Following dinner, Tera cleaned the kitchen quickly, packed up the leftovers, and asked John to put them away. She still wasn't quite ready to face the head in the fridge and felt any attempt to do so would likely result in the contents of her stomach ending up all over the fridge.

"We're going out," announced Sherlock as he pulled on his coat and tied his scarf around his neck. He glanced over at Tera, who was leaning against the counter in the kitchen. "That means you too. Can't have you mucking about the place trying to make it homey."

Tera rolled her eyes before heading to her room and retrieving her own jacket. She pulled on some black boots, catching up with John and Sherlock at the bottom of the stairs.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Looking for Chinese numbers." Sherlock hailed a cab and they climbed in. John and Sherlock sat on one side, Tera on the other. "We're dealing with two murders so far, and a missing Chinese woman, and they're connected to these symbols."

He motioned to John, who showed Tera a picture of a symbol spray-painted on a portrait.

"You're certain there are more numbers?" she asked, studying the images.

"These have shown up at each of the victim's houses, and one of my people found part of another one sprayed in an underground skate park. These numbers are a code and we need the cipher."

Tera peered at him curiously, not sure what to make of this. "And you trust me enough already to bring me along and fill me in?"

Sherlock snuffed. "It's not about trust. I need help observing. You're observant."

"Fair enough."

The taxi stopped at the edge of some train tracks, the three spilling out into the darkness. Sherlock handed John a flashlight. "You and Tera search that way," he said, nodding towards the direction the tracks were headed. "I'll search here."

Tera watched as Sherlock walked away, admiring his tenacity. He might have been pompous and terse when it came to dealing with people, but the moment work was involved he became hyper-focused and task oriented. He was intent on solving the puzzle.

"You coming?" John called, and Tera realized she had just been standing still and staring.

"Yes, sorry." She jogged up to him, watching the walls, trains, and tracks for anything that might resemble the symbols. There was a chill in the air, and Tera was thankful for her coat and boots in this weather. It was damp - much damper than she was used to. "So, these symbols, will they all be yellow?"

"That's what we've seen so far."

They reached an area in the trainyard with multiple brick walls and Tera pulled out her cell phone, turning on its internal flashlight. They each looked around, checking rocks, sides of containers, every surface that could potentially be home to one of the numbers. Both flashed their lights up on one of the walls at the same time, revealing an entire wall covered in Chinese numerals.

"Holy shit," Tera breathed. "I take it this is what you were looking for."

"I think so." John pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. "Let's go get Sherlock."

"Shouldn't one of us, I don't know, stay here?"

John looked at her slightly bewildered. "Alone, at night, in the dark? What exactly is going to happen to a wall in twenty minutes? It's not like paint will just vanish."

Ten minutes later, the three of them stood staring at the wall, covered in fresh paint with no signs of the symbols.

"I don't understand!" John was completely bewildered. "It was here. Twenty minutes ago. I saw it - we both saw it," he pointed over at Tera. "A whole load of graffiti!"

"So much for 'what exactly is going to happen in twenty minutes,'" Tera muttered softly behind him, imitating a British accent.

John glanced back at her. "I heard that."

Sherlock approached the wall and touched it, pulling away and examining his fingers before showing them the black paint on his fingers. "Someone doesn't want me to see it."

He looked between his two companions. "You both said you saw it?" They nodded.

Glancing at John then at Tera, he walked over to Tera and grabbed her by the head. "You have the better memory."

"What the hell?" she protested as Sherlock held her face.

"Shush, Tera! Concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Shut your eyes."

"What the hell are you doing?" Tera demanded, trying to pull out from him.

Sherlock's grip was a lot stronger than she had imagined, and she couldn't quite get away. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and began to spin her around. She closed her eyes, not quite sure why she was complying, but assuming at the least, it would stop her from getting overwhelmingly dizzy.

"I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you remember?"

"I remember all of it," piped in John.

"Not now John, she has the photographic memory. I need her to access it."

"Sherlock, I took a photograph."

Sherlock stopped spinning Tera, who nearly toppled over as he let go. He smirked down at her and stepped away, earning a small growl as she pushed herself back to her feet.

"I took a photograph," John repeated, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and showing it to Sherlock.

By the time they returned to the flat, it was well past midnight and John was yawning like he hadn't slept in ages.

