Conan took a deep breath, suppressed his excitement, stepped forward, and politely knocked on the door.
Soon, the door creaked open, and an elderly woman appeared behind it.
...This should be Sherlock Holmes's landlady, Mrs. Hudson.
As Conan thought this, he secretly stood on tiptoe, his gaze slipping past Mrs. Hudson's skirt into the house, trying to catch a glimpse of his idol.
However, he failed.
Beside him, Haibara Ai shot him a disgusted look as though he were a molester.
Then she reliably looked up at the landlady. "Hello, is Mr. Holmes home?"
"You're looking for him?" Mrs. Hudson shook her head regretfully, gently propping her cheek up with one hand as she sighed. "Holmes and Watson have gone to Dartmoor on business."
"Dartmoor?!" Conan froze, a bad feeling suddenly rising in his heart. He pulled back his wandering gaze and looked seriously at the landlady. "May I ask what date it is today?"
"September 30th." The landlady rubbed her thin arms and moved away from the doorway. "It's so cold outside. Come in quickly, I'll make you some tea—I heard you've helped him quite a lot."
"...All right, thank you." Conan entered the warm house, but his heart had already gone cold.
—That date, combined with where Sherlock Holmes had gone on business, corresponded exactly to the case of The Hound of the Baskervilles.
In other words, Sherlock Holmes probably would not return until the game was over.
"..."Then what were they supposed to do about their "helper"?
...They had finally gotten a lead, only for it to come to such an abrupt end?
And the Sherlock Holmes he wanted to meet, too...
Conan gloomily condemned the AI for its reckless antics.
Then he suddenly realized something.
—If Sherlock Holmes wasn't in London, didn't that mean the mysterious