Air on the G String

A tear of despair rolled down Emily's cheek. She still couldn't do it. She couldn't take her entire family down with her.

She was a princess who had grown up in luxury, a beneficiary of the bad things her father had done. She grieved for what Victor had suffered, but when it came to standing against him, she selfishly chose her own family.

If her death could preserve the Cavendish family, she would accept it.

Beside her, Sitangna had just finished reading Victor's detailed file. Her gaze swept over the pipe organ in the corner, and a crazy thought flashed through her mind.

"Sherlock, have you ever played Bach's 'Air on the G String' on the violin?" Sitangna walked over to Sherlock and asked quietly. It was a famous violin piece, so he would probably remember something of it.

"I have. Why... You mean that organ?" Sherlock recalled that one of Victor's few hobbies was playing the pipe organ.

He looked at the incongruous pipe organ in the bell tower. By rights, it should have been installed in a church, yet here it was in the bell tower, which was not the main place of worship.

A pipe organ had an extremely complicated structure and numerous components, and its construction depended heavily on the building around it. The one before them must have taken Victor considerable effort to bring over.

And though its surface was old, there was little dust on it. Someone clearly wiped it down often.

Sherlock remembered it all now. Victor's mother had been a locally renowned organist, and he had played this, his favorite piece, many times at class reunions. It was also the piece that had made his mother famous.

He had heard that her mother had even been specially invited to play the organ at Winchester Cathedral and Westminster Cathedral, the two most solemn and grand organ performance venues in British history.

Perhaps this was his obsession, and also the key to decoding it.

"I remember the violin score, but I can't play the organ." Sherlock spread his hands helplessly.

The pipe organ was far, far harder than the piano. Sitangna could play piano pieces up to grade seven, but she was helpless with a high-precision instrument like the organ, which required both hands and feet. Learning it on the spot was unrealistic, too.

Victor had probably counted on there being few people who could play the organ, which was why he had openly placed the bomb here.

Fortunately, the shop had temporary skill experience cards. Ten minutes was enough for her to finish the piece.

"Can you do it? You really know how to play?" Sherlock remembered that Sitangna's file said nothing about her having studied the organ, and her biographical information had shown no such talent either.

"We might as well give it a shot." Sitangna took a deep breath and activated a temporary experience card for the max-level pipe organ skill.

Then Sherlock and Sitangna sat down together in front of the old pipe organ. Victor stared at them, frowning, though his eyes also seemed to hold a faint trace of anticipation.

"Ahem, I'll only hum the main melody for you. You'll have to work out the chords yourself."

"Okay."

Listening to Sherlock's deep humming beside her, Sitangna hadn't expected that deep voice of his to sound so good singing. The tips of her ears gradually turned pink.

After two repetitions, she had more or less heard the melody clearly. Candy also set out the organ score she had just bought, right on time. Sitangna was ready to test her guess.

She tested the notes against Sherlock's humming and confirmed that the organ was in tune. Taking a deep breath, Sitangna let her fair, slender fingers leap across the rows of keys, her feet pressing the chords with equal ease.

In an instant, the solemn, pure, and steady melody of Bach's "Air on the G String" rang through the vast space.

Neither Watson nor Emily understood why they had suddenly started playing, and could only stare blankly. Were those two planning to play a piece to send them all off?

She really can play? Is she that good at learning on the spot? Sherlock glanced sideways at Sitangna, who was already absorbed in her performance, his expression complicated. He understood this young woman less and less.

The piece was not intense. On the contrary, it was very calm, yet elegant enough, like walking through the snow on a bitter winter day and feeling one's whole body warm beneath the bright sun.

The max-level skill card was remarkably effective. After a short adjustment, Sitangna became completely absorbed in playing. Even Victor was moved by the rich sound of the organ and rose to his feet without realizing it.

He looked up at the gray roof, thinking he might see light, but there was nothing. Warm liquid slipped past the corner of his eye, and the stinging sensation brought him back to himself.

The performance was drawing to a close. The organ's chamber rumbled through the room at a particular frequency, and the sound of decoding instantly reached everyone's ears. Her gamble had paid off.

Hummm-!

Invisible sound waves struck the core of the pressure sensor with precision. The red light of the countdown flashed wildly amid the rumbling, and finally... fell silent.

