Summary: Two very separate universes. Two different men. One meeting
that will turn both of their worlds upside down. (Monte Cristo meets
Holmes...interesting, indeed. And all my context is from the books, not
the movies!)
Disclaimer (encompassing the entire work): Sherlock Holmes belongs to whomever owns him now (but it's not me!). The Count of Monte Cristo is owned by Alexandre Dumas and whoever else owns him now. End story. Don't sue me; the most you'd get is a stick of gum. Trust me on this one.
A/N: Hey, folks! I've always loved the Count of Monte Cristo and Sherlock Holmes, and now I have decided to see what they would do if they had to meet and switch lives for a little bit of time...even if that time happened to be very crucial to them both. AU-ness ahead, along with OOCness, but as little as I possibly could, considering the circumstances.
Also, the Count's part is taken from the very end of chapter 89 and the beginning of chapter 90, which I have taken literary license of and changed for the benefit of this piece of fanfiction. I am also taking Holmes out of the case known as The Hound of the Baskervilles, which I hope you all do not mind. Hopefully, the endings will be similar to one another. Once again, don't sue, and have a super day!
Chapter 1-The Beginning
Silence filled the air. It was palpable, almost touchable, hanging over the space like a thick blanket of fog covering the streets of Victorian London. The space was blackness, with nothing to fill it.
At least, until they came.
*** *** ***
He sat in a brown study, his pipe clenched in his firmly set jaws, obstinate and unmoving. His notes lay scattered around him in his room, collected from a day's hard work on the beginnings of what seemed to be a very intriguing case.
But, his mind shouted at him, what if it was not to be an interesting case? What if this Baskerville case turned out to be something so simple and reasonable that they were overlooked, and that would be all? Had this not happened so often to him before, the disappointment of what seemed at the outset a truly challenging case?
He would keep such questions for another time, he decided. There is no use to theorize before one has the facts, or one may find himself putting more importance on the theory instead of the facts.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he pushed away from his small desk and attempted to at least put some of the notes in some type of order, but found it useless and settled on leaving it as it was but putting the mass of notes in a relatively empty drawer. At least it had enough room to fit all of the papers inside of it.
He sat there for a long while, pondering on the aspects of this particular case. There was so much that needed to be learned, so much that needed to be analyzed. If only he had been consulted at the onset of things! The clues would be fresh and refreshing.
Then again, he needed a challenge, didn't he? He hadn't been challenged in quite a while. Would not a unique case capture his imagination more than one that smelled of success? Actually, this questions would be answered in three...two...
*** *** ***
He slumped into a chair, his mind ringing with the thoughts of what had just occurred. He had just signed his death warrant, and all because of a woman he once loved, and still held in such regard. He let his head fall into his hands, his black hair contrasting even more to his porcelain skin, so pale now that you would think him a genuine vampire.
He had been a complete imbecile. It was as simple as that. He should never have allowed his emotions to have reigned like that. "Fool that I am!" he cried out, his voice hoarse. "Fool that I am for thinking my heart lay dormant towards this woman, that I could resist what I once saw in her!"
He let his head sink into his hands. "What have I done? Have I thrown everything I have worked for to the ground in my emotional fancies?" He pulsed with rage and despair, suddenly springing from the chair and falling to the ground on his knees. "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Have I done wrong to You or that which You have given me? Do you not see me as you emissary any longer?"
Much more of the night was spent this way, his emotions raging. Eventually, however, he spent all of his emotions and, tired and beaten in his own mind, he settled himself to finish his will for Haidee, whom he loved so dearly. "Oh, Haidee! My little child; I shall so miss you, my darling little one," he murmured to himself as he picked up his pen.
But before his pen could touch the paper, he felt a sudden shock pulse through his body. Startled, he jumped out of his chair, overturning it. Before he could even bat an eyelash, he was gone.
*** *** ***
...one.
He felt almost nothing. Nothing except numbness, that is. He tried to lift his limbs, but they refused to respond to his commands. A slightly rueful smile graced his lips, but then he grimaced, the feeling in his bones beginning to come back to him, along with the newly acquired ache in his body.
Somewhere nearby, he heard someone else groan lightly in pain. He decided to see if he could raise himself from his present position and help this other person.
A groan from his own lips, though quite unbidden, quelled any thought of his helping the other man for the time being; he was having a hard enough time on his own. He slowly flexed his hand. It ached some, but not terribly. He tried a few other parts of his body; no real pain yet. He then tried to lift his head slightly; he was somewhat dizzy, but not that bad.
