Chapter 5

5. "It's time for boys help boys"

I held the roommate agreement without making a move.

If this were a game of chess, Sherlock's move would have been no different from checkmate.

I had absolutely no reason to refuse to sign an agreement that was reasonable and convenient for all the roommates, even meticulous and considerate. And if I objected to one of its terms, saying Sherlock might have his eye on my head and want to dissect it, I would only arouse Watson's suspicions.

Even if Watson might already have a vague sense that Sherlock had the potential to become a mad scientist like the one in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, he didn't believe Sherlock was capable of the absurd actions of Frankenstein, the Modern Prometheus. He would probably make matters worse for me by smiling and adding, "What an interesting idea."

Maybe it was a preconceived notion, but I personally thought that when Sherlock expressed an interest in something, he was rationally serious. By "rationally serious," I meant that he set aside emotional obsession and impulsiveness, allowing logical judgment to override emotional moral judgment. In other words, he did what he said he would.

Just think about it: he was serious enough to write a book on the subject of tobacco ash residues.

As a fan of the books, I had to say I understood perfectly well that this was part of the rational Sherlock's appeal.

But now that it was happening to me, I hardly knew whether to laugh or cry.

"Why aren't you signing?"

I saw that Watson had already signed.

Watson's sincere, friendly gaze fell on me, making my dilemma even worse. I really wasn't good at dealing with nice people.

"I..."

I opened my mouth, and the next words quickly followed.

I actually had a surefire advantage.

I looked at my two roommates. "Sorry, my English isn't very good. I'll have to look everything up in a dictionary before I can understand the whole agreement."

I had used a surefire move: a delaying tactic, commonly known as "stalling for time."

As soon as I said that, Watson's smile grew wider. "I've read it, and it really is excellent! It covers every aspect. As an overseas student, you'd probably have a hard time finding another roommate agreement this considerate. Trust me."

Watson's warm, sincere "trust me" immediately placed a burden of moral pressure on my shoulders.

I had only just established a good relationship with him. If I didn't sign, it would look as if I didn't actually trust him. He might not think much of it, but I didn't want a rift to form between us.

I instinctively looked at Sherlock again.

Beside me, Sherlock raised his chin slightly, as if he were also asking: everyone else has agreed, so what's your problem?

I had never expected a believer in individualism to use collectivist thinking to pressure me.

At that moment, I felt as though I were standing in the middle of a quagmire of intellect, sinking to the bottom and staring speechlessly at Sherlock's figure as it towered ever higher above me.

Sherlock gave me a gentle smile.

"..."

Holmes himself would never normally smile like that!

I felt as awful as if I had seen my usual archenemy suddenly turn pleasant toward me.

This was a glaring

danger signal.

Sherlock seized the opportunity to speak. "I also have plenty of free time. I can explain it to you word by word and sentence by sentence."

I could hardly muster any excitement. But this was, after all, the famous Sherlock offering to teach me English, so I still gave myself a dry little "yay."

To cut off my escape route of saying "I still need a lawyer to look it over," Sherlock continued calmly, "I also have extensive and practical knowledge of British law and can find the relevant legal provisions for you. If there's anything else you don't understand on that front, you can ask me anytime."

I really had to say, "Mr. Holmes, you're amazing."

Amazing on every level.

The corners of Sherlock's mouth rose slightly, showing a fair amount of genuine pleasure.

My feelings were quite complicated as I watched him.

Before I could decide what to do about the agreement, the apartment doorbell rang. Mrs. Hudson wasn't home, so she didn't answer it. I immediately felt that the bell had come to my rescue. Without waiting for anyone else to move, I went downstairs and opened the door.

Standing there was the good police officer from earlier today: Inspector Lestrade.

He was surprised to see me, but then he smiled as if he had expected it. "When I saw you had nowhere to stay, I suggested you try your luck at 221B, since someone here was looking for a tenant. I didn't expect you to be here already."

His words left me a little bewildered, but I didn't show it. After thanking him, I thought back carefully and remembered that Lestrade really had said quite a lot after I told him I'd been cheated over a rental.

I hadn't been paying much attention.

So Lestrade had mentioned 221B Baker Street to me.

Lestrade hadn't come to catch up with me, and he soon explained why he was there. "I'm here to see Sherlock."

"He's upstairs. I'll take you up."

Great, someone had brought a case to take Sherlock away.

On the way upstairs, afraid he wouldn't get another chance to tell me, Lestrade took care to warn me quietly that Sherlock could be a little creepy sometimes, but I'd get used to it.

I already knew he could be a little creepy.

But I doubted I'd ever get used to the way he looked at my head.

I made that complaint to myself, then found it so absurd that it was a little funny instead.

When we got upstairs, Lestrade had only just appeared and hadn't even spoken before Sherlock coldly refused him. "No."

"I haven't said anything yet."

"I anticipate your forthcoming statements, and my answer is no."

