Chapter 2

2. "Don't get into strangers' cars"

"Scotland Yard"

Anyone who had watched Sherlock knew that it actually meant the Metropolitan Police.

In theory, Scotland Yard was responsible for public safety and traffic throughout Greater London, while the City of London was policed by the City of London Police. But to ordinary citizens, "Scotland Yard" was synonymous with the London police, so there was no need to make such a fine distinction.

This was my first time sitting in a police station.

There was no helping it. My attempt to dodge the explosion had been too deliberate and suspicious.

I was scared after being taken into the station.

I had been a model student all my life.

I had never been called to the school office for doing something wrong.

Being somewhere I wasn't supposed to be put invisible pressure on me—I was finished. There was good news, though: the officer sitting across the table from me was Inspector Lestrade.

He was a good man!

He was an extremely tolerant and patient police officer.

The kind who put up with Sherlock's strange temper, was willing to work with him, and never spoke ill of him.

Even though Sherlock never got his name right, he still responded immediately when Sherlock called for help, abandoned the task he was working on and the results he was about to secure, and mobilized a large number of police cars and helicopters. Then, when he discovered Sherlock had only asked for help writing a speech, he still managed to put up with it!

He was an angel.

I could practically see the halo over his head. Not.

Inspector Lestrade held my electronic passport, which read "He Xue XueHe," and opened and closed his mouth as he tried to work out the pronunciation. He looked exactly like I did when I came across a new word and didn't know how to pronounce it. All at once, he felt much more approachable, so I volunteered, "He Xue. My name is He Xue. I came here to study for an honors bachelor's degree."

The university's course was scheduled to take three years, but since I had chosen an honors degree, I only needed to study for four years in total to earn both my bachelor's and master's degrees. Simply put, I had come to study in London because I could get a master's degree in less time and save more time than I would by studying back home.

Lestrade could tell that from my university offer too, since it also contained my personal information. I had also found my plane ticket in my pocket, and the time on it proved I had only recently arrived in the city.

I was sure Sherlock had spotted my plane ticket without my noticing, and that was how he had known I had only recently arrived.

Having experienced deductive reasoning firsthand, I really wanted to do what someone did in Agatha's The Adventure of the Pink Pearl and tell Sherlock I had actually picked it up on the street.

But I wasn't in a position to joke about that now.

This plane ticket was an important alibi.

Judging by the flight time, I believed I had neither the time nor the motive to commit the crime.

Lestrade still couldn't pronounce my name because he wasn't familiar with it, so he asked, "Do you have an English name?"

I hadn't thought of one yet, but since "Xue" meant learning, I could just find an English name that sounded similar. I was very

cooperative and came up with one on the spot. "Lanny."

After getting my English name, Lestrade seemed much more at ease. "Lanny, since you've just arrived in the city, where are your suitcase and the place you're staying?"

Since I had come to London to study, I had naturally found a place to live. Since he could verify my academic credentials and passport information, I believed my rental information would be there too. So I boldly and confidently gave him the address of my rental. I had even paid six months' rent before setting out.

Not long after I finished, Lestrade's expression turned strange. "That isn't a residential address."

"What do you mean?"

Alarm bells were already going off in my head, but I didn't want to accept it.

Before I came to London, the person who had helped me view the place had filmed the surrounding area, the building number, and the nearby amenities for me. I had also paid him a hundred pounds and asked him to check the landlord's information.

Had the person who viewed the place teamed up with the landlord to scam me?

Why?!

I would rather believe the address had been collateral damage from my transmigration than believe I had been scammed.

If there were bullet comments floating past right now, they would probably say, "Look, that's the clear yet foolish gaze unique to a college student who's just left home to study."

As if afraid I might struggle in my death throes, Lestrade continued, "Look, only half the postcode is here: KT23. If that counts, then it's most likely in outer London, very, very far from the city center. How far? About two and a half hours by car..."

My mouth went dry.

Lestrade gave me a sympathetic look, then looked away, unable to bear the shock and grief in my eyes. "Your luggage is gone too. Were you robbed?"

It wasn't enough that I'd been robbed.

It wasn't enough that I'd been scammed.

I had merely walked down the street, only to get caught in an explosion and nearly die an unnatural death.

If I'd had an Oscar-winning actor's ability to cry, Lestrade would have seen tears shooting from my eyes by now.

I lowered my head, like a fragile life cut short by a merciless executioner.

"..."

After more than ten minutes of giving my statement, I was released without charge or bail, but I was homeless too.

I sat outside the police station, checking the information on my phone. There were very few places I could rent immediately for five hundred pounds, and they all required a deposit. At this rate, I wouldn't be able to eat tomorrow. None of my calls back home would go through. I was using the police station's free Wi-Fi and charging cable while desperately trying to think of a solution.

After considering every realistic option, I returned to the comic on my phone.

Maybe I could find a way to survive in there.

As I read it this time, I noticed subtle changes in the background characters whose faces hadn't been shown before, and my corpse had been replaced by another passerby's. The panel of Sherlock stepping on someone by the roadside while solving the case was still there, but that person wasn't me, and my conversation with him was gone too.

It looked as though the will of the comic world was working hard to rationalize the entire plot.

My limited brain seized on one key point: I could use information from the comic to avoid every disaster that befell me, but the main characters' storylines would remain unchanged.

