The Plot Has Been Rewritten!

"Did the person who passed on the message have a name?" Sherlock leaned forward without realizing it, as though that would help him hear more clearly.

The director searched her memory. After a moment's hesitation, she uttered the name that weighed so heavily on her.

"Moriarty."

Lestrade and Sherlock exchanged looks, then fell into thought. Sherlock pressed his palms together beneath his chin, his slender knuckles as pale as his face.

His striking bone structure had a distinctive charm of its own, and the sunlight caught it in Sitangna's eyes. It was just a little creepy when he suddenly broke into a grin.

Sherlock's smile was sly. He was no stranger to the name Moriarty; he had heard it from the driver before. Whether or not it was the bomber's real name, it had at least given him a lead to investigate.

With the famous painting forgery case successfully solved, Sherlock got up, stretched, and straightened the hem of his clothes. He turned and asked Sitangna for water. Sitangna ground her back teeth with an audible creak as she glared at him, furious, but after a long standoff she handed it over anyway.

It was so close, and he still wouldn't reach out and get it himself!!!

Having gotten his water, Sherlock raised an eyebrow haughtily.

"There's nothing more for us here. Come on, let's find Watson."

Before long, Watson, who was chatting with a railway worker, had acquired two shadows. But Watson was too absorbed in the investigation to notice.

"By the way, speaking of strawberry jam, I don't see much blood on the tracks at the scene. Have you already cleaned it up?"

Watson wiped at something on the rail that could have been blood or rust and rubbed it carefully. Nothing came off.

"There wasn't as much as you'd imagine," the railway worker said, shaking his head.

"Didn't you just say his skull had split open?" Watson asked, puzzled.

"That's right, but there wasn't much blood. We only cleaned up a little."

As an experienced army doctor, Watson had a rough idea of the answer.

"Carry on looking around. Let us know when you leave." The worker had plenty to do, so after seeing to Watson, he left the scene.

Watson was left alone on the tracks, talking to himself. With Sherlock not by his side, he could only find a way to solve the mystery himself.

"All right, West got on the train at one of the stations, right?"

"But there was no ticket on the body, so how did his body end up here?"

Watson tried to imitate Sherlock's deductive approach to solving cases to sort out his thoughts. He didn't notice the two behind him drawing closer and closer.

Click.

The railway points switched.

"The junction."

"That's it!"

Watson sprang to his feet in excitement and looked in delight at the two who had suddenly appeared.

"How did you two get here? When did you arrive? How come I didn't see you? Have you wrapped up over there?"

Being in good shape was impressive. If Sitangna had squatted there for ages and suddenly stood up, everything would probably have gone black and she would have passed out for a while. Yet Watson could rattle off a whole string of questions. One look and it was clear he was full of vitality.

"We've been here a while."

London's weather was always damp and cold. Only now did Sitangna understand that those characters in British dramas weren't putting their hands in their pockets to look cool; they were keeping warm.

"West wasn't killed here. That's why there's so little blood." Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the surroundings.

"Kill him and dump the body. Ew." Sitangna shuddered.

"How long have you two been following me?" Watson finally realized they had been trailing him for ages without making a sound.

"We were there from the start. Did you really think I'd give up this case?"

"Just to make things difficult for my dear brother? Because I was annoyed with him?"

Not only did Sherlock's posture make him look a little like an old man now, he sounded so mysterious too. Sitangna's low laugh threshold was triggered. Fortunately, her upturned collar hid her bared teeth.

Yes, after Sherlock and Watson, she too had joined the upturned-collar brigade. Britain's wind blew everywhere all day, making people shiver.

"Come on, hurry up. We still have a theft to deal with."

So they hadn't finished over there after all. Watson pressed a hand to his forehead. Sherlock certainly could run around, dragging a young woman all over the place without worrying about wearing her out.

Sitangna, on the other hand, had only just arrived, yet showed no signs of difficulty adjusting to the new place. She looked perfectly at home with her current life as a conscripted detective.

Along the way, the two men discussed the whereabouts of the missing memory stick. Sitangna hadn't been involved in that part of the story, so she could only pretend to be completely lost. Watson thoughtfully explained the more obscure parts of their conversation to her.

