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Chapter 4

He gave Ryuk a hard look, with a strange, lop-sided smile that marred his handsome features. "Now I see why your demon friends are so keen on this game… You all are actually more powerful than you've led me to believe. We humans are but pawns for you all- you can pluck us out of time and death at a whim; we are your living cattle, to kill for your survival, to fight each other for your amusements."

Ryuk shrugged his wide shoulders, that fiendish grin and dripping fans unmoving before the young man.

Nevertheless, that feeling of anticipation, of competitiveness, flooded back to Raito at once. Even without the death-god's nod of acknowledgement, Raito knew that this was the man he would be facing. The greatest detective of all time- probably surpassing L, Near and Mello… "But then," he mused. "Surely it cannot be that easy to know his name." He cast the demon a swift, calculating look, and Ryuk gave that odd laugh again, staring at him intently with his huge eyes.

At once, Raito remembered.

Ryuk had laughed the same strange way when Naomi had told him her name for the first time.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said slowly. "It is a false name, isn't it?"

"Very smart, Raito." The death-god nodded approvingly. "It seems being dead had not addled your intelligence one bit."

"Well," Raito said lazily, ignoring the demon's last comment. "I guess I just have to wait and see how he would play my game then… Damn, I wish I had read more of his novels… if everything is more or less the same as what I remember of them, it should be easier to read him. I have made my opening move, let's see what he will do." Raito went back to the flimsy wooden table, picked up his knife and fork and started to eat. Although the tea was cold, and the beef slightly overcooked, Raito ate everything with a relish. He was exceedingly hungry, as he had not eaten anything yet since morning.

"Oi, Raito!"

"Yes, Ryuk?" Raito said nonchalantly, as he finished the last of his meal and came to the bed. Unless he was highly mistaken, the days after tomorrow were going to be extremely interesting.

"Heh, heh…I wanted to say that you acted very well just now, Raito. That woman sure was taken in by your pretty speech," Ryuk grinned, leaping up and perching himself on the chair Raito had just vacated. He grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the middle of the table, and started to chew with ecstasy. "You definitely are not disappointing. Although… I have always wondered. Why did you choose to rent this place out of all the other rooms we saw?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Raito said, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes. "The other rooms had housekeepers who were much too talkative, and went out way too much for my liking. If I had taken residence there, sooner or later word would start circulating around London that a young Japanese man had arrived just before the spate of heart-attacks. I want Sherlock Holmes to guess, but not have too much concrete proof about who I am. But this woman here, is extremely isolated- no one calls on her, and she seldom goes out, save to buy groceries. And to my knowledge, she is not very well-liked here as well. That's why I followed her, that day, do you remember? To make sure. And besides," Raito pointed at a cabinet at the foot of his bed. "In there I have all my paints and costumes. Luckily I took a course in acting and make-up before, eh Ryuk? I can be a respectable businessman, a slovenly tramp or even a Chinese coolie. That is, of course, if my own housekeeper doesn't spill the beans on me."

"Anyway, what really clinched my decision were those press clippings and pictures she has framed up above her mantelpiece. What woman would so carefully cut out those newspaper articles and frame them? I at once guessed she was a widow, cherishing a burning hatred for the criminal who killed her husband, and probably both desperately lonely and bitter- there is a much higher chance that I can bend her to my will. I must charm her, and make her mine." His eyes coldly glittered. "A loyal trustworthy servant. Of course, her isolation is a bonus factor- after I'm done with her, disposing of her should not be too much of a problem."

"But Raito…"

"What is it?" The young man asked irritably. "I want to sleep."

"Why are you expanding so much effort to charm that woman? To me, she does not seem that important at all."

"Well, if I hadn't, I wouldn't have found out about Sherlock Holmes in the most unsuspicious way possible would I? And anyway, I do have my reasons. It wouldn't be interesting if I told you my plans so soon, would it?" Raito smiled coldly. "Be patient, you will find out soon enough." He turned and doused the bedside lamp. And all was quiet in the house, save for the occasional munch and crunch of some crunchy fruit being eaten.

"A telegram for you, dear," my dear wife said, coming to greet me as I stepped through the door.

"Oh, who is it?"

"It's from Holmes. Although he didn't mention why, he requests your presence urgently at his place."

I stifled an inward groan. I had been visiting patients since morning, and not yet had the opportunity to relax, or even to have a cup of tea and enjoy the daily newspaper. However, I knew Holmes very well, and I knew he would not summon me unless a new case had come up, in which either he requires my companionship, or feels it would be of interest to me as his unofficial biographer.

Hence, it was on that fateful windy afternoon when I made my way to my friend's house. The old housekeeper showed me to his rooms, and Holmes was playing his violin when I entered. His eyes were dreamy and unfocussed, and he made no motion as to indicate that he heard me enter the room. As I was used to his peculiar habits, I made no movement to disturb him, and crossed over to the other side of the room to look out of the window.

"What bad weather! I would be surprised to see anyone out," I murmured to myself. The sky was dark and overcast, and the usually crowded streets outside were desolate and empty, save for a few stray passersby who were hurrying along, no doubt seeking the safe shelter of their homes.

The pleasant music behind me suddenly ceased, and I turned.

Holmes had sprung up from his armchair, and his face had taken on that excited, eager disposition I have come to associate with his work. He was no more that languid, dreamy individual of music and philosophy. I have to say that I was expecting this, as it had been more than a week since the Dr Kissinger affair- ample time for Holmes to recover from his moody sentiments, and be ready to take on a fresh case. He now resembled a bloodhound, straining upon the leash for a chase.

"My dear doctor, I see you have had a hard day. I'm really sorry that I had to drag you here," said he, picking up his pipe for a smoke and handing me his pack of cigars.

I looked at him, astonished. "Why, how did you guess that, Holmes?"

"Well, your shoes gave you away," he said, bemused at the surprised expression on my face. "As I perceived it when you came in, they were slightly dusty, but not as dirty one would expect shoes to be when one goes walking around London. Hence, I deduced that you must have taken a hansom. As you walk when your appointments are few, I guessed that today must have been extremely busy for you to have to take a cab."

Holmes laughed as realization dawned upon me.

"Me dear Holmes," I cried. "You never cease to amaze me."

"Nonsense," he said, although from the twinkling of his eyes I knew he felt gratified. "It is all a matter of simple deduction, as I've often told you before."

The short silence that followed was suddenly broken by a violent ringing of the doorbell, which continued for several seconds before ceasing. Immediately afterwards, we could hear a loud clumping of boots up the stairs.

"Ah, I suppose that must be Lestrade," drawled Holmes, looking at the telegram he had picked from the table and throwing it back down again. "He's the reason why I asked you to come here today, Watson." Stooping, Holmes took out a bottle of brandy and a glass from a side-cabinet. "And judging by the incoherent nature of the telegram, I think one should be prepared," he said, as he set the items down on the table before him.

The next second, the door to the room swung open with such force that I could have sworn to have seen it shake at its hinges, as though it were about to fall off. "Dear God," cried Inspector Lestrade, bursting in and flinging his hat onto the table. "Dear God, this is a terrible business." His hands were trembling, and his ratty face was a sickly pasty white. I recognized at once the symptoms of a person had just undergone a serious shock. "It seems that God's judgment is upon us all."