Chapter 19

"Let's change the subject"

London.

Five days had passed since the Workhouse Explosion Case.

And today was orientation day for my department at the University of London.

The past was already behind me, and a new beginning had pushed open my window, bringing sunshine with it. Since the explosion at the Workhouse, I had felt as though I were walking through different worlds.

Although the comic said Moriarty's faction had its eye on me, I had been safe and sound for those five days, spending each day in peace.

I gave it some thought.

Two possibilities emerged:

First, they had too much on their hands right now and couldn't spare the time to pay attention to me.

Second, they had seen through to my nature as a nobody and decided to leave me alone.

Unless it was the second possibility, they were observing and testing me, treating it as a relatively long-term job.

In that case, I just had to let my law-abiding nature show. Once they couldn't find anything wrong with me, they would let me go.

That was how optimistically I chose to think about it.

After all, I couldn't spend my time like someone in "Waiting for Godot," waiting for something uncertain to happen and then feeling sorry for myself.

Back to the university's orientation day: I had been looking forward to it for a long time.

Only by studying could I truly begin my life abroad.

Speaking of which, university orientation day was a week before classes started.

That meant classes wouldn't begin until next Monday.

The event lasted a week, with the dates varying by major. The details could be found in the orientation week email sent to students' university email accounts. The email would tell each student which day their faculty's orientation activities were held.

Watson had told me that attending university orientation day wasn't mandatory.

"You don't have to go. There's nothing particularly substantial about orientation day."

Watson didn't have a job interview today.

He had spent the past few days interviewing at hospitals and clinics and was now waiting to hear back. I had seen his résumé. It was flawless, without a word of padding. Not only did he have a medical doctorate, but he had also worked in battlefield medicine and held a military rank. As a result, under certain special circumstances, a doctor who had served as a combat medic could fill more roles, such as operating medical and laboratory equipment and performing or assisting with procedures, without having to meet certain medical qualification requirements.

Apparently, several places had asked when he could start.

However, Watson didn't seem to be in a hurry to work at a hospital, so he hadn't given them an immediate answer.

I had thought he would accept a job offer without hesitation, but it turned out he seemed to be weighing a lot of factors. For the moment, I had no way of knowing what they were. I guessed it had something to do with his experience of being wounded on the battlefield, but it was hard for him to talk about, and I certainly couldn't go prying into it.

I hoped the case that made Watson and Sherlock good friends in the original story would come along soon. At least then Watson wouldn't be as lost as he was now.

Seeing that I was going out, and since he was getting ready to leave himself, he offered to walk part of the way with me and share some details about student life in Britain.

"Orientation day is mostly course introductions and a speech from the university president. There really isn't much to it." Watson said he had only attended one orientation day in his entire time at university. "But

you might as well go and see what it's like. Getting a feel for the atmosphere on your first day, becoming familiar with the university as early as possible, and writing a prologue to your future university life would be nice too."

I really liked Watson's encouraging attitude. Even when he didn't agree with something, he wouldn't dismiss it outright. Instead, he would go along with what the other person said and give them confidence and support. I took out the printed information booklet and said, "Besides, the university also offers advice on choosing courses. I'm planning to check it out."

I had already settled on the general direction of my major, but I still had some electives to choose. I didn't want to devote everything exclusively to my major, but I didn't want my electives to be completely unrelated to it either. For example, I knew some international students took basic Chinese, Korean, or Japanese courses to get high marks and raise their GPA. I didn't want to do that, so I hoped to find some useful, beneficial, and interesting advice rather than waste my time.

Watson glanced at it and reminded me, "Actually, that advice is generally provided by university volunteers. At most, they'll help you interpret the information in the booklet, log in to the course selection system, and learn how to use the university website. I could help you with all of that at home. You'd better not expect too much."

If Sherlock had said that, I would have thought he was brushing me off because he didn't want me to attend orientation day. Besides, we hadn't gone to the same university, and Sherlock probably looked down on even his own alma mater—I figured from the original story that he had gone to either Cambridge or Oxford—let alone thought much of the university I was attending.

But Watson had gone to the same university as me, and if a senior graduate with a doctorate said so, he must have had his reasons.

I prepared myself for that possibility and nodded. "I just want to see if there are any other interesting electives."

Watson knew I was studying computational mathematics within the mathematics program.

He thought for a moment and said, "Speaking of which, I think our university recently had a mathematics professor who used his paper on the Binomial Theorem as the basis for a mathematical model involving genes. He used it for cross-validation in court and solved a cold case. The university created a mathematics course related to criminology especially for him. You could sit in on it if you're interested."

I had only been in Britain a few days and still wasn't used to the browsers here, so I didn't know much about what was going on locally.

After hearing Watson say that, I had to admit the man was a real heavyweight in his field.