Slowly but surely, he raised himself up from his uncomfortable position on the floor and soon noticed that the other man was already on his feet, though he looked about ready to fall back on the floor and take a nice long nap before he threw up.
"Hello," he said somewhat hoarsely, leaning his weight on his elbows. "Any idea where we might be?" he said, clearing his throat.
*** *** ***
Waking up in your room prepared for death is one thing, but waking up to a splitting headache in an unknown place is quite another. His mind immediately turned to his surroundings. He opened his eyes, searching the area around him for any sign of life. He tried to sit up, but found himself groaning slightly from the effort.
Mon Dieu, where am I? he wondered silently to himself. Am I dead already? Have I died silently in my sleep and shall not have to face M. Morcerf, and Mercedes' words were of no avail...
He eased himself slowly up to a sitting position, then noiselessly leapt to his feet and stood, swaying slightly at the effort and dizziness that overcame his equilibrium. What is this place? Is this some type of purgatory?... He shuddered slightly at the thought.
A voice nearby startled him, but he did not show it; he was not too overwrought to lose his façade. Any ideas? None...as of yet, none whatsoever...
In a nearly perfect English accent, he replied, "I am truly sorry, sir, but I have not the slightest idea where we might be. I had hoped you would know something about this matter." Not quite, but it sounded proper at the moment.
The man on the floor grunted and raised himself into a sitting position. "I had a feeling that would be your answer. No matter." He made a quick wave of his hand, then settled himself in his position on the floor-or whatever he happened to be suspended in-and took out his pipe. The Count watched as he tamped the tobacco into the bowl and was about to light it with a lighted match when suddenly, it was blown out by something. He tried again, and yet this match blew out as well.
Six attempts later, a voice boomed across whatever they were contained in, filling every space in the room and threatening to shove them out as well. "I wouldn't make another attempt if I were you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. This particular void of space is a no-smoking void."
Both men looked suspiciously at each other, then allowed their eyes to show a bit more confusion than either of them wanted to show. Holmes immediately started to suck on his empty pipe while the Count began to pace the space around him.
Holmes spoke first, his mind racing. "Where exactly are we, and why are we here?"
The voice almost smiled. "You are here, exactly right where you sit, or stand, or pace, as the case may be. To be more specific, you are in a void of space, a void that has been empty for all time until now. You are here because We, being the Powers Above, wish you to be, and because We control the universe to a degree, and We can do this to a select few We believe are capable and versatile enough to do this."
The Count swirled on his coattails. "But what exactly is 'this'? What could I do more for the Powers Above? Are you displeased with my work as I have done before?"
"Your methods, dear Count, are unorthodox and quite bizarre as they are, but We are not displeased with you. Quite the contrary. However, We need you and Mr. Holmes over there to do something for Us, to placate Us with our whim, if you will."
Holmes, being the cynic, could not stop there. "But who are you all? Who are you 'powers above' as you so call yourselves, and what does the Count, as you call him, and I have to do?"
The voice sighed. "I suppose I shall have to explain Us on the behalf of the whole. We, the Powers Above, are the Forces that make the world flow without making absolute chaos as we do so. We are the ones that influence others when no human on earth can. We make the big things happen by putting ideas into people's heads and visiting the select few that will change the world. We cannot control everything, for We did not create the world, but We can make things happen through whispers and suggestions.
"As to yourself and the Count? We wish you two to switch lives for a little while."
A silence fell over the entire void for about two seconds. Soon, however, the void was filled with questions.
"How can we switch places, if I may be so bold to ask? It is not possible! It would completely ruin the lives we already are living, would it not? It would make unbalance in both our worlds!"
"He cannot take my place at such a critical moment in my works! You of all things should know that this is crucial! Do you suggest that I take his place and allow him to take my place without any knowledge of what I have been working for? Are you displeased with my work and wish to torture me this way?"
"I have a reputation to keep! How could this work? Watson would shoot him before he could get a word in edgewise if he took my place! For all I know, Watson's romantic brain would not take the situation as you would have it but instead think his compatriots had kidnapped me or something and shoot him on the spot instead of holding him for questioning!"
"I have worked so hard on Your behalf, for the betterment of the world, and yet You give me this, Powers? I do not understand the justice. I must get back to my time! There are so many things that are yet to be done! You do understand, do You not? I have a life that must be lived by the right person, and people that I care deeply for that must be righted. Haidee...we need each other right now, or what little time we have left. And I cannot let you murder this man in my place! He has his own life to live; I must complete mine."
