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“Saga Lore Longwei, I’m forty…five years old…” Arsene answered, not fully in control of his mind yet.

“Saga…is that your real name…?” Alessio asked with a very hopeful expression.

…Whoops… Well, no going back now. “Arsene Lupin is my name, young man. Saga died in a ditch somewhere outside of Mithril. Isn’t that right, dearest brother of mine?”

Sherlock glared at Arsene, before finally shrugging. “I’m going to bed… Too tired for this…”

Right on que, there was a loud sound, like a rooster. One glance out the window and at the clock told Arsene that it was morning. To be specific, 5:30.

Gritting his teeth, Sherlock hurled a pillow at the clock, the source of the bird noises. The excessive use of strength knocked the cuckoo clock off the wall and sent it crashing onto the floor. A very strained, high pitched, cuckooing continued, as Sherlocked covered his ears desperately.

“IGNORE THAT CONTRAPTION!!! LET ME SLEEP!!!”

It was almost a little amusing. If of course, the uncivil, shrieking contraption wasn’t disturbing everyone in the room. Taking the other pillow, Sherlock covered his head with it. One would think he was having a nightmare.

There was a knock on the door.

Sherlock lost it. “NO!! Go away and kill someone else!!!”

He was getting up to answer the door. And Arsene knew he very much did not need to be the one who did that.