Chapter 48

48. "Come with me for a moment."

The big title "Noah Incident (Part One)" instantly short-circuited my brain.

I turned the entire comic upside down, but I couldn't find the scene from the preview where Sherlock and Moriarty faced off. That finally made me give up and accept the truth.

There really was a part two.

Part one had already managed to set the cabin on fire...

We had escaped without serious harm, but if we visualized this world's state of survival, the Noah cruise ship's survival value might already have dropped by ten percent.

What if, in part two, the ship ran aground, struck an iceberg, collided with another ship, encountered bad weather or was mishandled, sending its bow into the dock and directly causing damage?

I went over the comic again and again. Apart from one new piece of information I hadn't known before, everything seemed to concern events I had experienced, and there was nothing I didn't understand. As for that, I had reason to suspect it was because Sherlock had used me as a tool and had stayed behind the scenes this time.

Returning to that new piece of information, I had learned it from the bullet comments.

Apparently, Lucian's girlfriend Frida had died by suicide.

The story also involved a case from Moriarty the Patriot called "The Dancing Girl on the Bridge."

At the beginning of the story, Frida had leaped from the bridge and killed herself.

Lucian had been so grief-stricken that he suffered a breakdown and stayed away from school for a long time, until Professor Moriarty uncovered the circumstances of the suicide.

As it turned out, Lucian had planned to propose to Frida, but a villain had interfered, making her mistakenly believe that Lucian had suddenly stopped contacting her because he had abandoned her. While she was emotionally distraught, the villain had also forced drugs on her that clouded her mind. This had ultimately led Frida to jump into the river and kill herself, and the police had classified it as a "suicide."

Given the era, it wasn't surprising that the police had classified it that way. In the present-day twenty-first century, if something like that happened, an autopsy would establish whether it involved a killing or murder.

In fact, the bullet comments hadn't provided the villain's name.

I had pieced this information together from the bullet comments.

For the moment, it was enough for me.

I didn't think the villain was likely to be Lucian's mother, Mrs. Attwood. Although she had some class prejudices and looked down on families of different standing, the bullet comments suggested she had no direct connection to the matter.

Yes, normally, the great difference in Lucian and Frida's family backgrounds would easily make people suspect that a wicked mother-in-law had interfered. However, if the information had really been that straightforward, the bullet comments should have mentioned Lucian's mother directly. Words describing family and friends were usually easy to remember. Conversely, if the culprit had no direct connection, explaining who they were was usually troublesome, so people would use clearer substitutes.

In a case like Frida's, the bullet comments had used the word "villain" to simplify the explanation of the plot.

I thought I might need to keep an eye on the people around Lucian and Frida in the near future.

I had a feeling that "Noah Incident (Part Two)" might have something to do with Frida.

In fact, the most permanent solution to this problem was to persuade the two of them to break up, in order to ensure their

safety. But seeing them being lovey-dovey in the chocolate shop and happily flaunting their relationship in front of Mrs. Hudson, I knew that persuading them wouldn't be easy.

Besides, I had heard from the bullet comments that Lucian had proposed to Frida. He clearly wasn't just playing games with her feelings. So, personally, I still hoped the couple could have a happy ending.

While I was lost in thought, two figures came walking along the nearby seafront promenade. Because it was cold, both of them had their hands in their pockets, and they seemed to be chatting at ease. When I noticed them, Watson spotted me too and called out to me with a smile.

"Lanny."

I instinctively looked at the stern-faced Sherlock beside him.

When his gaze fell on me, he merely tilted his head slightly, with no particular expression on his face. That made me uneasy.

Because I knew Sherlock's approach to dealing with the Lord of Crime was to play the long game and catch a bigger fish.

His main purpose in responding to the challenge from Valentine Butler, the fortune-teller, had been to continue gaining Maren Flynn's trust, not to drive them into a desperate corner.

I had clearly ruined his plan.

I was genuinely worried that Sherlock might be unhappy about it. After all, he had been aware of the Lord of Crime's existence since last month. From my perspective, though, I couldn't just stand by and watch things take a turn for the worse because he might be displeased.

My thinking was that I couldn't give Valentine the fortune-teller enough time to plan an incendiary bomb or take any other action that might cause a fire.

