Heavenly Demon Holmes: London’s Subjugation

Uninvited guests and assassins are welcomed only when they have gone.

-William Shakespeare, <Henry VI>-

The Afternoon Tea Party kidnapping beggars? What in the world was that supposed to mean?

“I’m sorry, Great Hero, but I believe there’s been a major misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding, my ass. Did that fiend not call you an Afternoon Tea Party man just now?”

“You take the words of a fiend you’ve never even met at face value? I’m only tracking the Afternoon Tea Party for personal reasons. I am not one of them.”

“……Hmmm.”

Oliver Twist, finding no immediate rebuttal, simply stared at me with suspicious eyes.

If he had seen me wrap a shard of glass in a handkerchief and throw it at Moriarty, he would never have let go of his suspicion. But fortunately, he arrived at Westminster Palace only after that.

What Direct Message I sent Moriarty, and what I was aiming for.

I could clear up the misunderstanding without having to explain every last detail.

Besides, he and I had a mutual acquaintance.

“If you ask Wiggins, you’ll immediately see I’m not some suspicious sort.”

“……So you’re the detective Wiggins spoke of.”

“Not a detective. A consulting detective.”

“Tch, you ill-mannered brat. Always grabbing at someone’s words.”

Ol’ Dirty Bastard lowered the golf club he’d been aiming at me, twirled it once, and slid it back into his bag.

His gaze softened. Only a little, but enough to tell me that Wiggins hadn’t been badmouthing me.

So my habit of slipping him pocket money had paid off.

“I’m glad the misunderstanding is cleared. More importantly, my greetings are late. Holmes pays his respects to Great Hero Twist.”

When I offered my greeting by name, Watson startled and hastily performed a fist-and-palm salute.

“Watson pays his respects to Great Hero Ol’ Dirty Bastard……!”

Just a moment ago she had been flustered, not even knowing what sort of organization the Afternoon Tea Party was or what it did, yet the instant she realized our counterpart was the Homeless Clan’s Dragon Head, she greeted him with a noticeably relieved face. Perhaps being former military left her with a soft spot for authority.

“How unexpected. To think you know who this old man is.”

Oliver Twist, for his part, wore an expression of surprise.

And for good reason. The Homeless Clan was a vast clan encompassing beggars across Great Britain and Europe, yet there was next to no information in circulation about its leader, the Dragon Head.

It was known that he used the Homeless Clan’s sacred relic as his unique weapon, but only a handful knew what that relic truly looked like.

And even fewer knew which of the Homeless Clan’s three major factions the Dragon Head belonged to, the Clean Clothes, the Dirty Clothes, or the Paris Branch.

The reason information about the Dragon Head failed to circulate, despite the Homeless Clan’s immense influence, was that Oliver Twist rarely engaged in public activity.

He always wandered the martial world quietly, hiding his identity.

Just as a man cannot chase the wind, one cannot find a person who moves like the wind.

I had never expected to meet Oliver Twist like this today.

“Did Wiggins tell you?”

“Of course not. The Dragon Head would have enforced strict silence.”

Learning whose grandson Wiggins was came from steady investigation.

Though he was only a Single Knot Beggar, he received an almost excessive level of attention from other beggars.

Seeing that, I sensed there was something behind it, and as I gathered clues out of simple curiosity, I came to notice an old beggar who met Wiggins often.

That the old beggar was none other than Oliver Twist, the Dragon Head, I learned thanks to tales of masters my own master told me long ago.

“That is something none would know unless they were an elder… so you are an Afternoon Tea Party man after all.”

“I told you I am not.”

Oliver Twist still wore a displeased, unsettled expression.

He did not truly seem to believe I was one of the Afternoon Tea Party’s Kung-Fuists, but he was certainly uneasy about me.

“More than that, I’ve never heard that the Afternoon Tea Party kidnapped beggars.”

“……It is an old story. If you are not an Afternoon Tea Party man, it has nothing to do with you. Forget it.”

“That is a difficult request. You would have me ignore information that important, when I make my living solving Kung-Fu crimes?”

“…….”

Oliver Twist sealed his lips and turned away.

He likely believed that speaking further would amount to exposing sect affairs to an outsider.

To solve a clan’s problems by their own hand, no matter the means, that was the way of a great clan.

As the Dragon Head representing the Homeless Clan’s force, Oliver Twist clearly intended to personally rescue the beggar underlings, the hang-beggars said to have been kidnapped by the Afternoon Tea Party.

The Afternoon Tea Party’s strength was unknown.

It was said to be a gathering place for vagabonds cast out by various sects and noble houses, yet beyond their name and rough traits recorded in Sword Debate Chess regulations, detailed information was hard to find in the martial world.

And since the Dragon Head called it ‘an old story’ just now, he must have felt responsible for failing to protect his beggars and had been searching relentlessly for the Afternoon Tea Party’s traces ever since.

He would have his own grounds and reasons for naming the culprit as the Afternoon Tea Party.

Even if I asked now, he would not answer.

Coincidence or not, the fact that he saved my life from Moriarty’s strike was surely a bond of some sort.

“I am not of the Afternoon Tea Party, but as for the Afternoon Tea Party, I know a bit more than most.”

So, whether he wanted it or not.

“Since I must solve a case tied to them anyway, I’ll look into the kidnapped ones as well, while I’m at it.”

Returning the favor would be only proper.

Watson and I rode a carriage back to the lodging house.

After hearing what I said, the Dragon Head left without a word.

I could roughly guess why he gave no reply even after hearing I would find the beggars.

