Chapter Text
-AND A GREATER ONION IS FIVE PICTURE CARDS AND FIVE ACES.
The single candle flame flutters in the dark while the cards were distributed.
AND AS I RECALL YOU MUST DEAL A NINE CARD RUNNING FLUSH TO TRUMPH THE GREATER OR LESSER ONION.
“Blackjack with elements of Poker.”
ASSUMING YOU ADVANCED THUS FAR TO GAIN A TEN CARD FLUSH.
“Dull.”
Electric blue eyes glowed within the sockets of the grinning skull (1).
Then he sighed and examined his cards.
The candle light threw Death and his companion into sharp relief from the rest of the room which happened to be Death’s personal office. Death did not often get mortal visitors into his realm, except for the morbidly curious, the recklessly brave and cats. Sherlock Holmes shared at least two characteristics with the aforementioned while bearing a passing resemblance to the third.(2)
“A-hem”
A short crab legged figure nudged open the door holding up a tray.
“Tea, Master?” Albert glanced disdainfully at the boy. ”And for yer guest?”
THANK YOU ALBERT
The thing is, he thought as Albert handed him his cup (“You’ve been dead for a long time”) there was no actual rule that barred mortals from his realm. (“Still breathing aren’t I? now what will yer have?”) Mortals down the ages had resorted to incantations and dribbly candles to summon him for bargains. They snarled or begged it didn’t matter in the end. (“Black coffee , two sugars please”) It never went well. (“Foul muck! It’ll stunt yer growth”) The same old games with detailed rules and addendums that left no room for loopholes when the stakes were high.(“What an astonishing hypothesis based on hearsay and idiocy, I’m surprised you can talk and breathe at the same time”) Some mortals though, liked to play the game for the games sake.
“Master!” said Albert breathing heavily.
HMM?
“Permission to clip our honoured guest round the earhole for cheek.”
Death frowned and lowered his cup.
HOW ABOUT SUGGESTING ANOTHER GAME INSTEAD?
“What happened to the usual ones? Don’t tell me-“ he gasped .”You mean he - “
Albert rounded on Sherlock who was investigating the viscosity of the custard creams with the jammy dodgers. “You finally beat the Master in a game!” He exclaimed with awe. ”How did a little tick like you even manage it?”
ALBERT
“The odds of that happening are a million to one. The last person who tried that-”
ALBERT
“Come one then, what was it? Immortal life? eternal riches? wimmin? Bit young for wimmin, you ain't even dropped your-”
ALBERT
“Are you quite finished?” sighed Sherlock, rubbing his curly locks in frustration. ”You’re teetering dangerously close to boring for an ex wizard. An ex wizard who’s supposed to be dead.”
“Now none of that, young sir” Albert cooed. ”just making conversation though I am curious. Why are you still playing cripple Mr Onion if you won?”
I HAVE NEITHER WON NOR LOST A GAME YET ALBERT
“What?”
AND NEITHER HAS MISTER SHERLOCK HOLMES
“What were the stakes?”he asked.
“I want Death as my assistant.” replied Sherlock calmly.
Albert’s mouth worked wordlessly before releasing a bark of laughter. ”That’s a good ‘un. And what about me you cheeky little bugger? I’ll be out of a job”
Sherlock frowned. “Death doesn’t have any requirements. He’s not human. He’s not even alive technically speaking.”
Albert sucked in his breath as Death stomped dramatically out of the room.
“Now you’ve done it.” He muttered at the sound of the distant crash of the backdoor. ”You didn’t have to upset him, you know. He gets sensitive about these things.”
“Sensitive? How can an anthropomorphic personification have feelings?”
“Why d'yer want the Master as an assistant anyway?”
“I asked you first.”
“Why pick the Master? who are you compared to Him? you literally throw yourself into his path several times over, he puts up with your frankly idiotic whims out of a frankly misplaced sense of humour and now he’s sulking because you’ve gone an' upset him. So yes, he does have feelings you little sod. Now answer mine.” He growled.
Albert and Sherlock were in a deadlock, trading eyeball for eyeball. Albert had longer experience than the boy though who reluctantly broke eye contact, pursed his lips and stared at the infinite ceiling for five minutes. ”Because he’s not an idiot” he said finally.
Albert nodded.(3) and sidled towards the door.
“You can see yourself out.” He said ”I’ll be in the garden getting out the beekeeping gear.”
“You chose to be here.”
Albert paused, hand on the doorknob.
“I don’t understand. I thought Death was the last enemy. Why would you choose to be here with him?”
Albert smiled over his shoulder. ”Come back when you get yourself a friend.”
Sherlock woke up in his bedroom. As his heart slowed its rapid pace, he looked over the contents of the room to reassure himself. The periodic table on the wall, bunsen beakers interspersed the stuffed bookcase and his cluttered desk. He could hear the faint snores of the other boarders down the hall. A family portrait caught the sliver of moonlight drifting through the drawn curtains. It was the only personal item in the room because the cracked glass frame had to be replaced.
“A friend?” he whispered to himself in the dark.
(1) The ultimate poker face.
(2) Such as the uncanny ability to be in places he should not be. Such as Death’s mansion. Or his beehives. He suspected the boys true genealogy
(3) His eyes didn’t soften but something feral definitely sheathed its claws.