Chapter 37

"Goodbye, Roommates. I'm About to Set Sail"

The notification sound for the manga on my phone went off.

I didn't check it right away.

Mainly because I wasn't in a hurry.

The manga would release a preview first anyway, so I still had time to prepare.

Most importantly, I was still suffering from carrying a box of horrible slime creatures down to the first floor. (That wasn't some technical term; it was just what I called that bunch of creatures that produced their own slime.) It was like knowing I could have gotten a high score on an exam, only to fill in the answer sheet wrong. I couldn't let it go for ages and would be emo all day.

I hated slime creatures.

And the snails in there were all huge, about four or five centimeters long.

Sherlock had even picked one up with his hand. The yellowish-brown snail stretched out its body to reach for his hand. "This is a Burgundy snail. It feeds on plant stems, leaves, fruit, and fungi. This one is top quality."

Eugh—

I felt like his hand was beyond saving.

I stood off to the side, my thoughts in a tangle as I stared without blinking. Suddenly, Sherlock held up the snail, fixed his gaze on me, and asked expressionlessly, "Do you actually think these creatures are cute?"

Before I could even get a good look at the snail, I instinctively leaned back. When I met Sherlock's eyes again, I saw a meaningful smile curl at the corner of his mouth as he said with certainty, "Lanny, you're actually afraid of snails."

As soon as he said that, Sherlock tried to put the snail on me. I hurried from where I stood to the kitchen exit and snapped, "If you dare keep scaring me, I'll be very angry. I absolutely won't speak to you."

To show how serious I was, I spoke very loudly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, looking unconcerned. "Look at the silly things you're doing again."

Even though I knew I had no power to intimidate or influence him, the way he looked down on me and thought he could placate me with a few cookies made me genuinely angry.

After taking the stairs two at a time, I grabbed my instant noodles and locked myself in my room.

I decided to give Sherlock Holmes the silent treatment.

I sat in my chair, eating and checking the manga. But when I saw the big picture of Sherlock Holmes on the cover, I felt annoyed and stopped looking.

In fact, there was something I still hadn't told everyone at the 221B Apartment.

Actually, after my big exam, I'd met Mycroft Holmes. He might have thought I was too ordinary and that living at the 221B Apartment brought down its standards, so he offered outright to fund my move.

I'd agreed on the spot.

There was no need to think about it.

Because Sherlock Holmes was only nice to me at most because he regarded me as a pet to play with. Besides, things hadn't reached the point of being irreconcilable, and no one would take the initiative to openly fall out and play the villain. Things were peaceful now only because they hadn't really reached that point yet. If Sherlock Holmes thought I had no value, what would be so hard about leaving me to die?

Just like in the third episode of the first season, when he knew perfectly well that an old lady had a bomb strapped to her and was terrified, yet he could still take his time dealing with other things. When Watson pressed him, he said people died in hospitals every day,

so why didn't Watson worry about them?

Sherlock was just that unreasonable.

I couldn't keep living with him.

Anger burned in my heart, and the more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

Once I moved out, I'd visit only Mrs. Hudson and Watson.

I carefully took out the account book that had accompanied me for months and flipped through it page by page. In an instant, I realized how far I still was from paying off the more than three thousand pounds I owed Sherlock. The debt seemed to weigh heavily on my heart.

What I earned from my part-time job at school was actually less than Sherlock paid me. On top of that, I worked only four hours a week, so five weeks of work didn't even pay as much as one week working for Sherlock. It really was a drop in the bucket.

And I still had to buy presents: one for Mrs. Hudson, one for Watson, and of course one for Sherlock too. I'd spent quite a bit of money.

Now I could only borrow three thousand pounds from Watson. Once Mycroft funded me, I'd have money.

I thought, Mycroft was a national-level representative. He could transfer the money to me directly whenever he wanted. I'd originally planned to wait until after Christmas to bring it up, even if the money arrived, but I wanted Sherlock to know that I could leave whenever I wanted.

With that in mind, I took out my travel bag and started stuffing my clothes into it, then folded my arms and thought about what I might have missed.

As I thought, I gradually calmed down instead.

I even started to forget what exactly I was angry about. It didn't seem like there was anything to be angry about.

I'd only pretended to be angry to put on a show of force; I hadn't really been angry. As for the part where I really did get angry afterward, it was hard to say I hadn't flown into a rage out of embarrassment.

I sat in my room and began examining what I'd done wrong.

Shouldn't I have talked things through properly if something was wrong?

Shouting like that was very impolite.

Sherlock's personality was just like that. If I took him seriously, I'd only make myself angry, and wouldn't that be my own fault?

The more I thought about it, the more reasonable I found my reasoning, so I put my clothes back. If Mrs. Hudson and Watson found out I was leaving the apartment because I'd been teased like that, they'd definitely think I was very childish.

Worse, they might think I was a careless person who came and went as I pleased, and that I didn't care about them at all. They'd surely be very disappointed.

I carefully sorted the last piece of clothing and took it out of the travel bag. Once everything was done, I sat back down in my chair and pondered the decision before me, but an inexplicable sense of emptiness welled up inside me.

I really was childish.

I sighed.

I opened the manga on my phone again and started reading the preview for chapter four. Like the previous ones, the preview was only two pages long. I glanced over Sherlock's main image and went straight to the story. The title read "The Noah Incident."

