I ask of London, what is this thing called love, that it binds life and death in solemn vow?

問倫敦, 情爲何物, 直敎生死相許

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.

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–The Song of Anglo-Saxon

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-Flash!

A sword strike swifter than the Lily Sword Technique that cut through Hope’s body blazed through the air.

The spot where the Sword aura sliced through healed instantly due to the regenerative power of the bugs, but the Buddha Fire that seeped inside the corpse incinerated all the Worms.

-Screech!!!

The death throes of a sinister existence echoed through the collapsed street.

A life form that could not be complete alone and tried to become one with everything fell helplessly before poison and fire.

The shrieks of the bugs had a certain eeriness reminiscent of evil spirits.

The cries of hell’s progeny, filled with anger, as they looked up at souls ascending from purgatory to heaven.

-Thud.

The fallen Dead Man. A thick corpse poison, along with the melted bugs oozed through the corpse’s pores, forming a black puddle.

As the sword tip dipped into it, the residual flames of Buddha Fire ignited, burning the black liquid to vapor in an instant.

A thin wisp of smoke billowed towards the sky, caught by the river wind, and drifted westward.

It seemed as though Hope’s soul, freed from the shackles of hatred and revenge, was crossing the strait to return to its homeland.

“Hail Mary…”

May the heavens watch over the soul of the departed, now at peace.

Praying thus, a litany was recited.

It was also a farewell to the avenger from afar and the bugs that should never have existed.

“Return, to where you originally belonged.”

The hunter to their lover, and the creature born of darkness back to the void.

Everything found its rightful place, following the natural order.

In the quiet and peaceful night of London, the cold air was slowly stealing the heat from the blade, but I knew.

That this case was just one of many dangers I would face in the future.

‘…It won’t be easy.’

While I felt worried, the newfound strength was infusing me with a new vitality and confidence.

The grudges and grievances of the martial world resemble white and black threads, concealing a red thread named murder within.

Unraveling that thread and exposing it to the world is my task, the role of Sherlock Holmes.

Therefore.

As long as I am alive, the nights in London will not be as dark as they once were.

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Meanwhile, on the rooftop.

Watson had been enduring the cold alone for hours.

“How long do you intend to keep me waiting, Holmes…?”

With her leg impaired, she waited for her companion through the night, but for some reason, Holmes showed no sign of coming even as dawn broke.

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The elimination of the bugs happened at midnight, but Lestrade and the officers moved Hope’s body only after morning came.

It wasn’t that the Scotland Yard officers were lazy.

Even though it had returned from being a Dead Man to an ordinary corpse, there still a powerful poison lingered around it, making it difficult to transport.

Fortunately, Yan, who had been asked by me in advance, came over to Baker Street in time to absorb the poison.

“A rare opportunity. To acquire such high-quality poison.”

From Yan’s perspective, it wasn’t a losing business either.

The White Worm, in symbiosis with Yan, constantly craved powerful poison, and his profession was an undertaker.

He plans to receive compensation from the police for handling the poison and to restore the damage on Hope’s body, completing the embalming process.

Once everything is ready, the body will be placed in a coffin and sent to the United States.

Hope will no longer be lonely, as he will return to the side of his beloved whom he missed so dearly.

Oh, and I hear that the surviving Stangerson will also be extradited to America to stand trial.

For murdering an innocent man and kidnapping a woman with a fiancé, he will rot in prison for life or be executed.

Whether the deceased Hope would be satisfied, I honestly cannot say, as I am not him. The judicial system is always imperfect.

In any case, this concludes the case perfectly.

Thanks to the changes in the clues and murder method compared to before my return, it provided a good mental exercise.

I realize anew that, no matter how much I think about it, the process of solving a mystery and uncovering the culprit is a reward in itself for me.

Of course, this is merely a discussion of the mental aspect.

It is also right to secure material rewards whenever possible.

“The Home Secretary said he would like to meet sometime.”

“That’s bothersome.”

“He wasn’t just saying it out of courtesy. He said he’s prepared a gift.”

According to Lestrade, the high-ranking official wants to commend my efforts.

I don’t know what someone of his rank plans to give, but I suppose I should drop by later.

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Waking up leisurely after 11 o’clock, I heard from Lestrade, who visited the boarding house, how the case was being resolved.

Mrs. Hudson kindly brought us refreshments and tea, but Lestrade’s appearance while drinking tea was detrimental to my appetite.

It was clear that he tried to adhere to etiquette in his own way, but his face seemed more akin to the Merry Men than the police.

“By the way, where is Mr. Watson?”

I sent Lestrade away and was only made aware of Watson’s absence when the landlady, tidying away the tea set, enquired about her.

“…Ah.”

I had forgotten that, in the chaos of last night’s fight, I had left Watson on the roof.

“I’ll have to step out for a moment.”

Imagining poor Watson’s plight, I hurriedly grabbed only my outer coat and descended to the first-floor entrance.

-Clank!

And, just in time, I came face to face with the elderly postman standing at the door.

It was the man who had recently run across a puddle using Jesus Walk.

“Are you Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes, I am.”

With a blank expression, the postman handed me a jet-black envelope sealed with wax.

“Hmm.”

My name was written on the back of the letter.

There was no sender’s name, but the shape of the seal was familiar.

An invitation.

It was from the host of a gathering I had declined to attend every year.

‘…I should make an appearance this year.’

