Author's Note: I wrote this more or less in one go, and I actually like it! (It doesn't even have a storyline, so don't ask me why). Hope you enjoy Finny's back story! I had wanted to put Maylene's back story here too, but it doesn't fit too well so I just leave it.

Unfortunately, Eiko-chan is really busy with school and a lot of things right now, so she hasn't beta-read this chapter yet. If anyone finds any error/typo in need of correction, please let me know. :)

Part 9: Creating the Circumstances

When he received the invitation letter, he was rather surprised. He was a banker. He didn't have much reputation outside the circle of friends of the same trade. Therefore, he wasn't expecting that he would be invited to the unconventional Nina Hopkins' private party, an exclusive fashion show to let the 'Nina Circle' catch a glimpse of her newest clothing collection. He wasn't one of those bon tons, obviously, so it made no sense that she would bother inviting him (how did she know about him anyway?). His first thought, of course, was that it was some practical joke. Nina Circle was known to consist of highly selected group of people from various occupations in the high society forming a group of elites among elites. Sebastian was hardly one of those. He knew this kind of invitation was sent to people outside the group from time to time. But him? That's hardly thinkable.

He was sure it was a joke until he received a phone call from a woman who claimed to be Nina Hopkins's secretary. She wanted to confirm whether he would be at the party or not. He said yes without really thinking. She, then, asked for his address for there would be a car sent to pick him up on that day. To be honest, he was blown away. He wasn't sure why he was getting this royal treatment all of a sudden, and being the man he was, he asked. The girl at the end of the line giggled a little as she answered, "I understand your anxiety, sir. I was blown away, too, once. But Miss Hopkins is generous. You can ask her personally later."

So there he was at the door of Nina Hopkins's mansion as the guests started to arrive. He recognized many of them; they were celebrities after all. Strangely, none of them seemed puzzled by his presence. They just nodded, grinned, and exchange pleasantries.

One thing for certain now, this was no practical joke.

The music was already playing inside with a band of young men and women. Champagne was going around. Lights in the grand hall where the party was held were changed to blue, giving a slightly eerie atmosphere. And there among many guests was Miss Nina Hopkins. Upon spotting him, she excused herself and walked to him with a bright smile.

"Dear!" she exclaimed with a French accent, grabbed him on the shoulder and kissed him on both cheeks, "My god. You're here at last. I was afraid you would run off. You look like a deer caught in headlight. Well, I'm not exactly surprised, you know. My people are not the most typical for all I know. Now, have you anything to drink, yet?"

"I have some champagne already. Thank you, Miss Hopkins," he replied.

"Oh, Nina, please," she patted his shoulder lovingly. "Now, I have to get that uncomfortable grin off your face. If I can't make this the night of your life, I'm not Nina Hopkins, aren't I?" she said, then whisked the liquid in her glass down her throat followed by a loud 'Ah!' "Now, let us have a seat. You want something to eat, dear? Sushi, maybe?"

"Sushi is good."

"Sushi, then. Hey! Someone get us a Sushi plate, please," she shouted above all the sound in the room and whisked Sebastian to a seat. The Sushi plate came not long afterward, and they finally settled down.

Sebastian started, "You know, Nina, I was meant to ask. I have no intention of being rude, but I'm curious as to why you invite me here. I don't think I have anything to be recognized in your circle."

"Oh dear, don't be so humble. Someone must have acknowledged you, haven't they? Else your name won't be put to my attention. Honestly, I'm not very familiar with the business and finance, but one of my friends is an accomplished businessman. He recommended you to me as you were the one who helped him started out his business. Does Funtom ring a bell?"

"I have helped a lot of small businesses in my early career. I'm afraid I don't recall."

"That's alright, dear. I don't think he remembers how you look like either," Nina laughed heartily; "The point is you made an impression on him, and he recommended that I add you to the circle for everyone's benefit. We have a lot of artists and entrepreneurs here, you see, but we are not knowledgeable in certain areas, if you know what I mean."

"Yes?" Sebastian replied reluctantly, "No, sorry. What do you mean, sir?"

