Book I : Fantàsticque :: The Estranged Trilogie ::: A Sherlock Fanfiction

IV. The Unknown Players

A lone man strode brusquely through the abandoned cobblestone roads of an abandoned part of town. The creaky and demeaning structures towered around him.

Wavy locks were falling from his slicked back, dark brown hair and hung in front of his creased forehead and furrowed brow.

The man took furtive glances over his shoulder several times, walking faster despite seeing nothing.

His leather trenchcoat flew out from behind him, revealing a could-be-prudent, rumpled black suit. A silken white bowtie was perched upon the collar of his black dress shirt.

He tugged on the brim of his top hat, shielding his pale face from the wind. The tall hat had a single black ribbon wrapped around the base with red rose buds tucked into the satin.

The man's crystalline staff met gently on the damp stones as he continued onwards, quiet as a prowling cat.

"Didn't think you would be here, Venticelli."

The man halted to a stop and all action hung in abeyance until the abscondee at last uttered a slow, tentative reply, pondering every syllable carefully.

"I did not think you could find me." The man's Scottish lilt was only barely concealed by his forced English accent. He turned slowly to find hinself face-to-face with the very man he had been attempting to avoid.

"Oh, but you did know, Xavier. You did know. Or you would have gone for a more dramatic exit if you had actually wanted to escape. Always flair's favorite."

"Am I? You were always the madman. Always. And you call me, flair's favorite?!" 

"Hmn."

"Why have you come here? I don't want to engage in any of your little games anymore and you have certainly not come to murder me in cold blood."

"How do you know, sweetheart?"

"Same way you know that I could have escaped already if I had truly wanted to."

"Staleee-mate. You've gotten better, Zayyy-vee," he replied in a teasing tone. "No, you're right. I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to invite you! To a little game. A party. It'll be fun."

"What if I say no?"

The mocking man dropped his teasing stare and curled his lips into a snarl.

"Why do you hide your Scottish background through an English accent? Or even your Italian accent?" His mouth played into a evil grin now. "Did you really think I would not find out about your excursion in Italy?"

The man stared at his assailant, removed his top hat and restated his question, his eyes hardened and suspicious.

"What if I say no to your little game?"

The man in the grey suit released a harsh laugh. A symphony cacophonous sounds erupted in the head of the first man.

"Oh you're already in it, even without my encouragement." He flung his arms wide. "Welcome, to England."

"Indeed."

"Enjoy the game, Xavier."

"Oh...how I have not missed you, James."

"But I've missed you so." He turned around and walked back the way he came.

The man flicked two cards without looking behind his back, as the man in the black suit donned his top hat once more. The cards sliced through the air.

He caught the coal-black cards between his fore and middle fingers and stared at the black rectangles, white, curving snakes decorating the borders.

Two aces.

One practiced flick of his wrist, and the cards were gone from sight. He pulled his top hat down lower and readjusted his coat. The man turned to walk away once more, then heard the few final words for their ponderous meeting:

"And by the way, the name's Jim."