Ring! Ring! The sharp trill of a telephone shattered the heavy silence.
"Where are you?" It was Sherlock. "I've just picked up a rather fascinating case."
"Is it about the theft of the Mona Lisa?"
"How did you know?"
"Haha... see you at the office." Luo Miao hung up the phone.
Jiang Anhe held the painting aloft, her clear eyes fixed on him, a tiny, flickering spark of expectation hidden within them. "Can... can this pay off my debt?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
"..." Luo Miao's voice dropped an octave. "Where did you get that?"
Jiang Anhe's gaze flickered guiltily. "I... I found it."
"And you think this can clear what you owe?" Luo Miao pressed, his tone intentionally intimidating. Jiang Anhe bit her finger, shaking her head ruefully. She thought to herself: Lied to again. That 'M' woman said this painting was valuable, but it's apparently not even worth a bowl of white rice.
"Then I'll work for you," Jiang Anhe said, her spirit flagging.
"Excellent." Luo Miao produced a contract. "Sign this."
Jiang Anhe stared at the foreign script she couldn't read. "What is it?"
"An indenture contract! You're selling yourself to me!"
The little girl jumped, glaring at him like a black cat with its fur standing on end. Luo Miao leaned into his "villainous landlord" persona: "Didn't you steal this? If the magistrates come looking, won't I be your accomplice? I saved your life and gave you a roof over your head—shouldn't you be grateful? Sign it. Now!"
Driven into a corner, Jiang Anhe submissively pressed her thumbprint onto the paper. She wiped away a stray tear, thinking that foreigners truly were all villains, and landlords deserved to rot. Luo Miao tucked the contract away with satisfaction. "From now on, you're in charge of sweeping the warehouse and making deliveries. Now, come with me to the yamen!"
At Scotland Yard, Sherlock was flipping through a dossier. The stolen item was Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece, The Mona Lisa, currently on tour from the Louvre. It was valued at a staggering one million pounds. Although the painting wasn't quite as world-famous then as it would become in later generations, the honor of the British Empire was at stake.
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My : https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Stop arresting me, Miss Holmes (40 Chapters, Ongoing)
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Inspector Renault was practically begging Sherlock to visit the scene, but Sherlock was waiting for his "assistant."
"Let me go!" Luo Miao walked in, carrying Jiang Anhe as she struggled like a trapped kitten.
The moment Jiang Anhe saw Renault in his crisp uniform, she shrank back, frozen with fear. Sherlock stared her down. "Where were you last night?"
Luo Miao provided the cover: "I told you, she was asleep in the warehouse."
Renault looked utterly wretched. He began counting on his fingers: the Artist case overtime, the Bruce Wayne case overtime, the Mona Lisa case overtime... he hadn't closed his eyes in forty-eight hours, and even the Queen had sent a reprimand. Looking at Jiang Anhe, he managed a rare moment of kindness and offered her a piece of candy.
Jiang Anhe was bewildered, unsure what this foreign policeman's angle was. Luo Miao suddenly gasped, "Don't take it, it's poisoned!"
He snatched the candy away and, while Jiang Anhe was stunned, popped it right into her mouth.
"You're going to be poisoned to death now," Luo Miao teased with a wicked grin.
Mist clouded Jiang Anhe's eyes. In that instant, her life began to flash before her eyes: her father running away, her mother selling her for opium money, her life on the run where she'd developed the skills to move like a ghost... She thought Luo Miao was truly cruel, having saved her only to toy with her.
But then, the flavor hit her tongue.
It was so sweet.
Luo Miao's warm hand settled on top of her head. "Not all foreigners are bad. Inspector Renault is a good official. He hasn't slept for days trying to catch that wicked thief. Poor man... don't you think?"
Jiang Anhe hung her head low, her face burning hot.
Renault straightened his posture. "Let's move! The culprit won't escape this time. Stealing whenever they want, returning it whenever they please—what do they think Scotland Yard is? A revolving door?"
Just then, an officer ran in, panting heavily to deliver a report. "Sir! The painting... it's back! It's sitting right where it was. The Mona Lisa is staring right at us, smiling!"
Renault looked at the photograph of the smiling Mona Lisa. He knew, for a certainty, that he wouldn't be smiling anytime soon.