After a few more tirades and reasoning out loud, they fell silent, waiting impatiently for their answers.
The Voice sighed heavily. "Now that you are both done, let me explain to you in more detail what We wish both of you to do.
"It seems to please all of Us to choose you two to switch places. You are both resourceful men with unique talents of your own. You are both great pretenders and have intellects that surpass those around you. Your methods may be a little different, but you both seem to find out what you want when you wish to.
"We wish to test you both. Holmes, you have been assigned to give justice in the world, though you may not know We have pulled a few strings above to make sure you do so without you knowing. Now you know. Count, you've asked for this gift of giving justice, and We have decided to give it to you. You both have the same job in your own ways.
"We want to see how each of you would react to different surroundings and different situations than what you are used to. We shall give each of your time to tell one another your lives and what you have been doing with them insofar as to be important to what the other will face in your world. Please make them short, especially you, Count; try to keep the explanations within ten minutes. Adieu, and good luck." And with that, the Voice was gone, its presence no longer felt.
There was another pause of silence, the two men staring each other in the eyes, trying to figure out something about the man across from him. Unknowingly, they began to circle each other slowly.
Holmes spoke up first. "A pleasure to meet you, dear Count. Please excuse my manners. My name is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. And you are Count Monte Cristo, of Corsican birth and monastic education. You have trained yourself well, indeed, rising in power in the French nobility. I dare say, however, you will be in for a surprise when you come back from your travels." A slight smile played upon his lips as he watched the questions in the Count's eyes.
He bowed slightly, a wry smile on his own lips. "You have the advantage over me, Mr. Holmes. A pleasure to meet such a great mind. I only hope you shall be able to adapt to my time, a little earlier than your own. I hope you violin playing is going well, and that your experimentations do not take up too much of your time from your profession. However, I suggest you try a water pipe; it is rather soothing to the nerves."
A slight smile crossed Holmes' face. "The fingers, the clothing, and the pipe. Correct?"
"Correct," answered the Count, bowing. "The cuffs, the accent, the cross underneath my shirt, and the clothes?"
"Quite, Count; quite."
They shook hands, both grips firm, though the Count's hand was cold as ice and Holmes' was dry.
"I suppose I shall have to tell you my story," said the Count, making himself comfortable as he sat down, only to find himself sitting in mid air. "It may take some time to give even the barest outline, but it seems I have no choice.
"I was born Edmond Dantes in Corsica and lived a happy life as a sailor until I was wrongly accused of treason when I was 19. I served fourteen years in the Chateau D'If, and there was taught by the Abbe Busoni, a brilliant man who taught me everything from foreign languages and social upbringing to dueling skills and philosophy. He told me of a treasure he knew of worth millions, but I did not believe him. However, I escaped my imprisonment and found the treasure on the Isle of Monte Cristo.
"During that time I was kept company by smugglers, who had found me after my escape. One of their own, Jacopo, has become a close servant and friend.
"It was during this time that I learned of what had happened during my exile. My betrothed, Mercedes, had married one of the men that imprisoned me, Fernand Mondego. Fernand is now known as le Baronne de Morcerf. They have a child named Albert. Another that framed me was a man named Danglars, who is now a well-known banker of much means. He has a wife, Mme. Danglars, and one child named Eugenie. The last of my enemies is M. de Villefort, whose father is a well-known Bonapartist, but sadly is paralyzed and can only open and shut his eyes. He has a wife and two children. His first, Valentine, was conceived with his first wife who died. The second, Edward, is from his current wife.
"My only friend during this interval was M. Morrel, an honorable man at all times. His son, Maximilian, and his daughter, Julie, are special to me. They are like a son and daughter to me.
"Caderousse, a man of neutral colors in this scheme, is one you cannot trust, a rat of the degrading kind and not worthy of any type of mention.
"I am now in Paris solely for the purpose of taking vengeance upon myself and those I love. The only ones that waited for me were found in poverty or death, and I have raised them from their sorrow. I am now in the process of bringing down my enemies, pretending to be a foreigner of Paris, a man of unknown and unlimited riches, a hero and austere man, a friend to all. I have befriended my enemies only to hurt them all the more in the end.
