Several dozen minutes before an unidentified noblewoman would knock on the boarding house door.
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson."
"Miss Watson. You've arrived quite early today."
Dr. Rachel Watson, who had returned home earlier than usual, scratched her head as she replied to Mrs. Hudson, the landlady who had greeted her.
"Yes. There weren't many people at the hospital today."
"I don't know whether that's something to be happy or sad about."
"Ahaha..."
Laughing at Mrs. Hudson's light jest, Watson headed toward her room.
—Bang! Thud!
Just then, she quietly furrowed her brow at the sound of gunshots echoing from afar.
"What's she up to now?"
Normally, hearing gunshots from somewhere would first provoke panic or a call to the police as the common-sense reaction. But at 212B Baker Street, where she resided, such common sense did not apply.
"Holmes. What on earth are you doing?"
A figure who could be called the greatest eccentric in London. It was because her roommate, who was quite a bit younger than Watson, lived here.
"...Watson? You're early today."
As Watson opened the door and asked with an incredulous look, the girl who had been draped over an armchair like a corpse, a white lab coat carelessly thrown over her shoulders, picked up a cigarette and waved her hand.
"Care for some Arcadia tobacco?"
Watson quietly sighed at the sight.
The girl's grey eyes, which normally shone with sharpness, had lost their light and gone dull and cloudy, and likewise, her black straight hair, which had once shone with such luster, had lost its shine and become dry and brittle.
Even so, an inscrutable dignity and charm flowed from Holmes as she held out the cigarette to Watson with a dark smile.
"Forget that. What were you doing just now?"
"Decorating the room, as you can see."
"Hah."
If she hadn't been shooting the wall in front of her to draw the shape of male genitalia, that sight might have been quite captivating.
"Where did you throw away your usual manner of speech, and why are you acting like such an idiot?"
"Well. Isn't this soft manner of speech nice once in a while?"
Watson looked down at Holmes with a pathetic gaze, then shook her head and sighed.
The longer the days without cases went on, the more bizarre Holmes's antics seemed to become.
"Wait, were you experimenting with magic stones again?"
Thinking this, Watson headed to her station, but upon discovering traces of an experiment on a table in the corner of the room, she furrowed her brow and spoke.
"I distinctly told you to refrain from excessive experiments because they can cause mana addiction."
"I'm fine, Watson."
Holmes tossed the gun onto a distant sofa and replied with a languid expression.
"For the advancement of the science of detection, such risks are trivial matters. And I'm actually conducting the experiments safely..."
"Holmes. I was an army surgeon. I'm a practicing doctor now. Do you think I can't even distinguish the symptoms of mana addiction in someone right in front of me?"
But as Watson's icy voice rang out, Holmes stopped speaking and quietly averted her gaze.
"Pretending won't help. Even if it's you, you have to listen to me when it comes to this."
"Give me a break, Watson."
When Watson declared this to her with a resolute expression, Holmes let out a deep sigh, rose from her seat, and began to lament.
"If I don't experiment with magic stones, I might actually die of boredom."
"Then take on a case..."
"Cases. There are none. There isn't a single case in London that can satisfy me, Watson."
Muttering this, Holmes picked up a newspaper and, with a slight tremble in her hand, held it out to Watson.
"There hasn't been a noteworthy case in recent months. The few strange incidents that occurred were mostly natural phenomena. The requests coming in and the cases in the papers are all trivial."
"Hmm..."
"My brain feels like it's hardening from disuse. Perhaps it really is hardening. Truly lamentable."
After complaining at length, Holmes finally seemed exhausted and slumped back into the armchair.
"When strange incidents began occurring all over the world, how was I, Watson?"
"You were brimming with vitality. You didn't even glance at those experimental devices that cause mana addiction."
Watson answered her question and looked at Holmes with a slightly pitying gaze.
"Yes, exactly. I thought that from then on, I wouldn't have to pray for cases to break out every night, that magnificent cases exciting enough to make my heart race would welcome me."
Holmes continued speaking while gazing powerlessly into Watson's crimson eyes, then quietly turned her gaze toward the window.
"But Watson. I think I live in a world of fools."
The streets of London were already covered in thick fog.
"For months now, an unidentified fog has covered the streets every night, yet not a single crime has been committed using it. Truly, London's criminals are..."
She muttered blankly as she stared at it, then suddenly stopped speaking.
"What's wrong?"
A moment later, as a smile appeared on her lips, Watson tilted her head and asked why.
"Did you witness a crime or a strange incident?"
"No, it's not that, but..."
In Holmes's eyes as she answered, vitality had already returned.
"...I'm going to witness one indirectly from now on."
It was because the unidentified noblewoman knocking on the boarding house door had entered Holmes's sight.
"Come in!"
Not long after, when a knock sounded at the door, Holmes—her listless demeanor from before completely vanished—called out in a cheerful voice.
—Creak...
Then the door carefully opened, and in came a guest wearing a black robe and mask.
After hesitating at Holmes's gesture, she sat on the sofa and removed her robe, revealing luxurious clothes and a voluptuous figure.
"Which of you is Miss Charlotte Holmes?"
The noblewoman quietly asked Holmes and Watson, who had been watching her silently.
"I am Charlotte Holmes."
"...I wish to speak with you alone. I apologize to your friend, but could she step aside for a moment?"
At those words, Watson tried to rise from her seat, but Holmes reached out to stop her and spoke.
"If she cannot listen with me, I will not listen either."
"Hmm..."
The noblewoman began biting her lip in thought.
For some reason, the part of her face visible beneath the mask was deathly pale.