The bomb had been disarmed.

Victor's expression was ugly as he looked at Sitangna and Sherlock, his disbelief, shock, and frustration plain on his face.

His greatest trump card was gone. He had failed to live up to his benefactor's expectations, and seeing no further chance for revenge, he raised his pistol to shoot himself.

Bang!

It wasn't a gunshot. Emily had knocked Victor's pistol away just in time and subdued him on the sofa.

Victor had trusted the device his benefactor provided and knew Emily couldn't remove the chain mail, so he hadn't placed any other restraints on her.

Now that the bomb had been disarmed, Emily, who had learned self-defense, turned around and took her kidnapper into custody. She whispered in his ear, "I can't give you what you want, but you can't die yet."

Emily decided to verify the truth of what had happened. She couldn't disown her father and family on Victor's word alone.

Before the handcuffed Victor Trevor was led out of the church, he looked back at Sherlock, who was also looking at him. Their eyes met once again, but the emotions in them were entirely different now.

The midday sun illuminated the bone-deep hatred on his face, along with a kind of twisted clarity.

"You saved her, Sherlock," Victor sneered, his voice as hoarse as metal scraping against metal. "But London's pendulum will never stop swinging."

"Power, money, lies... the enormous gears they drive will crush anyone in their path, without ever stopping."

"You won this battle, but you'll never change this corrupt machine." His words sank into London's bright, sunny day like a curse.

"What unusually lovely weather we're having today." The members of the investigation team escorting the kidnapper were all smiles. They had completed the mission without lifting a finger, and Mr. Cavendish would surely reward them when they returned!

"I apologize for my earlier rudeness, Mr. Holmes." The team leader who had previously questioned Sherlock's abilities approached him and took off his hat in salute.

"I've seen your wisdom and brilliance for myself. I'll always remember this rescue operation. Look! I made a point of following Mr. Watson's blog just now. From this day forward, I'm your most loyal fan!"

"Miss Sitangna, your performance was a textbook example of heavenly music. I don't think I'll ever hear organ music more beautiful than that for the rest of my life..."

Sitangna accepted the flattery with a smile. Just as expected of the British-each one was better at compliments than the last, and they had made her blush.

"Are you all right, Emily?" As soon as Victor had been led away, Sitangna went over to comfort Emily, though she seemed fairly calm.

"I'm all right. My legs are just a little weak." Her nerves had been stretched tight for a long time, and she still needed a little time to recover.

"I don't even know how to thank you. If it weren't for you, I'd probably have died here." Recalling the ticking bomb countdown covering her chest, Ailimi broke out in a cold sweat at her narrow escape.

"Sherlock, you're strong. Could you carry Emily to the car?" Sitangna wanted to carry Emily on her back, but Emily's arms and legs were too weak to hold on.

She remembered that she, too, had been carried out last time for the same reason.

"Why don't you ask John to carry her?" Sherlock was examining the explosive device. The way the two bombs had been assembled looked very familiar to him.

"I have a girlfriend. It wouldn't be appropriate." Watson coughed.

"It's all right. I'll be fine after a little rest." Emily hastily waved her hands, prompting Sitangna to glare at Sherlock in displeasure.

The investigation team was still clearing out the kidnapping gang nearby, and bullets could still be heard whistling through the air as they pursued the fugitives.

"Sher..." Sitangna wanted to pester him a little more, but Sherlock's deep, expressionless gaze scared her off.

"If you won't, you won't. Why stare at me like that? It's creepy," Sitangna muttered.

With no other choice, they waited until Emily had regained some strength. Sitangna and Watson then stood on either side of her, letting her lean on them as they slowly escorted her to the ambulance.

"See you at the station, Mr. Holmes!" "See you." The investigation team had finished examining and collecting the physical evidence at the scene and was preparing to return to interrogate the kidnappers. Before leaving, everyone warmly bid farewell to their three-person team.

Their reaction was completely different from how they had acted at the police station. It seemed Sherlock had won them over too.

Sitangna and Watson exchanged a smile. It seemed that once they posted about this on the blog tonight, little Peanut's blog traffic would climb to a new peak.

As the sirens faded into the distance, Sherlock went into the empty, dilapidated church courtyard next door. Sitangna and Watson followed him in confusion.