Sherlock made no effort to disguise his impatience.

Those words made him seem like a completely different person from the gentle, friendly Sherlock of moments ago.

The atmosphere was extremely awkward.

Watson looked back and forth between Lestrade and Sherlock, hoping someone would explain. I first explained who Lestrade was, then said, "He's probably here to ask Mr. Holmes for help solving a case."

Realization dawned on Watson, and he instinctively asked, "What case?"

I had almost forgotten that John Watson himself was a very curious person. He was always interested in criminal cases and mysteries. Watson's question clearly eased the awkward

atmosphere.

At the same time, Lestrade thought I had helped him get off to a good start and nodded his thanks to me.

Lestrade's expression soon turned serious. "There was an accidental explosion at the Workhouse this morning. While the firefighters were clearing the scene, they found four large black plastic barrels in the basement, which the Workhouse used as a storeroom. Inside the barrels were undissolved body parts."

He thought back and frowned. "So far, nine human legs have been found in the barrels. At least five people were murdered."

Watson's eyes widened in shock.

I instinctively looked at Sherlock, full of doubt and surprise. He won't even take a case like this? It sounds right up his alley.

Yet Sherlock casually picked out a book, sat down on the sofa, and began leafing through it, as if the matter had nothing to do with him. Everyone's eyes were on him. After about ten seconds, Sherlock finally turned his head and looked at Lestrade impassively. "You should be looking carefully through the murder case files from the past five years, not standing here."

"Shouldn't we be checking missing persons cases?"

A mocking smile appeared on Sherlock's lips, but he didn't say a single word, as if each one were precious.

Lestrade scratched his head and gave in helplessly. "You can take command at the scene. Everyone else will follow your instructions."

Sherlock remained unmoved.

As I saw it, Watson was unlikely to persuade his roommate to take the job either. He was thoughtful and empathetic, and perhaps he was now thinking that his new roommate Holmes had once been deliberately given a hard time by the police at work, which was why he was so averse to cooperating with them.

But then inspiration struck me. Wasn't this a perfect chance to get out of Sherlock's sight?

I said curiously, "Can I go and take a look?"

I could find an excuse to go out.

Lestrade's first reaction was to refuse. I could tell he wanted to ask, "Why bring an ordinary person along?" But I quickly gave him a look, hinting that I wanted to use the opportunity to get out.

It was time for boys help boys.

Lestrade caught on and played along. "You wouldn't be much help, but if you want to see it, you can take a look from the perimeter. Just don't get in the way."

"This case sounds difficult. It would be nice if someone could help."

I took the opportunity to lead Lestrade out of the sitting room, but before we had quite left, Sherlock's deep voice rang out. "Since Lanny is so curious, let's go and see just how stupid the police have to be not to have seen through that dull trick yet."

Heaven as my witness, I had only said it offhand.

Sherlock really didn't like uninteresting cases! Didn't he? I had thought perhaps he had already solved the case and had the answer, so he didn't want to make the trip.

I really, really had only said it offhand!

"Doctor, you must be used to seeing corpses, aren't you?"

Watson seemed to understand and smiled. "I'm an army doctor, Mr. Holmes. What do you think?"

"You can call me Sherlock. Now then—" Sherlock paused and took the opportunity to see his guest out. "I'll bring the two of them to the scene. You can leave first."

I was completely unable to react to the sudden turn of events.

Before heading downstairs with a spring in his step, Lestrade thanked me,

and even said quietly, "Thanks for getting Sherlock to come out. I'll buy you a coffee the next time we meet."

"..."

Huh? Uh, no...

That wasn't it...

After Sherlock heard Lestrade leave, his voice rang out from inside the room, full of satisfaction. "Finally, something that won't put me to sleep. A serial murder case. Now that's a rare and interesting case."

I fell silent, completely forgetting to move my feet. "..."

Watson looked at me and, with his back to Sherlock, gave me a thumbs-up.

"You really do understand Mr. Holmes."

"That's how we should work together and help each other!"

As soon as he said that, my head started to hurt a little.

This wasn't supposed to be my life at all.

Although I didn't know what my life was supposed to be like either, surely this wasn't what I wanted?

Without waiting for me to react, Sherlock quickly walked to the top of the stairs, straightened his collar, and glanced in my direction.

I was caught off guard by his eyes, deep as a blue sea, and for a moment I could hardly say what I felt. But I believed anyone who saw that look in his eyes would feel the same way I did.

At that moment, I could only think of a line by Franz Kafka.

The literary giant had said, "To live, one must have faith. Faith in what? Faith in the rational inner connection between all things and all moments, faith that life as a whole will continue forever, faith in what is nearest and what is farthest away."

He stepped down onto the next stair, his voice controlled and low, yet not without excitement. "The game is on, my friends."

As soon as the words left his mouth, I followed him, just as Watson did.

Surely no one in this world could have refused an invitation like that.