"In my room at my house on the Avenue des Champs Elysees, there is a secret desk drawer. I am sure you will be able to find the hidden compartment. Within, I hold my secrets and recordings of what has happened in my life and of my plans. You should find everything you need to know there."
He settled into the air comfortably. "Now I believe it is your turn to explain to me the matters of your own life."
He squirmed uncomfortably for a few moments, then began to pace the void once more. "It is the 12nd of October, 1888 in my time. I am a consulting detective by profession, a man who is given data and takes that data to make a resolution. I study crime and the criminal class; my data is criminal data from the scene of the crime; and my resolutions are what I believe to be the conclusions of a case. This, however, is not always so.
"I began my business years ago, and now have made my name known widely. I am currently involved in the beginnings of a case I have just named the Baskerville Case. I have written a few notes I have insofar observed, to be found in a desk drawer in my room. I hope it shall prove to be an exciting case, and that you shall be up for the challenges ahead of you. I trust these...Powers have wisdom enough to have gauged your abilities in accordance with the case they have chosen to tear me from.
"There is also the matter of Dr. John Watson, my colleague who I call Watson. He took up rooms with me, and we have shared apartments for a long time. He is my comrade in arms, and knows more about me than anyone else. He has also assisted in many of my cases, and still does. I trust him with my life, as you may after time.
"That is all I am able to tell you at the moment. Anything else you might need to know is found in my dresser drawer's secret compartment, wherein I keep all of my more private information, which may someday come to use. I can think of nothing else to tell you, unless there is something these...Powers have forgotten to tell us, such as what information we will be given or if there will be any to give."
He was interrupted abruptly, suddenly finding himself sitting in seemingly thin air. "You will know what is going on soon. I suppose you are finished telling each other what is happening in your lives. I hope so, because everything you do not know will have to be found out on your own. We only transport you there and make sure you understand the customs of the day; it is up to you to find out more about each others' personal lives.
"We shall be nothing but a Voice to you, as We may still be right now. So, if you hear something in your head, do not worry; you are not going insane. It is simply We who are speaking to you.
"Now, on your ways before I become too bored to take any more of this chit- chat. Count, I know you will trust Us, and so I send you Our blessings and best wishes. However, Holmes, because you are new to this concept of a definite Something above, We send a special blessing for you. Off you go!"
And thus, silence reigned supreme once more in the void, for they were finally gone.
Disclaimer (encompassing the entire work): Sherlock Holmes belongs to whomever owns him now (but it's not me!). The Count of Monte Cristo is owned by Alexandre Dumas and whoever else owns him now. End story. Don't sue me; the most you'd get is a stick of gum. Trust me on this one.
A/N: Hey, folks! I've always loved the Count of Monte Cristo and Sherlock Holmes, and now I have decided to see what they would do if they had to meet and switch lives for a little bit of time...even if that time happened to be very crucial to them both. AU-ness ahead, along with OOCness, but as little as I possibly could, considering the circumstances.
Also, the Count's part is taken from the very end of chapter 89 and the beginning of chapter 90, which I have taken literary license of and changed for the benefit of this piece of fanfiction. I am also taking Holmes out of the case known as The Hound of the Baskervilles, which I hope you all do not mind. Hopefully, the endings will be similar to one another. Once again, don't sue, and have a super day!
Chapter 1-The Beginning
Silence filled the air. It was palpable, almost touchable, hanging over the space like a thick blanket of fog covering the streets of Victorian London. The space was blackness, with nothing to fill it.
At least, until they came.
*** *** ***
He sat in a brown study, his pipe clenched in his firmly set jaws, obstinate and unmoving. His notes lay scattered around him in his room, collected from a day's hard work on the beginnings of what seemed to be a very intriguing case.
But, his mind shouted at him, what if it was not to be an interesting case? What if this Baskerville case turned out to be something so simple and reasonable that they were overlooked, and that would be all? Had this not happened so often to him before, the disappointment of what seemed at the outset a truly challenging case?
He would keep such questions for another time, he decided. There is no use to theorize before one has the facts, or one may find himself putting more importance on the theory instead of the facts.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he pushed away from his small desk and attempted to at least put some of the notes in some type of order, but found it useless and settled on leaving it as it was but putting the mass of notes in a relatively empty drawer. At least it had enough room to fit all of the papers inside of it.
He sat there for a long while, pondering on the aspects of this particular case. There was so much that needed to be learned, so much that needed to be analyzed. If only he had been consulted at the onset of things! The clues would be fresh and refreshing.
