In the Dead of the Night
„And you´ll see John: Before the end of the night I´ll have proven Derek Johnson wrong. What a ridiculous story after all… A desperate try to conceal his murder by inventing `the mysterious stranger who killed his victim in exchange for his soul.' How could he even think someone would believe this? I guess he tries to claim insanity for lower judgment…" Sherlock fixed his collar a bit, before he pulled out a small wooden box of the inside of his coat and checked the content one last time.
"Of course nobody believes him Sherlock…and if you ask me: I don´t even understand why we have to come here in the dead of the night to prove him wrong. It´s unnecessary…you are just enjoying this, aren´t you?"
"Oh yeah, it particularly helps me breaking through the terrible grey veil of dullness inside my mind." Watson gave a short sigh when his partner bend down to the street to dig the small box in the middle of the crossroad the two were currently standing.
He had to admit that it has been a difficult case; their only suspect, Derek Johnson, had a bulletproof alibi and insisted on his ridiculous, little story: That he went to a crossroad, buried a small cigar-box with some items in it and sold his soul to the devil…at least it sounded like this. The man was telling something about a dark-haired stranger in a black suit, how he appeared out of nowhere and offered him a deal: He´d kill the man who drove the suspect´s company into the ruin if he´d get Johnson´s soul in return. Johnson agreed to the Deal and two days later, he already read about the murder in the newspapers.
Watson had heard about such things in old fairy tales and folklore…but never even considered believing something like this. Somehow, much to his disapprovement, Sherlock insisted on visiting the Crossroad to prove Johnson wrong. It must be a curse to live with such an easy-bored brain like Holmes´. When mentioned one finished the burying, he stood up and wiped some of the dry dust off his clothes, facing Watson one more time.
"I told you; No strangers in black suits." However, John couldn´t answer due to what has happened behind Sherlock´s back within his last words. A man had appeared. A black-suited man had appeared out of nowhere. The suit looked expensive, just as the red tie that was perfectly adjusted around the collar of his creaseless black shirt. His hair was as dark as his eyes and his face was determined by a slight smirk…overall he looked similar to a businessman on his way to an important deal. Although Sherlock was confused by John´s sudden lack of talkativeness, he didn´t notice the stranger behind him…until he started speaking.
"So, you must be the famous Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Former one turned around in an instant, obeying the stranger with a blank expression. The man had a deep voice and the thick accent of an Irishman. For a second they just stared at each other and Sherlock was the first to break the silence.
"So you are the one, Mr. Johnson sold his soul? The all-famous Crossroad-demon?" His voice was dripping from sarcasm and his words caused the stranger to chuckle softly.
"I heard about your principles, Mr. Holmes. Don´t believe anything unless you have seen it with your own eyes, eh?"
"Obviously not," He returned with a cold smile"But I have to admit, this was a very impressive first appearance, it´s rare that somebody can sneak up to me like this."
"Sneak up, of course. What else could it have been?" The stranger still smiled when he shrugged his shoulders.
"It´s a cold night Mr. Holmes so why don´t we come straight to business? You are here to prove me a fraud, am I correctly informed?" Sherlock shook his head, returning the same freezing smile.
"Not exactly. I´m here to prove you a murderer who also happens to be a fraud."
"I see…so if you want to do so, why don´t we make a deal?" The expression in the Strangers eyes became more calculating now.
"Let´s make a deal Mr. Holmes. If I´m a fraud as you assume,"
"I don´t assume. I know it."
"Of course you do. If I´m a fraud you don´t have to fear for your petty little soul. And if I´m not…well you don´t have the appearance of a man who doesn´t trust in his own knowledge." Sherlock nodded shortly, the superior smile never fading from his lips.
"So what would I get in exchange?" He asked, playing along in the stranger´s game.
"Sherlock, are you sure that´s a good idea…" Watson finally found his speech again, but he could as well have been talking against a wall.
"Yeah whatever, thank you for your input John."
"As exchange…well. To me you seem a little bit bored Mr. Holmes? What about making your life a little bit more…entertaining?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow for a moment and gave Watson, who was about to make another complaint, a sign to remain quiet.
"A surprise? …I don´t like surprises but since nothing will happen anyways…Alright."
"A good decision Mr. Holmes. You´ll get your entertainment for the next years, and exactly ten years today I´ll come along and collect my reward." "I actually really feel quite entertained right now." The detective commented with a snarky voice.
"Oh we have to seal the contract first. Even demons have their principles; and business is business." Watson knew from Johnson´s narrative how this man sealed his deals and he couldn´t help but looking away the moment the two men stepped closer to each other. When he opened his eyes again, his jar nearly dropped and a terrible feeling came to his stomach: Both of the men, Sherlock and the Stranger, were gone.
"I´ll see you in ten years, Gentlemen." Was the last thing to be heard: A deep voice with an Irish accent that appeared out of nowhere, followed by mere silence.