When living alone, I didn’t particularly feel the need to attend, but now that I had Watson as a companion, the story was different.

As I thought this and looked up again, the postman had already disappeared into the distance.

“Indeed, London’s postmen are of a high standard.”

The saying “Masters are hidden among the common folk” seems to be true.

“Ah, this is no time for that.”

I employed my lightness skill and swiftly ascended to the roof of the nearest building.

It was unfortunate that several houses and shops on Baker Street had collapsed due to last night’s battle, but there was nothing I could do except hope that the property owners were insured.

‘It’s somewhat a relief that the boarding house is safe.’

Five times, I leapt from rooftop to rooftop, not minding the startled cat and pigeon fleeing in surprise.

I found Watson trembling on the roof of a three-story building.

“Watson! Look at this!”

I called out to Watson, waving the letter envelope in my hand.

Seeing this will surely make her happy.

This invitation offers Watson and me an amazing opportunity.

“Holmes. It seems you have something to say to me.”

Unexpectedly, Watson gave me a sharp look with half-closed eyes, seemingly in a foul mood.

“An invitation has arrived. Would you like to open it together?”

“Not that.”

“Mrs. Hudson has prepared tea.”

“…Haa.”

-Thud Thud-

Contrary to my expectations, Watson lay flat and began pounding the roof with her fist.

Clenching her teeth tightly, eyes tightly shut.

“No, Watson. Just look at this, will you?”

“Read it yourself…”

What’s this? A hysterical fit?

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Back in the cozy quarters of 221b Baker Street, Watson took a bath and changed clothes.

Even after coming into the living room, she continued to ignore me, only speaking after violently shoving the snacks Mrs. Hudson brought into her mouth.

“…Holmes, do you know how much I suffered last night?”

“……”

Strange. I thought I was the one who struggled to catch the Dead Man, not Watson.

“If I die of hypothermia, can you take responsibility?”

Ah. She was talking about being left on the roof.

“That was—”

Her cold demeanor was unimaginable from her usual amiable and gentlemanly (though her gender is female) self.

If one of us were to die from hypothermia, it would certainly not be Watson, but me.

Perhaps it’s just my imagination, but the silver strands mingled in Watson’s fiery red hair seemed particularly noticeable today.

“Say something. Aren’t you being asked a question?”

The way she pointed her finger looked as if she was ready to strike my head at any moment.

Unable to even bring myself to smoke my pipe, I sipped cold tea instead, pondering how to escape this situation.

Bringing up the invitation would only lead to a fuss about changing the subject before I could even mention who sent it.

To completely distract Watson, something more provocative and intense was needed.

Information that would shock her.

A topic that would catch her off guard.

There is one thing, though.

But just before I could say it—

“Ugh…”

At a most inopportune moment, the side effects of the Renewal Lionheart Method began to overwhelm me.

Cold sweat pouring like rain.

Hands trembling as if a steam boiler was attached.

My body grew lethargic, and my muscles lacked strength.

The withdrawal symptoms that started without warning were preventing me from speaking properly.

“Holmes…!”

Watson quickly supported me as I slid off the sofa.

It seemed that the intensity of the withdrawal symptoms had increased due to the massive consumption of internal energy, the first since I adapted to this world’s body.

“Quick, the injection…”

I managed to ask for help with slurred speech, and fortunately, Watson, being a doctor, understood exactly what I needed.

“I’m on it!”

She grabbed the syringe from the table and rolled up my sleeve.

“I can’t believe it. Since when have you been habitually injecting drugs?”

“Th-that’s not it…”

As she hesitated, I grabbed the syringe with trembling hands and injected the needle into my forearm.

-Fsshhh…

“My God. If you inject that much cocaine at once—”

“…Phew.”

The withdrawal symptoms subsided in less than three seconds.

“…Are you alright, Holmes?”

“Injecting a large amount of cocaine? I wouldn’t do something that crazy.”

I pressed the plunger of the syringe and sprinkled a small amount of the remaining liquid onto Watson’s hand.

“This is…”

Watson brought her palm to her nose and sniffed the liquid intensely.

“It’s a refined extract of Centenarian Fleeceflower Root.”

“Where did you get such a precious thing…”

“I still have some left, would you like to try?”

“I’m not keen on injections… No, I’m asking where you got it.”

“I’ll leave that to your imagination.”

It’s best not to mention that the medicines I got from the Chelsea Physic Garden are far more than Watson imagines.

“Phew… We’ve only lived together for a short time, but I thought you were going to die…”

“A martial artist of Peak realm doesn’t get their breathing cut off so easily, so fret not.”

Only then did Watson let out a sigh of relief and returned to her seat.

“Look here, Holmes. Here I am, endlessly fretting over your well-being, and yet how could you leave me outside all night…”

Having confirmed I was alright, she tried to continue the conversation from before.

I decided to change the subject quickly.

“I can’t take responsibility.”

“…What?”

“I said I can’t take responsibility.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?”

Caught off guard by the unexpected statement, Watson asked me twice.

Proof that she was perfectly baited.

Now it’s time to distract the prey’s soul.

“You asked earlier, didn’t you? If you freeze to death outside, could I take responsibility? I said I couldn’t.”

“No, I mean, why bring that up all of a sudden―”

“Recklessly asking someone if they can take responsibility for you is a frivolous act that does not befit the dignity of a lady.”