Chapter 38

38. "Tonight was a nightmare I never wanted to remember"

I stayed in my room until Watson came back, then followed him out.

My room faced the street. Ever since I had started feeling that people might look inside, I had not only closed the blinds but drawn the curtains as well. I could still see outside through the tiny gaps, though, and when Watson came back, I could make out his blond hair and black jacket.

I had just stepped out of my room when my eyes met Watson's. He had just noticed an envelope on the shoe cabinet and was reading it. "Lanny, there's a letter for you."

He continued reading the words on the envelope. "A letter from Lucian Attwood. It's quite thick, too. Maybe it's a carefully folded Christmas card. How thoughtful of him."

There really were only ten days left until Christmas.

Mrs. Hudson had started preparing Christmas cards and gifts for friends and family at the beginning of the month. When I went shopping with her, we would occasionally come across Santa Claus handing out candy canes. I had received one once, and when I ate it back home, I found it was a simple peppermint candy. The flavor was plain, but there was no taste of artificial sweetener, just pure sweetness.

After Watson finished reading, he held the letter out to me, and I had no choice but to take it.

Honestly, I didn't want to engage in that sort of social exchange, which was why I had pretended not to see it. Then the snail incident had made me forget to deal with it again.

After taking the envelope, I put it behind my back.

When Watson saw me standing there without moving, he couldn't help smiling. "What's wrong? Did you have something to tell me?"

I had nothing to say and nothing I needed, but I wanted to stay with him.

Clearly, though, that wasn't enough.

I thought for a moment and finally found an excuse.

I pointed toward the second floor and said there were snails upstairs.

Watson immediately looked as though he understood and headed upstairs ahead of me. "I'll help you check whether Sherlock dealt with the snails. Although there's no way Sherlock would have done it..."

Watson walked quickly, asking and answering his own questions, while I followed him like a little tail.

The sitting room was lit, and Sherlock lay on the long sofa facing the door, one hand curled into a fist against his forehead.

The sight was familiar.

The last time he had done that, it was because he had no case to investigate and was so bored he had started wearing himself out mentally. At first glance, he seemed very mature and steady, if a little self-important, but once I got to know him, there were times when he made me doubt he was any older than five.

His growing physical age was only an illusion; his mental age had never continued to grow.

Naturally, I couldn't imagine that my blustering, hollow show of strength could have sent Sherlock into a mental spiral. Watson didn't believe anyone could put Sherlock in a bad mood either. Sensing trouble, we hurried past him and looked toward the kitchen.

But the instant my eyes swept over it, I backed up several steps. My scalp tingled, and my eyes felt as if they had been pricked by needles. I instinctively wanted to look away—

Snails were scattered all over the kitchen: on the floor, the table legs, the cabinet doors, and even Mrs. Hudson's apron. Some had even crawled onto the human head.

Watson's jaw dropped at the sight too. He looked at Sherlock, who was lost in contemplation,

"Sherlock, I should have known. Now even snails have become your test subjects?"

Sherlock tapped his forehead, as if the matter had nothing to do with him. He said unhurriedly, "My dear Watson, you're overthinking it. I may have forgotten to put the lid back on the box while I was reading."

My eyes widened as I looked at Sherlock.

He must have been too lazy to deal with the troublesome task, so he had flopped down there instead.

Seeing me standing on the sofa, afraid to step down, Watson spoke gently and reassuringly, trying to calm the turmoil in my heart. "Lanny, it's all right. You don't have to be afraid. The snails won't hurt you."

I nodded silently and gave Watson a grateful look.

When Watson saw that neither Sherlock nor I was likely to help, he rolled up his sleeves and immediately started picking up the snails.

I didn't know how Watson did it. He didn't even need long tongs or pincers; he could pick them up with his bare hands. When a snail was picked up, its soft body still clung to the spot for a moment. Before its nerves could react, Watson had tossed it into the plastic box it had come from.

It took less than a minute, with nothing but a constant thud, thud, thud coming from the box. In the blink of an eye, Watson had dealt with them. The moment he put the lid on, I felt as if all the light in the kitchen was shining for him.

Only then did Watson glance at the head beside him, its face covered in dried blood, its deathly appearance worthy of a horror movie. His hand paused. "...What's this head?"

I hurriedly raised my hand. "I'll take care of that."

Watson quickly persuaded me to stay outside the kitchen, then called loudly toward Sherlock, "Sherlock, this was your doing, wasn't it? Why did you put a human head on the sink? And with its face covered in blood, too. That's frightening, you know!"

Watson seemed a little angry about it, so I promptly clamped my mouth shut and looked at Sherlock, unsure whether he would reveal that the head looked like that entirely because I had stopped halfway through washing it and hadn't rinsed it clean.

