Chapter 11

11.""

I had been in England for less than three days, and I had already become a glorious debtor.

I had taken on the debt myself, too.

And my creditor was Sherlock Holmes.

I was such an idiot.

But to be honest, whether Sherlock had deliberately led me into it or not, I couldn't have simply accepted him paying for me as a matter of course.

Before taking action, I had willingly assumed the risk myself, and I didn't regret making that choice. Afterwards, I had even made someone else pay the bill for me. I felt I was holding him back and causing him trouble.

I didn't like owing people favors.

The only troubling part was that the person in question was Sherlock, who had his sights set on my head...

Looking on the bright side, he didn't place much importance on money. Although he did accept payment from clients as compensation for his work, money was usually not his main motivation. In a sense, someone like that could be called a generous creditor. He wouldn't kick me while I was down.

On the other hand, Sherlock had his own methods for handling complicated interpersonal relationships. He was very good at finding other people's weaknesses. When necessary, he would also exploit those weaknesses to manipulate them. In that respect, he was a very dangerous person, too.

I couldn't help sighing for my future.

I couldn't help thinking of "tenuki" in Go.

One of the most difficult situations in Go was judging when to play elsewhere. Failing to seize the initiative at the right time meant missing an opportunity, while making a move when one shouldn't could backfire.

Things would have been easier if I only had Sherlock to deal with. But behind him stood Mycroft Holmes, his intelligence-agency older brother who was obsessed with his younger brother, and Eurus Holmes, his younger sister who was obsessed with her older brother and had an inhuman IQ.

The day after I left the hospital.

I went to Scotland Yard on my own to give a statement.

Before I left, Watson had asked if I needed him to come with me.

I didn't think there was any particular need, so I declined.

As I was leaving the house, I happened to run into our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, heading out to do some shopping. She had never hosted an international student before and was worried I might not be used to an English breakfast, so she asked if there was anything in particular I wanted to eat.

I was fine with just about anything, but I didn't want anything with a strong flavor.

After hearing that, Mrs. Hudson walked out, cupping her face in her hands as she considered the menu. After a few steps, she smiled and said to me, "Then look forward to dinner, Lanny."

Mrs. Hudson really was a good person.

If I didn't think too much about it, my current living situation was ideal.

I lived in a part of the city near the university, in comfortable accommodations, with convenient transportation and shopping and relatively cheap rent.

Everyone in the apartment was a local, providing plenty of exposure to British culture and language and a homestay experience.

The landlady was considerate and easy to get along with.

Both roommates were intelligent. One had an eccentric personality, but he was used to being alone and was too reclusive to intrude on other people's space; the other was gentle and sincere, always willing to help without being oblivious or overstepping. Neither of them was particularly nasty or disrespectful to others, nor were they insincere or two-faced.

Staying here wasn't out of the question.

I was just about to

leave when Sherlock's voice came from the stairwell. "Lanny, deliver a letter to Detective Inspector Lestrade for me."

"Oh?" I climbed back up the stairs. "But couldn't you send an email?"

"Because I don't want anyone to know." Sherlock was still writing as he spoke, his pen moving quickly over what seemed to be only a line or two of text. Then he folded the paper in half twice and handed it straight to me.

There was no envelope.

"I see what you mean."

No sooner had I finished speaking than Sherlock suddenly asked, "You said before that you knew metaphysics. Then do you know who the killer in this case is?"

As expected, the matter of how I knew Watson's name had been unavoidable when we returned to the apartment. Watson had been eager to know too, after all. Even if Sherlock hadn't asked, Watson would have brought it up himself.

I had tried showing Watson the comics app on my phone, but he couldn't see the contents either. I could only keep up the story about metaphysics, letting them fill in the details themselves while I continued to use the excuse that it was "unspeakable."

However, I had begun to wonder about the use of the comics forum. Was it just for communicating with people on the forum? Because of the update schedule, there was a time lag between the case details and me, so I couldn't make full use of them.

Was I supposed to follow the comic?

On that matter, I reserved judgment.

"I'm not very sure about that."

That was what I said.

Sherlock made no comment.

I didn't know what he was thinking, and I soon got ready to leave.

Now that I knew the way, I soon arrived at Scotland Yard.

I had just passed through the automatic glass doors when I met Lestrade's gaze from a distance. His desk was covered in all kinds of files, and even his coffee cup was sitting on a shelf. As soon as he saw me, he waved me over.

As I walked over, I happened to run into Officer Donovan.

Unlike the tense confrontation last time, her attitude toward me was fairly friendly. It seemed that, because I had reminded Watson to watch out for Sherlock last time, she thought I was actually on the same side as her.

"Here to give a statement?"

"Yes."

"Afterward, you'll also need to identify the suspects. If you run into any other trouble, you can tell me."

After saying that, Officer Donovan didn't hold me up from giving my statement.

In fact, her aggressive attitude did help a great deal when I identified the suspects. I had just entered the interrogation room when the three of them gave me a malicious glare, as if to say, "Don't let us get a chance, or we'll make you pay." Officer Donovan immediately rebuked them coldly.

The three of them jumped in fright and lowered their heads, resentful and displeased.

Even when they had to raise their heads, they had to keep their eyes lowered as instructed.

This made me realize just how much she really did dislike Sherlock.

But back to Lestrade.

He had been calling me over anyway, and I had a message to deliver, so I simply asked him if his offer to buy me coffee last time still stood.

Lestrade hadn't expected me to want it right then, but he promptly took me to a nearby coffee shop. While we were buying coffee, I handed him the short note from Sherlock.

There weren't many lines, and Lestrade finished reading it quickly.

He didn't say anything about it. Not until I had my coffee and we were walking back to the station did Lestrade ask if I was interested in working on a case. He actually had a small case that needed solving.

"But I don't know how to be a detective." I waved my hand in refusal. "It's not a question of whether I'm interested."

Inspector Lestrade said regretfully, "There's a five-hundred-pound reward for this case. You don't want it?"

"I never said I didn't want it."

I could prove myself.

I had learned my lesson.

Before accepting, I asked, "What kind of case is it?"

"An out-of-towner named Rhodes lost something his father left him in London. Whoever finds it will receive a reward of five hundred pounds."

Perhaps realizing I would agree, Inspector Lestrade looked delighted. "Are you interested?"

Of course I was interested.

It was like someone offering me a soft pillow just as I was getting sleepy.

"But if this is a case Mr. Holmes recommended, I think I'll have to decline."

Lestrade's voice caught.