A sudden, bold, and unexpected move doth many times startle an assassin into revealing their identity.

–Francis Bacon1

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The bedroom of the boarding house on the second floor of 221b Baker Street.

“Hmm…”

A woman, half-awake, stretched as the afternoon sunlight slanted in through the window.

Rising later than usual, she was Jane Watson, the roommate of Sherlock Holmes and a doctor working at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.

It was her rare day off, so Watson had stayed up chatting with Holmes until dawn, only now waking up.

“Drank too much, it seems…”

An empty whiskey bottle lay on its side under the bed.

Apparently, she had continued drinking with Holmes into the bedroom last night.

They had snacked on the new maid’s cooking, and ended up drinking more than twice her usual amount, yet she felt no hangover.

The taste of the snacks had seemed off since Holmes had stepped into the bedroom and back, but that was a minor detail.

Normally, she would have passed out from drinking that much, but this morning she had no trouble buttoning her pajamas and falling asleep.

All thanks to the improvement of her meridian blockage.

“Hehe.”

Standing in front of the mirror, Watson found herself smiling unconsciously.

Her once pale complexion was now nearly normal, and the leg pain that plagued her every morning was noticeably lighter.

Ever since receiving treatment from Holmes, her health had visibly improved.

Only one of the nine large nails blocking the acupoints had disappeared, yet her weak pulse had normalized, and her body felt light as if it could fly.

These positive changes significantly impacted not only her body but also her mind.

“……”

Watson looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Recently, she found herself smiling more often. Not that she ever thought it was particularly unpleasant.

It was a natural occurrence.

Watson, having learned martial arts and medicine, managed to suppress minor pains and other symptoms, but the anxiety of not knowing when she might die young couldn’t be resolved.

However, now that there was hope to cure the Nine Yin-Qi Nails, her mind had become incomparably peaceful compared to before.

“A detective healing a doctor’s ailment.”

If her colleagues at the hospital heard this, they would dismiss it as nonsense, but it was an undeniable fact.

If only she could secure various extreme Yang elixirs, she could completely improve this persistent condition.

‘…I really don’t know how to repay him.’

All of this was thanks to her new roommate, Holmes.

Meeting him was surely a connection prepared by God and Saints.

The gratitude that recovered patients had shown her had somehow taken root in her own heart.

Having suffered from a meridian blockage disorder that every doctor had given up on, she thought she would never feel such emotions in her lifetime.

No matter when, she would definitely repay this kindness.

For now, all she could do was treat the injured Holmes and fulfill her role as his assistant, but with continued skill development, there would be an opportunity.

Watson made this resolve as she attempted to attach a fake mustache.

“1200 Inch Punch.”

The loud noise from the living room, just a door away from the bedroom, was what finally shook off her lingering drowsiness.

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-BOOM!!

“Holmes!! What have you done this time!!”

Watson burst open her bedroom door and dashed into the living room.

“I’m sorry. I forgot you were sleeping.”

“No, forget the apology. Tell me what you’ve broken this time―”

Watson, scanning the room to see what disaster had occurred, was left speechless.

Expecting the wall or something to have collapsed again, she was bewildered to see the living room unchanged.

“There was definitely a sound….”

“Oh, you mean this.”

Instead of the flustered Watson, I slowly opened the boarding house’s door connected to the stairs.

-Thud!

As the door opened, a Man In Black collapsed inside, kneeling.

“This is…!”

“What else? It’s an assassin after me. That’s the second one already.”

His face was bloody, in a state commonly referred to as Technical Knock-Out.

“Except for his stealth skills, he was lousy. To be taken down with just one punch.”

And behind him.

“Oh dear.”

Mrs. Hudson, having heard the loud noise from the second floor, had come up, eyes wide like a rabbit.

“Oh.”

Watson, as if realizing something, bowed slightly forward, clasping her fist with her palm.

“I am amazed that you, madam, were hiding such profound martial arts skills. I am in awe.”

It was me. For heaven’s sake.

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While Mrs. Hudson went to call the police, I finished sealing the assassin’s acupoints and restrained him.

If the guy had harmed an unrelated woman, I would have immediately executed him, but since he seems to adhere to some sense of morality among the dark path, I spared him.

Of course, the main reason was to make him testify as to who was behind it.

The Yard’s police may lack crime investigation skills, but they are adept at interrogating captured criminals to extract information.

After stepping on the treadmill for twenty hours a day and enduring Maximum Pain, one’s mouth tends to move involuntarily.

“I was underestimated too much. Even among the first-rate, unless one reaches maturity, they cannot even leave a scratch on my fabric.”

What angers me more is the fact that the assassin’s employer did not respect my level.

This person is skilled in stealth techniques but their martial prowess is only at the entry-level of second-rate.

Lestrade could easily handle it.

“It’s strange. Why did the assassin come in the afternoon instead of at dawn?”

“They must have known that during this time, we have tea and then practice Breath Control.”

“That makes sense. Indeed, one is more vulnerable to attacks during Breath Control than when asleep.”

At that point, Watson seemed to realize something and continued speaking.