The bullet comments always took some time to load.

I wasn't in a hurry to read them now, so I looked at the setting first.

The first scene was set in Southampton, England. If you'd seen the movie Titanic and were interested in the real ship, you'd know that port was where the Titanic set sail.

According to the manga, this was an eight-day, seven-night cruise from Southampton, England, to Iceland, heading north the whole way and passing Ireland and the Scottish Isles along the route,

circling Iceland and enjoying its aurora. The crowd was enthusiastically discussing the natural sights they would see on the journey and the luxurious facilities aboard the cruise ship—

a theater, swimming pool, gym, shopping mall, arcade, karaoke, library, beauty salon, amusement park, restaurants with different themes, and more. It had everything.

Wow, did that mean Sherlock would be away from the apartment for almost a week?

Hooray!!!

[New map! A new setting~ A cruise]

[I didn't expect to see Sherlock on a ship here]

[In the last chapter, "A Study in Scarlet," Sherlock had just clashed with Professor Moriarty, who was hiding in the shadows, and now we're already on the Noah, where they first met in Moriarty the Patriot. This is exciting! I remember Sherlock already thought Professor Moriarty was somebody important the first time they met. With what happened in chapters one and three, will Sherlock discover that Professor Moriarty is the Lord of Crime this time?]

[My whole body just jolted]

[I sprang up like a carp]

[The parallel world's got work to do~]

[But in the original, Professor Moriarty wanted to punish the nobility and use death to warn the common people, so he set up a noble to commit murder and made the crime into a class issue. What's this one going to be about? I think Professor Moriarty is quite idealistic. Wherever there are people, there'll be darkness. They're testing human nature like this, but human nature couldn't withstand a test in the first place.]

[Little Professor, Little Professor, your beauty reigns supreme!!!]

Next, the manga returned to events in the apartment.

Sherlock was talking to a middle-aged man in a long robe. Soon, another person appeared in the manga, moving around. Sherlock noticed and spoke to the black-haired young man. Their conversation was perfectly natural and harmonious, but the sudden sound of water in the kitchen distracted Sherlock for an instant. The robed middle-aged man sitting opposite him seized the chance and swung a knife at Sherlock.

In a flash, Sherlock nimbly rolled aside, quickly dodging the danger and joining up with the black-haired young man.

The black-haired young man standing in the kitchen stared coldly at the knife-wielding assassin before him, his gaze sharp as a blade. His palm pressed firmly against the head beneath it, as though a demon were personally crushing the warmth out of a life. Blood quietly flowed between his fingers in thin red lines, spreading across the ground and staining the floor a deep crimson.

The middle-aged man, who had been so aggressive moments before, was shaken by the scene.

His face instantly turned as white as paper.

His eyes were wide, filled with despair and terror. It was as if time had stopped at that moment. The only thing in his eyes was that head, the head severed by the god of death, which had become a nightmare in the depths of his heart. His lips trembled slightly, as though he wanted to say something, but the hand of fear gripped his throat tightly, choking his voice completely. His fingers trembled involuntarily, as if life were quietly slipping away from his fingertips, and he could no longer control anything.

In that instant, he understood the reality of death, and that he himself would ultimately become part of this sea of blood.

The desire to live made him instinctively let go of the knife in his hand.

"Don't kill me!"

[Holy crap! Is this guy really that badass?!]

[That scared me too Orz]

[Help... he's so hot he killed me~~]

[He's so intimidating!]

I wasn't that kind of ability user at all.

Could this possibly be a misunderstanding?

What followed seemed to be brief depictions of everyday life, showing Sherlock going to the Noah. I was already too embarrassed to keep reading, so I hurried to the final panel.

The final scene froze beneath Iceland's aurora, with shots of the two side by side—

Moriarty on the left said, "I wanted to prolong that fleeting moment spent in the company of your lucid spirit."

Sherlock on the right said, "That's what Carlos wrote to Mario de Andrade in 1924. And what you said is what I want to say now, too."

Each of them had a separate panel beneath Iceland's vast starry sky, announcing the end of the manga preview.

[Although I don't know what the last scene was about, I'm deeply shaken.]

[So what kind of case will this be? I'm curious, so curious!]

[It's obviously misleading! They used two separate shots, which means something's up!]

[Could there be someone else between them?]

[They might not even be the ones saying it. There just happens to be a speech bubble next to each of them]

[Curious, curious!! Is it this peaceful? They were practically tearing into each other when they first met...]

Before I could read through it once, Watson suddenly called my phone. I picked up quickly. No matter how I thought about it, Sherlock had to be behind this, right? Watson took a long way around before asking why I'd locked myself in at home. Mrs. Hudson had heard what sounded like me packing.

Before I could explain, Watson got to the point and asked whether Sherlock had made me angry.

I said I wasn't angry.

"You're not angry with Sherlock?" Watson sounded a little unconvinced and repeated the question.

I said in a mature tone, "There's nothing to be angry about. I won't get angry in the future, either."

I'd be moving out this holiday anyway.

He wouldn't have much time left to see me.

We should leave each other with a good impression.

Goodbye, Sherlock. I'm about to set sail.

Watson couldn't help laughing a little over the phone. "Really?"

"After all, I'm a mature, levelheaded adult now. I'll be more accommodating with him."

I said it with certainty.