Sherlock didn't answer, so Watson took that as confirmation that it was his handiwork. "I can let it pass when you usually put severed limbs and the like in the fridge, but this head is too much. Lanny helps you with forensic work too, but he's so timid he doesn't even dare pick up a snail. How can you bully him like this? If I were him, I would never forgive you."

I was still on the sofa, but I had crouched down, one arm half wrapped around the backrest. With every word Watson said, I seemed to shrink smaller.

Sherlock glanced in my direction. "I'm afraid Lanny isn't as timid as you think."

"Sherlock!" Watson looked angry, thinking Sherlock was making excuses. He patted the box of snails as he said, "If he dares handle a human head, then I can eat a snail raw! You can't bully Lanny just because he's so well-behaved."

Sherlock was the sort of person who grew calmer the angrier others got. He looked toward me and said mildly, "I can put a human head in your fridge downstairs, can't I?"

I was just about to answer when Watson stopped me. "It's all right, I'll speak for you. We ought to teach Sherlock a proper lesson." I looked worriedly at Sherlock and found him looking right at me. Seeing that I didn't know what to do seemed to tickle him, and he suddenly burst out laughing, leaving everyone baffled.

"Then, by way of an apology, I'll treat you all to dinner tonight."

Sherlock headed toward his room,

passing right between Watson and me. Halfway there, he saw that we were both still wary, wondering whether he had something else in mind. He turned around and said, "I've admitted I was wrong of my own accord. Won't you do me the honor?"

Watson was very pleased with Sherlock's mature approach. He turned to me and said, "Lanny, go change into something you can wear out. I heard it'll snow today, so dress warmly. You've just finished your major exams, and we'd already said we were going to have a feast today. If we can't eat at home, we'll go out."

I stared at the two of them. They seemed serious.

I went downstairs to get dressed. Halfway through, a thought suddenly struck me: could the snails have been the feast they'd prepared for me?

After all, Mycroft rarely sent ingredients to the flat.

And French snails really were a famous ingredient. I'd heard they tasted much like chewy, springy snail meat, clams, or mussels, with a fresh, delicate flavor. They would certainly have made a substantial dish for a feast.

Once I'd worked that out, the more I thought about it, the more heartless it seemed to decide so readily to leave the flat.

I certainly wouldn't find such good neighbors or meet such good people at another flat. Although there was no shortage of chaotic days, it was truly thanks to their constant care that I'd been able to finish my first semester at university without a worry.

By the time I finished changing, Sherlock and Watson were already waiting in the entryway.

I was about to suggest waiting for Mrs. Hudson, but Watson said, "We've already spoken to Mrs. Hudson. She's gone ahead and is waiting for us there. Is Japanese food all right with you?"

"Yes."

Even after living in London, England, for so long, I still had an Asian palate and preferred East Asian food far more than Western food. My flatmates' preferences in food and seasonings were rather different from mine, so most of the time I only ate breakfast with them, and dinner with them occasionally. My preferences were quite clear, so it was easy for them to tell what I liked.

Still, I knew it wasn't good to stand apart from them and not fit in like this, but I couldn't bring myself to accommodate them either. I really was sorry. Every time Mrs. Hudson cooked, she had to spend extra time considering my preferences and habits.

I really owed everyone so much.

That was one of the reasons I didn't want to keep living in the flat.

The better they treated me, the harder it was to repay them.

Alas—

Dinner was at a very upscale kaiseki restaurant.

Mrs. Hudson was already waiting at our reserved table. She said excitedly, "This is my first time having a formal Japanese meal."

Watson immediately smiled. "It is, and we have Lanny to thank for it."

As soon as he said that, I decided to sit next to Watson.

There was only one sheet of paper on our table, with twelve dishes printed on it, from the appetizer to dessert. I looked it over and found nothing else, so I didn't know how to order. Just then, Sherlock's voice sounded coolly, as though he were speaking to me and to everyone else at once. "The chef selects the dinner courses according to the day's ingredients. They're all listed on the paper. If you'd like wine or another drink, you can look at the menu yourselves."

As Sherlock spoke, he raised a hand, and a waiter in a black shirt

came over with a drinks menu and handed it to me.

"..."

Honestly, I was rather flattered, and even thought it wouldn't be strange if Sherlock took a knife to me after tonight.

After all, this was lavish enough for a last supper.

Before I had sorted out my tangled thoughts, Sherlock said to Mrs. Hudson and Watson, "I've already ordered your drinks, so all you need to do is enjoy yourselves. As for Lanny—"

Sherlock looked toward me. "You can have some sweet fruit juice."

"..."

For some reason, I felt annoyed at being treated like a child.

But compared with foul-tasting alcohol, I really did prefer soft drinks.

Before the appetizer arrived, Watson led a toast. "Although it isn't Christmas yet, I believe that when the time comes, it will be even livelier and more lavish, and everyone will enjoy themselves even more. Even though our Mr. Sherlock may not quite understand a worldly celebration like Christmas, and our guest who came all the way from the East may be celebrating Christmas for the first time." As Watson spoke, he looked at Sherlock and me.

