Series Placement: The following Shard takes place between fragments 107 and 108.


Here bloomed a winter scene spun a thousand times over. A palette of red and green. Ornaments sparkled on a towering pine, wrapped in ribbons and housing presents beneath. One could even smell fresh snow gazing out the large windows. A scene so similar, yet refined with prestigious circumstance.

The royal air of Salon de Marie felt even more disarming with its Christmas wardrobe. The dozens of larger than life figures enjoying its Ballroom space, more than usual for this hour, mingled amongst their groups or enjoyed their time alone. The happy ring of the matron's chatty voice graced the air alongside an impromptu piano recital from a legendary composer. Yet despite the supernatural wrapping, the yearly gift remained so familiar.

A time of giving and caring. A month where the best of wishes sailed forth in preparation for a new year around the bend. Moments to contemplate where one was, is, and could be if they so desired. The holiday spirit urged one to relax and take things easy, but since when was that ever his modus operandi?

Silently, the spider watched on and spun its thread.

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Shard 49: Got my Eye on You

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His eyes were unassuming, yet no matter how hard he tried, the silky lines grew. Along their length, mental notes and information flashed and faded, logged forever into his mind for future use. Diligently, efficiently, and methodically, whether he wished or not, an unseen file on each individual grew pages longer.

The compiling never stopped: It was simply who he was. If he saw something fascinating, he observed and waited. Listened and calculated. Every instance and possibility was an equation to be solved, and the variables would come to him in time. From there, whatever he wanted could be formed, even if nothing at all.

How strange it was for the infamous James Moriarty to be placid.

No. That was a lie. He was planning. He was always planning, because that's where he was infallible. It defined him to the point to stop thinking of the possibilities or balancing equations would be akin to halting his heart. It must be done, no matter how small, meager, or insignificant the design.

Tucked away in a booth, the archer remained alone and content. A swirl of his cup was followed by the sip of the fruity drink. Not a drop would stain his well-groomed moustache, nor linger on the glass' lip to try threatening his plain suit. Even simple movements were methodical yet elegant, but as a man of high stature that was only to be expected.

Again, his eyes swept across the room, hidden by the raised novel that earned only half his interest. His habits were veteran distractions. The sights of mingling servants was too enticing. The mental documents grew thick.

Semiramis and Amakusa were having a double date at another booth with Carmilla and Hijikata. The women were close, but the men not as much. The conversation was dominated by the fashionistas, while the men listened intently. Hijikata listened to his sake more, and Carmilla would likely reprimand him for it. Again. His ears picked up nothing new of interest from them.

"Did you see that look Arjuna gave Karna? Gave me shivers…" However, Xuanzang's loud chatter drew his ear, but not the eye.

She sat at a window couch unseen beyond the flowery divider along with Martha. "Arjuna hates him, but he won't do anything more than a spar. I'm more worried about Shuten and Raikou."

Understandable. The Indian legends are stoutly civil, but despite new ground reached, it was easy to note what switches needed to be flipped to ignite a battle. Easy for him, at least, though a plan to escalate that for his own needs was far more inefficient than simply making Shuten and Raikou go for each other's throats. If he needed chaos, they were his first pick. Ushi and Tomoe another, then…

…And there it was again. Where eyes glided skillfully and methodically, they lingered and faltered as they swept over the Ballroom bar. A hitch unexplained. An unbalanced equation he'd been struggling with for months, even after he'd come up with the answer several times over.

Forcefully derailing himself, his eyes turned back to his novel in an attempt to refocus. 'Breathe, James. There's nothing more that can be done right now… or is there?'

He breathed out a bit louder, though unnoticeable to most. Since when had he ever overlooked steps, options, or- "Afternoon, Professor. Adding some trouble to the air?"

His eye twitched, yet his lips turned instinctively sly as he gazed to approaching steps. "You tell me, Detective."

"Oh, come now," Holmes smiled calmly as he slid into the booth uninvited. "You know you can't hide anything from me for long."

"But it's fun to try," Moriarty's smile grew a bit slyer, even if his irritation spiked more than it ever had in the past. His eyes instinctively swept over Holmes'… shoddy attire, by his standards. With the collar of his white dress shirt popped, and tie nowhere in sight, he looked more like a hard-boiled detective than his classic arch-nemesis. The professor's mind quickly connected the dots, clicked, and stored the info to sharpen his blade. "And on the subject of trying, you should at least try to show some shame. All that's missing is some residue, but you were at least decent enough to clean that."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Holmes countered, even as he gently waved off a passing server robot.

Without breaking eye contact, Moriarty did the same. "Oh come now. You know you can't hide anything from me for long."

The pause grew, yet tension failed to attend. Holmes didn't even try to deny with his next words. "Ah, but you won't turn the tables on me that easily, Moriarty. Not again. We're talking about you, no? And yes, on the subject of trying, you don't even seem to be hiding the fact you're observing and plotting. How long have we known each other? You may have bought leniency from the others, but I know better than to offer slack."

"Not even a thanks for my genuine help?" Moriarty countered with feigned injury.

Holmes' smile remained cemented. "I already did, which was more than I ever expected to give you. But you appear to have more to give, and during a season when most have their guard down."

Again, Moriarty's sly façade faded. "As much as I'd love to try, Detective, not all plans should leave the drawing board."

"One always does. You can't dismiss that fact, Professor," Holmes stated as his smile fell. "Whether you like it or not, you're always planning."

"And you're always searching. Investigating. Accusing." He rebuked as he lowered his book. "My plans don't necessarily need to be active or malicious in intent. Or is that all you believe I'm capable of? You insult me, Detective."