"So, you're here to be my friend. And like good friends, we help each other when in need. Isn't that a way of doing business as well?"

"Well, that's true," he smirked. Now that Nina mentioned the intention of the meeting, he was more than comfortable. This felt more like his arena now that he knew what the Nina Circle was about. Nina introduced him to many people, many who were interested in the financial world. And soon he blended completely in. He was glad this was easier than he thought. He was actually enjoying himself.

He also got the name of the CEO of Funtom, Klaus Heinemann. He made it a personal mission to thank the man if they ever had a chance to meet.

"Oh, no. He's not very social, you see," said Nina when he asked whether he could set up a meeting with this generous owner; "He does come around from time to time, but there's no telling. Sometimes he's out on the Continent on business trips, conquering the world one child at a time."And Sebastian laughed at her remark.

Soon the light was dimmed and the spotlight directed their attention to the stage. A woman Sebastian recognized as Nina's secretary came out from the back and announced the exclusive fashion show of the fall season. People cheered but most loudly was Nina herself, making compliments at each of her models.

There were 'oh' there and 'ah' here as each dress came and went. He wasn't that interested, really, but went along with Nina's enthusiasm. Even as it were, he did recognize when the sound went up the loudest as a girl stepped out in a dashing bright red dress. Her busty figure set her apart from many other models. She was like Venus with a lot more curve, bright red velvety hair, and piercing brown eyes. As she walked down the stage, Nina jumped up to her feet and grabbed the beautiful ankle once it was grounded to the end of the catwalk. "Maylene, you are absolutely gorgeous tonight, Darling." she cooed, and the girl made a slightly uncomfortable smile. Soon she turned back, showing the elegant curve of her naked back and walked to the back of the stage.

Nina must have caught him staring because she was grinning knowingly at him once she returned to her seat. "She's something, isn't she? Absolutely my favourite. She has every asset a girl would love to have – so many materials to work with. I love putting a corset on her, you know, emphasizing her buxom breasts. Models these days are too skinny. It's like fitting a sack to a plank. THIS is what Nina Hopkins is about, the love for women's curves and showing it. You understand what I'm saying, don't you, dear?" she nudged and Sebastian replied with a grin.

The evening went on with music and a short show from a theatrical group, also in the Nina Circle. Sebastian found the show interesting, but he was not overenthusiastic about it. Numbers made more sense to him than art.

But he did notice a piece of art when he saw one, like the redhead girl – Nina's favourite model – as she walked in plain clothes into the crowd. The make-up was mostly gone by then, and she looked utterly innocent and lost in the company of the high-societies – very much like himself.

"Hello," he greeted with a grin as she looked around for a seat. He moved over to free up some space at the end of the sofa. "You looked fabulous up there."

The girl blushed and sat down. "Umm, thank you, mister…"

"Just Sebastian is fine."

He noticed that she startled a bit by his name. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"No, nothing. I just happen to know someone by that name," she answered sheepishly.

And that got him curious. "Oh, really? Who is he?"

"Just an acquaintance," she said. If his eyes didn't fail him, Sebastian was sure she was blushing deep red. So this Sebastian was her crush. But she just shook her head and brushed it off. "Anyway, please don't trouble yourself with me. Do enjoy the show."

Sebastian nodded and turned his gaze back to the stage, but by then he was more interested in the girl next to him than the play. She was quite a shy adorable creature, wearing a dress that flattened her curves rather than flattering it – a bit of a waste in his opinion. She was giving him glances, too, which was rather flattering, but she would shy away as soon as she saw him glancing back.

Might be a good past time, he licked his lips a little and watched the rest of the show.

"So, you are a model?" he struck up the conversation once the show was over and the light became brighter. Soft music was played in the background as the room started to fill with low rumbles of people talking in whispers.

"Occasionally," she replied, "I'm actually one of Miss Nina's assistants. I'm still not very far into my apprenticeship, though."

He raised an eyebrow in respond. "She must have used you a lot, hasn't she, as a model?" he remarked.

She smiled wearily. The waiter came by with the champagne and she took two, handing one to him.