The human body had three billion DNA. When processing DNA data, you not only had to refer to DNA samples from n+1 people, but also had to account for DNA being contaminated, damaged, or degraded. The sheer volume of calculations was beyond anything the word "enormous" could describe. I thought that professor was already dealing in astronomical numbers.

Another thing.

Maybe it was the reticular activating effect.

After spending those few days around Sherlock, I had started feeling like I was surrounded by criminology experts. Yesterday morning, I had even met a child who caught a thief in a supermarket, practically a British Detective Conan. Today, Watson had told me our university had a professor who could solve cases.

"It does sound interesting, but I've already learned a lot about criminology from Sherlock. I really wouldn't have time for a criminology professor as well."

Perhaps because my father was a criminal police officer and my mother was a forensic pathologist, and I had also helped investigate the Workhouse Explosion Case, and happened to have borrowed money from Sher

lock, he was already making full "use" of me.

Running errands and delivering messages to Scotland Yard;

Helping the forensic pathologist Molly keep an eye on Sherlock's experiment results;

Dissecting corpses;

Raising maggots from corpses and analyzing the chemicals in their bodies;

Collecting information on cold cases everywhere, and so on.

I felt like Sherlock was splitting me in two and using me as two people.

If I also took criminology as an elective, Sherlock would surely think I was enjoying it and find me even more things to do. And if that criminology professor was also obsessed with cold cases, I had to worry about whether I might find myself in another similar situation.

"But if you happened to take criminology, couldn't you ask Sherlock for advice too? Wouldn't that be good?"

Leaving aside whether he would help, accepting his help would come with enormous risks.

I was afraid Sherlock would get into a fight with the professor over a difference of opinion on an assignment.

Spare the professor!

The professor was the one grading me.

Half my life was in the professor's hands.

Sherlock wouldn't care whether I lived or died.

"Mr. Holmes is too busy. There's no need, really." I firmly but tactfully declined.

To change the subject, I asked Watson why he was going out. "Why are you heading out today, Mr. Watson?"

"I'm planning to go to the supermarket." Watson pointed in its direction. "Would you like me to get you anything while I'm there? How about some Lotus Biscoff?"

I didn't know how to translate the brand name into Chinese. Should I transliterate it or translate it literally?

A literal translation of Lotus would be "Lotus brand."

They were caramelized biscuits from Belgium, delicious with tea or coffee, or even eaten on their own.

Sherlock had shared some with me once during afternoon tea.

I had heard they were left by Mycroft.

The original story never said Mycroft had a habit of giving Sherlock sweets. He did have a sweet tooth himself, though. At first, I accepted them out of politeness. I had always heard that biscuits and candy abroad were extremely sweet, so I was wary and didn't quite dare to eat them. But one bite of that biscuit had absolutely amazed me!

Sherlock occasionally used those biscuits as a reward for helping him.

"They sell them at the supermarket?"

I was shocked.

I had thought they were fancy snacks imported from abroad.

Watson smiled. "They do. They're on the shelves. A small box with ten little packets costs less than £2.50 altogether. If you've traveled in Europe, you can get those biscuits for free at hotels."

"Wow, really?"

Could Europeans really be that fortunate?

Watson said, "If you want some, I'll buy them for you."

"Then let me give you the money first."

I took five pounds out of my phone case and handed it to Watson.

It wasn't the five-pound note Rhodes had given me.

I had tucked the one from Rhodes into a little amulet pouch at the bottom of my schoolbag.

Such a small banknote could hold so many stories. It had gone beyond its value as money and was rarer than gold. I couldn't bear to spend it.

Watson declined. "It's only a little money. It's nothing."

Was this the financial ease of a working adult?!

Ever since he had discovered that I liked snacks too, he had brought me a little something from time to time.

But I couldn't keep taking advantage of his kindness.

I insisted, "I want to buy a bit more for myself."

Watson stopped refusing.

When we reached the intersection, we said goodbye. Just before we parted, I remembered something and said, "Mr. Watson, I received an invitation from the department head in my university email. There's a faculty gathering tonight, so I won't be coming home for dinner."

"What time will it end tonight?" Watson asked.

"Around ten. But if it's boring, I'll come back early."

I had heard that international scholarship students in the department, along with undergraduates, master's students, and doctoral students who had excelled in the previous academic year, had all been invited. It was clearly a social gathering centered on mathematics. Although I wasn't very confident I could fit in, I decided to accept the invitation and see for myself.

When Watson heard that, he smiled. "Lanny, don't push yourself too hard all the time."

I wasn't pushing myself.

I had never felt forced.

Still, I appreciated what he said, so I nodded. "I won't."

I was a little touched by Watson's words. He was always looking out for me, hoping I could have a better life.

The best thing about living in a residential district was the abundance of transport routes.

ULC was right in the center of the City of London, and the Underground, buses, and trains could all take me there directly.