We had to strike when they least expected it, catching them unprepared.

That was at odds with Sherlock's plan.

My heart felt heavy as I faced Sherlock.

Because, in a sense, I seemed to be betraying him. Not to mention that he had encouraged and reassured me that very morning, even praising my abilities.

On a personal level, I really shouldn't have done it.

Watson didn't notice the change in my mood. He hurried over and asked worriedly, "Lanny, aren't you cold?" As he spoke, he grabbed my arm, trying to see whether I was dressed warmly enough.

I was wearing only an undershirt with a sweater over it. I did feel quite cold, but I would warm up quickly once I went back inside the shop.

"I'm not cold." I was deeply touched.

Watson completely ignored my reply and said reproachfully, "Your face has gone pale, and you're still saying you're not cold. Where's your coat?" As he spoke, he pushed me toward the shop. The moment he opened the door, warm air rushed out to greet me, filling me with warmth and relaxing the nerves that had been tensed by the cold.

My coat was currently being worn by Professor Moriarty, who had been caught up in the danger that afternoon. He had been wearing only pajamas when he escaped from the house. Afterward, because I wanted to check that Mrs. Hudson was safe, I had left it with him instead of asking for it back.

I was about to answer, but Watson didn't seem inclined to wait. He pushed me straight into an empty seat, then frowned at Mrs. Hudson and said, "Next time, don't let him stay outside so long wearing so little. What if he gets sick from the cold?"

Hearing that, Mrs. Hudson instinctively took my hand. When she noticed it was frozen stiff, she hurriedly pressed a warm teacup into it, her expression both reproachful and worried. "Lanny, you're always doing

such silly things."

My heart melted, and I was about to reply when I caught sight of Lucian looking toward Mrs. Hudson out of the corner of my eye, with an expression like he had seen a ghost. My mood sank at once.

I tried to sound calm as I said, "Lucian, if you don't have anything urgent to do, you can leave now."

Lucian was startled by my words. He quickly checked the time on his phone and said, "I've only been sitting here for less than ten minutes. I haven't even had a chance to taste what I bought."

"Then you can eat at another table."

Our table could seat only four people.

Lucian immediately looked helplessly at Watson, then glanced at the pastries on the table, nearly half of which had already disappeared.

I had actually eaten only half of that half.

Watson looked at Lucian and me, then smiled considerately. "It's all right. Don't worry, and there's no need to move. Sherlock and I can sit at the next table. Take your time and enjoy yourselves."

"..."

Watson really was a good person.

I was basking in Watson's warm smile when Sherlock, who had been silent beside us, glanced at the seats to the side and suddenly spoke. His face was expressionless, and his gaze seemed to pierce through me, radiating a chill that had no place in a body at thirty-seven degrees.

"Lanny, come sit with me." Sherlock's voice was calm and cold.

The moment he said that, I felt deeply reluctant, but I obediently stood up and walked toward him.

I hoped someone would stop me or Sherlock before I had completely disappeared from everyone's sight, but they were perfectly at ease, as reassured as if they were watching a parent haul away their own child. Soon, the sound of laughter and conversation from their table reached my ears.

"..."

I want to join you too. Don't make me go...

The place where I followed Sherlock to sit was a long way from where Mrs. Hudson and Watson were sitting.

Really very far, at least five or six tables away.

Sherlock led me straight into a corner and sat by the window. There was a propane heater beside us, with orange flames burning inside. The flames leaped high behind a metal mesh cover, making quite a visual spectacle. If Sherlock hadn't been there, I could have stared at them for a long time.

Sherlock's first sentence went straight to the point, piercing me to the core. "Were you scared when you saw me just now?"

I pretended not to understand. Guilty as I felt, I stubbornly replied, "No."

After that came a stretch of silence.

The silence tormented me.

The awkwardness of the silence tormented me.

The guilt in the silence tormented me too.

I shot Sherlock a quick glance, then stared at the grain of the wooden table and began analyzing the model of its curves. But Sherlock still didn't speak, so I spoke first.

"Sorry, I messed up your plan."

Sherlock's face gave nothing away as he said evenly, "Go on."

