Of course, Solomon wasn't going to throw Sherlock Holmes into a portal without warning—doing so would not only be rude but also make him seem insecure. This wasn't like subduing the Malik family; those two were already conditioned by their faith in HYDRA's cult and were quick to embrace overwhelming supernatural power. Holmes, however, was the kind of rational, scientifically minded individual Solomon admired most. The spellcaster had no intention of making him averse to magic through crude theatrics.
In Solomon's eyes, Sherlock Holmes was even more suitable than Stephen Strange for the position of Sorcerer Supreme. Putting the two of them in competition would surely be a thorn in the side of the Vishanti—something both the Ancient One and Solomon would enjoy seeing.
He glanced at a book spine resting on the mantel above the fireplace and immediately knew that Holmes had been studying medieval magical legends. He had even consulted a Cambridge professor specializing in medieval magical history. Solomon knew this because he himself had spoken with that very professor about the Latin etymology of alchemical texts. Sherlock Holmes believed that, thanks to his brief research, he had fully "demystified" magic—dispelled the superstition and fear, and now viewed it with reason.
But Solomon knew all too well: the so-called magical texts passed down through the ages were often riddled with lies or utter nonsense. Countless so-called scholars were little more than con artists masquerading as wizards. While it was true that some individuals had indeed accessed magic through rituals and rigorous training (refining life and ether, as described in early chapters of certain texts), those who could obtain such knowledge were exceedingly rare. Holmes could not possibly glimpse even a fraction of true magical art through library shelves alone.
"Let's play a game, Sherlock Holmes," Solomon leaned back in his chair with ease. "Let's solve the mystery of the resurrected dead right here in this room, using only the few clues at hand." He formed a steeple with his hands, fingers barely touching his lips. His presence was so imposing that the atmosphere in the parlor grew tense the moment he furrowed his brow. He turned to Watson and said, "I know Mrs. Hudson has a treasured deck of tarot cards. Would you please fetch them for me?"
"You're going to divine the truth with a tarot reading?" Watson glanced nervously at his roommate, worried Solomon might provoke Holmes. "Or are you holding a séance?"
"Prediction and deduction are essentially the same, though I'd like to demonstrate the power of magic," Solomon replied. "No need to consult ghosts—I wouldn't trust a word they say anyway."
"I don't believe in luck," Sherlock Holmes said flatly. "Do you really think a few cards drawn at random can replace reasoning?"
"Your deductions rely on massive amounts of data to draw conclusions, Holmes. So does prophecy—though prophecy can process more information than the human mind can possibly bear. Only spellcasters trained in divination can sift through this chaos and find the key clues to make accurate judgments. The most powerful seers are comparable to Laplace's Demon—something even you can't achieve," the mage said softly. "If I deduce the truth first, you agree to go skydiving. If not, I'll stop bothering you."
Holmes stared deeply into Solomon's eyes for a long moment. "Watson, ask Mrs. Hudson to put on a kettle of tea," he said at last. "No biscuits—we won't be entertaining this guest for long."
As they waited for the tarot cards, Solomon downloaded a stargazing app on his phone and showed it to Holmes. "The Major Arcana must be interpreted through astrology. Modern technology spares us the trouble of observation," he said. "Did you think astrology required brass armillaries, telescopes, and basins of water? Thank you, Watson. Why don't you draw the first card? Follow my instructions to construct the spread. I won't touch the cards at all, to avoid any suspicion of cheating. Let the first card determine whether I'll win this little deduction contest."
Watson raised an eyebrow in surprise. After a subtle nod from Holmes, he hesitantly flipped the top card from the deck.
"Upright Ace of Swords—signifying victory and strength. You may shuffle the deck now, Watson," Solomon smiled. "Follow my steps. Reflect on the questions I pose, and the answers will come to you. First, is our criminal still alive? What is his current condition? Draw three cards and place them in the upper-left corner."
"Death reversed. Wheel of Fortune reversed. The Hermit reversed." Watson couldn't help but gasp. The chance of randomly drawing three reversed Major Arcana from a fully shuffled deck of 78 cards was approximately 0.641%–0.649%—a remarkably low probability.
"It seems our criminal evaded death and is now in hiding, carefully concealing his whereabouts. Due to a loss of power and social ties, he is likely riddled with anxiety," Solomon said after cross-referencing the positions of Scorpio, Virgo, and Jupiter. "Notice, however, that the cards don't suggest a loss of wealth. Even with frozen or monitored accounts, our criminal still has access to secret funds."
"That's not surprising," Holmes remarked. "Even the dimmest officers at Scotland Yard would consider that."
"Then draw three more cards and reflect on the matter of his finances. Upright Four of Wands—that confirms he has no monetary issues and likely controls a sizable amount of movable capital. Reversed Seven of Cups, reversed Eight of Cups—indicating that his use of this hidden account was a reluctant choice and one that deeply unsettles him. That suggests the account isn't fully his, or it involves some kind of covert transaction."
Sherlock Holmes suddenly felt an itch in his nose. His brother Mycroft had once told him that the criminal had escaped death not unlike Epstein—because someone needed him alive. He supposedly held a secret so classified that even MI6 didn't fully understand it.
Someone—or some organization—wanted that information.
"Now draw three more cards while considering whether the criminal received help, and what price he paid for it. Same method," Solomon instructed.
John Watson suddenly noticed how eerily quiet the room had become. Not a single sound came from outside the window. The air in the parlor had grown icy cold, and his breath fogged visibly as he exhaled. A chill ran down his spine. He gritted his teeth. "What kind of trick is this?"
"Don't be alarmed, Watson. This is just the warm-up. It's not the focus of our investigation," Solomon said gently. "It's to help you center your mind on the cards. As a beginner, you need to get used to this feeling. I wouldn't want your lack of focus to lead to a false reading when we reach the critical questions. Sit down, draw three cards, and then we can begin for real."
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