Then again, he needed a challenge, didn't he? He hadn't been challenged in quite a while. Would not a unique case capture his imagination more than one that smelled of success? Actually, this questions would be answered in three...two...
*** *** ***
He slumped into a chair, his mind ringing with the thoughts of what had just occurred. He had just signed his death warrant, and all because of a woman he once loved, and still held in such regard. He let his head fall into his hands, his black hair contrasting even more to his porcelain skin, so pale now that you would think him a genuine vampire.
He had been a complete imbecile. It was as simple as that. He should never have allowed his emotions to have reigned like that. "Fool that I am!" he cried out, his voice hoarse. "Fool that I am for thinking my heart lay dormant towards this woman, that I could resist what I once saw in her!"
He let his head sink into his hands. "What have I done? Have I thrown everything I have worked for to the ground in my emotional fancies?" He pulsed with rage and despair, suddenly springing from the chair and falling to the ground on his knees. "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Have I done wrong to You or that which You have given me? Do you not see me as you emissary any longer?"
Much more of the night was spent this way, his emotions raging. Eventually, however, he spent all of his emotions and, tired and beaten in his own mind, he settled himself to finish his will for Haidee, whom he loved so dearly. "Oh, Haidee! My little child; I shall so miss you, my darling little one," he murmured to himself as he picked up his pen.
But before his pen could touch the paper, he felt a sudden shock pulse through his body. Startled, he jumped out of his chair, overturning it. Before he could even bat an eyelash, he was gone.
*** *** ***
...one.
He felt almost nothing. Nothing except numbness, that is. He tried to lift his limbs, but they refused to respond to his commands. A slightly rueful smile graced his lips, but then he grimaced, the feeling in his bones beginning to come back to him, along with the newly acquired ache in his body.
Somewhere nearby, he heard someone else groan lightly in pain. He decided to see if he could raise himself from his present position and help this other person.
A groan from his own lips, though quite unbidden, quelled any thought of his helping the other man for the time being; he was having a hard enough time on his own. He slowly flexed his hand. It ached some, but not terribly. He tried a few other parts of his body; no real pain yet. He then tried to lift his head slightly; he was somewhat dizzy, but not that bad.
Slowly but surely, he raised himself up from his uncomfortable position on the floor and soon noticed that the other man was already on his feet, though he looked about ready to fall back on the floor and take a nice long nap before he threw up.
"Hello," he said somewhat hoarsely, leaning his weight on his elbows. "Any idea where we might be?" he said, clearing his throat.
*** *** ***
Waking up in your room prepared for death is one thing, but waking up to a splitting headache in an unknown place is quite another. His mind immediately turned to his surroundings. He opened his eyes, searching the area around him for any sign of life. He tried to sit up, but found himself groaning slightly from the effort.
Mon Dieu, where am I? he wondered silently to himself. Am I dead already? Have I died silently in my sleep and shall not have to face M. Morcerf, and Mercedes' words were of no avail...
He eased himself slowly up to a sitting position, then noiselessly leapt to his feet and stood, swaying slightly at the effort and dizziness that overcame his equilibrium. What is this place? Is this some type of purgatory?... He shuddered slightly at the thought.
A voice nearby startled him, but he did not show it; he was not too overwrought to lose his façade. Any ideas? None...as of yet, none whatsoever...
In a nearly perfect English accent, he replied, "I am truly sorry, sir, but I have not the slightest idea where we might be. I had hoped you would know something about this matter." Not quite, but it sounded proper at the moment.
The man on the floor grunted and raised himself into a sitting position. "I had a feeling that would be your answer. No matter." He made a quick wave of his hand, then settled himself in his position on the floor-or whatever he happened to be suspended in-and took out his pipe. The Count watched as he tamped the tobacco into the bowl and was about to light it with a lighted match when suddenly, it was blown out by something. He tried again, and yet this match blew out as well.
Six attempts later, a voice boomed across whatever they were contained in, filling every space in the room and threatening to shove them out as well. "I wouldn't make another attempt if I were you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. This particular void of space is a no-smoking void."
Both men looked suspiciously at each other, then allowed their eyes to show a bit more confusion than either of them wanted to show. Holmes immediately started to suck on his empty pipe while the Count began to pace the space around him.
Holmes spoke first, his mind racing. "Where exactly are we, and why are we here?"