How could I make use of that?

I didn't have any ideas for the moment.

Just then, I discovered I could open the comic's forum, which was full of active real-world users. I could even find Holmes and Watson fanfiction. People in the forum were following the story.

I went to the help threads. Among all the posts asking for pictures or book titles, my question stood out.

"Help: If you fell into the Sherlock world with no money, how would you make money quickly?"

The view count shot up.

The comments piled up just as quickly, full of teasing.

"You fell into the Sherlock world and you don't want to get up close and personal with Sherlock! You're not a criminal, are you??? Just kidding."

"You've fallen into the Sherlock world, so go to Baker Street! Tickets in real life are super expensive. You can even sit in Sherlock's chair."

"What a novel premise. Is this going to be a story?? Keep writing, OP!"

Wherever there were people, threads were liable to go off topic.

When someone finally took the question seriously, their answer was anything but serious.

"Sell your soul to Moriarty! His phone can connect to the internal systems of every major bank in London. You can have as much money as you want!"

"..."

That was wickedly shameless.

"The fastest way to make money should be to move in with Sherlock, right?? In one episode, didn't Sherlock's brother invite Watson for tea just after he moved in with Sherlock? Mycroft said he'd pay him regularly if he helped keep an eye on Sherlock. Watson didn't agree, though, but when Sherlock found out, he said Watson should have taken the money so they could split it."

"I remember that scene. The first time I watched it, I thought that guy was Moriarty himself. Who would've guessed he was Sherlock's older brother? Speaking of which, I really didn't know Sherlock had a brother. I thought he was made up for the adaptation. Is his brother in the original stories?"

"Yep. His brother first appears in The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter, and it says he's an important member of the government."

"His brother's love really is something else, hahaha."

I committed the standard answer for making quick, legal money to memory.

Off to 221B Baker Street.

Baker Street was on a long north-south road in west London.

The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, answered the door.

She was a lovely old lady.

As for just how lovely, I'd tell you next time.

As soon as I saw her, I hurriedly asked whether she still had a room to rent.

I remembered that in the original story, there was a very damp room on the ground floor of the apartment. Since no one wanted to live there and the landlady hadn't encouraged anyone to, it had stood empty for years.

But I was here, and I was willing to make sacrifices for money.

Without waiting for an answer, I asked directly, "Can I rent that moldy, damp room on your ground floor?"

Mrs. Hudson half covered her mouth in surprise. "How did you know there was a moldy room in my apartment? I haven't put out any rental advertisements for it."

The moment she said that, I knew I had been too hasty.

I touched my neck guiltily and said, "Someone told me about it. I don't have much money, and I thought that room would be cheaper, so I hurried over."

"Who told you?" As soon as Mrs. Hudson asked, an idea occurred to her, and she called up the stairs, "Sherlock! Were you telling people one of the rooms is moldy?"

Hearing Sherlock's name sent a chill through my head.

When I'd been put in the police car and taken away, Sherlock had still been staring at my forehead. I didn't know whether to call it eager anticipation or a predatory stare.

But Mrs. Hudson's call didn't bring Sherlock Holmes.

He wasn't home.

Thank goodness!

Mrs. Hudson touched her cheek troubledly. "But that room really isn't fit to live in. I don't want to rent it out. I have another room. Would you like to see it?"

I couldn't take Watson's room, but there might be somewhere else I could stay.

I asked hopefully, "Do you have many rooms?"

"Besides Sherlock's, there's one guest room."

"..."

That was Watson's.

It seemed there was some money I would never be able to earn.

I was about to retreat. Once I had sorted out my livelihood and had some room to breathe, I could come back to see Watson and visit Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson continued, "I also have a study that could be converted into a bedroom, but it would be rather small, and there's no bathroom in the room. Would that suit you?"

I nodded repeatedly, but worried the rent might be too high, I asked her, "May I ask the price first?"

"If more people rented here, the rent could actually be a little lower, but right now it's just you and Sherlock..." Mrs. Hudson suddenly remembered something. "Come to think of it, I haven't introduced myself yet."

"Mrs. Hudson, I know," I said obediently. "My name is Lanny He. I'm an international student who's just arrived in London."

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "You're quite a quiet person, Lanny."

Though I wasn't good with words around others, the richness and excitement of my inner world were beyond her imagination.

"For the rent, would a thousand pounds a month be all right?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a kindly smile. "Since you're a student, I won't ask you for a deposit."

I only had five hundred pounds.

Still, this was the city center, and a university student apartment cost three to four hundred pounds or more a week, so it was actually a great deal.

"Can I pay for just one week first? I don't have that much money right now."

I briefly explained why I was short of money and assured her that I would go out and find a job today and definitely wouldn't fall behind on rent. Mrs. Hudson was indeed a good person. After sympathizing with what had happened to me, she checked my electronic ID as a formality and agreed to my request.

Having secured a spot, I began calculating what daily necessities I needed to buy.

I had barely been out for long when a black luxury car began following alongside me.

By the time I noticed, Mycroft Holmes, sitting in the back in a gray suit, rolled down the window. Like a charming money tree, he greeted me warmly and politely.

"Young man who just came out of 221B, may I have a word?"

Without a second thought, I got straight into the car.

Shortly after getting in and closing the door, I suddenly remembered my mother's words: "Don't get into strangers' cars." My heart sank.