As far as he was concerned, Nana was in the same boat as them now and could be allowed to know more details of the case.

"What are you doing, Sherlock!!!" Watson cried. "What if someone's home?"

"Relax, there's no one inside." As soon as they arrived, Sherlock went up and started picking the lock. Watson was so alarmed that he kept looking around, terrified the owner would catch them red-handed.

In the blink of an eye, Sherlock had opened the door and rushed inside. Sitangna followed close behind, teasing him that he was far too practiced at breaking and entering and must have done it plenty of times.

"My God, where are we??"

Watson hardly dared breathe. The last time he had investigated an international smuggling case with Sherlock, the man had acted exactly the same after climbing into Yao Suling's home, as calm and composed as if he were in his own.

"Sorry, didn't I say? Well, I may have forgotten. This is Joe Harrison's flat, the home of West's fiancée's brother."

"He stole the memory stick and killed his future brother-in-law."

Sherlock began investigating on his own, carefully scanning every corner. Sitangna followed him, making a show of looking for anything out of the ordinary. The little magnifying glass reflected miniature images of the three of them gathered together.

There seemed to be a sound at the door. Watson gestured to reassure Sitangna, then carefully softened his footsteps and went out, deftly pulling a pistol from his pocket with his right hand. The moment he came face-to-face with Harrison, he used the great equalizer to bring the situation under control.

Harrison had been so startled that he was raising the bicycle in his hands to throw it at them. He was certainly strong. No wonder he had been able to toss the body over there.

"Don't move."

The interrogation took place right there. During their conversation, Harrison readily confessed to accidentally killing West, but he feared his sister would fall apart if she found out, so he dared neither turn himself in nor sell the memory stick.

In a sense, Sherlock's investigation and pursuit had given him a measure of relief.

"Interlude over. The game continues." The trio gathered in a semicircle again, and Sherlock spoke softly.

"Perhaps the game is about to end too. There's been no word from the bomber." Watson felt he was going to run himself ragged lately. He hadn't even had time for another date with Sarah, things having only just improved between them.

"Five pips. Do you remember? It was a countdown, and there have only been four rounds." Sherlock was a little displeased.

"He really knows how to stir things up," Sitangna remarked. She was genuinely curious whether that consulting criminal spent all his free time doing this sort of thing.

The serial cases came one after another without a pause, leaving her too embarrassed to flirt with the great detective.

Back at the flat, Sherlock curled up in the armchair watching some variety show or other, while Watson and Sitangna used the little desk lamp to get their "proper" work done. Watson was writing his blog, and Sitangna was revising the paperwork for a school project.

Fortunately, with the system's help, her fingers flew over the keyboard, a sharp contrast to Watson across from her, typing one word at a time with his fingers. It made little Peanut sigh repeatedly.

Her eyes were a little tired from looking at two views, and the translucent screen in her head was inconvenient too, so she had the system read the content aloud to her while she typed.

Unfortunately, Sherlock was engrossed in the family-reunion show. Listening to his strange cries grow louder and louder, Sitangna finally couldn't take it anymore and threw a paper ball at him.

If she couldn't absorb faint energy by staying near them, she would have gone upstairs long ago. In a flash, the great detective reached back and caught the projectile as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

"Keep it down, Sherlock. I've got a headache from writing."

Who said he was like a cat? He was a long-faced donkey with big ears and a weird bray! Even that look in his eyes was exactly like a beagle's.

"That's because your brain has a limited capacity to marshal its resources and can't quickly organize the text you need in your head. You can't blame me for that."

Sherlock unfolded the paper ball. Its contents surprised him. By rights, it should have been a draft or something, but Sitangna had covered the page with his name.

Uh, she had written Watson's name quite a few times too. The sight of the two names filling the page was a little eerie.

"? With your head full of this sort of nonsense, of course you can't write proper paperwork." Sherlock tossed the draft paper behind him and went back to killing time.

"Did you give the memory stick to Mycroft?" Watson suddenly remembered to ask.

"I did. He was overjoyed, practically beside himself. He even threatened to give me a medal."