"Well, if we're done adventuring for the night, I'm going to get some sleep." he said as he padded off towards the stairs.

"I need your help," Sherlock stated as he reviewed John's photograph.

John harrumphed as he started walking up the stairs. "You'll end up doing it all yourself, and then talking to me when I'm not even in the room anyways, just like you always do."

"That's not true. I'm always aware of when you are and aren't in the room. I'm not in the habit of talking to thin air." Sherlock rattled on, not even noticing John had left the room.

Tera sat quietly and observed, trying to further piece together the dynamics of their relationship. There was nothing emotional about Sherlock's tone, everything he said was clinical. The only emotions she had really seen from him so far were triumph and frustration, and perhaps once or twice, mild amusement.

Still, his need to have John all to himself, to not let John work, was in and of itself a display of emotional attachment. One she assumed, that even Sherlock himself didn't pick up on, likely rationalizing it away as a necessity or simply a factor of convenience.

"Stop staring at me like that." Sherlock's sharp tone snapped her out of her thoughts, and she matched his gaze.

"Like what?" she asked, not sure what expression exactly had been on her face.

"Like you're trying to get into the innermost corners of my mind and figure me out," he retorted. "You're not going to get it right. I don't have sentiments and attachments. There's nothing to figure out. I am exactly who I present myself as."

Tera snorted. "Nobody is exactly who they present themselves as. We all have secrets. We all have parts of ourselves we attempt to silence, wishing they didn't exist. But they're still there, still making us ourselves."

"Not. Me." Annoyance and frustration laced across his face as he glared at Tera, wondering why the woman wouldn't just take him at his word. Why she seemed to have this incessant need to outsmart him.

Tera stood, tossing the blanket she had been using back on the chair, and started to walk out of the room. She paused at the doorway and turned back to him.

"One day, Sherlock Holmes, you'll be forced to face those parts of yourself that you want to believe don't exist. When that time comes, I hope your stubbornness won't push you to do something so rash that it harms the very people causing those feelings to surface."

Before he could respond, she had disappeared up the stairway. Once in her bedroom, Tera changed into some pyjamas and crawled into bed, popping her laptop open. Her mind was racing far too much to go to sleep, so instead, she began work on the first in the blog series, telling how she eventually came upon a flat like no other.

Tera was woken by a loud screeching noise shortly after three in the morning. She bolted upright in bed, her heart pounding and hand shaking. As her senses recovered, she realized it wasn't screeching, but rather a very loud violin.

"Who the hell plays the violin at this hour?" she muttered as she stumbled out of the room and down the stairs, hair a mess, and forgetting to grab her housecoat. Bleary-eyed, she pushed her way into the living room.

Sherlock was facing the fireplace, his body angled just enough towards her that she could see his eyes were closed, completely lost in the music. His fingers flew and his other hand guided the bow seamlessly, gliding it along as if it required little effort to play. He played masterfully, showcasing the talent of someone who deeply appreciates not just the music, but the art itself.

A form of sentimentality, Tera mused, mesmerized by the beauty of it. She lost track of time, completely sucked in by the music, standing there and watching.

She wasn't quite sure how long she had been standing there when Sherlock stopped playing, and without looking up, said, "I told you to stop staring at me like that."

"Sorry," she murmured. "I honestly wasn't trying to figure you out this time, just… absorbed in the music. It was beautiful. You play wonderfully."

"Of course," Sherlock said, finally looking over at her. "I master everything I decide to do."

"Modest too, apparently."

She could have sworn there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips before he turned to put away his instrument.

"I see no need for modesty. Someone is capable of something or they're not. There's no shame in excelling."

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly noticing the chill in the room. "There's a difference between being proud of yourself for your accomplishments and arrogance you know."

"Of course there isn't. One is simply pandering to make others feel better, the other is the honest truth."

Sherlock picked up the blanket she had tossed on the back of his chair earlier and walked over, holding it out to Tera. She wanted to look away from his intense gaze, feeling the heat raising up her neck, but refused to break it.

"Take yourself for example," he continued, staring her down. "Why would you act modest about your writing, particularly your obvious skill at journalism, when you excel above most of your colleagues? Should you not capitalize on that?"

"How do you know what my writing is like?"

