Chapter 13

13 "You wouldn't even let him call you Lanny"

Both the original stories and the television series had described Mycroft Holmes this way—

"Occasionally he is the Britain"

Sometimes, he was Britain.

If Mycroft wanted to, he could have me deported straight back to China right now.

My situation was much like being caught twice by the school principal before the term had even begun. I didn't know why he was paying so much attention to me, throwing me into a crisis with an uncertain future.

"I heard you fell into the water."

Mycroft looked me over as he spoke, much more coldly than when we had first met.

Seeing me search for words to answer him, he smiled, his eyes curving as he remarked without warmth, "Still, you look much more energetic than before."

I realized the car was using Mycroft's mood as its GPS.

It was driving around the city center in circles, seemingly waiting for its owner to give a final instruction.

I said sincerely, "I have Mr. Holmes to thank for that."

When he heard me say that name, Mycroft leaned back in his seat, crossed his right leg over his left, and clasped his hands in front of his waist. He was as cautious and alert as if he were facing an enemy.

I could only suppose it was because this conversation centered on "Sherlock Holmes," while our last one had centered on an "unimportant international student."

Mycroft spoke very slowly, but he made it impossible not to pull yourself together and listen with your full attention.

He said, "My brother Sherlock has rarely taken so much interest in anyone. Not only did he buy you food you like, brand-new clothes, a new computer and textbooks for your studies, and lend you his tableware and bathroom..."

Mycroft paused there.

I could almost picture one of those scenes where a wealthy mother offered the heroine five million to leave her son. But Mycroft wouldn't be that generous.

Of course, if he were willing to give it to me, I'd gladly take it and promise to disappear from Sherlock's sight for good.

I believed Mycroft could also use his resources to help me.

Unable to make sense of it, he continued in bewilderment, "...He even went into the water to save you. Either he's gone mad or I have. I don't think that's normal."

"..."

I actually could have explained everything.

That was what I thought.

I already owed Sherlock two thousand for my medical expenses. I didn't have any money for the time being and couldn't pay him back. On top of that, the term was about to start, and I had university matters to deal with. So I simply borrowed another three thousand pounds from Sherlock to buy basic necessities and school supplies.

My priority was to prepare everything I needed for six months of study and daily life.

After all, the school had very high requirements for me as an international student.

Their invitation had made it clear from the start. I had to score at least 90 in every subject, or my scholarship would be revoked outright in the second semester. If I couldn't keep my grades up, I might have to end my time studying abroad early in the second semester because I couldn't afford to stay in school.

I had already spent two years on this.

I wasn't going to give up what I had spent almost my whole life working toward just because I had suddenly transmigrated into Sherlock, or because Sherlock had taken an interest in my brain.

When you had the chance to study, you had to study hard.

That was the simple way I saw it.

This wasn't the time to get my priorities backward and sacrifice study time to earn money. I had originally wanted a part-time job because I had no other income and needed to find work. But now that Sherlock was willing to let me owe him, I planned to pay him back gradually.

Giving up my studies to earn money.

That would be a rejection of the past decade and more that I had spent studying and striving to improve, and of my eventual decision to take the college entrance exam and pursue further education.

It would also be a rejection of my past life.

I thought that, now that I had a fallback, my studies came first.

As for food, I had an Asian stomach, so I had simply bought rice and noodles that they didn't eat for the apartment. In return, I made them fried egg pancakes or potato pancakes in the mornings.

As for the bathroom, I had discovered that Mrs. Hudson and I were on the same floor and would be sharing one. That made me very uncomfortable, as though I had entered a ladies' bathroom. So I went upstairs to share with Watson instead. But Watson and Sherlock shared a bathroom too, which meant I was using Sherlock's by extension.

I had plenty of reasons to explain it all, but Mycroft wouldn't want to hear them.

After all, he didn't care about my affairs either.

So I decided to tell him what he wanted to hear and praise his brother. I gave Mycroft a concise explanation: "Because Mr. Holmes is a good person."

Although he could be sharp-tongued and unfeeling, he was willing to lend money to a stranger, so he was a good person who was cold on the outside and warm on the inside. That's right, in a workplace, he would be a good boss willing to give an employee an advance on their wages.

Mycroft glanced at me, a cold light flashing in his deep blue eyes, and said bluntly, "If you really think that, I'd like to cut open your brain and have a good look."

Is everyone in the Holmes family that interested in other people's brains?

"It doesn't matter what you think of me." I paused, then said, "In your mind, does Mr. Holmes have no humanity at all? Does he know that?"

At those words, Mycroft fell silent for the first time in our conversation.

When he went quiet, I didn't dare speak either.

