Chapter 8

8. "We've walked into a trap"

"When Richard Mayhew came to London, he felt as though he were in hell."

For some reason, that line from Neil Gaiman came to mind.

In the original novel Neverwhere, the protagonist was still a young man innocent of the ways of the world, and he too had just arrived in London. But when he arrived, it was rainy and foggy, the weather was bad, he was exhausted from the journey, and he had a hangover. He had a terrible time adjusting to his new surroundings.

But now, I felt Richard had been far better off at the start than I was.

I wasn't just feeling as though I were in hell. I was already in hell.

Watson, sitting across from me, had such an angelic personality that I felt even calling him a little naive and innocent would be unconscionable and hurt his feelings.

"Mr. Holmes isn't that kind of person."

I still had to say what needed to be said.

"In fact—"

I hesitated for a moment.

Before speaking again, I looked around to make sure Sherlock wasn't nearby. Then I said, "Mr. Watson, I'm not one to criticize others behind their backs. But I still want to say that until you've spent more than half a year with Mr. Holmes, you should be careful around him."

In the original novels, Sherlock hadn't put Watson in too much danger, but in the BBC detective drama, probably to heighten the drama and tension, Sherlock had actually used Watson as bait to lure out the culprit in The Hound of the Baskervilles case.

Come to think of it, Watson had been in considerable danger early on.

I figured I would move out today.

Since I was leaving, I might as well offer some kindly advice. It would be better to tell him to be careful.

Before Watson could speak, Officer Donovan appeared out of nowhere.

She must have heard us, because she joined us directly. But her approving attitude toward me made it seem as though she had drawn me over to her side.

"I didn't expect you to be so clearheaded." Donovan nodded, showing none of the embarrassment or helplessness of someone dealing with a fire in her own car, and said to Watson, "You really should listen to your companion and stay away from Sherlock."

I hadn't said he should stay away from Sherlock...

Watson's face showed wariness at the policewoman's attitude.

Perhaps her earlier aggressiveness had left too strong an impression on Watson.

Watson composed his expression. "Why do you say that?"

That was completely different from how he treated me.

With me, he seemed to have a teacher's patience for a student and an older brother's tolerance for a child. But toward the policewoman, he was calm and serious, showing no personal feelings and giving no indication of what he was thinking.

"Because he's a lunatic."

The policewoman's words suddenly struck a chord deep in me.

I felt an instant kinship with her.

Though it would have been better if she hadn't shown so much prejudice.

Watson seemed easily affected by other people's emotions. And clearly, Officer Donovan's look of contempt and disgust as she said those words displeased him.

Watson said to me coldly, "Lanny, we have to go."

As soon as he finished speaking, I followed him.

Only after we had gone a block and were out of range of the police car did Watson, hurrying along on his cane, turn to me and say seriously, "Lanny

, you should be angry."

I didn't quite understand what he meant.

I knew he probably thought I considered Sherlock a friend, and that, on hearing someone speak so badly of my friend, I should have shown the appropriate attitude even if I didn't stand up for him.

What I was actually thinking about was the meaning behind his words.

Sometimes, like now, I would suddenly find myself unable to understand what had triggered someone else's emotions.

I understood clearly that although this had nothing to do with him, he had put himself in my place and become angry.

"Are you angry?"

I asked curiously.

When I asked Watson directly, he seemed to come to his senses. He had no reason to be angry here.

"No."

Watson was silent for a while before denying it.

In denying his emotions, he was also calming down.

But what he said next wasn't about himself. It was about me.

"Lanny, you're too calm. Doesn't hearing her say that make you feel anything toward her?"

"Probably because I don't care what she thinks."

I thought for a moment, choosing my words.

"I don't care about any of her opinions, and I don't think they'll affect what I think of Mr. Holmes. She only said those things to make herself feel better. I don't need to respond in any way to please her, support her, or argue with her over who's right. There's no resolving a topic like that, and arguing is the most pointless thing to do."

It took time and effort and was mentally exhausting.

I only needed to hear the objective facts.

Watson nodded, seeming to take it in.

To avoid dwelling on it, I asked Watson what Sherlock had sent us to do.

"Sherlock thinks one of the criminals must have come to the scene to find out how the police investigation is progressing, so we're taking a walk around to see if we encounter anyone suspicious. We'll meet again at the Rochester Street intersection in half an hour."

