The Next Game

This guy actually had a new friend. She had thought everyone except the inspector and her was his anti.

"Hello, I'm Molly, and this is Jim, my date." Molly was always warm and friendly to others.

"Hello, I'm Sitangna. I hope we're not interrupting your meal."

[Attention from a world villain detected. Energy absorption activated.]

*Wait, what exactly was this energy? Did even a villain's attention count? Then if she became a villain and earned the attention of the good guys... that would be very bad.*

[Don't bother. Energy can only be obtained from the world's protagonists. Villains are also protagonists in a sense.]

[Energy takes many forms. Mental power makes up the largest share. The more attention a world protagonist pays you, the more mental power there is, and energy condenses from it.]

"So it's like using a utility pole to draw lightning and charge a battery?"

[Crude as that explanation is, it's not wrong. You can think of it that way.]

Once they had exchanged greetings, she hurried to sit down. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to stop herself from watching the disguised archvillain Moriarty. He had pretended to be gay to get close to Sherlock through Molly. How had he even thought of that?

"What do you want to eat, Sherlock? You're treating, so you order."

The waiter brought three menus, and Sitangna eagerly ordered her favorite Thai dishes: pineapple fried rice and tom yum seafood soup, plus a green papaya salad. She had eaten Thai food several times before, at different places, and it had all tasted good. So far, she hadn't had a bad experience.

"I'll just have mango sticky rice." Sherlock didn't like staple foods, but he liked sweets. His whole family shared that taste.

"In that case, I'll have the hot and sour prawns and traditional Thai roast chicken."

After Watson ordered, Sitangna thought the dishes should be enough for the three of them. But when the food arrived and they started eating, she was dumbfounded. She had forgotten this was Britain, where people ate individual portions. At restaurants, everyone basically ordered and ate their own food.

Looking at the beautifully arranged mango sticky rice on Sherlock's plate, and the enormous hot and sour black tiger prawns and wonderfully fragrant traditional roast chicken on Watson's, she shamefully swallowed several times.

It wasn't that she had never eaten those dishes before. Other people's food just smelled better.

"Your pineapple fried rice looks good. There's even pork floss in it. Could I have a taste, Nana?" Watson had noticed the girl opposite him constantly shifting her gaze between the dishes and thoughtfully made his request.

"How about I give you some of mine in exchange?" This was why people with high emotional intelligence were especially popular. Having a friend like that around would make life so much happier.

"Yay! Thank you, Watson, you're such a good person! I hereby declare that you've officially overtaken Sherlock and become number one in my heart!"

"That's wonderful. Wait, why was Sherlock number one before?"

Watson looked at Sherlock in displeasure. Although Nana had mentioned during their earlier conversation that she liked solving mysteries and admired a great detective, she hadn't said that detective was Sherlock.

"Uh, I suppose it was blind admiration for his sexy brain. I've come to my senses now."

Sherlock glanced at the two of them chatting and laughing and softly uttered one word: "Childish."

"Meals are shared in China. It's normal that you're not used to it when you've only just arrived. If you want some, just say so."

Sherlock scooped a generous spoonful from the untouched side of the coconut rice on his plate and put it on Sitangna's, adding a large piece of mango on top.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Have some of my pineapple fried rice. It's sweet too."

Compared with the three of them speaking softly in an unusually friendly atmosphere, the two on their date were strangely quiet.

"Is the food not to your taste? Do you want to go home and rest early? Then the movie later..."

Molly kept pushing the food around her plate with her fork, looking uneasy. Noticing that she seemed a little down, Jim suggested canceling their plans afterward.

"I'm fine. Uh, actually, I do feel a little unwell. Let's go our separate ways after we finish eating."

The man across from her, who had asked her out twice, got distracted by Sherlock every time. Molly wasn't stupid. This time, she finally believed what Sherlock had told her last time.

This man was a detestable gay guy! He was deluding himself into thinking he could use her to get to Sherlock.

"...All right, then. Your health comes first. I'll take you home after we eat. I drove here."

"No need. I can get a taxi downstairs."

"Okay."

Now that his intentions had been discovered, the man across from her didn't even bother pretending anymore. Even though his back was to them, he deliberately turned around to sneak a look at Sherlock.

Molly glared resentfully at the man eating at his leisure at the next table. Without meaning to, she scraped her knife and fork against her plate with a piercing screech.