If he asked me outright, it would look as though the Dragon Head was borrowing an outsider’s power, so he meant to treat it as something he had never heard.

But what if a consulting detective who was already investigating the Afternoon Tea Party of his own accord, happened to find a clue to the kidnapped beggars and set them free?

In that case, the Homeless Clan did not borrow outside power to solve their problem.

A righteous someone simply happened to step in and help.

The Homeless Clan could conclude the matter without losing face.

They would only need to repay the help of a fated hero with chivalry in kind.

Thus, Oliver Twist’s silence meant tacit permission.

‘Now I can handle the problems before me in one sweep.’

It was fortune that I had learned Irene Adler was the leader of the Afternoon Tea Party.

Digging up Moriarty’s information, obtaining help to find John Watson, finding the kidnapped beggars—

All were problems that could be solved if I made her yield.

My heart felt lighter, and yet I had to face another headache.

Watson, having witnessed the handkerchief throw, clearly wondered how I came to be mistaken for Afternoon Tea Party. So I told her, at least in part, the story tying together Irene Adler and Moriarty.

“So you’ve been hiding that monster from me all this time.”

I thought she would be angry, but she only looked a little hurt. Instead, she was worried I might die.

“A nemesis you’ve hunted for a long time… A villain who moves villains…”

Watson chewed over my words and nodded slowly.

“So to track him, you need Lady Norton… no, Irene Adler’s cooperation. Without knowing that, I went and thought you had an interest in that fake married woman, of all things.”

“Me? I’d sooner raise a viper.”

At my snort, Watson laughed as if embarrassed.

“It’s true I have business with her, but I’ve no wish to be friends with such a vicious creature.”

By any common-sense measure, no one wants to keep company with a woman who uses sonic arts to control ten-thousand-year cold-iron powder and tear open other people’s bodies.

“Irene Adler is only a villain with utility to me. My ultimate goal is to ensure that James Moriarty can never harm another again.”

Watson nodded heavily.

To make him unable to harm others ever again.

A woman returned from the battlefield, she seemed to understand precisely what that meant.

“Forgive me for keeping him from you. I did not wish to entangle you in danger.”

Perhaps sensing the gravity of anything involving Moriarty, Watson could not answer at once.

She would understand well enough what it cost me to say such things.

“……No one may ever acknowledge it. And besides—can you carry such a burden alone?”

“Such is chivalry.”

The giant of the windmill, turning all attacks into nothingness with the subtle principle of the Taiji.

We call the man who does not retreat before it, but faces it proudly, a hero.

“I alone can stop him.”

“There are Kung-Fuists stronger than you, why not leave it to them?”

“You are right that they are strong, but I alone truly know Moriarty. Above all, unless one bears the karma of opposing him, one cannot see this through.”

It was a vague answer, yet Watson tried to accept it all the same.

Even in my previous life, there were minds superior to mine.

The closest example was Mycroft.

Yet among them, none stood against Moriarty.

I do not criticize them.

I only felt the need to note that their mission and mine were different.

“Only a Kung-Fu consulting detective can face a Kung-Fu crime consultant.”

The history of chivalry runs deep.

Even before the people of Murim crossed over from the Central Plains, Europe had its heroes.

With or without Kung-Fu, they punished evil to protect the weak, and cut off the heads of dragons.

Chivalry pulsed in the hearts of knights and at the fingertips of huntsmen, changing history time and again.

And I am not a righteous Knight, but a Huntsman who walks a darker path.

As a huntsman, I cannot allow such a big bad wolf to run rampant through the forest. Through the Murim.

To cut off his breath without regard for means or method, that is my mission, and my highest order.

“I must become his fate.”

If I did not know of his existence, I might make excuses.

But Moriarty is the nemesis of my life.

If I, knowing how dangerous he is, and how much harm he will yet bring to those who live in Europe, stand by and do nothing, it is a great sin.

I do not intend to pay for Moriarty’s death with my life as I did before, but no matter what happens, I will fulfill my mission.

“……I fear you’ll go off to die alone at this rate. As your assistant, all I can do is support you with all my heart.”

“If you are dragged into danger, I will never forgive myself.”

It was no time for jokes, so I looked Watson straight in the eyes as I said it.

“Then I’ll follow three or four paces behind. I walk slowly.”

“……I would be grateful for that.”

“With Fingertips, I can still reach even from a little behind.”

Watson took my words seriously, yet she smiled so the mood would not grow too heavy.

In that moment, a strange sensation I had felt at Buckingham Palace swept over me.

The crushing pressure that had weighed on my heart from the instant I witnessed Moriarty’s power seemed to vanish, as if washed away.

Though I had unraveled every mystery I’d faced until now, I still could not think of a proper way to express my gratitude for her presence.

“I’m truly glad you’re here.”

“What are you saying all of a sudden?”

Watson waved it off as if shy, and then the carriage came to a stop before the lodging house.

And waiting for us upstairs was.

“You’re late, Mr. Holmes. The guests have been waiting a long while.”

Mrs. Hudson, smiling with a long sword aura drawn.

“……This.”

Five men sprawled on the floor, unconscious.

“Other guests came by while you were out. They babbled about indulgence talismans and whatnot, then attacked without warning, so I dealt with them in your stead, as it was urgent.”1

And the only ‘guest’ still standing in one piece.

“Her Majesty summons you. Come swiftly to the palace.”

It was Poppins. The court lady at Her Majesty’s side, the one who carried the umbrella at the Debutante Ball.

1. TL/N: Mrs. Hudson is bad-ass!!!! ️