Chapter 87: Fair Lady
Among the martial artists, there is etiquette, dueling, and sword discussions.
To those who are not, there is insult, contempt, coldness, and indifference.
–Henri Frédéric Amiel, <Diary>
My master, who lived a life like a machine calculating everything except enlightenment, never forgot to check my condition every day after training ended.
Master had a peculiar talent for precisely determining how much I needed to be pushed to reach my limits, so after each training session, I had to be thoroughly exhausted for at least three hours to recover.
Of course, there was never a comfortable day, and after each training, I was confined in the basement of Master’s house for three or four hours, receiving pressure from the maid and recovering my energy through Breath control before I could come out.
At the time, I just thought it was the shortcut to becoming stronger and endured it.
But now that I think about it, there seems to be another reason why I was tormented so much.
It was undoubtedly to hide his secrets, worried about my curious nature and inability to suppress my curiosity until I found out everything.
‘Anyway, even if he pretends otherwise, he’s a sly fellow.’ A secret that couldn’t be revealed even to a disciple to whom he had given half of his physical combat strength.
I don’t know what it is, but it’s not like there’s no clue at all.
‘The Reform Club…’
The name of the social club my master often visited was still deeply embedded in my mind.
This group, which existed even in the world before my regression, was a gathering of prestigious gentlemen who regularly interacted in a splendid Italian Renaissance-style building on Pall Mall Street in St. James.
My master mentioned that name a few times, and the main purpose of his visits was presumed to be card games with acquaintances.
Of course, this was just a thought based on the conversations I heard between him and the maid when there were no other clues, so there might be a truth I am unaware of.
This is London Murim.
In the world I originally came from, places that seemed to hold no secrets often revealed different aspects here.
The Reform Club might also be hiding mysteries that I have yet to uncover.
By the way, what was my master doing at the Reform Club while I was exhausted from training?
“Would Mycroft know something…?”
For a moment, my brother’s face came to mind, but the thought of approaching him first to ask something made me feel uncomfortable.
In fact, after my master left on his journey, I passed by the Reform Club building several times, but no matter how much I pressed my ear to the wall or extended my senses, I couldn’t detect any sound or presence.
Considering that my master wasn’t someone who would be subordinate to others, he must be the head of the Reform Club.
If so, were Sir Henry Fawcett, Mr. Henry Poole, and Mr. Samuel Cudney playing ‘card games’ with my master?
“A Heavenly Demon, cabinet ministers, and tailors. There’s no clear commonality.”
No matter how much I ponder, there is no answer.
In such cases, it’s best to visit the place where clues might remain.
-Click!
Pressing the three buttons hidden inside the handle of the Heavenly Demon Cane in succession activated the mechanism, and the end of the handle opened, revealing a small iron key.
My master seemed to have hidden it diligently, but on the day I inherited the Heavenly Demon Cane with some functions and parts removed, I figured out all its gimmicks, and this key was one of them.
Judging by its size and shape, this must be the key to the mansion.
“…Entrusting this to me means I can enter the house, right?”
Rising from the bench, I looked up at my master’s mansion located at No. 14.
To cut to the chase, my attempt ended in failure.
Just in case, before leaving Savile Row, I checked the lock on the door of my master’s house, and for some reason, it had been replaced with a completely different type from what I knew.
It seems someone came by and installed a new lock after my master left on his trip.
Could the ownership of the mansion have changed without my knowledge?
I considered breaking in at night by picking the lock but decided against it, thinking that my master might have sold the mansion.
If this mansion still belonged to my master, I would have attempted illegal entry without hesitation, but if someone else owned it, that would be a different story.
One cannot be called a hero for committing a crime merely to satisfy personal curiosity, not for a greater cause.
It’s unfortunate, but regarding my master and the secrets tied to him, I can hear all the details from the Postmaster General after the ball.
I walked to Mayfair, purchased the necessary items from a general store and other shops, and then returned to Baker Street.
“I’m back.”
“You’re back earlier than I thought.”
When I went up to the second floor of the boarding house and opened the door, Watson, who had come home early, greeted me.
-Tatatatatata!
She only turned her head to finish the greeting, then immediately shifted her gaze to the table in the living room I frequently use, and started moving her fingers again.
Every time Watson’s ten fingers danced as if possessed, the typewriter’s hammers, presumably bought on the way home, imprinted ink on the yellowish paper.
“I’m glad to see the writing is going smoothly.”
“I was worried since the only thing I wrote was during my time as an assistant instructor, but it was needless worry. Indeed, the divine tool of civilization is amazing.”
Her face was quite excited.