"Right now, we only need to enjoy the present and warm up for the joy to come."

"I hope you all enjoy tonight's dinner. And let us also wish He Xue success in his studies."

At first, I didn't recognize that as my name.

It sounded more like Herschel, and I suddenly realized that when Sherlock had called me by my Chinese name back then, he had sounded as though he were saying Herschel too.

Realizing how thoughtfully I had been treated, my emotions began to churn like a disturbed surface of water. I was like a little boat tossed about by enormous waves in a storm, not knowing which direction to take. I seemed to be lost in my own heart, unable to decide how to face this unexpected kindness. I had always been able to deal with people's reactions and respond appropriately, but now I found myself in an unpredictable situation.

Yet I didn't feel moved.

Rather than feeling moved, I was deeply frightened by an emotion I had never experienced before. To my surprise, I discovered that I had underestimated how much someone cared about me. That profound concern left me at a loss. I had never experienced such feelings, and I didn't seem capable of responding as an ordinary person would.

I felt a wave of fear rising in my heart. Like an irresistible force, it wanted to push me toward escape. I wanted to flee, to avoid these complicated emotions and escape this unprecedented situation. But I knew clearly that my reason was holding me back, locking me in place and preventing me from taking any action to escape.

Watson would never know; to him, this might have been no more than an insignificant moment.

He might not have understood what those words meant to me. He didn't know they had touched a sensitive trigger point inside me, a dangerous alarm ready to go off at the slightest touch. Those words seemed to sound the call of the end of the world in my heart, making me feel that the entire rational world was collapsing while I stood helpless.

I could feel the skin behind my ears growing hot.

Just then, before everyone could clink glasses, Sherlock took the initiative and clinked his glass against Watson's. "Take away your bullshit, John. Right now, you're like a mash-up of a first-year student who's just encountered Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics and treats

it as an absolute rule, and a devout Christian who has followed his kind mother in believing in the New Testament since childhood. Rigid and stubborn, blind and ignorant, just like a fool."

Watson was rendered speechless, looking a little embarrassed. "..."

Mrs. Hudson laughed beside us. "It looks like this Christmas will be a disaster. Watson, Lanny, good luck to us."

The two of us clinked glasses in turn, leaving Sherlock out.

Watching Sherlock fold his arms and scrutinize the two of us banding together, I couldn't help finding it funny.

After dinner, we walked all the way back to the flat.

Gradually, snowflakes began falling from the night sky.

When I looked up, snowflakes landed gently on my face.

It was the first time in my life I had seen snow.

Just then, Mrs. Hudson gently linked her arm through mine and drew me into her warmth. I could smell the faint perfume on her: tuberose, jasmine, and peach.

"Lanny, are you cold?" Mrs. Hudson tucked in her chin and asked with a caring smile.

I shook my head. Her concern gave me an inexplicable warmth, as though she had known me for a long time, as though I were a child she had raised from an early age.

"It's good to be young." Mrs. Hudson paused, then smiled at me, her eyes full of affection.

Back at the flat, I couldn't sleep, though I didn't know why.

I didn't turn on the light in the dark room.

I was afraid someone would discover I couldn't sleep.

Honestly, I was conflicted. I was afraid of people treating me too well, yet I couldn't bear to give up that precious kindness.

I felt that Mrs. Hudson had noticed my reaction at dinner, which was why she had taken the initiative to come close to me.

In the original story, she had also keenly pointed out the feelings between the two Holmes brothers. Now, amid all the liveliness, she had noticed me in the corner and quietly, gently brought me out in front of everyone.

All of a sudden, I no longer wanted to leave this warm flat.

On this snowy night, I felt the chill in my heart being warmed by their feelings, just as the snowflakes outside slowly melted against the windows of the warm 221B.

I spread out the letter paper and wrote several thousand words, wanting to tell Mycroft that I didn't want to leave anymore.

Even after finishing the final paragraph, I still felt that my emotions hadn't settled.

But it was already two in the morning, and I had to sleep.

Before bed, I felt a little thirsty and wanted to get my cup for a drink of water. After feeling around downstairs for a while, I remembered that I hadn't brought my cup down since the day before. Mrs. Hudson had bought it for me when I arrived, and it had my initials on it. I loved that cup and normally drank water only from it.

So I used my phone's flashlight to go upstairs and look for it.

I went upstairs barefoot because I was afraid of waking them. But before I could get my cup from beside the sink, the sole of my foot landed on something hard. It wasn't very hard, and I soon crushed it underfoot.

It was about the size of a coin, cool, wet, slippery, and sticky—

I slowly lifted my foot away and saw a still-living... snail whose shell I had crushed.

The warmth in my heart instantly went cold.

Tonight was a nightmare I never wanted to remember.