To the extent that even Watson could easily deduce the gaze hidden behind her mask.
"Very well, but you must swear to tell no one about this matter, at least until I die. It is a problem large enough to turn Europe upside down."
"I see."
The woman began her tale in a slightly trembling voice.
"It is a grave matter involving a royal house of Europe."
"The House of Ormstein of the Kingdom of Bohemia, I presume."
"Yes, that is correct. I am here as an agent, so I cannot reveal—"
But the noblewoman stopped and looked at Holmes.
"What did you just say..."
"Your Majesty, if you wished to conceal your identity, you should not have worn such extravagant garments."
Her eyes widened at Holmes's words.
"Besides, it was an error for someone so well known throughout the world to try to deceive me."
Thus, a silence momentarily flowed through the room.
"...Yes, you are right."
The noblewoman, who had been trembling quietly as she looked at Holmes, threw off her mask and spoke with an expression of resignation.
"I am the Queen of the Kingdom of Bohemia."
"Yes, I knew you were Lilia Gotzreich Sigismund von Ormstein from the moment you entered."
"I apologize for making a spectacle. But it couldn't be helped—"
"Well, there are unavoidable matters in this world. So what exactly have you experienced? Please tell me now."
Holmes cut off her words and began pressing her with the most polite expressions she could muster.
"To summarize simply, it is this."
The queen, who had been frowning for a moment, covered her face with both hands and began.
"Isaac Adler. That infamous boy has put me on the brink of ruin. Do you know him?"
"Watson, look him up in my index."
Holmes pointed to a file containing information on countless individuals, but Watson shook her head and answered.
"No need. I know him well."
And she began explaining to Holmes.
"London's greatest scoundrel. A philanderer who has seduced countless women. A real piece of trash whose hobby is ruining women physically and mentally after they fall into his hands."
"...You know him in considerable detail?"
"The patients under my care at the hospital are his victims."
Holmes glanced at Watson, who was visibly furious, then turned her gaze to the queen and asked.
"So, what weakness has this man Isaac Adler seized upon you?"
"He has something I wrote by hand, um... that is... a sl-slave con..."
The queen stammered with a mortified expression.
"...Something like a love letter."
As she averted her gaze and mumbled, Holmes scratched her head and began questioning again.
"Did you secretly marry this boy? Or did you enter into a legal contract?"
"I did not."
"Then it doesn't seem to be a problem. Handwriting can be imitated, and even if there is a seal or stamp, you can claim it is forged."
But the queen spoke with her head down.
"He has a photograph."
"Your Majesty's photograph can be obtained anywh—"
"A photograph of him and me together."
"Dear me. What sort of photograph, exactly?"
The queen's face turned bright red. After hesitating, she stammered on.
"T-to be precise... I-I am on the floor on my stomach wearing a collar around my neck... and that boy is stepping on my head..."
"......"
Holmes and Watson looked at her with stunned expressions.
"Why on earth did you do such a thing?"
"I-I was mad at the time. I was young. Even as a princess of a nation, I thought I could give everything to him."
"I cannot understand it."
"Even now I cannot understand it myself. But it happened, and Isaac has begun blackmailing me since yesterday."
Now the queen's ears were red as she pleaded with Holmes.
"I truly don't have time for this. My marriage takes place in two days. If that boy reveals the photograph and the document... my life is over."
"Hmm."
"Therefore, I beg of you. I know it is a difficult request, but please retrieve the document and photograph within thirty-six hours."
"What are your thoughts on payment?"
"If you wish, I can give you half my kingdom."
"What about the immediate expenses for the work?"
Holmes asked with a raised corner of her mouth, and the queen pulled a heavy purse from her bosom.
"As a retainer, I shall pay three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in notes."
"Excellent."
Holmes tore a receipt from her notebook, wrote it out, and handed it to the queen with a satisfied smile.
"Write that man's address here, and Your Majesty may return and rest comfortably."
"Does that mean..."
"I shall bring you good news shortly."
Only then did the queen rise with a slightly relieved expression.
"...Be careful."
As she donned her mask and robe again, she left a quiet warning for Holmes, who wore a confident expression.
"Though his face is handsome and pure, a devil hides within Isaac."
And the queen quietly left the room.
"I simply cannot understand it."
Holmes remained seated for a long while even after she left, then rose and muttered.
"Those who are swayed by the inefficient emotion called love and ruin everything."
Then, suddenly looking at Watson, Holmes spoke.
"I think I shall never understand such people until the day I die, Watson."
Her manner of speech had already returned to its original form.
Considering Holmes's age, the previous manner of speech had actually been more natural, but.
"Well, this matter should at least serve as a diversion."
"But isn't the time too tight? What are you planning to do?"
Holmes, who had been busily preparing to go out, answered Watson's question with shining eyes.
"I have a good plan."
The day after finishing my first meeting with Professor Moriarty.
On the way to what would now be my home, having reached the weekend.
"Oi, you there. Stop right there."
"Hand over everything you have, and we'll let you live."
As I entered the alley near my house, a group of vagrants appeared from nowhere, surrounded me, and began threatening me.
"Don't!"
I looked at the fellows brandishing clubs and knives with a troubled expression, when suddenly a voice echoed from afar.
"Stop this at once!"
A rather frail young nun was walking toward me and the vagrants.
'This is...'
And only then could I grasp the situation.
'...One hundred percent Holmes.'
The plot of 'A Scandal in Bohemia' was unfolding before my very eyes.
Though Holmes was dressed as a nun rather than a clergyman, but anyway.
'...I'm screwed.'
As an avid fan of the Sherlock Holmes series, I was truly deeply moved.