There it was again, the hint of a smile - or was it a smirk - before he walked over to his desk and flipped open his laptop, revealing her blog open in the browser. Tera found herself unsure of whether she should be flattered or concerned that he was already stalking her on the internet. She had to admit though, she was slightly pleased that whether or not he liked her writing, he seemed to think she wrote well.

"When you write, do you question your skills? Do you apologize for your talent when you are starting a post or producing an article?"

"No, but modesty isn't apologizing for your skills, it's recognizing that there are others who are as skilled or better than you."

"Nobody's better than me."

Tera groaned and stalked over to the couch, flopping down on it. "You're the worst, you know that?" She stuck her leg out up over the arm, back flat on the cushions, staring at the ceiling.

The only response from Sherlock was what sounded like a mix between a short chuckle and a disgruntled snort. A few moments later, the picture of the wall and a thick Chinese-to-English dictionary landed on her stomach.

"If you're going to stay down here you may as well make yourself useful." A moment later, he was seated at his laptop again scrolling through something.

"Oh, I see how it is," Tera teased. "I do your work and you read my blog."

"Don't be silly, I can't be bothered with reading more of your drivel. I'm researching. Now please, be quiet so I can think."

Childishly, Tera stuck out her tongue at his back before propping herself up and digging into the textbook. It didn't take her long to translate, and once she was done, she joined Sherlock at the table as they began tossing back and forth possible ideas for what they could mean.

"Call signs?" Tera suggested. "Could correlate to the different smugglers?"

"No, closer, though. Some kind of communication, yes. But not call signs, no. Call signs could be left at places where the smugglers frequented or lived, letting them know there was something they were required to do. They wouldn't paint all the call signs in the same place at the same time. This has got to be more than that. But what? What are they saying? That's what we need to figure out. These numbers, they mean something."

They tossed theories around until dawn began to creep through the curtains and a sleepy John stumbled into the room yawning. At one point, Sherlock had printed off the sets of numbers and posted them in a collage on the wall with the translations below them.

"Have you two been at it all night?" John asked, glancing at Tera who was slowly nodding off to sleep at the table.

"Been at it," she giggled in a mumble. "If that's what the kids are calling it these days." Realizing she had actually spoken her thought out loud she immediately sat up, now wide awake, face bright red.

"I uhh… ignore what I said," she stammered.

John just stared at her, perplexed. "Does 'been at it' mean something else in Canada?"

Still staring at the wall, Sherlock replied dryly, "It does if you have the humour of a ten-year-old boy. Which, it seems that Tera does."

John continued to look perplexed for a moment and flushed slightly when he realized what was said. "Oh, oh gosh. Did you think? I didn't mean to suggest -"

"Relax, John. I was making a joke… apparently, those aren't appreciated around here." She tossed a look over at Sherlock, shrugged, then made her way to the kitchen to get some coffee.

Still appearing mildly uncomfortable, John walked over to Sherlock. "Were you able to come up with anything last night?"

The eighteen Chinese symbols had overtaken the entire wall, each translation in pairs - 3 and 19, 12 and 43, and on and on.

"Always in pairs, John. Look." Sherlock said, eyes wandering across the many pictures. "Numbers - they come with partners. Why would he paint it by the tracks? Tera thought call signs, but not with that many in one place. These - these were specific. Thousands of people pass by there every day…"

Tera returned with two cups of coffee, thrusting one at the yawning John and offering the other to Sherlock. Declining the offer, Sherlock blinked in surprise at the wall as Tera began to drink it herself.

"Of course! He wants information. He's contacting all his people in the underworld - not a call sign, but a message! Whatever was stolen, he wants it back. And it's somewhere here - in code. We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao."

"Who?" Tera asked.

"She's the missing person we told you about, the one the killer is after next," John explained, stifling another yawn.

"And you know where to find her?"

Sherlock began walking towards his bedroom. "We'll start at the museum." Pausing, he looked over his shoulder and said, "You may want to consider putting on more clothing before we leave," before continuing into the bedroom and shutting the door.

The museum was fairly quiet when the trio arrived, allowing them to drag Soo Lin's coworker, Andy off to the side to speak to him. Andy looked frustrated, dark circles around his eyes, indicating a lack of sleep. Tera watched him closely, reading his facial expression and reactions when Sherlock told him they needed to talk about the missing woman.

He liked her, a lot, she mused, feeling a pang of sympathy for the man. It's one thing when you deal with rejection from a love interest - but to have them completely vanish, regardless of whether the feelings were requited or not, must be even more difficult.