"I just move my chess pieces in case no one else does," the detective countered flatly.

He wasn't sure what was different today. Maybe it was the many times they've had this exact conversation in different dresses. It could have been his own mounting frustrations for his inactivity. Whatever it may be, Moriarty lost some patience as he dropped his book, startling Holmes. It was loud enough some other servants glanced over too.

The archer's glare remained equal parts offended and begging. "Why must we always discuss this, Holmes? How many more times must I go through this? Since when was it guilty before proven innocent?"

"I haven't accused you of-"

"You may not have anything to accuse me with, but you're sure digging to find anything!" Moriarty interrupted. "You have been! But there's nothing at the moment. I'm very sorry to disappoint you. There exists no grand, malicious, active plans to bring Chaldea down. Have I thought about the enticing challenge it presents? Certainly. I will not deny that, but don't bait for fish that aren't swimming!"

Though his comment seemed to unnerve a few, Holmes remained mostly unperturbed. "But the day will come when you'll plan something."

"And that day isn't today!" Moriarty rejected. "For goodness sake, Holmes. Look at me! I'm trying to enjoy a drink, a novel, and some luxurious salon air! I don't see you going around to any of the other servants with questionably devious backgrounds or spying on them! Or should I just pass this off as your lifelong habit? Am I not excused to go about a simple life like the rest?"

The calm air of the salon was growing still with curious eyes and ears. Holmes tossed distant onlookers one curious glance, then met eyes firmly with Moriarty. To the professor's aggravation, there wasn't even a hint of apology. "… You may. I won't deny that's impossible considering the mountain of substantial evidence presented by others. On a daily basis, for that matter… But my skepticism remains. I know you too well not to have my guard up. All you need is an inch, and you can take a country."

"I don't know whether to be flattered by your praise or frustrated this conversation will remain a weekly occurrence," Moriarty grumbled as he shut his book and stood. "I suppose I'll have to come back later when you're troubled with lesser things in order to properly enjoy some peace and quiet. Better to do so than sit here and be accused of nothing…"

Moriarty began his frustrated yet calm retreat, ignoring the eyes of the few. Most. There was one drilling into his back that irked him further, then enticed a sigh out of him. Then a halt. He turned back, and sure enough, Holmes was looking back with that stoic stare of his. That only meant the next thing he was going to say would be an attempt to corner him with presented evidence. 'So you have something then, detective…?'

"Moriarty, you appear be having a growing number of private conversations with Paracelsus. This is a recent development that had eluded my attention, until someone kindly approached me with this info."

Well, that was certainly condemning without context. Moriarty had a feeling it was Jekyll who spilled the beans with how many times the professor tried to meet with Paracelsus in more private, unsuspicious times. In other words, when he's working in the Alchemy Room. Yet with the number of incidents he'd been a part of, intentionally or not… the nature of his expertise…

"I find it a… curious budding friendship? Not something I could see as casually grown with little roots," Holmes continued, now earning more frustration as the salon attention fell completely to them. Though he nearly lost his patience, he was good at managing composure. Moriarty only stared back as Holmes levelled his gaze. "I acknowledge you and any servant answering Chaldea's call is allowed to make whatever bonds you wish, Professor, but I can't shake the idea you're doing it for a purpose-"

"Mixing drinks." Moriarty's sharp yet controlled reply earned a raised eyebrow from Holmes. This drew a quick grumble from Moriarty. "It's the truth. Get Karna to pass judgement if you doubt me, but you'll find no challenge or scheme surrounding this, Holmes! I wish to know more about this bar flaring hobby and how I may apply it to my own interests! And maybe. Maybe I wanted to know if a youth potion was possible for my consumption."

"…Youth potion?" Mozart mouthed, and even if it earned a mix of reactions, Moriary nodded flatly…

"Yes. A youth potion. For my use." He then jabbed a finger to Holmes, who finally flinched in surprise. Moriarty took little satisfaction in that. "Look at him! Look! The prime of his life! A Victorian stallion whereas me!? What about me!? This isn't my prime! Why do I get stuck with the stereotypical wise-professor body and my arch-nemesis gets to be a spring chicken!? Where is the fairness in the throne's actions!?"

A few chuckled at his ridiculousness, but he was honest, if nothing. Regaining his composure, he glared lightly back to a once-more stoic detective… but said nothing more. He was done. He was too frustrated. With a simple spin on his heels, he marched calmly towards the door while grumbling his last grievances away. 'A mundane routine… I can't even follow a normal existence with this accursed detective in arm's reach!'

The plan for the rest of the afternoon was instantly remapped, recalculated, and finalized in a blink. "I'll just finish this novel in my room, then return later…"

"Are you okay?"

He stuttered to a halt: An uncalculated action. A break in composure uncharacteristic for him, yet had become so definitive to the voice's owner alone. With mind hectically reorganizing, his eyes launched themselves to the pure young woman at the bar. They cared not for her friends around her as the pink-haired berserker seemed to glow in his vision. Like the others, the threads strung themselves through her, yet they wrapped her like a protective blanket rather than hold her over a precipice.

"…I'll be fine. No need to worry about someone like me." Moriarty answered Frankenstein calmly, then simply walked through the salon door.

Again, his mind was assailed with the same question. The calculations were infallible. The variables were well-defined. Potential plans, options, and actions were all noted as the greatest of challenges; One pursued as his current, sole scheme. Not out of malicious interest, but of a curious unknown. A fact and existence that must be proven with action.

Yes. It was possible.

Yet, no. That was impossible.

And so the spider continued to weave an unknown thread.