As soon as I entered the university gates, I could see the orientation-day atmosphere: balloons, banners, posters, booklets, and students in volunteer uniforms coming and going.

If this were an essay, I should have written it like this:

"Every corner of the campus radiated a uniquely joyful atmosphere. Welcome banners fluttered in the breeze, and balloons danced in the sky, as if celebrating the arrival of the new students. Student volunteers in bright clothing, their faces wreathed in smiles, guided the excited, curious, or timid newcomers and introduced them to this brand-new world of university life."

I quickly threw that exam-essay mindset out of my head.

I checked the schedule again.

First, I had to go to the auditorium to hear speeches and advice from the university president and the professors in my program, and make sure I could recognize all the professors in my subject. As long as there was no Professor Moriarty among them, my greatest concern would disappear. That was my main reason for coming to orientation day.

Right now, I was afraid fate would play a joke on me.

Fortunately, I didn't see the name Professor Moriarty anywhere. And that professor wasn't in the habit of using an alias, so I was safe this time.

After the auditorium event, I would pick up my student ID and then be able to start borrowing books there. If all went well, I would stay there until evening, then attend the faculty gathering.

After collecting my student ID, I asked a staff member how to get to the library. The staff member was very helpful and asked if I could see where most of the crowd was going. If I could, I should follow them, and I would see it soon enough.

I was startled. Foreign universities were really that competitive?

So many people were already going to study at the library on orientation day.

But when I followed the crowd,

I saw a succession of stalls like those at a fair. Under the canopies, the stalls offered free university giveaways: water bottles, coffee mugs, USB drives, notebooks, pens, tote bags, keychains, and so on. The closer I got to the university cafeteria, the more I could smell food.

The first appetizing aroma came from the barbecue area farthest away.

Students in volunteer uniforms were busily grilling fragrant hot dogs and frying onions, wrapping them in slices of white bread for the people in line. Ketchup and yellow mustard were available for people to help themselves. Employees of a drinks sponsor, dressed in their company uniforms, were also handing out free beverages.

The free food and drinks made the whole place lively, with excited laughter and cheerful conversation everywhere.

Wow...

I had come to the wrong place.

I had intended to leave, but a senior student volunteer passing by saw that I seemed to have no idea what was going on. She first took me to get a bag printed with the university crest, then helped me fill it with free things, stall by stall.

"You can also get a sandwich over there."

She pointed the way, and somehow I automatically went and lined up for food.

By the time I sat down to eat, it wasn't even eleven thirty.

I had just checked the time on my phone when Sherlock called.

I had barely picked up when Sherlock's familiar voice came through. "Lanny."

Before I had time to speak, presumably because the noise behind me had reached his ears, Sherlock's tone quickly changed, full of undisguised contempt. "Look, Lanny is up to some more silliness right now."

Sherlock thought my going to orientation day was a waste of time.

He had already disapproved of it, but I had ignored him.

I knew what he was going to ask, so I quickly replied, "I've already organized the first batch of data for 'tracking the types and quantities of microorganisms on corpses using RNA sequencing.' Miss Molly knows where it is."

Please don't let my technical terminology throw you.

I just couldn't think of any other words to replace the name of the experiment for the time being.

It really wasn't complicated at all.

In films and television, we often saw Sherlock doing research and making many significant discoveries. They were described in only a few words, but living alongside him, we could actually see him tirelessly doing practical work and conducting a great deal of research every day.

Sherlock had recently been studying whether observing "the bacteria and fungi that decompose a corpse after death" could help determine the time of death more accurately. In theory, this would be more useful than the previous method of determining it using insects.

Before the Workhouse case, Sherlock had only the beginnings of the experiment in his head. And since he was working alone—Miss Molly had her own job and couldn't help much—he had only drawn up a basic experimental plan.

When I joined, I became his assistant.

Sherlock could then develop many of his ideas.

My recent experimental work involved swabbing the four corpses used in the experiment and keeping records over a period of eighty days.

After showing me how once, Sherlock handed the simple experiment over to me and went off to conduct other experiments.

Today, I was supposed to help him swab the four corpses and record the second batch of data.

But I had to come to the university for orientation.

Sherlock paid no mind to my purpose and added, "Lanny, going to university is utterly pointless. Wouldn't the experiments in the forensic laboratory be of far greater significance?"

"They are quite significant."

Honestly, if Sherlock could develop this method, it would indeed be a major advance in forensic medicine.

It would definitely be more meaningful than me sitting in a crowd eating a sandwich and producing carbon dioxide.

But compared with swabbing corpses, I thought eating a sandwich right now would make me a little happier.

It wasn't as if I intended to become a great person.

Sherlock hadn't known me long, but he knew perfectly well when I was brushing him off. He said of his own accord, "Then let's change the subject."

I wanted to change the subject too, so I nodded and eagerly went along with him. "Okay, go ahead."

"When do you graduate?"