Sherlock was pushing him, obviously feeling the man had more information and just didn't realize it.

"Two men died after visiting China. The killer left them messages, written in the Hang Zhou numerals." Sherlock's tone was more than firm - almost scolding.

John stepped in, slightly kinder. Good cop, bad cop dynamic, Tera observed.

"Soo Lin Yao is in danger. That cipher - it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well."

Andy looked at the ground and ran his hand through his curly hair, sighing in frustration. "I've tried everywhere. Her friends; her colleagues. I don't know where she's gone. She could be a thousand miles away."

Sherlock, however, was no longer paying attention. He was staring behind them at a case filled with old clay teapots. Tera frowned as she followed his gaze.

"Sherlock, what are you looking at?" she asked, walking towards the glass case.

Sherlock began to move towards the case as well, the other two following.

"Tell me more about those teapots," he said, pointing as he approached.

"Those pots were her obsession. They need urgent work. If they dry out the clay can start to crumble. Apparently, you have to keep making tea in them."

Inside the cabinet, two of the five teapots were gleaming, appearing to be freshly polished. Or, more correctly as Andy had explained, recently brewed in.

"Yesterday only one of those pots was shining," Sherlock said, bending down until they were at eye level.

Tera took a deep breath, whooshing it out as she spoke. "Soo Lin's here," she said quietly.

"Yes. I think it's time for us to meet her."

They returned just before dark and found places to quietly hide away in the silent museum. Tera had always imagined museums would feel peaceful at night, but she couldn't shake the chill that seemed to cut through the air in spite of the warm temperature. They sat in silence in a darkened mop closet, squished closely together with Tera wedged in the middle.

Tera had tried to suggest she could hide elsewhere upon seeing how small the space was, but Sherlock had said it was the only door he tested that did not make noise upon opening it. And so they had pushed in, John standing in front of the door, Tera back-to-back with him, and Sherlock standing facing her.

"This is ridiculous," Tera muttered after half an hour. Her legs were starting to tingle and she had to keep flexing them to keep her feet from falling asleep.

"Stop talking," Sherlock ordered in a firm whisper, piercing blue eyes narrowed at her yet again.

She raised an eyebrow at him, unphased by his glare. After a full 24-hours with the man, she had received so many glares that they may as well have been his version of a smile.

"And if I don't?" she whispered back, challenging him.

"Then you can find a new place to live."

"He doesn't mean that," John piped in.

"I most certainly do."

"Now who's the one who won't stop talking?" Tera muttered.

Another unamused glare. She was about to make another snarky comment when the sound of moving metal, likely a grate, screeched through the echoey museum.

Tera tried to ask if that was what they were waiting for but was silenced by Sherlock covering her mouth and shaking his head slowly. She ignored the quickening of her pulse at his touch, telling herself it was just an emotional response to the man's terse behaviour. A few minutes later, very light footsteps passed by them, heading into the back room where Soo Lin's desk sat.

Quietly, John opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Sherlock released his hand from her mouth and pushed past her the moment they were out of the closet. They followed him into the back, the door having been left wide open as Soo Lin moved to her work station with another teapot.

A beautiful young woman sat pouring tea at her table, working ever cautiously with a methodic grace. Tera couldn't tear her eyes away as they slowly approached, Sherlock moving ahead of them in the silence.

He spoke only when he was beside Soo Lin. "Fancy a biscuit with tha-"

Soo Lin gasped in surprise, dropping the teapot. Quick as lightning, Sherlock caught the pot and handed it back to the woman.

"Centuries old. Wouldn't want to break that."

He turned on the light, John and Tera approaching and sitting at the bench across from Soo Lin. She told her story, explaining how she and her brother had ended up with The Black Lotus, and that her brother had returned to kill her. Zhi Zhu, 'the spider', was the assassin who had attacked Sherlock at Soo Lin's apartment, and the man responsible for the other murders. The code for the cipher, she revealed, was based on a book all the smugglers would have access to.

As she finished explaining, the lights flicked out, creating another ominous echo through the museum. Sherlock stood immediately, looking around.

"Zhi Zou," said Soo Lin sadly. "He has found me."

Sherlock took off running, Tera hot on his heels.

"Sherlock, Tera, wait!" John shouted from behind them, but neither one stopped.

