then dutifully stood up and followed. Before she left, Tyler nicked a chip from John’s plate and ran after the two boys.

Over the road, Sherlock bends down to the Yellow Pages. The plastic wrapper still has drops of water on it, and the top of it has broken open a little. Sherlock runs his fingers over the top of the wet exposed pages of the directory.
“It’s been here since Monday” muttered Sherlock. He straightened up and pressed Soo Lin’s doorbell. He only waited a couple of seconds, then looked to his right and headed off in that direction. There was an alleyway beside the flat and the boys walked down the alley.
“No-one’s been in that flat for at least three days” said Sherlock.
“Could’ve gone on holiday” suggested John.
“Nope” said Tyler, “D’you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?”
Sherlock had reached the rear of the building and looked up to see a cantilevered metal fire escape above his head. Taking a short run at it, he jumped up and grabs the end, pulling it down towards him until it touched the ground, then ran up the steps towards the open window of the flat. As he reached the top, the ladder swung back to the horizontal position behind him.
“Sherlock!” called John. Before he could even think he felt a weight fall on his shoulders and saw Tyler climbing up after Sherlock.
“Thanks for the boost!” she called. Then finally realising that he’s far too much of a short-arse to be able to pull the ladder down again, John turned and ran back along the alley to the front of the building.

Sherlock climbed in through the window into the kitchen, then cried out in muffled alarm as he almost knocked a vase of flowers off the table beside the window. Catching it before it hit the floor, he glanced down and saw a wet patch on the rug in the precise place where the vase would have hit if it had reached the floor. Straightening up, he called out of the open window, unaware that John was no longer there. “Someone else has been here.”
Putting the vase back onto the table, he looked around, talking too quietly for John to hear even if he was still nearby. Not even Tyler could hear him and she was just outside the window. Tyler clambered through the window, trying – and failing – to not knock over the vase. It clinked on to the floor and Tyler impatiently placed it back for the third time.
“Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase just like I did” muttered Sherlock. He looked round the kitchen, then bent down to the washing machine and opened it. Taking out an item of Soo Lin’s unmentionables, he sniffed it and grimaced. Downstairs, John rang on the doorbell. Sherlock placed the clothing back into the washing machine and pushed the door closed, then reached for a tea towel hanging up nearby.
“D’you think maybe you could let me in this time?” shouted John through the door.
Sherlock rubbed his fingers on the tea towel, apparently found that it was dry, and moved onwards. Downstairs, John bent down to the letterbox, pushed it open and called through the gap. “Can you not keep doing this, please?”
Tyler took a pint of milk from the fridge and had taken off the lid and sniffed the contents. She resisted the urge to vomit and screwed the lid back on. As she placed the bottle back into the fridge, Sherlock called out. “I’m not the first.”
With the everyday noise of the street all around him, John couldn’t hear what Sherlock was saying. He bent down and placed his ear to the letterbox which he was still holding open.
“What?” he yelled.
“Somebody’s been in here before me!” said Sherlock louder.
“What are you saying?”
Sherlock had taken his pocket magnifier from his coat and looked down to where a foot had rucked up the rug, leaving an impression of the intruder’s shoe.
“Size eight feet” muttered Sherlock to himself.
He pushed through the beaded curtain between the kitchen and the bedroom/living room, bent forward while he examined the rug. Tyler went to follow him put felt a hand clamp around her mouth and a scarf pull tight around her neck. She gasped and tried to hit whoever it was behind her but to no avail. “Sher..lo...” Tyler tried to call. Although, Sherlock was so obsessed with investigating he didn’t hear her muted cry for help. Soft spluttering noises emitted from Tyler’s mouth as she was laid on the floor. She felt something being shoved in her pocket and her eyes slipping closed.
Sherlock; now talking more to himself than to John, “Small, but...athletic.”
He straightened up, looking thoughtful. Outside, John let go of the letterbox and straightened up, sighing in exasperation.
