Chapter 4

4. "Is this how all smart people play?"

In this difficult new world, the only ones who kept me company through the hard times were my online friends from the real world. More or less, they gave me a comforting sense that I was still connected to the world I came from.

I took stock of my current situation in the world of Sherlock.

Reason told me that I should move out of 221B Baker Street immediately.

It wasn't entirely because I was worried Sherlock had dangerous thoughts.

Ultimately, he was still a basically law-abiding citizen who wouldn't go around killing people or setting fires.

The main reason was that, as far as I knew from the plot, the apartment was a high-risk building targeted by a bunch of criminals or violent law enforcers.

To be honest, I was unarmed and defenseless, and my living environment offered little in the way of security. For someone in my position to dare live at 221B was an act of sheer, stubborn bravery.

However, I had nowhere else to live at the moment, and I couldn't find someone on short notice like Mrs. Hudson, who was willing to waive my deposit and had accepted me as a tenant so readily. What made me feel worst was that, before I went out, Mrs. Hudson had already started helping me tidy my room. I couldn't bring myself to let her efforts go to waste.

All I could do was stay for now. With a week's grace period, I could look for a temporary job and a place to live near the university.

Besides, Sherlock didn't have Watson yet, and he had relatively little work as a consulting detective, so his days were fairly quiet. Nothing major should happen in just one week.

I hadn't followed Sherlock back to the apartment. I still needed to buy some simple, inexpensive daily necessities.

On the way back, I got myself a travel card. Sitting on the tram, I read the replies to my new post: "If Sherlock Holmes wants to dissect a living person's brain, how should we stop him?"

I was still shopping when I made the post.

By the time I was on my way back, the helpful netizens had replied again. I had really thought my post would sink without a trace. I hadn't expected so many kind, enthusiastic people on the Sherlock forum. They warmed my heart, but also left me speechless.

"Another weird post."

"If Sherlock wants to dissect it, just let him. Once his curiosity is satisfied, he won't keep fixating on it."

"Cumberbatch's Sherlock wouldn't go so far as to dissect a living person's brain~"

Great minds think alike.

"Wouldn't it be fine if the person were dead?"

I was instantly speechless. I typed a reply anyway: "What if the deceased doesn't consent to the dissection?"

"What's there to disagree with? The dead can't speak."

I kept typing: "What about legal protection?"

"You have to remember, this is Sherlock, a high-functioning sociopath. Would he care about a little thing like the law?"

"The law can't stop Sherlock, OP."

"The only solution is to satisfy Sherlock's desire to investigate."

"Speaking of which, sometimes I think people's desire to investigate is really scary. Back then, Leonardo da Vinci disregarded moral taboos and became obsessed with studying human bones and muscles. He dissected over a hundred corpses and even planned to publish a book with a professor. And lots of medical researchers have collected many unusual human organs. Whenever someone even a little unusual turns up, people with a desire to explore go absolutely crazy. I really want to see Sherlock go crazy, outwardly calm to the extreme, but inside

he's lethally dangerous!"

"...But the comic wouldn't depict it that way. It wouldn't get past the censors??

"I think Sherlock would definitely be exploring the secrets of the human body, the origins of life, and things like that anyway. For the sake of humanity's future, there's really nothing wrong with it~"

"Scientists are saying right now that they really need people to donate their brains for research after death. Brains from people who have had mental illnesses are best, so they can conduct in-depth scientific research. Everyone, donate your brains!"

I realized it had been a mistake to make this post on this forum. Surely there wasn't anyone on this forum who wouldn't speak up for Sherlock?

I'd just take things one step at a time.

Baker Street, near noon.

As I approached the Victorian-style apartment building at 221B, I spotted a blond young man in the distance, walking with a crutch and looking at the house numbers along the road. The aluminum crutch at his side tapped rhythmically against the straight stone pavement, going "tap, tap, tap."

It was John Watson.

This might have been a little self-centered, but the moment I saw him, I instinctively regarded him as my companion in this world.

This time, though, I couldn't take the initiative and go up to greet him.

Before, I'd had Sherlock to fall back on when it came to the things I'd "foreseen" in advance. For instance, neither Mrs. Hudson nor Mycroft himself would ask how I knew that one of the rooms at 221B was damp or that Sherlock's brother was named Mycroft. One would think there was no need to ask, while the other would think it a boring question.

As long as I steered their thoughts toward Sherlock, they wouldn't dig any deeper.

But John Watson was a little different.

Until now, he had never had any contact with Sherlock.

He walked more slowly than I did. When I passed him, he was still a building's length behind me. I remembered that he had postwar psychological trauma, which affected his physical coordination. I held back my curiosity and tried not to look back at him. Only when I was unlocking the apartment door did I take the opportunity to glance back at John Watson while looking around.

Seeing that he was obviously looking for a house, I turned and asked if he needed any help.