She genuinely looked happy to finally proceed with the manuscript I had previously discouraged.
‘If I knew she’d be this happy, I should have let her start earlier.’
Even though it’s a different world, seeing that Moriarty didn’t try to kill me immediately after returning to the past, I knew I was the only one with memories from before the regression.
However, as I was constantly conscious of Moriarty’s existence and looking for an opportunity to launch a preemptive strike, I had to inadvertently hinder Watson’s hobby.
But now that Moriarty has disappeared, realistically, finding and striking him first has become difficult.
So, it means that now I can encourage Watson’s writing in between solving cases and training in Kung-Fu without any problems.
In fact, there’s much to gain from it.
First, it will help in finding her missing brother, John Watson, and then it will allow us to build fame, power, and influence to prepare for the future confrontation with Moriarty.
Most importantly, Watson is not engulfed in gloomy thoughts, worrying about the onset of her meridian blockage disorder, but rather smiling brightly.
That alone is worth the risk.
“You must have picked it up second-hand from a pawnshop. Why didn’t you get something a bit better?”
Though I thought it might be best to use a new typewriter since she had already started.
“Ha. I thought it wouldn’t show because it was clean.”
“Just by the sound, I can tell it’s an older model.”
“It seems I can’t fool your eyes.”
-Ting!
-Drrrk!
Watson’s right hand joyfully struck the keys until the ink filled a line, then pushed the return lever.
“Besides, I’m the one who knows your wallet situation best. Even if you received a cash gift this time, you must have lost quite a bit gambling in Cambridge, am I right?”
“How on earth did you find that out?”
“Well, if your wallet was full, you would have bought a Bostock slathered with orange syrup and almond cream from the bakery across the pawnshop. You do like your snacks.”
“…?!?!”
Watson’s fingers froze over the typewriter keys.
Turning back to me, she looked as if she’d seen a ghost, her eyes wide open.
“How did you know I was going to buy a Bostock?!”
“After buying the typewriter and checking your wallet, you must have stood in front of the bakery for a while, just watching. Long enough for the faint scent of syrup to cling to your coat.”
I answered, but Watson still looked unconvinced.
“Did you follow me secretly or something…?”
“Of course not. I just deduced where a place that sells syrupy bread and a pawnshop might be located. Considering your route home, the most likely spot would be the intersection of Orchard Street and Oxford Street.”
“My goodness. No matter how many times I see it, your insight is astonishing, Holmes.”
“I think it’s a bit early to be surprised.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Instead of answering, I took out a bag I had hidden behind my back and placed it on the table.
As I released the spout sealed with internal energy, the rich scent of almonds and oranges began to fill the room.
“Just happened to pass by the same place on the way back, so I thought of you and bought it.”
“Brioche Bostock!”
Watson exclaimed with delight and stood up.
She approached, rubbing her palms together, and quickly grabbed the bag I brought, burying her nose inside.
“Sniff. Ahh.”
Like a drug addict, Watson inhaled the syrupy aroma deeply into her lungs and lifted her head. Her eyes were unfocused, giving her a rather dazed expression.
“Thank you, Holmes. Thanks to you, it feels like the fatigue built up over the day is washing away.”
“I’m glad you’re satisfied. But please, I beg you, don’t make that face.”
“Hmm? Is there a problem?”
“……”
I didn’t answer.
To show such an overtly drug-addicted face.
I began to understand, just a little, how Watson felt every time I used a syringe in the previous world, and suddenly a corner of my heart ached as if pricked by a needle.
Well, this isn’t a drug, just a sweet pastry, so it won’t harm Watson.
However.
There’s a reason I brought this.
The sweet dessert is merely bait prepared for Watson’s training.
“I needed something sweet after using my brain, so this is perfect. Thank you, Holmes.”
“Wait.”
I snatched the bag from Watson’s hand as she was about to reach for the bread.
“…?!”
Watson blinked up at me with wide, round eyes that seemed on the verge of tearing up.
“This is dessert. We’ll enjoy it together once you’ve safely finished your dinner.”
Watson tilted her head, looking puzzled.
“What do you mean by safely finishing dinner? The word ‘safe’ doesn’t seem to fit with ‘dinner’ at all.”
-Thud!
As I placed the items I bought from the general store on the table, Watson’s face began to fill with confusion.
“Um… Holmes? What exactly are these for-”
“I’m sorry, but from today until the day of the ball, you’ll have to use these instead of your usual cutlery during meal times.”
I intended to thoroughly prepare Watson for the special etiquette mandated by the palace for the Buckingham Palace ball.