"She said I have the perfect body," the girl replied; "I don't particularly mind being a model for her clothing, but I find being in the spotlight…"

"… intimidating?" the banker offered.

"Yes, quite so," she answered, sipping on her champagne to create a pause. "Mmm, by the way, what do you do, Sebastian?"

"Well, I am a manager at Shad Sanderson. I take care of trading. Do you know what they are about?"

She shook her head and let him talk. Curiosity and anticipation were in her eyes as she smiled and asked questions. He liked her giggles, he found. It was rather reserved but awfully sweet. He liked how she bashfully handed him another glass of champagne or timidly asked about his girlfriend. He told her he didn't have one, which was true. An estrange wife did not count as a girlfriend.

After a while, they started talking about more personal topics, like movies they liked and things from their childhood. Maylene seemed to have and endless fascination with him along with endless supply of champagne for his thirst. He started to lose count of the glasses he had as soon as she assured him that Nina's driver would take him home. He simply downed it one after another.

He didn't remember much how he got into the car. What he remembered most was Maylene's soft skin under his hand as he grabbed on her to steady himself and her kiss on his cheek as they said goodbye. He smiled. He was very much looking forward to the next party.

It was over a week at the rehab, and all Jane could recall was misery. Her therapist told her it was anticipated. A side effect of heroin withdrawal, she said, like Jane wouldn't know it. Of course, she knew it, but she was too stupid at the age when she started taking it. She had tried more than once to stop, but it was hard, so damn hard. She was smart enough to take great care about the dose when she relapsed, though, because it was the overdose that killed people. She didn't know why she couldn't be as smart in withdrawing or staying clear from it in the first place. God, she wished she was. Like Sherlock. He was smart enough to listen to her when she was preaching him off heroin and stuck with cocaine instead. Cocaine was pretty good, less side-effects so to speak. But she was already in the deepest pit. Crawling out was going to be one hell of a journey.

And it sucked, dear lord, it sucked so bad she wanted to die.

Well, just sometimes, usually when she was alone and her roommate was not around. All she could do was staring at the ceiling and being bored to death. So it was like this when Sherlock got bored. No wonder he turned to her for something to keep his mind of this unfathomable torture. She never understood him until then. He had always been strange. People came to drug for many reasons, but for keeping the mind occupied was new to Jane. He fascinated her with his weird tricks and his super-intelligence. He didn't seem like one who would turn to drug actually, but his company alone was sometimes worth giving a few grams for free. And he actually listened to her. He was the first.

Now he hated her. Oh Lord Almighty, of course he would hate her now that he found out that she had never practiced what she preached. It was like betraying, she guessed, like she had been keeping an ultimate secret from him all this time. He had turned to Jane often back then, taking her into confidence about many things especially when they were high. And to found that, all along, she had been…

What Sherlock would do in this kind of state, she wondered.

There was a knock on the door, a call to a group activity again. Jane climbed off her bed and into her slippers. When she opened the door, a young man was standing in front of it with a wary smile.

"They're calling," he said and led her down the hallway. She didn't really remember his name. What was it? Funny? Fury?

"Sorry, you are…?"

"Finnian," he replied, "call me Finny."

"Ah, right you're the one with the weirdest problem."

She knew she was being a bit rude – she had been cranky for hours already – but the young man just laughed. "Yeah, computer addiction sure is strange," he replied with good humour.

She raised an eyebrow, "so you think this whole program will help you?"

"I don't know," he replied, "They want to experiment and I need someone to help me. I guess it's alright."

Jane nodded absentmindedly as they approached the room for the group section. It was still beyond her how someone could become a junkie for something that you couldn't really put into your vein. But Finny's problem was extreme, she recalled. He mentioned the complete inability to focus on life, to form relationship, or even having friends.

She wondered sometimes if Sherlock was still like that somehow. He was unmanageable when he was in one of his moods, and even his pal (what's his name, again?) never found a way to help him. That dude was so against drug, but he'd call her to give Sherlock something on his own tab when Sherlock was beyond salvage.

