◢ Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names.

For Weasley. I don’t know, her prompt seemed interesting. XD She’ll know what it is. Forgive me if this sounds… I don’t know, I just got done watching Sherlock and it inspired me so VOILA. Consider it kind of.. 

Oh pff, you’ll see.

Julian adjusted his suit, rolling his eyes for what seemed to be the fifth time that evening. He checked his watch incessantly as he leaned back in the armchair he was sitting in. He propped his legs upon the coffee table as his guest sat down, staring at him with unadulterated suspicion. 

Raising a delicate eyebrow, Julian smiled politely and professionally, leaning forward only slightly to shake the man’s hand.

“Hello,” the other began, his smile only out of routine, “My name is Bailey Tipton, and I am here to be your assistant.”

Julian’s smile turned cold as he kept it perfectly in place, messing with his cuff links. He really hated suits. And dinner parties. And blue eyes.

Oh, how he hated blue eyes.

But those were just details.

“That’s… That’s marvelous. Welcome aboard,” Julian said, setting his feet back onto the floor as he directed his eyes elsewhere around the somewhat comfortable living room. A fireplace crackled in the corner of the room, popping every time a piece of firewood managed to turn to ash just in time for the flames to rise.

Bailey quickly looked up and made a sound that suggested that he forgot something in his suitcase. He held up one finger politely to rummage around in it, pulling out a document that Julian recognized as one of his own. 

“I see you’ve found my conditions for this job,” Julian murmured, pulling the handkerchief out of his breast pocket to clean his sunglasses. It was a habit. If you knew him well enough, it meant that whoever he was in company of needed to get a move on. 

“Ah, yes,” Bailey confirmed, putting the paper out in front of him to read it more clearly, “It says here that I need to be here from… What is this, ‘eight in the morning to ten o’clock at night’? Is there a reason for this?”

Julian sucked his teeth in thought, looking up nonchalantly, “Well, I don’t like waking up early so I require someone to be there to help pour freezing water over my head.”

“Really?” Bailey deadpanned in disbelief, giving him a curious stare. 

Julian’s smile tightened, yet never faltered, “Really. I can get stubborn at night.”

Bailey nodded absentmindedly, “Mhm, yes, but care to explain the late hour?” 

Julian rolled his eyes, “Obviously I don’t work with millions of people, Mr. Tipton. It’s just you, me, and a few, you see.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“So the late hour is necessary, I’m afraid.”

Bailey sighed, scrolling with his eyes down the list, “This one right here strikes me as peculiar from the rest. It says to… ‘Do not, under any circumstance, shoot John Logan Wright the Third.’ Why is that— Who is that, anyway?”

Julian smiled fondly at the name, a gesture that Bailey did not miss, but also did not question. 

“He’s an old friend of mine. You know him under a different name, perhaps.”

Bailey narrowed his eyes, motioning for Julian to continue. The man sighed in exasperation, waving his hand. 

“You know him as ‘The Knave’. Quite the assassin nowadays. Managed to kill two of my greatest enemies, but one of mine as well in the crossfire.”

Bailey nearly choked on his own saliva, “You— You know who The Knave is, and you don’t want us to shoot him?! Are you out of your mind?!”

Julian’s smile then turned dark and icy as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, “Mr. Tipton, I am the best at what I do, am I not.” 

Bailey swallowed nervously at the sudden chill he felt in his bones, but most of all, he did not like the sudden feeling of danger. 

“Yes, anyone who is in this business knows that.”

“And what is this business, Mr. Tipton.”

Bailey straightened his back proudly, rubbing his wrists, “I—”

“What is it exactly,” Julian pressed further, tilting his head, “that we do, Mr. Tipton?”

The newly appointed assistant turned cold, his expression going emotionless from years of training, “We shoot people.”

“What kind of people, Mr. Tipton?”

Bailey frowned, turning his head away as the room lost its warm glow from the fireplace going out.

“The ones who go against us.”

Julian grinned.

“Of course. Now,” he started, standing up and walking to the back of Bailey’s chair to place his hands upon his shoulders, “Mr. Wright does the same thing, does he not?”

Bailey looked around nervously, “I suppose so.”

“He does.” 

“Alright then, he does,” Bailey replied quickly, turning around to give Julian a bewildered look, “so what? Why must we spare him, is he your boyfriend or something?”

Julian stared at him with wide eyes before exploding into laughter, walking back around Bailey’s chair. His back faced the man as he turned his head proudly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said with mirth, “he’s not my boyfriend.”

Julian held up his hand, where a gold ring shown ominously on his left hand ring finger.

“He’s my husband,” he whispered, smiling menacingly to himself, “and I fully intend to make him remember that.”

He turned in Bailey’s direction, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Even if it involves bite marks and bullets, Mr. Tipton.”