At that moment, a groundhog was screaming inside me.

"I..." I paused, then said, "I thought that if we kept probing Maren and the others, we'd end up giving them enough time to escape, or to burn the ship to destroy the bodies and erase the evidence. We can't fully predict

his actions. The latter would actually be very dangerous for everyone."

Valentine Butler and Maren Flynn were well-known figures, and if they became prisoners, people would easily recognize them. Running away was definitely the worst option, whereas setting the ship on fire and burning the bodies outright would be the simplest for them. So I thought that if someone had analyzed the situation for the two of them, burning the ship would be the easiest way to get away.

"It's rare for us to go on a trip, and I didn't want to ruin it."

I definitely wouldn't go on another long trip next time.

Even if I did, I definitely wouldn't go on one that coincided with Sherlock or Professor Moriarty.

Trouble followed them wherever they went.

Going out with them was definitely an adventure.

"Then why didn't you say so?" Sherlock asked.

The moment he said that, it was as if a little sprite named Hope poked me in the back and said, "As long as you tell him what you're thinking, Sherlock will definitely consider your suggestion."

"I thought that even if I told you, you definitely wouldn't listen."

You've been chasing the Lord of Crime for so long. How could you possibly pass up this chance?

Besides, my predictions were only predictions. Perhaps no one would have been hurt under Sherlock's plan.

Sherlock's voice was flat and merciless, colder than the Grim Reaper himself. "You're right. Why should I listen to you?"

"..."

As expected of Sherlock.

Sherlock continued, "Having today's case resolved ahead of time didn't fit with my plan, and it did displease me."

His gaze remained on me as he spoke. He paused. "But isn't that the kind of person you are?"

When he said that, it was as though Sherlock's gaze had washed over me. For a moment, I inexplicably felt enlightened, and my feelings grew complicated.

His words made me feel that Sherlock understood me very well.

Mrs. Hudson and Watson did understand me. They knew many of my little habits and hobbies, helped me, quickly noticed when I was confused or down, and understood very well when I was happy or touched. But at that moment, I felt as though Sherlock had seen right through me, as if he understood me better than I understood myself.

"It's not as if this is the first or second time you haven't listened to me. Are you only now feeling guilty and sorry?" Sherlock gave a soft, mocking snort. "It seems your reflex arc really is shockingly slow."

"I'm very obedient."

I thought I was very well-behaved and very obedient.

"Very obedient, are you?" The corners of Sherlock's mouth rose slightly as he began listing the incidents one by one. "Let's start with September. I called and asked you to come help, and you ignored my calls three times. When I asked you to run an errand and deliver letters, you made excuses twice because you didn't want to go out. At meals, you put the peas and carrots you disliked on my plate ahead of time. That covers September. In October..."

I was both shocked and ashamed as he rattled off my misdeeds.

I had thought he didn't know, but not only had he known, he had remembered everything.

I couldn't help begging for mercy. "Okay, okay, please don't go on."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and asked, "So, are you obedient?"

"I..."

I was simply a bad child.

Resigned to my fate, I said, "So you asked me over here alone to scold me?"

Go ahead and scold me. I've already given up.

"Why would I scold you? Why would I waste time on something like scolding you?" Sherlock asked, lifting his gaze.

I looked at Sherlock. His expression didn't seem feigned, and I couldn't help looking at him in confusion. "Then what did you want me for?"

"I saw you standing alone in the wind by the door as if you were about to be punished, so I wanted to tell you this. Don't overthink it. You're you, and I'm me. Just be yourself."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and finished speaking in a calm, even tone.

I thought I must have looked very silly and funny at that moment.

Because after watching me listen to him, he smiled very happily. When the corners of his mouth lifted, a trace of warmth flickered in his eyes, as if a ray of sunlight had pierced the dark clouds.

It was the first time I had seen him smile so happily, and I was truly stunned.

Afterward, once we had received the official text message saying we could return to the Noah, Sherlock slipped the warm blue scarf from around his neck onto mine as he left the shop. He did it unobtrusively, without even looking me in the eye, his movements smooth and efficient, without the slightest hesitation, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"..."

I thought Sherlock's move was really high-level.

I was dazzled.