It was infuriating that he was so attractive to both men and women.

Molly and Jim finished first, said goodbye to Sitangna's group, paid their bill, and left. On her way out, Molly deliberately ignored Sherlock without so much as a glance. Sitangna, who had once strayed to secretly ship Sherlock and Molly, stared in shock. One of her ships had broken up for the time being.

Watson ate extremely slowly. Taking little bites was certainly elegant, but if he ever became a zombie, he would probably starve himself to death. They didn't set off until Sitangna felt she had already digested her meal.

She had originally wanted to look at clothes, but her little belly was so full that trying them on would clearly be inconvenient. She bought only a few hats and two scarves. The wind in London was really strong, and it had given her a bit of a headache.

After shopping for quite a while, the three went outside and caught the breeze on the street. For once, Sherlock put down his phone and joined their conversation, though most of what he said consisted of sharp critiques.

Sitangna and Watson: I want to grab his mouth and pinch it shut.

Everyone came home early today, but after spending the afternoon shopping, Sitangna was almost completely drained. She was the type to get carried away very easily and tire just as easily, so seeing that nothing was happening, she went straight upstairs to wash up and sleep.

On her way upstairs, she saw Sherlock still thinking in front of his wall of clues. He stood there with his shirt wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders and narrow waist.

The sight of those lovely lines made Sitangna drool. Fortunately, she managed to flee before the great detective turned around, or she would have gone bright red again.

Watson was leaning on the balcony, having a long phone conversation with Sarah. From the look of it, things were going very well between them lately. Mrs. Hudson was still watching TV. It was time for the late-night talk show, which she liked very much.

She had lovely dreams all night.

Early the next morning, Sherlock received an urgent call from Lestrade. They had finally found a clue at Thames River Bridge: a new body.

"He's been dead for about twenty-four hours."

After examining the body first, Sherlock made room for Watson. Watson began his examination after a look from the inspector, and the temporary assistant reported his findings with practiced ease.

"There are ligature marks on the neck, no excess river water in the lungs, and a lot of bruising around the mouth and nose..."

While Sherlock and the others were engrossed in their investigation, Sitangna thought waking up to find the apartment invaded by Brother Mycroft, leaning on a long-handled black umbrella, was even more terrifying.

Here it came. Anyone or anything connected to Sherlock was bound to undergo Mycroft's interrogation, commonly known as threats and inducements.

"Good day, beautiful Miss Sitangna. I hear you've recently been accompanying Sherlock on investigations and hunts for criminals. The speed with which you entered Sherlock's sights is truly admirable."

Mycroft knew exactly what his younger brother was like. There were only three "friends" in the world whom he had accepted so quickly, and two of them lived at 221B Baker Street. It was astonishing.

Could living together really make it easier to grow close? That couldn't be right. They had grown up together, and Sherlock had hardly ever treated him kindly.

"Good day. May I ask who you are?" She knew, but she wasn't saying. The more secrets she held, the more confident she felt standing here.

"You may call me Mycroft. As for my identity, I'm just a minor employee of the British government. Perhaps I'm also Sherlock's archenemy. At any rate, that's what he thinks."

A minor employee? The kind with considerably more power than the cabinet secretary? Sitangna used every bit of acting skill she possessed to hold back her laughter.

Mycroft walked over to the fireplace and looked around at the mess in the room. Along the way, he used the tip of his umbrella to lift a belt from the floor. Recognizing it as Sherlock's, he immediately tossed it aside in disgust.

Sitangna felt a little embarrassed. She was also the sort to leave things lying around. The place had only been briefly tidy on the day she arrived; after that, three overgrown children had turned it into a mess. The attic bedroom was even more of a pigsty.

"All right, Mr. Mycroft, what can I do for you? Do you want me to help you keep an eye on your archenemy, or help you assassinate him? Or poison him, perhaps?"

"Haha, you're very funny. More lively than I imagined."

Amused, Mycroft elegantly produced a check for a huge sum from inside his suit jacket.

"I'd like you to keep me informed of Sherlock's movements and activities, preferably with photographs. As you know, he's a dangerous high-functioning sociopath. I have to take precautions for the safety of the British people."

Those lines sounded awfully familiar.