The voice almost smiled. "You are here, exactly right where you sit, or stand, or pace, as the case may be. To be more specific, you are in a void of space, a void that has been empty for all time until now. You are here because We, being the Powers Above, wish you to be, and because We control the universe to a degree, and We can do this to a select few We believe are capable and versatile enough to do this."
The Count swirled on his coattails. "But what exactly is 'this'? What could I do more for the Powers Above? Are you displeased with my work as I have done before?"
"Your methods, dear Count, are unorthodox and quite bizarre as they are, but We are not displeased with you. Quite the contrary. However, We need you and Mr. Holmes over there to do something for Us, to placate Us with our whim, if you will."
Holmes, being the cynic, could not stop there. "But who are you all? Who are you 'powers above' as you so call yourselves, and what does the Count, as you call him, and I have to do?"
The voice sighed. "I suppose I shall have to explain Us on the behalf of the whole. We, the Powers Above, are the Forces that make the world flow without making absolute chaos as we do so. We are the ones that influence others when no human on earth can. We make the big things happen by putting ideas into people's heads and visiting the select few that will change the world. We cannot control everything, for We did not create the world, but We can make things happen through whispers and suggestions.
"As to yourself and the Count? We wish you two to switch lives for a little while."
A silence fell over the entire void for about two seconds. Soon, however, the void was filled with questions.
"How can we switch places, if I may be so bold to ask? It is not possible! It would completely ruin the lives we already are living, would it not? It would make unbalance in both our worlds!"
"He cannot take my place at such a critical moment in my works! You of all things should know that this is crucial! Do you suggest that I take his place and allow him to take my place without any knowledge of what I have been working for? Are you displeased with my work and wish to torture me this way?"
"I have a reputation to keep! How could this work? Watson would shoot him before he could get a word in edgewise if he took my place! For all I know, Watson's romantic brain would not take the situation as you would have it but instead think his compatriots had kidnapped me or something and shoot him on the spot instead of holding him for questioning!"
"I have worked so hard on Your behalf, for the betterment of the world, and yet You give me this, Powers? I do not understand the justice. I must get back to my time! There are so many things that are yet to be done! You do understand, do You not? I have a life that must be lived by the right person, and people that I care deeply for that must be righted. Haidee...we need each other right now, or what little time we have left. And I cannot let you murder this man in my place! He has his own life to live; I must complete mine."
After a few more tirades and reasoning out loud, they fell silent, waiting impatiently for their answers.
The Voice sighed heavily. "Now that you are both done, let me explain to you in more detail what We wish both of you to do.
"It seems to please all of Us to choose you two to switch places. You are both resourceful men with unique talents of your own. You are both great pretenders and have intellects that surpass those around you. Your methods may be a little different, but you both seem to find out what you want when you wish to.
"We wish to test you both. Holmes, you have been assigned to give justice in the world, though you may not know We have pulled a few strings above to make sure you do so without you knowing. Now you know. Count, you've asked for this gift of giving justice, and We have decided to give it to you. You both have the same job in your own ways.
"We want to see how each of you would react to different surroundings and different situations than what you are used to. We shall give each of your time to tell one another your lives and what you have been doing with them insofar as to be important to what the other will face in your world. Please make them short, especially you, Count; try to keep the explanations within ten minutes. Adieu, and good luck." And with that, the Voice was gone, its presence no longer felt.
There was another pause of silence, the two men staring each other in the eyes, trying to figure out something about the man across from him. Unknowingly, they began to circle each other slowly.
Holmes spoke up first. "A pleasure to meet you, dear Count. Please excuse my manners. My name is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. And you are Count Monte Cristo, of Corsican birth and monastic education. You have trained yourself well, indeed, rising in power in the French nobility. I dare say, however, you will be in for a surprise when you come back from your travels." A slight smile played upon his lips as he watched the questions in the Count's eyes.
He bowed slightly, a wry smile on his own lips. "You have the advantage over me, Mr. Holmes. A pleasure to meet such a great mind. I only hope you shall be able to adapt to my time, a little earlier than your own. I hope you violin playing is going well, and that your experimentations do not take up too much of your time from your profession. However, I suggest you try a water pipe; it is rather soothing to the nerves."
A slight smile crossed Holmes' face. "The fingers, the clothing, and the pipe. Correct?"
"Correct," answered the Count, bowing. "The cuffs, the accent, the cross underneath my shirt, and the clothes?"
"Quite, Count; quite."