The gang leader had been taken away, and the scene had been cleared. What was he still looking for?

Without a word, Sherlock slowly raised his magnifying glass and aimed it at a surviving stained-glass window high above.

Sunlight streamed through the colorful glass, casting brilliant patterns of light and shadow on the ground.

The view slowly moved in, settling on the magnified fragment of glass in Sherlock's eye. Deep within the distorted, magnificent refracted light and shadows, a distinct and familiar silhouette quietly emerged.

Moriarty.

He seemed to be hidden in the gap between light and shadow, a cold smile on his lips, as though he understood everything and controlled the whole situation.

"Let's go. It's only a projection." Sherlock looked away and got into the last car with his two assistants.

Shrill sirens mingled with the deep, powerful sound of waves on the River Thames. Sherlock watched the scenery recede outside the window, wondering why Mycroft had involved him in this matter.

It was certainly not as simple as solving a case.

As he pondered, two heads suddenly grew heavy on his shoulders, one on each side, perfectly balanced.

To protect Sherlock and the others, the investigation team had left them not only a driver, but also an armed guard, so the three of them could only squeeze together in the back.

Sitangna wanted to see the scenery, while Watson, who hadn't eaten lunch, felt a little carsick and needed fresh air. Naturally, they put Sherlock in the middle.

Unfortunately, the driver was too skilled, and there were too few people on the streets on this weekday. The long journey and the car's steady speed completely lulled the already drowsy pair to sleep.

"Take us back to 221B Baker Street. There's nothing left for us to do at the police station. Once you've dropped us off, go back and report in." Hearing Watson's stomach rumble, Sherlock felt a faint ache in his own.

He sent a text to order takeaway from near Baker Street, estimating that it would arrive just before they did.

"Wake up, John. We're home." Watson woke as Sherlock nudged him, opening his eyes blearily. So they hadn't gone to the police station.

"I'm so hungry, Sherlock. I wonder if Mrs. Hudson left any food in the fridge. She has a baking class today, so she probably isn't home. How about we get takeaway?"

"I've already ordered it. The delivery person ten meters ahead and to your left is holding our food."

"That's wonderful. I'm so hungry I've got no strength left." Watson rubbed his sore, itchy eyes and yawned again, then checked the order number with the delivery person, paid, and collected a large bag of food.

"What! Why did you only wake me up? That's not fair, you bastard." Watson finally understood why Sherlock hadn't gone inside.

He picked the sleeping Sitangna up in his arms again and stood at the door, waiting for Watson to open it.

"All right, for Nana's sake, I'll let you off this time." Looking at the peaceful sleeping face in Sherlock's arms, Watson raised his hands in surrender.

"You eat first. I'll take Nana back to her room." Sherlock was indeed strong, and a certificate for max-level taekwondo hung on his wall, but that didn't mean he was willing to carry just anyone.

This was an exception.

"Wow, it's old Beijing zhajiangmian! Sherlock, is it from the place on the corner?"

"I don't think we've ever gone there specifically to eat. Today's a good chance to see how it tastes." Watson was already ravenous. He quickly opened the packaging and dug in, muttering between bites that it tasted really good.

Sherlock carried Sitangna steadily up to the attic. After settling her on the bed, he thoughtfully took off her shoes and tucked her in.

"Come on, Sherlock. I put Nana's portion in the microwave on low to keep it warm." Watson poured himself a cup of tea. The strong flavor of the zhajiangmian took some getting used to, but everything else was delicious.

"How is it? Does it suit your taste?" Sherlock sat down on the sofa and took the noodles Watson handed him.

"I think it's pretty good. Try it and you'll see. It's delicious! I'm done, so I'm going to catch up on some sleep." Watson closed the takeout container and threw it in the trash, then rinsed some of the taste from his mouth with tea and returned to his room.

"Mm-hm." Sherlock mixed the sauce evenly through the zhajiangmian and tried his first bite.

The flavor was unexpected. The hand-pulled noodles had soaked up the sauce's richness while retaining a springy chew.

The moment he bit down, the thick sauce and slippery noodles spread across his tongue. Tender, yielding diced meat floated atop the salty, savory base. It was indeed a little salty, but delicious.