Only Mr. Sherlock Holmes could consider the honor of being awarded a medal a threat.

"All right, as long as the job's done. Otherwise, it would be awkward if Sitangna and I took so much payment from him without getting the work done."

"You two get to bed early. I'm off to Sarah's. There's some risotto in the fridge; microwave it if you're hungry. I need to buy some more milk."

Having spent ages updating his blog, Watson got up and stretched his limbs. He was going on a date with Sarah tonight, no matter what.

"I'll buy it," Sherlock replied.

"Really?" Watson looked in surprise at Sherlock, whose collar covered half his face. His uncharacteristic behavior made Watson sense that something was a little unusual.

"Really." Sherlock had no particular reaction to the shocked expressions of the two before him. Instead, he answered quite seriously.

"Uh, then get some beans too. I'd like some. And remember to buy Sitangna something she wants as well."

"Mm-hm."

He agreed? Watson looked at him askance.

Even Sitangna looked up this time. She exchanged a glance with Watson, who was about to go downstairs, and saw the same confusion and surprise in his eyes.

After reminding Sitangna to leave the door unlocked for him that night, Watson hurried off to his date. There was a saying in China: when a child was quiet, they were bound to be up to mischief.

Sure enough, as soon as Watson left, Sherlock pulled out a laptop. Sitangna couldn't see what he was doing, but she knew the plot. He hadn't handed over the memory stick at all; instead, he was using it as bait to lure out the villain. What a good little brother, setting his older brother up like that...

"Nana, get to bed early. I'm going to the supermarket. I'll be back in a bit."

Sherlock concealed his smile and rushed out the door while Sitangna stared at him in confusion. He was really looking forward to tonight's meeting.

Sitangna was speechless. Did they really take her for a fool? Both of them had told her to get to bed early before leaving.

[Nana: He's made his move, John. Should I follow him and have a look first?]

Watson, who was sitting in a car on his way to an unknown destination, received Nana's message. He thought for a moment, but still didn't want to put the girl in danger.

[John: No, dear. Stay home and wait for news. Take care of yourself, and call me immediately if anything happens.]

After replying "OK," Sitangna continued following Sherlock as he strode along. She felt a faint sense of anticipation about what it would be like when the three of them reunited by the pool later.

But Sherlock didn't take a car straight there. He got out midway and made his way toward the place through Britain's streets and alleys.

Sitangna didn't want any of them to spot her, so she had the system map out another route. She followed him inside shortly after he arrived, sending her location to Mycroft on the way in.

[Mycroft: Received. The team is setting out immediately. Stay where you are and await instructions. Don't wander off.]

Sitangna rolled her eyes. If he wouldn't let her go, she was going anyway. Having come this far, there was no way she would miss this chance to score major points.

A normal person would certainly have stayed there obediently awaiting instructions, but unfortunately, she had a side quest in progress.

The swimming pool had plenty of lights installed, so it was still bright even late at night. A tall, slender figure in a suit and dress shoes stood beside the pool.

Clap, clap. Sherlock's footsteps echoed through the empty space. He looked around but saw no one.

"I brought you a little gift." Sherlock held the memory stick high. It contained the plans for the missile project, and he thought this fellow ought to be very interested.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Those puzzles you set had me dancing with excitement. I was absolutely thrilled."

"Just to distract me." Receiving no answer, Sherlock grew a little impatient. He turned his head, and an unexpected person appeared.

His face went stiff for an instant. Fortunately, his high-functioning poker face kept his expression from looking too discomposed.

"Good evening." The bomb vest Watson was wearing looked very warm. Hidden in the shadows with the cold wind blowing on her, Sitangna somewhat regretted not wearing another coat tonight.

Next came the classic scene between the two of them by the pool. She wondered whether Sherlock had noticed that the frequency of Watson's blinking here was SOS in Morse code.

But it didn't matter. He was sure to be saved, and even if the plot had gone off course, she was there.

"I thought you'd call," Moriarty said, a note of hurt in his voice. From Sitangna's angle, she could see him hidden at the back, along with his little squad of laser pointers.