They shook hands, both grips firm, though the Count's hand was cold as ice and Holmes' was dry.
"I suppose I shall have to tell you my story," said the Count, making himself comfortable as he sat down, only to find himself sitting in mid air. "It may take some time to give even the barest outline, but it seems I have no choice.
"I was born Edmond Dantes in Corsica and lived a happy life as a sailor until I was wrongly accused of treason when I was 19. I served fourteen years in the Chateau D'If, and there was taught by the Abbe Busoni, a brilliant man who taught me everything from foreign languages and social upbringing to dueling skills and philosophy. He told me of a treasure he knew of worth millions, but I did not believe him. However, I escaped my imprisonment and found the treasure on the Isle of Monte Cristo.
"During that time I was kept company by smugglers, who had found me after my escape. One of their own, Jacopo, has become a close servant and friend.
"It was during this time that I learned of what had happened during my exile. My betrothed, Mercedes, had married one of the men that imprisoned me, Fernand Mondego. Fernand is now known as le Baronne de Morcerf. They have a child named Albert. Another that framed me was a man named Danglars, who is now a well-known banker of much means. He has a wife, Mme. Danglars, and one child named Eugenie. The last of my enemies is M. de Villefort, whose father is a well-known Bonapartist, but sadly is paralyzed and can only open and shut his eyes. He has a wife and two children. His first, Valentine, was conceived with his first wife who died. The second, Edward, is from his current wife.
"My only friend during this interval was M. Morrel, an honorable man at all times. His son, Maximilian, and his daughter, Julie, are special to me. They are like a son and daughter to me.
"Caderousse, a man of neutral colors in this scheme, is one you cannot trust, a rat of the degrading kind and not worthy of any type of mention.
"I am now in Paris solely for the purpose of taking vengeance upon myself and those I love. The only ones that waited for me were found in poverty or death, and I have raised them from their sorrow. I am now in the process of bringing down my enemies, pretending to be a foreigner of Paris, a man of unknown and unlimited riches, a hero and austere man, a friend to all. I have befriended my enemies only to hurt them all the more in the end.
"In my room at my house on the Avenue des Champs Elysees, there is a secret desk drawer. I am sure you will be able to find the hidden compartment. Within, I hold my secrets and recordings of what has happened in my life and of my plans. You should find everything you need to know there."
He settled into the air comfortably. "Now I believe it is your turn to explain to me the matters of your own life."
He squirmed uncomfortably for a few moments, then began to pace the void once more. "It is the 12nd of October, 1888 in my time. I am a consulting detective by profession, a man who is given data and takes that data to make a resolution. I study crime and the criminal class; my data is criminal data from the scene of the crime; and my resolutions are what I believe to be the conclusions of a case. This, however, is not always so.
"I began my business years ago, and now have made my name known widely. I am currently involved in the beginnings of a case I have just named the Baskerville Case. I have written a few notes I have insofar observed, to be found in a desk drawer in my room. I hope it shall prove to be an exciting case, and that you shall be up for the challenges ahead of you. I trust these...Powers have wisdom enough to have gauged your abilities in accordance with the case they have chosen to tear me from.
"There is also the matter of Dr. John Watson, my colleague who I call Watson. He took up rooms with me, and we have shared apartments for a long time. He is my comrade in arms, and knows more about me than anyone else. He has also assisted in many of my cases, and still does. I trust him with my life, as you may after time.
"That is all I am able to tell you at the moment. Anything else you might need to know is found in my dresser drawer's secret compartment, wherein I keep all of my more private information, which may someday come to use. I can think of nothing else to tell you, unless there is something these...Powers have forgotten to tell us, such as what information we will be given or if there will be any to give."
He was interrupted abruptly, suddenly finding himself sitting in seemingly thin air. "You will know what is going on soon. I suppose you are finished telling each other what is happening in your lives. I hope so, because everything you do not know will have to be found out on your own. We only transport you there and make sure you understand the customs of the day; it is up to you to find out more about each others' personal lives.
"We shall be nothing but a Voice to you, as We may still be right now. So, if you hear something in your head, do not worry; you are not going insane. It is simply We who are speaking to you.
"Now, on your ways before I become too bored to take any more of this chit- chat. Count, I know you will trust Us, and so I send you Our blessings and best wishes. However, Holmes, because you are new to this concept of a definite Something above, We send a special blessing for you. Off you go!"
And thus, silence reigned supreme once more in the void, for they were finally gone.