They ran through the museum to the main lobby, looking around frantically for the killer. Neither saw as the man stepped out on the walkway above them, levelling a gun in their direction. The man opened fire, and Tera turned and ran for cover, heart thundering in her chest. Another shot, a bullet whizzing past her head. She was nearly at the statue when she felt another body collide into hers, taking her down to the ground with it. She held out her arms, bracing for impact and wincing at the pain of the extra weight.

For a brief moment she was terrified Sherlock had been shot, but she felt him push off her seconds later and breathed a sigh of relief. She rolled onto her back and Sherlock offered a hand, pulling her to her feet. He didn't say anything, but there was an odd look in his eye just before he turned and ran.

"Stay here," he said.

Tera ignored him and ran too, easily outpacing him. Up the stairs they tore, following the passing shadow until it disappeared into an exhibit filled with bones and other knick-knacks. A gunshot rang out behind them, and Tera grabbed Sherlock, pulling him to safety behind a pillar, her hands still holding onto the front sides of his coat as they breathed heavily, both nearly out of breath.

Sherlock leaned his head to the side, shouting, "Careful! Some of those skulls are over 2000 years old! Have a bit of respect!"

One more gunshot rang out and then silence.

"Thank you," Sherlock said.

Tera closed her eyes, breathing deeply and rhythmically, only realizing a few seconds later she had not released her grip on Sherlock's coat. She dropped her hands away, Sherlock staring at her with a blank expression. After another second of silence, Sherlock's expression turned perplexed, and he leaned out. The assassin was gone.

"Soo Lin!" Tera gasped, and shoved Sherlock away, running at full speed out of the exhibit and down the hallway. She could see Zhi Zhu running ahead in the darkness when she hit the stairs. She would have to turn and run back under them after reaching the lower level. There wasn't enough time.

Too slow to go all the way. She was three quarters down when she pushed herself, jumping over the railing and landing on the ground in a crouched position. Sharp pains shot up her legs, her feet and ankles screaming in protest. Ignoring it, she continued to run full tilt, and she managed to catch up with the assassin just outside of the workspace.

There was no time to think - she charged forward, bending down and pummeling into him with her shoulder, knocking him into the wall.

Effortlessly, Zhi Zhu whipped around, grabbed her, and tossed Tera into an empty glass display case near them. As the glass shattered, she felt bits and pieces slice through clothing and skin, barely having enough time to contort herself so she wouldn't land on her back. Wincing with pain, she screamed "SOO LIN! RUN!" hoping the noise and her calls would reach the woman in time.

Footsteps ran towards her as pain flooded her body. Then, one more shot rang out through the night, and tears flooded into her eyes.

"Oh god." John's voice came from behind her, more footsteps echoing down the hall. Sherlock.

John went to lean down and Tera used her remaining strength to shake her head. "Go," she forced out. "Check on Soo Lin."

She knew sending him was futile, but Soo Lin shouldn't be left in there alone. Even if her life had been stolen.

She shouldn't be alone.

Taking a deep breath, Tera put her palms flat to the ground, cringing at the tiny shards of glass pressing in as she pushed herself up. Despite the pain, everything seemed to be functioning, so she hoped that meant no major arteries had been hit, and that she had been spared any detrimental injuries.

A hand grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her the rest of the way to her feet. Sherlock. His brow was creased slightly, though she couldn't quite identify if it was in worry or annoyance.

"Are you all right?"

"I think so," she said, glancing behind her. There was minimal blood in the glass and on the floor, nothing pooling. "I think it's just a few scrapes and minor cuts."

"Your face is bleeding." Sherlock reached up, and used his thumb to pull a small piece of glass off her forehead. With his other hand, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against the cut, wiping the blood away slowly.

Tera winced slightly as he moved his hand. "What you're not going to scold me for being dumb enough to attack an assassin?"

"You're the one who said it."

She smiled slightly, about to respond when John emerged from the back room, hand to his head in frustration. In his other hand was the printout of the Chinese symbols.

"I've called Dimmock, he and his men are on the way with an ambulance."

"Good." Sherlock turned to face his friend. "Maybe now he'll be willing to take this more seriously. John, I want you to take Tera back to the flat and take care of her."

He walked towards the work room, expecting John and Tera to simply follow his wishes. "Oh, and Tera," he said. "Don't bleed all over everything."