But Sherlock looked okay when they met in Scotland Yard. He was irritated by her, but, well, who wasn't. Even Sherlock would find her reproachful one day, especially now that he was working for the coppers. Jim told her that the last time they chat before the whole fiasco.

And she thought she found a friend in Jim. Dammit!

"Are you alright?"Finny whispered. He was sitting next to her looking concerned. The boy, he was such a nice lad. He had been gaining color since he came here, not looking as pale as he was when he first arrived.

"Finny, please pay attention," interjected the therapist with a gentle voice.

"I'm sorry, but Jane doesn't look well," he replied with sincere concern and apology in his voice. Like she said, such a nice lad.

The therapist walked over to her and within a few steps from her chair gasped quietly. "Jane, you should have told us. How are you feeling?"

"Down," she replied.

"You should rest a bit, Honey. I'll call someone to bring you to the doctor just to be safe."

"I'll take her to the infirmary," Finny volunteered.

The therapist looked at him with concern. "You don't have to, dear. It should be one of the staffs."

"Well, I should have known since I was with her on the way here. Please. She'd need a friend."

There was something about friendship that the young man seemed to regard very highly, and Jane felt a bit bad for him. She didn't even think that much of him.

The therapist gave in at last and let him escorted her to the infirmary. The doctor there gave her a thorough check and said it was probably a side effect of the withdrawal again, and that she needed to be strong and cope with it. Hell, she knew that, and it never helped her before.

Finny was waiting for her on the way out and walked with her all the way up to her room. They were kind enough to let her rest and Finny was to be her company.

"I'm alright," she told him once they were in the room; "You should go back to the session."

"It's okay. I like it better here," he said as he sat down on the sofa, bouncing on it a bit. He was such a child sometimes. "I don't like people much anyway."

"Isn't it a part of your problem? Com addicts don't know how to socialize, I've heard."

"Well, that's partly true," he replied with a shy grin, "I've never like being with people. I'm always nervous that I'll say something rude or do something wrong and they'll think I'm a bad person."

"Oh darling, you are not," she interjected without even thinking. She knew how it felt. Her friends were judged like that, too. Once someone found out that they did drugs, they were automatically stupid and, you know, bad.

Finny gave her a shy smile again as he pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose to hide his eyes. "Thank you, Jane."

Jane looked at him for while. She didn't know when she came to think of him as endearing. He hadn't been here long, just a couple of days, and he had looked so lost and out of place. Well, he was a different kind of addict and she supposed this was not his usual crowd.

"Tell me your story," Jane said suddenly. She even surprised herself.

"Excuse me?" Finny asked like a proper gent.

"Well, since I'm your friend. You can tell me your story, you know. You miss a session because of me after all."

Finny mouthed an 'oh' and looked down to the floor. He seemed to be contemplating before he said, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Well, yeah," she replied.

"Like…you absolutely cannot tell anyone. This is… this is very crucial," he whispered, absolutely serious; "Not to the therapists. You can't say it wherever whenever to whomever."

"Yeah, I get it. What is it that is so important?" she asked, slightly irritated and impatient. When would Finny stop teasing her.

"You promise?" the young man asked again hopefully.

Jane sat up from her leisure position on the bed and looked straight at him, showing him that she meant business. "I promise. I swear to it."

Finny nodded then and cleared his throat before he proceeded, "Many years ago, I used to room with a very close friend. We are both computer geeks. We dropped out of school together because we hated classrooms and teachers and, you know, just whole thing about social and stuff. My family was so angry I had to move out. I was making a bit from helping people with technical problems online, so I have some saving and we decided to move in together so we can share the expense and started a little business."

"And it wasn't totally legal," he said with a sad smile. "I was too young and too stupid to know what we were playing with. Aside from the web-coding and stuffs, we wrote programs and modules to crack into websites and steal information for our clients. We didn't care what they were gonna do with it. We just liked the challenge. And people actually kept raising the price to commission us. I think we must have done quite a good job."

"Then a guy came about and commission us with a very high price," he paused, swallowing hard before he continued. "He said he wanted absolute discretion. The code, the algorithm we invented would belong solely to him. We didn't know the risk then. We were lured by how high he was paying for it. Of course, we would have to reinvent everything for him, but we loved the prospect of it. It was utterly challenging. We felt high just thinking about it."

