Chapter 9

9. "Now is not the time for this"

A flicker of surprise appeared in Watson's eyes, and his steps slowed.

The two young men behind us stopped as well. Their oppressive presence hung over us like a dark cloud. The way behind us was completely blocked.

"Why did you stop?"

One of the two spoke.

Watson leaned on his cane and looked at me as well.

At that moment, I alone knew how dangerous the situation was. We couldn't let our guard down for an instant. If they realized we had noticed the trap, the two of them would probably attack us on the spot.

During that brief exchange, the thief's figure had gradually disappeared ahead.

If I hadn't been holding Watson, he wouldn't still have been standing there. He could only follow the thief's departing figure with his eyes, trying to remember which way he went.

I calmly faced the two criminals and said, "It'll be hard to catch him like this. There are four of us, so we'd be better off splitting into two groups and approaching from both sides."

One of them, a lean-faced young man with golden-brown hair, promptly told me that Watson and I should each go with one of them. "We know these streets better. If each of us takes one of you, you won't get lost."

Clearly, it was unlikely we could use the opportunity to get away from them.

"Then I think one of us should go to the police," I said to Watson. "Mr. Watson, the police are no more than three blocks away. You go report it. We'd be better off asking the police for help."

I looked back at the two criminals.

They said nothing, but their faces showed their disapproval. Clearly, they didn't want to deal with the police.

I pretended not to notice and analyzed the situation in earnest. "If we can't catch him, all four of us will be wasting our time. It would be better for someone to report it right away. With the police involved, we'll definitely get the wallet back faster."

As I spoke, I felt Watson's forearm move in my hand. I glanced at him discreetly and caught his perceptive gaze.

I had delivered the key information.

Watson realized something was wrong too. To him, it was also obvious that the two criminals approaching us had ulterior motives. His expression changed for an instant, but his soldier's training let him immediately regain his composure.

"Lanny, you'd better go get the police. The three of us will pursue him."

"Mr. Watson, I get nervous easily. I'm afraid that if I can't explain things clearly to the police, I'll only hold things up. You should go. We'll meet up afterward."

My refusal left no room for argument.

Watson was equally firm.

For a moment, neither of us would give way.

The two young men then said we might as well forget about reporting it.

"Why make things difficult?" The golden-brown-haired young man pulled a □□ from inside his clothes and flicked it expertly, sending the blade springing out of its sheath. He and his companion pressed closer, step by step.

Watson and I retreated into the mouth of the alley. After only a few steps, the thief, who had doubled back and was working with them, stepped out behind us, blocking our retreat.

His presence was even more formidable than the two men in front of us.

He was lean, his bones forming sharp lines beneath his thin clothes. When he saw the two of us stop and turn to look at him, the thief shifted his feet to one side, unsteady like a drunk

man.

Yet that was the movement he made as he sprang into action.

My heart skipped a beat.

He charged at us like a cannonball.

His feet moved even faster than when he had been running away, and in the blink of an eye, he was in front of us. A montage of martial arts action movies I had seen somehow flashed through my mind, especially those from the Greater Bay Area in the last century, with movements as swift as lightning and strikes of ruthless ferocity.

I lowered my gaze and saw the dagger in his hand clearly, like the chilling fangs of a beast. His first instinct was to go for Watson, who was the least likely to react in time.

When I noticed this, I could feel goosebumps rising all over my body. Even though I had survived a plane crash, this was my first time experiencing anything like this. The unreality of it made me feel as though I were trapped in a nightmare I couldn't wake from.

But the rain beating against me jolted me awake.

Without our noticing, it had begun to rain heavily.

The man facing us was full of murderous intent.

The moment I saw the blade, I turned sideways and slammed into his shoulder first.

By the time I recovered from the violent collision, the thief and I had fallen to the ground.

One of my hands was still gripping his collar, while the other held his dagger in check.

His eyes were filled with a bloodthirsty glare.

My hands stiffened, and I couldn't understand how I had managed to move.

Before I could react, Watson had already pulled me up by the back of my collar. He was tremendously strong. I didn't know whether it was potential brought out by the sense of danger or simply his soldier's training.

"Lanny, can you run?"

Watson was using his cane as a weapon to defend himself and pulling me up with his other hand. His voice was clipped and clear.

He had probably forgotten about his own impaired mobility by now.

I was just about to answer when, because I hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch and had suddenly undergone intense exertion, my low blood sugar kicked in. I felt a little dizzy, even a little nauseated, but I steadied myself and said, "I'm fine."

The sound of the rain grew more and more frantic.

Watson clearly didn't believe me. He reached out, half tucked me under his arm, and ran forward with me, keeping a tight grip on his cane instead of putting it down. Even then, he patiently told me, "I'll help you run for a while."

I couldn't speak at that point. Out of the corner of my eye, I could only see blood filling the gaps between my fingers in the blink of an eye, splattering drop by drop onto the stone pavement.

At that moment, it was as if my life force were falling to the ground bit by bit.

I could see it, but I couldn't pick it back up.

