Tally-Ho! Prologue:

The shop was hardly a shop at all.
There were no trinkets or good for sale on the shelves; only rows and rows of leather bound books on ebony bookcases, comfortable green arm chairs next to the door and by the window, wooden floors, green curtains pulled back to view the busy street outside, a table with a lamp if any guests decided to read while they waited, and the tall desk where a tall blonde man stood in front of a doorway. It was hardly a shop, and more of an office.
At the sound of distant thunder, Matthew paused in the scratching of his quill against paper, to move a violet eye past the large windows of the practice.
Already a light rain had begun to hit against the glass, leaving trails as they flowed down it's smooth surface and he sighed, turning a page in his journal, and winding the gas of the lamp at his left. It had been such a nice day before this overcast, he thought disappointingly.

Although he'd moved to London more than three years ago, he was still not used to the copious amounts of rain. Almost every day it was raining! He almost preferred the snow from back home to the constant wetness of Jolly old England.
Even looking outside the window made him shiver, and he contemplated asking Michelle to make him a pot of tea, when SLAM!
The door to the shop was shoved open, and looking as if he'd just taken a dive into the Thames itself, Arthur Kirkland, private investigator, and Mathew's employer stood, looking more than a bit disgruntled.

The sandy blonde hair of the detective , although always disheveled, was dripping over his bright green eyes, now squinted with anger and annoyance, and as he moved forward the man trailed a honest puddle onto the wooden floors.
Arthur Kirkland glared up at Matthew, daring him to laugh even as he looked much like a drowned kitten plopped down on their doorstep.

Trying to hide the smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth, Matthew moved around the front desk to help Arthur out of his sopping wet gray and brown checkered trench coat, and ironically, the unopened umbrella in the British man's left hand .
"I take it things did not go well, eh?"
Pointedly Arthur avoided the gaze of the young Canadian- American-whatever it was Matthew claimed to be, and with a grunt fished from his front pocket his pipe and a packet of matches, now useless from the water. Even if he couldn't light the thing, Arthur felt great comfort in having it in his mouth. He probably would need more than a smoke after what had just happened.

"I take it your appearance has nothing to do with the rain then." Matthew said, hanging the umbrella and cloak on the coat rack near the door, and turning over the 'Open' sign on the paneled window. He trailed behind the Brit who he made his way past the desk, to the doorway on the wall opposite the front door, and up the flight of stairs that would take them to the apartment they shared over the shop.

"The rain certainly did little to help!" Arthur mumbled over the squish of his wet shoes.

As he opened the door to their living quarters the man sighed.
The five room apartment was cluttered with various strange objects; beakers and boilers under glass tubes on the desk that spanned the wide window, thousands of books on every subject from plants to magical creatures both covering the bookcases on the wall opposite the door and scattered all around the room, maps hanging from the wall opposite the windows and going down the short hallway that would lead to the bedrooms, showing London, then Great Britain, then the world. In the living room itself was a strange combination of furniture from the green couch to the plush arm chair, to the high backed chair in the corner.
It was messy and disorganized, but it still retained a homey feeling that both men appreciated. Arthur wearily sunk into the side of the sofa uncovered in books and papers.
"I'll give you two words, Matthew. Two words."
As the Brit took off his boots he made a face water streamed out of them.
"Francis Bonnefoy."
"Ah…"
That explained everything.

Francis Bonnefoy was one of London's greatest detectives, although the man was French. He'd single handedly solved several mysteries in the last few years, and Arthur claimed him to be his biggest rival in the field of investigation. Whenever Arthur was given an assignment, Francis would find a way to steal his investigation, and it seemed that both men lived for the sake of outdoing the other. Every once in awhile Arthur would be victorious in solving the case before his French foil but, Matthew thought privately, most times the game went to Bonnefoy.
"Well, I'm sure you'll get him back one day." Matthew said lightly, handing his elder a dry match.
Arthur grunted a thank you before lighting it.
"You bet your arse I'll get him back." he huffed in a large breath of smoke,
But don't worry my dear lad, all is not lost."
Matthew looked surprised. "You don't mean-"
"Yes, I do."
"But how did you-"
Arthur gave the boy a proud look, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Elementary, my dear Matthew."
"I can't believe it. We've gotten a lead!"
Matthew rushed to sit down in front of his role model in excitement.
"Indeed. A lead to the whereabouts of one of the world's most dangerous criminals." With a florid motion Arthur grabbed a single piece of paper, damp from the incident that, Matthew noted, Arthur had yet to explain, and handed it to the taller male. With a shiver Matthew took it as the image of the nefarious Russian criminal, Ivan Braginski came to mind.

For months the duo had been trying to dig up information on the man at the request of an anonymous client. The client had started off by sending a letter addressed to Arthur, asking him to hastily Ivan before it was too late. At first both Arthur and Matthew had thought the letter was making a big deal about this Ivan character, who they thought was another petty criminal, lesser on the scale of priority. But as the months went on and they were given more information the two were able to uncover a history of violence and other atrocities linked to Braginski, which instilled a sense of urgency about finding the dangerous man. Ever since they had been looking for the final link as to his whereabouts.
"It turns out we were going about it the wrong way. We automatically assumed from the last letter to his sister, Irina, that he was coming here to hide from those pursuing him. However, we were wrong. He isn't in London. He isn't even in Europe!"
At the look of confusion on Matthew's face, Arthur grabbed a map from nearby and swung it around to the wide eyes of his assistant.
Immediately he recognized the large blob that was once his home.
The United States of America.

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