The dim golden glow of the evening sun filtered through the tall slim windows, pushing past their glistening white drawn back curtains before falling on the smooth marble floor of the casino. Subdued chatter gave the air the slightest tingle of life and this low murmur of noise was punctuated every so often by the rolling of a roulette wheel or the soft sound of a deck of cards being shuffled. The scents of cigarette smoke, expensive alcohol and vibrant perfumes danced in the atmosphere, providing a luxurious assault on the senses.
The final stage of the evening's current poker game was drawing to its close. A woman in a slim scarlet dress with lipstick of the same colour, her long dark curls falling past her uncovered shoulders, placed her two cards face-up on the table. Two eights.
"Full house," announced the croupier. "Eights full of aces."
The man sat opposite her took hold of his own cards, his pale gaze never faltering against her deep brown eyes. His tuxedo was pristine, as if it had never before been worn, the smooth jacket and crisp white shirt clinging tightly to his body. His thin silk bow tie stood perfectly straight in the dead centre of his stiff collar.
He revealed his cards. Two aces.
"Four of a kind, aces," said the croupier. "The gentleman wins."
A small smile played across the luscious blood red lips of the woman who had just lost on this final hand. She rewarded the man sat opposite her, whose face still betrayed no sign of emotion, with a slight bow of her head as she conceded the game.
"Very well played."
The man gave a quick, sharp smirk as he got to his feet.
"Thank you," he said, before turning to the croupier and beckoning to the chips he had just won. "Have someone cash these."
"Yes, sir."
"Well, as you've won so much," said the woman in scarlet, joining the man as he left the table, "I suppose you can afford to buy me a drink?"
"Of course," said the man. He walked with a quick stride towards the bar, the woman gliding imperiously along at his side.
"I don't suppose you'd care to share your secret? At poker?"
"Every player has their tell," the man explained, stopping at the broad mahogany surface of the bar. "In poker you don't play the cards, you play the person sat across from you. If you can read them, you can read the game."
"Fascinating."
The barman walked over to where these two were stood, grinning at the man.
"What can I get you, sir?"
"Two dry martinis," he said. "Shaken not stirred."
"Right away," said the barman, busying himself with the preparation the drinks.
"An old favourite of mine," said the woman, sounding impressed.
"I'm sure it is."
"Master of cards and tastes – you are good at reading people."
"I like to think so."
"So," she said as the drinks arrived, "do you have a name?"
The man took a single, long sip of his drink before placing the glass firmly back on the bar. He met the woman's gaze with a cool, firm look in his eyes before speaking in his deep, sharp, masculine tone.
"The name's Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."