My hand must have been stabbed by the dagger during the struggle just now. It probably wasn't a fatal wound.

But I felt a distinct fear.

All kinds of uneasy feelings hung over me.

I was afraid my death was inevitable, that it had merely been postponed. Otherwise, how could my blood sugar have dropped at just this moment?

My fear and regret were entirely real.

I still hadn't sat in Sherlock's special chair.

I still hadn't gotten Sherlock's and Watson's autographs.

The story had only just begun. Was it already time for me to kick the bucket?

Waterways branching off the Thames also ran through the back alleys of the neighborhood. Flat stone bridges spanned them as crossings. At that moment, the Thames was like a network of blood vessels reaching through London's

entire body, surging with swift currents and hidden undertows.

I heard the rushing wind carrying the sound of the river's churning water.

To make matters worse—

Before we realized it, the rain had grown heavier, almost as if it meant to wash the entire ground clean.

"Mr. Watson, we'd better split up! You go to the police first."

It wasn't that I wasn't afraid of dying, but there were things more important than death.

Suddenly, we stepped onto a patch of slippery stones. I lost my balance, my body pitching forward. Almost unable to control myself, I stumbled toward the open waterway.

Watson reacted quickly and pulled me back.

The counterforce sent me crashing heavily into him, and only then did I barely manage to steady myself.

"Lanny, on the battlefield, we don't abandon any of our comrades."

Watson's voice was full of determination and emotion.

He paused. "I was wounded on the battlefield, and it was my comrades who carried me away."

I instinctively looked at Watson.

For Watson, being wounded on the battlefield had harmed him both physically and mentally. In the original story, he had rarely mentioned his experience of being wounded.

And at a time like this, my mind had actually wandered to the thought that this wasn't the kind of backstory a passerby like me was supposed to hear.

I couldn't ignore the determination in his eyes. My head cleared considerably, and I nodded, gritting my teeth. "I'm fine."

It was the second time I had said I was fine.

This time, Watson nodded and patted me on the back, offering encouragement that needed no words and support that would never be absent.

We rallied our spirits.

The three men were still in hot pursuit behind us, their footsteps more hurried than the rain. They seemed intent on trapping us in these narrow, unfamiliar alleys until we died.

Time ticked by, and the situation grew increasingly unfavorable for us.

Especially since my stamina really was poor.

I had spent a lifetime's worth of exercise in this city of London.

Just as my legs began to feel heavy and my calf muscles turned to jelly, we reached the depths of a dark alley. There was only a broad drainage channel stretching out before us, with no bridge across it. The span was probably over a meter and a half.

Watson looked in my direction, telling me with his eyes as he said, "Lanny, we have to jump across."

He couldn't take me with him. I had to prepare myself.

I immediately understood his intention.

To escape our pursuers by jumping over the channel.

Watson's gaze was firm and resolute.

He knew this was a crucial race against time.

I knew it too.

Watson and I moved to jump at the same time. But before my shoes had completely left the ground, one of the criminals pursuing us reached out to stop our jump.

The nearest man was about to grab Watson's clothes. I was just about to seize his hand when he unexpectedly changed direction.

His hand flashed before my eyes. Before I could react, he shoved me hard. That missed opportunity sent me straight into the drainage channel.

The cold water swallowed me instantly. I struggled to surface, but the current in the drainage channel was too swift for me to resist. Bubbles surged

above my head, and my heartbeat thundered in my ears.

The sudden turn of events interrupted Watson's jump. He cried out in alarm and tried to reach down and pull me up, but the current was too swift, and I was too useless. The water went over my head again and again. The intense feeling of weightlessness made me feel sick, and I couldn't grab Watson's outstretched hand at all.

In the blink of an eye, the three men had pinned Watson to the ground.

The chill of the autumn river pierced my entire body in the space of a breath, making me feel stiff, while a sense of weakness left me barely able to breathe. My heart raced, as if it would leap out of my chest, every beat like the tolling of a death knell.

My throat filled with water, and I couldn't make a sound.

The sight of Watson struggling beside the riverbank began to blur. I struggled to rise, but the current was like a pair of invisible hands, holding me tightly underwater and refusing to let me escape.

Just then, I saw a flash of blue on the opposite bank. It was the color of a scarf. It wasn't actually a bright color; like its owner, it was deep and calm, yet at that moment it was full of light.

Watson hadn't expected Sherlock to appear here. Overjoyed, his voice grew considerably more spirited. "Sherlock, save Lanny, quick!"

I had heard that everyone who was drowning would instinctively want to call for help, no matter who the person was.

As though under a curse, unable to resist, I followed the voice and looked hopefully toward Sherlock.

But Sherlock didn't move from the riverbank. He was like a silent statue in the wind and rain. His gaze was unruffled, and he didn't even glance at me.

Before the water swallowed me completely, the last thing I heard was Sherlock saying, coldly and unfeelingly—

"Watson, now is not the time to waste time on this sort of thing."

Good heavens, hear me out. Never mind why he said that.

Sherlock really was a bastard...!