The driver in front made smaller movements as he drove, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.

After more than ten seconds, I broke the heavy silence myself. "I won't tell Mr. Holmes that this is how you see him."

Mycroft was silent for a long while. Then he returned to how he had been when we first met, putting on a friendly, approachable professional smile. "Actually, Mr. Lanny, if you have any complaints about me or Sherlock, you can say so directly. Communication is the best way to resolve a problem. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course."

After I agreed, I noticed the car slowly heading west.

Baker Street was in the West End of London.

He was taking me back.

Had we reached an understanding?

Had he come just to complain about me taking advantage of Sherlock?

I went over our conversation, thinking it through again and again.

Before I got out of the car, Mycroft asked me if I knew how he

knew so much about what was happening at 221B Baker Street.

I wasn't interested, but to play along, I said, "I'm not sure. I can't guess."

"Mr. Watson is the person I planted at Sherlock's side to keep an eye on him."

That attempt to sow distrust really wasn't very well suited to the situation.

Leaving aside the fact that I had read the original stories, I had spent time with Watson. He was an upright, sincere, and kind friend who would never betray others.

He was the least likely person to do something like that.

To end the subject as quickly as possible, I nodded and said, "I see."

"What do you mean, you see?"

"Well..." I didn't think there was any problem with speaking my mind here. "I thought you would say that, with so many cameras on the streets of London, it wouldn't be surprising if you were monitoring us when we went out. You're clever, Mr. Mycroft, and good at finding the truth from the smallest clues, so you could also deduce all sorts of things. And finally—"

"Finally?"

"The money I borrowed from Mr. Holmes probably came from you, didn't it?"

The corners of Mycroft's mouth rose, and he tapped his fingers on his arm. "It's as if you saw it happen."

Since sharing a flat was an economic choice, it showed that he didn't have enough money himself.

If Sherlock had money, he wouldn't have needed to share a flat. He wasn't the sociable type to begin with.

As for me, if I had a choice, I actually wanted to live alone rather than share a roof with strangers.

"You're very clever, Mr. Lanny."

The words went in one ear and out the other.

They didn't stir the slightest ripple in me.

The car soon arrived near the apartment.

I was just about to get out when Mycroft spoke again. "Mr. Lanny, my little brother isn't a clever person. Please don't bully him too much."

At that, I almost looked as if I'd seen a ghost.

Sherlock Holmes wasn't clever. That really was something only Mycroft Holmes could say.

"I heard you told him not to call you Lanny."

I could explain that. "Because Lanny isn't my name. I only call myself Lanny to make it easier for other people to address me. I could also be Jack, William, or Luca. You can call me any of those if it's convenient, but I only have one name—He Xue. If you find my name difficult to say, Mr. Mycroft, you can call me Lanny or Lauren or something instead. Just tell me beforehand."

Mycroft was a little puzzled by my explanation and suggested, "In an English-speaking country, it's better to give yourself an English name."

"I won't be staying here for long."

Besides, I knew my name was difficult for foreigners to pronounce because they didn't have the üe sound. Watching them worry over whether they were pronouncing it correctly actually felt familiar, like seeing myself struggle to pronounce English words accurately.

When Mycroft heard that I didn't plan to stay long, he was taken aback for a moment, then smiled. "Let's leave matters of the future for the future to discuss."

I didn't know what Mycroft was thinking, and he wasn't going to say any more, so I didn't continue the conversation.

When I returned to the apartment, I saw that the light on the second floor was on, so I headed up the stairs. Sure enough, Sherlock was reading. He was sitting on the sofa, and without even looking up, he knew it was me and that I was standing in the doorway.

"Talking to Mycroft again?"

I wasn't surprised he'd say that.

The sound of the engine in a luxury car like Mycroft's was easy to recognize.

Still apparently absorbed in his book, Sherlock asked, "What did he say to you?"

"He just came to take me home."

I didn't think Sherlock would believe me, and he would surely go on at length about it. So I continued, "He also said you couldn't pronounce my name and told me to choose an English name to make things easier."

"..."

"...?"

Sherlock said calmly, "Your name is easy to pronounce."

I suddenly looked forward to hearing Sherlock say my name. Could he really pronounce it? Where had he learned? How long had he studied? Was his pronunciation accurate? But just then, the doorbell rang at an inopportune moment.

Ignoring my expectant gaze, Holmes immediately rose from his seat and went straight downstairs to answer the door.

I followed him down the stairs.

On the dimly lit street, Lestrade's face looked dark outside the door.

"Gentlemen."

Lestrade spoke in a dejected, low voice. "The key person in the investigation... Rhodes's body was found in his home."