“I’m wasting my breath” sighed John. He walked a couple of paces away from the door, glaring around in annoyance, then turned back and rang the doorbell again. Inside, Sherlock had picked up a framed photograph of two young Chinese children – a boy and a girl. A fresh handprint was on the glass where someone had pressed their fingers against the image of the girl. Sherlock was holding his magnifier over the fingerprints as he gently ran his gloved fingers along them to gauge the size.
“Small, strong hands” said Sherlock softly. Closing the magnifier, he put down the photograph. “Our acrobat” he frowned, looking round, “But why didn’t he close the window when he left ...?”
He stopped as he realised the truth and rolled his eyes at himself.
“Oh, stupid. Stupid. Obvious. He’s still here.”
He looked around the room and saw an ornately decorated free-standing folding screen shielding the bed. Putting his magnifier into his pocket, he walked carefully towards it and then grabbed the edge of the screen and pulled it back. Two stuffed toys stared back at him in startled terror from the bedside table. Before he had a chance to apologise to them, someone quickly wrapped a long white silk scarf around his neck from behind and bundled him to the floor on his back, strangling him. Sherlock grabbed at the scarf, trying to relieve the pressure on his throat but the assailant – dressed all in black – continued to throttle him. Downstairs, John bent to the letterbox and flipped it open again.
“Any time you want to include me” he called.
Sherlock called faintly, as he struggled against his attacker, “John! John!”
Downstairs, John had straightened up again and shook his head in frustration.
John paced and said with slight irritation, “No, I’m Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with ...”
He stormed back to the letterbox, flipped it open and angrily shouted through it.
“... my MASSIVE INTELLECT!”
He dropped the letterbox again. Upstairs, Sherlock was starting to lose consciousness. Unlike Tyler who was close to no oxygen at all. As his struggles became weaker and his hands fell clear of the scarf the attacker released his grip. Downstairs, John angrily rang on the doorbell again. Upstairs, while Sherlock lied still on the floor, his eyes half closed, the assailant shoved something into Sherlock’s coat pocket; much like he did to Tyler’s; then got up and ran off. Sherlock choked and coughed, tugging the scarf from around his neck and rolling onto his front before getting up onto his hands and knees. As the attacker disappeared through the beaded curtain into the kitchen, Sherlock groaned and pulled his own scarf loose, gasping as he got his breath back. Downstairs, John looked at his watch in irritation and shook his head, apparently considering just leaving. Upstairs, breathing a little better, Sherlock sat up on his heels, rummaged in his coat pocket and pulled out a black origami paper flower. He looks at it for a moment, then stumbles to his feet, wobbling for a moment before pulling himself together. “Tyler!” he gasped, “Another one.”
He stumbled through the beaded chains and saw Tyler lying on the floor, her eyes closed and her face pale. “Crap” he muttered and dropped to his feet. He swiftly removed the white scarf from around Tyler’s neck and put his ear near Tyler’s mouth. A slight breath tickled his ear but it was very faint. Sherlock shook Tyler’s body gently. “C’mon, c’mon” he said frantically, still struggling to breath. Suddenly Tyler took a big gulp of air and rolled out of Sherlock’s arms. She coughed like crazy and rolled onto her front. Gasping and heaving she tried to sit up on her arms but lost her balance and slipped. “Sher..lo-“ she tried to say but Sherlock shushed her and pulled her up.
“I’m fine, you’re fine, come on let’s go” he croaked quickly. As Tyler struggled for breath and leant against Sherlock for support they made their way downstairs.
A few moments later Sherlock opened the front door downstairs. John made an exasperated sound and glared at him and Tyler. When Sherlock spoke, his voice was still croaky.
“The, uh, milk’s gone off and the washing’s starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago.”
Tyler coughed and heaved, “John, someo-“
Sherlock nudged her hard in the ribs which caused her to choke even more. “Ass...” she said faintly, her eyes watering a little bit.