"I see," I said, thoroughly agreeing. "That makes sense."

When we had arrived, there had been a Circular Square at the intersection. It was easy to recognize.

Less than ten meters from the plaza was the River Thames, which ran through London. Its surface shimmered, but the water was unfathomably deep, as though a huge, heavy black shadow lay hidden beneath it.

I always felt that standing before it was like confronting a terrible, merciless water ghost.

That was probably because I couldn't swim. On top of that, I remembered the plane sinking into the Atlantic Ocean during the crash, so I instinctively avoided getting close to water—I found it dangerous and frightening.

We made a circuit and found nothing.

Then, as agreed, we walked back along the riverbank toward the circular plaza.

I walked on the inside.

Watson, walking on the outside, looked now and then at the sky and then at the river. A small corner of the London Eye Ferris wheel peeked out in the far distance, telling us we were moving away from the city center.

Perhaps because the day was nearing its end, London's sky had quietly filled with dark clouds, blotting out the rays of the sinking sun. It looked as though a brief rain might come after nightfall.

"Actually, the water is very cold in this weather."

Watson spoke absently.

We had been walking for over twenty minutes. Everything along the way was perfectly peaceful, no different from an ordinary street.

"Yes

."

It was autumn, after all.

Watson, who had been talking about unrelated things, didn't seem to have recovered his spirits. "We haven't found anything," he said regretfully.

In fact, this was really the ideal outcome.

Because it was obvious that we were bait Sherlock had cast among the criminals. Of course, Sherlock had made himself part of the bait too.

Judging from their known methods and what they gained from their crimes—the meager benefits of a dozen or so people—they were a group of desperadoes with no regard for the future.

Their leader in particular was bold, rash, and highly aggressive.

And among the group was a criminal skilled in underhanded tactics.

The fact that they didn't dare confront police officers head-on didn't mean they would be afraid of ordinary people. And of the three of us, the one who currently looked weakest was Watson, with his cane.

He was the most likely to be targeted.

So I hoped that standing beside him could reduce Watson's risk of falling victim. After this, Watson would have to get through the days of being kidnapped, ambushed, drugged, set on fire, and plunged into water on his own.

Hang in there, Watson!

"I think Mr. Holmes must have anticipated this too. We're only testing a possibility," I said, trying to comfort Watson.

I meant that we were only checking for suspicious people the police might have overlooked.

Watson was a soldier with a strong sense of honor and was accustomed to striving for results. At the moment, he hadn't come to terms with his failure to produce any.

I was just about to continue trying to reassure him.

Then a loud cry suddenly rang out. "Thief! Please, help catch the thief!"

As soon as the cry fell, I saw an agile figure dart past us. She was thin, with hunched shoulders and a stooped back that made her look shorter than she really was. I didn't get a clear look at his face, only saw the figure barge through the surrounding pedestrians, forcing a path of escape.

Two tall young men came chasing after that person. They were shouting urgently, and when their eyes met ours, they called to us, "That person snatched my girlfriend's wallet! Please help us."

Meeting their pleading gazes, Watson was immediately overcome with a sense of justice. Leaning on his cane, he limped after the thief. His cane struck the hard flagstones in a rapid rhythm like a drumbeat, as urgent as its owner's mood at that moment.

It was too dangerous.

I couldn't help pressing my lips together.

I was worried about Watson, so I quickly followed him.

I had to admit that even though he had trouble moving because of his psychosomatic condition, his military conditioning was still excellent. He stumbled a little as he ran, yet he was still remarkably fleet-footed.

The hooded thief knew the area extremely well. After a series of turns, the streets grew narrower and the people around us fewer, until we were deep among the alleys.

Chasing the thief this way wasn't very effective.

I immediately thought of changing our approach and wanted to ask the two men if they knew the area. Perhaps we could cut the thief off. But when I turned my head, I found that the two young, strong men were actually half a meter behind us.

Never mind that Watson had trouble moving; I wasn't exactly active myself.

The two young men chasing after the wallet were tall and burly, their limbs all muscle. Though they seemed anxious, they were running even slower than the two of us.

A piercing chill suddenly shot up from the soles of my feet.

I distinctly felt my heart clench violently for an instant.

At the same time, I realized that Watson and I had walked into the three people's trap.

Instinctively, I first grabbed Watson's arm and pulled him hard toward me.