"He asked us to move into his flat where he can watch us work. We did. It was a luxurious place with a room service. We didn't need to go out at all. We just needed to tell him what we wanted and he'd find it for us. Our expense was covered, every quid. We just kept doing our job and pocketed it."

"But along the way we slowly realized what we were doing. He wouldn't tell us in full at the start, but soon he needed to fill us in. He did so bit by bit. Our commission check got bigger and bigger with the secret but so was the stake. We realized then that if we ever let it out of that room, the majority of the World-Wide-Web would be defenceless against the monster we created."

"So we put in a lock on the program," he swallowed again, his voice started to crack. "The code would run as it supposed to, but the entire information it had stolen would be encrypted. We convinced him that it would be safer that way since no one would be able to know what he was up to. We also gave him a decryption program to unlock it once the data was stored. We didn't tell him then that it actually needed a third party to synchronize between the two and make the code work. We were going to use it for demonstration and lead him to believe that we finished the job and disappeared before he truly understood what we had done."

"But… but somehow, he figured it out. Maybe it was someone else, some sodding underground programmer that saw through our code and warned him. We almost got away, but he got hold of us and shoved us back into the room. He demanded that we gave him the third-party code, but it was not on our person. We knew well enough to upload it elsewhere. Someone got hold of it for him, but it needed our password to run. He asked us what it is. We wouldn't tell."

Tears were starting to fall down the young man's cheek. His voice was almost gone at that point, but he was still trying his best to continue. "So…so he shoved my friend on the floor and put a gun to his head," he gasped, "right in front of me. He asked me for the password or he'd shoot my friend. But my friend was telling me not to. He was screaming. He was in pain. But he told me he was okay, told me to be strong and don't…just don't tell."

It was then that Finny broke down into sobs and whines. He was trying his best to stop and be coherent again, but he couldn't. It was too much to think back, and he succumbed. Jane could feel it so keenly her tears, too, were falling. She quickly got into the sofa with him and held him close against her. Poor Finny. Poor, poor Finny.

"He was my best friend," he said, almost screaming over his own sobbing. "I can't betray him…You understand?...I can't… So I didn't tell…and that man shot him… in the head… in front of me…shot him dead."

"Oh, Darling," she whispered while pressing his head against her shoulder and caressing his shaking shoulders and back. She didn't care of how their position looked with her legs draping on his lap. She just knew that Finny needed her. He needed this.

"Sometimes, I wonder why I survived," he whispered into her neck when he finally got hold of himself. "Sometimes, I wonder if this all is just a dream, that I didn't really survive that day intact, that I was shot too, but I didn't die and I was just in coma…but that…that can't be right… he wouldn't shoot me 'cause he needed me to talk."

"Shhh…It's over now, Darling," she whispered soothingly into his ear. "You're alright now. You're a great friend. He's proud of you. I'm sure he is."

"Really?" the young man asked. He pushed back a little to look her in the eye. Dear lord, those sad blue eyes could have made her cry again. She tried her best to wipe those tears off his face. "I should have find a way for us both to live," he whispered, "I should have dragged the conversation a bit longer…until the coppers come and save us… but I didn't… I-"

"You didn't know, Honey. You couldn't have. You had done your best, your very best," she muttered, kissing his forehead all the while. His sobbing slowly came to a stop, but it was hard for her to fight back the tears in her own eyes.

They sat like that for a while, her half on his lap and him clinging to her like dear life. It was a strange experience. She hadn't gotten this close to anyone for a while, especially not one who would not take advantage of her. She felt like she was the one taking advantage of the poor young man who had opened his heart to her in search of a friend.

"Well, you're better off than me. You're trustworthy, while I…" she swallowed, "I've betrayed a friend."

He looked up at her in surprise. "How?" he asked.

"Well," she started, "I first met him when I was in college…"

It was not like he actually intended to have this meeting. He hadn't got enough data to manipulate the circumstances to his wish. He just tried. He knew if he failed there would always be a second chance. The person would always come back as long as the game was still on.