John Watson didn't seem to have expected me to ask him a question. He paused before saying, "Excuse me, is this 221B?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Are you a tenant here?" Watson asked hesitantly. "I heard there was a place here looking for someone to share, so I came to take a look. If a tenant has already been chosen, I won't waste either of our time."

He hadn't brought any luggage, which meant he was only here to view the place. That was consistent with the TV series and the novel. The difference was that in Sherlock, Sherlock brought Watson to the apartment, while in the original, Watson came to the apartment on his own using the address. I hoped my ill-timed appearance wouldn't become an obstacle to Watson living here.

"There's still a room for rent on the second floor. You'd share a sitting room and kitchen with another tenant. I live on the first floor with the landlady, Mrs. Hudson," I explained. "New tenants are very welcome. Please come in."

Watson hurriedly said, "No, no, no! I haven't quite made up my mind."

I couldn't help laughing.

I didn't believe him.

I remembered that in A Study in Scarlet, Watson said Sherlock was interesting in the very first chapter.

When Watson saw me

laugh, he neither agreed nor disagreed, and simply walked through the door I'd opened. Once the door closed, the apartment looked rather dim. Even the open windows were covered by sheer curtains. The upper half of the stairs to the second floor, however, was bathed in sunlight, which meant the upstairs sitting room windows faced the light and the whole second floor was bright and sunny.

"I'm a student waiting for term to start..."

Before I could finish, Watson interrupted me. "You're an international student who came to London, aren't you?"

I showed no surprise at his words, but I still asked a question I already knew the answer to. "Is it that obvious?"

"Sorry, that was a little rude." Watson smiled sheepishly. "With your Asian features and American accent, it's hard not to think so."

"Then perhaps I'd better change my accent." I paused, then naturally switched to a British accent.

In fact, I preferred a British accent.

Watson asked, "Which university do you attend?"

"The University of London."

"That's my alma mater." A nostalgic look appeared on Watson's face. "I studied for my medical doctorate there before training as an army doctor."

"Then we're alumni." I was very happy.

Some of that happiness was feigned, since I'd already known we went to the same university. But seventy percent of it was genuine, because Watson and I had something in common to talk about.

Watson also looked very happy. "You should try M Café near the university. The handmade sandwiches in the display case, the creative salads, and the scones with jam are all delicious."

"Then I'll have to make a proper note of that."

I laughed, all the while unobtrusively leading Watson farther into the apartment. Honestly, it made me feel guilty, as though I were coaxing someone step by step into a trap.

I continued, "Oh, right. Since we'll be roommates from now on, let me briefly introduce myself. Most of the time I won't be in the apartment. I go to bed before eleven at night, but I sleep very deeply and don't wake easily, so you don't have to worry about disturbing me. Besides, I don't dislike the smell of tobacco, so if you smoke, you don't need to hold back on my account."

"My nerves have been affected, so I don't like noise either."

Just as we finished speaking, Sherlock came to the upper half of the stairs by the landing and leaned out. In a tone as flat as if he were making an announcement, he said, "Since you two happen to be discussing the things to bear in mind when sharing a flat, how about coming upstairs to look at the roommate agreement?"

"..."

Was this scene in the original?

Although Sherlock was more polite in the original, and he and Watson did ask each other about some of their likes and dislikes to make living together easier, I couldn't remember whether any version had a roommate agreement too.

Watson and I exchanged a glance, then both followed Sherlock upstairs.

This was my first time in Sherlock and Watson's sitting room. The two of them sat on the sofas on either side, just as in the original. Although one was currently sitting in his own designated spot while the other had simply picked a sofa at random, I didn't want to disturb the scene, so I automatically chose to sit opposite them.

Two or three seconds after sitting down, it belatedly dawned on me that I was sitting in the client's seat.

"..."

This felt great!

It was so immersive!

The roommate agreement was detailed and professional. Everything was laid out clearly, from the division of rent and use of common areas to shared expenses, overnight guests, daily schedules, and subletting. It also included safety matters. For example, if one party suddenly fell ill, the other was to help the patient call an ambulance and contact their emergency contact.

When everyone was in a situation where they couldn't, didn't want to, or wouldn't contact their relatives, roommates actually played an important role in helping one another.

And there was this—

"If a roommate passes away through accidental death, illness, or other causes, and their relatives cannot be notified, the roommate sharing the residence may handle the relevant arrangements on their behalf."

Did this mean that if I died, Sherlock would be responsible for dealing with "my corpse"?

He could clearly have relied on his sociopathic personality and his brother, who disregarded government laws, and resorted to illegal means. Yet he still wanted to use a reasonable and proper agreement. He was being very meticulous and thoughtful.

I looked at Sherlock, who gave nothing away, then at Watson, who was very satisfied with the impeccable roommate agreement.

Was this how all smart people played?

"..."!