“Wait, don’t tell me you stay up all night drinking with me just because…”

Watson finally realized that my intention of drinking until dawn was to make the assassin lower their guard, and she looked dumbfounded.

“Just as you thought.”

The assassin confirmed Watson was asleep, then infiltrated through the window facing the alley from the stairs.

It was probably to prevent any witnesses from seeing them enter the second-floor balcony.

However, I noticed everything and was waiting for him to approach.

Then, as you just saw, I presented him with a single strike when his view was obstructed by the door.

“When did you realize you were being watched?”

“Since returning from the Debutante Ball. The disguises were different each time, but they were easy to recognize.”

“Couldn’t you have informed me about it?”

“If I had told you, you might have given it away. To deceive the enemy, one must first deceive their allies.”

Watson tried to argue but eventually puffed her cheeks in frustration.

“So, do you have any guesses about who’s behind the assassin?”

“It must be the work of the Drake family.”

I expected her to figure it out, but it seems her mind isn’t working well, perhaps because she just woke up. Maybe I should offer her something sweet.

“Surely, they would have a grudge against you. However, there’s not enough evidence to be certain.”

“It’s something you can deduce with a bit of thought.”

As always, Watson is a versatile assistant but lacks talent in deduction.

“Think about it, Watson.”

I spread out three fingers and began to explain as kindly as possible.

There are three individuals or groups with motives to target my life.

First, the monk from the Modern Clan, Frankenstein, who lost the Worm and Dead Man he had released.

Second, the Mormons who, due to Stangerson’s arrest and confessions, are at risk of being considered the Public Enemy of the Murim in North America.

Lastly, the Drake family, who lost their eldest son overnight and had their second son taken by the police.

Among them, Frankenstein doesn’t know specifically who dealt with the Dead Man, so he has no reason to target me.

And as I recall, the leader of the Mormons was quite wealthy, so he could have hired a much more skilled assassin than the one I just subdued.

Therefore, only one possibility remains.

This assassin was sent by the Drake family, who harbors a grudge against me.

Considering the newspaper article stating that the Drake family’s assets were entirely confiscated by the Treasury due to a member committing high treason, it makes sense that the assassin’s skills are lacking.

“What shameless individuals. To blame you for the destruction of their family.”

“Being of pirate blood, inherently beastly in nature, it is expected. I am only concerned that they tarnish the proud tradition of the Royal Navy.”

Watson, who served in the military, nodded continuously, as if in agreement.

From Watson’s perspective, seeing a soldier commit such transgressions against natural order would have been an intolerable sight.

But that was only for a moment.

Watson then intently observed the assassin, bleeding from his seven orifices and bound on the floor, and asked me.

“By the way, Holmes, didn’t you say earlier that the move you used to defeat the assassin was the 1200 Inch Punch?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Last time at the Debutante Ball, you mentioned the 1200 Inch Punch sends out a fist blast.”

“I certainly said so.”

“Then why is the door intact and the assassin beyond it in such a state? I can’t make sense of it.”

“Ah, that’s because…”

Finally, Watson asked about it.

I, too, had realized the true power of the technique through insights gained while treating Watson.

I had intended to explain it when the opportunity arose, and now was the perfect time.

“Sending out a fist blast is merely an explanation for those unaware of the 1200 Inch Punch’s intricacies or those just learning the move. The true essence of the 1200 Inch Punch is—”

At that moment, the sound of the first-floor entrance opening was heard.

Mrs. Hudson, her face pale, had come up to the second floor along with Inspector Lestrade, who had responded to the report.

“After the Dead Man, it is an assassin this time? You really should stop making so many enemies.”

Despite his words, Lestrade’s face showed no sign of worry.

Judging by the way his lips turned down as if disappointed, it seemed he was quite sorry I hadn’t suffered more.

“I’ve subdued him, so you can take care of the rest.”

“Do you have any idea who’s behind this?”

“Drake.”

“Well… In addition to treason, he’ll have a few more charges added. I’m sure the higher-ups will handle it.”

Lestrade nodded and cuffed the wrists and ankles of the black-clad figure.

The assassin tried to resist, but having his pressure points struck and falling victim to the 1200 Inch Punch, he couldn’t move a single finger properly.

“Then, I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Though I said that, Lestrade stood still, watching me instead of escorting the intruder away.

“Is there still something you need?”

“Sir Harcourt is looking for you.”

“Ah.”

If it’s Sir Harcourt, he’s the superior to Commissioner Henderson, who runs Scotland Yard. In other words, the Home Secretary.

He had promised a reward for solving the Dead Man case last time, and it seems he’s finally ready.

“If he’s prepared a gift, I can’t refuse. Lead the way, Lestrade.”

“Regrettably, I can’t do that, Holmes.”

“That’s not what was said last time.”

“It’s true the Secretary has prepared a gift, but there’s something he needs your help with first.”

“Go on, what is it?”

The Inspector replied without so much as raising an eyebrow.

“Four people have been murdered. In a locked room.”

1. TL/N: The original quote is as follows—A sudden bold and unexpected question doth many times surprise a man and lay him open. ️