John was having a half-day shift and he would be done by one after a lunch with Sarah. John had asked for that one extra hour. And he, like a good flatmate, was willing to accommodate.

Despite that, he set out at the same time as before after reviewing a few cases he found to be connected to Moriarty and sent the information to his scattered acquaintances in England and the Continent. He took a quick look at the watch to assure himself there was enough time before dashing out to West End, particularly to the Willow's Cup.

There at one of the windows sat the figure of a young man, one eye hidden under a patch concealing what must have been a nasty scar. He knew by doing a research many years ago how it might look like. It must have been a powerful blow to damage the organ beyond repair. An accident, probably, since his captors didn't bother to blind the other. The patch was there to cover any sign of it as well as the unnerving blank stare from the lifeless eye.

The young man's mannerism in general was also like that patch, shielding him from what one might call the society. His cunningness would be that the rest of humanity did not know that he was not one of them. Not even John saw it. All they saw was a young man, melancholic and strong.

Sherlock Holmes saw a completely different person.

He ordered his usual, black with two sugars, and waited patiently. The young man was not aware of his presence yet. He did not know if that was simply a façade or not. Ciel was reading something that looked very much like a scientific textbook. He can't really tell from this distance what subject it might be. For school? Probably.

The consulting detective took his coffee from the barista, nodded a quiet thank you, and walked over to the young man's table but kept away from his line of sight.

"Good afternoon," greeted Sherlock. Ciel startled little before he looked up, and upon spotting Sherlock smiled back to the Detective's grin. Sherlock didn't bother to wait for invitation before he sat down, intentionally shielding them from the rest of the room.

"Good afternoon, Sherlock. What brings you here?" the young man asked.

"Picking John up, as usual," he answered; "Yourself?"

"I had a class this morning and got some homework to do, so I'm spending my time here over a nice cup of coffee."

"With Psychology and Crime. Sure is an interesting read."

At this, Ciel grinned. "You're not here just to pick John up, I believe?" he asked.

Touché, Sherlock thought smugly. "I'm actually here to talk to you."

"Oh," replied Ciel quietly. Surprised? Yes. But completely surprised? Sherlock doubted that.

"John doesn't like it when we talk about your family. He thinks you still suffer from the murder."

"And you think I don't?" the young man asked, tilting his head a bit to the side.

"I think you still do," replied Sherlock as he looked intensely at Ciel, observing his every movement; "I simply don't think you want to be sheltered."

Ciel smiled a little as he rested one elbow on the table and placed his chin on the palm of his hand. "Then what exactly do you think I want?"

It was a challenge, Sherlock could tell. He got the answer ready. "You want to chase down Moriarty, don't you?"

"What makes you think so?"

"You weren't surprised by my deduction," Sherlock replied. "You have anticipated it, in fact. You knew that was the only possible explanation. Then why did you ask? You didn't want to hear it. You want me to hear it. You want me to get into your head."

"Quite so," Ciel agreed quietly.

"Then the question is why? You obviously don't want my sympathy. What good would that do. You want something else from me," Sherlock, then, smirked triumphantly, "and that something else is Moriarty."

The young man's lips curved up as if he was about to laugh. "Marvellous," he muttered, "truly exceptional. You really are as good as you claim to be. You see through my moves."

"I'm still not sure about the next one," the detective replied. "John won't agree on me taking you on cases especially if Moriarty is involved. I cannot guarantee a quiet time with him for interrogation if we ever catch him alive."

"That I know," said Ciel with a sigh; "I'm just hoping to get some names from him. I don't think it was his doing alone. I want to know what he knows."

"You're convinced he has the intelligence?"

"Better than not trying," the young man replied.

"You might die," the detective warned darkly.

"As if life is that interesting, and I'll die eventually anyway," said Ciel sardonically with a smirk.

Sherlock had never thought he would smile so easily, not until he met John who had become the exception to his many rules. But exception didn't really need to be singular, he found. "Well, then. You know the risk."

"I absolutely do," replied the young man; "By the way, can I use your telly?"

TBC.