Sherlock took a cab after Francesca left him there dramatically. The woman was crazy. No doubt. He had let her leave in a flurry of his own pathetic thoughts of retribution.
Surely, she could not abandon this forced collaboration so soon. He bit his lip and decided that she would probably be at the flat by now.
A spooking thought crept to the front of his mind: Why was she able to manipulate those cards so effortlessly? No conspicuous shapes bulged from her tight, tight sleeves and her hand was held too far away from her to have drawn it from her coat lapel.
Well maybe she plucked it from the gambler's long hair, Sherlock.
Sherlock snorted loudly at the thought and drew his eyebrows into an angry furrow again.
"Looking a little upset there, mate," the cabbie suddenly piped up. Sherlock felt a mild irritation at the cabbie's attempt at conversation. Sherlock didn't answer and retreated into his mind palace again.
"I'm sorry? Didn't hear that." Sherlock grumbled. The cabbie's small-talk annoyed him.
"Stop," Sherlock called out suddenly. The cab halted and he immediately grabbed the handle.
"Free ride," came the voice again, and away sped the slick black car. He was too annoyed to process the ominous feeling of déjà vu.
Sherlock never did see his face.
He walked around the dimly lit alley kicking walls in pent-up frustration. Sherlock replayed the night's events in his head.
He then thought about the cabbie's strange voice.
Sherlock reeled back in shock when he realized the man's accent origins.
Scottish, he thought in his head before he felt a pair of bulky arms trap him and a dulling thud as all went black.
YOU ARE READING
Book I : Fantàsticque :: The Estranged Trilogie ::: A Sherlock Fanfiction
FanficWhat you think is true, is definitely, most certainly not true. It could be half true; your mind could even be playing tricks on you. It might not be the truth at all. For all you know. Enter Francesca Dela-Cruz Arlington. She's a high stakes poker...