Mycroft explained that he knew she wasn't short of money, but since she had been willing to run around with Sherlock on the very first day they met, she clearly didn't object to investigating cases and was actually quite interested.

"You can think of this money as a budget for your activities. Have meals together, buy some new clothes, that sort of thing."

"If possible, please make sure to buy a few things for Mr. Sherlock as well. There's no telling how long he's been wearing that old coat."

Mycroft's tone was casual, but his words still betrayed his concern for his younger brother.

Sitangna bit at the skin of her lower lip and eventually agreed. Mycroft asked everyone who came along anyway, and since Watson had refused, he might as well give the money to her.

Mycroft was a little surprised, then smiled again. He didn't care whether Sitangna agreed, nor did he care whether she would keep her promise and pass him information afterward. He simply didn't want to watch his younger brother starve to death working as an unpaid consulting detective.

In fact, Sherlock charged quite a lot for private consultations. Unfortunately, he lived so casually that his older brother always thought he didn't have enough to eat or warm clothes to wear.

Mycroft had carved out some of his time off for this visit. Now that he was done, he had to hurry back to deal with the complicated matters on his desk.

"Take care, generous Mr. Mycroft. Who would have thought a minor British employee would be so busy?"

"Have a pleasant day. Goodbye."

Mycroft smiled, picked up his umbrella, and made a dashing exit, leaving Sitangna alone in the room, still counting the digits at the end of the check.

This unexpected income brought her even more happiness than seeing her enormous savings had. How strange. Perhaps it was because Brother Mycroft had acknowledged her identity?

Sherlock and the others hadn't taken her along on their investigation today, so Sitangna spent the entire afternoon helping Mrs. Hudson with housework. She wasn't someone who liked chores, but doing them here had the curious charm of experiencing a different way of life.

Working together, the two of them cleaned the place inside and out. Looking at the apartment, now as good as new, Mrs. Hudson declared that she would make Sitangna her berry scones, the dish she made best and that tasted the most delicious.

After eating and drinking her fill, Sitangna accompanied the old lady on a walk. Mrs. Hudson was delighted to have someone to chat with for a change. They walked from the apartment to the park, went around it, then walked back.

Her mouth never stopped moving the whole time, as she went from amusing stories about her own life to talking about her husband and her friends.

Sitangna listened attentively, occasionally offering a thought of her own. The old lady held her hand, as affectionate as if Sitangna were her own daughter.

Those two didn't come home until late at night again. Curled up on the sofa playing on her phone, Sitangna saw that both had injuries on their faces. In keeping with the fine qualities of a good British flatmate, she found the household first-aid kit and disinfected their wounds.

As they talked about today's extraordinary hunt for the killer, Watson excitedly described the Stone Giant they had encountered. He had always thought Sherlock had made him up. Good heavens, he had actually been lucky enough to see him in person and even fight him.

The guy was at least two meters tall and extremely strong. Several times he had beaten Sherlock so badly that he couldn't fight back. In the end, Sherlock had scared him off with the gun Watson carried. Compared with Watson's animated gestures, Sherlock was rather quiet.

"Even if I'm good at fighting, my skills are no match for a professional killer's."

There were quite a few scrapes on the backs of Sherlock's hands, and the bruising on his neck was rather severe as well. As a result, his already deep voice had a hint of raspiness to it. It made Sitangna's ears tingle and raised goosebumps all over her body.

She had wanted Watson to apply the medicine for him, but Watson held out his hands, which were covered in medicine, indicating that he couldn't help. She had no choice but to hold her breath and treat the great detective herself.

Perhaps the Stone Giant's sleeves had buttons or some other decoration, because Sherlock's neck had a few tiny scrapes as well as bruises. The blood that had seeped out had already dried, but it was best to disinfect them just to be safe.

"Tell me if it hurts. I'll try to be gentler."

"This much hardly counts as an injury to me."

Sitangna carefully dabbed Sherlock's wounds with a cotton swab soaked in iodophor. As she drew close, the slightly bitter, cool scent of his cologne wafted toward her, and the rich fragrance of soap filled her nose.

The atmosphere was a little intimate. She thought she was too close, so, to avoid offending him, she kept her arm almost fully extended as she applied the medicine. Watson laughed at the huge distance between them.

"What kind of position is that? It looks so strange. Are you leaving that big gap in the middle for me to squeeze into?"