Sherlock Holmes Isekai: The Scarlet Study Chapter 3
The more I learned about Mister Sherlock Holmes, the less I understood him. He claims to have come to Merrilbone from a London that is a city instead of a country. He explained how his London had names and numbers for every house and street in the entire city, and how his country of England had set up units of a specialized military called Scotland Yard that fought crimes and solved local disputes instead of defending their country. He had even somehow gone his entire life without ever encountering a person who wasn’t human before arriving in Merrilbone approximately one year and five months ago.
He told so many seemingly impossible tales in such a polite and factual manner that I soon found myself with no polite option but to take the man at his word. I had also started to suspect something rather impossible, given both his stories and his lack of even basic knowledge about the world, but I was nowhere near ready to give voice to that thought even inside my own mind.
Missus Hamble politely greeted me as I returned home from my latest odd job but I had little energy for anything other than a quick hello before heading back up to the quarters I shared with Holmes. The man himself was busy working with some odd-looking alchemical contraption. He didn’t even notice me as I headed straight to my room to relieve my feet of the burden of bearing my weight. Strange how trying to succeed in the drudgery of civilian life tired me out so much more than the rigors of the Great War.
I’m unsure how long I slept for but the sun had gone down and the lamps along the street were all lit to dispel the absolute darkness night brought to the ground. My biology and my military training worked together to thwart any attempt to return to slumber so I changed into a fresh outfit and left my room. To my great surprise, Holmes was still right where he’d been when I’d fallen asleep earlier. I’d have suspected him of being a statue were it not for his steady breathing.
“Holmes, is everything alright?” I asked.
“All is well, Watson. I’m just conducting an experiment on the different rates of tissue decay on skin that’s been animated through necromancy versus standard skin,” he said without moving.
“…Watson?”
That single word snapped Holmes entirely out of his trance. He turned slowly towards me and blinked as if he didn’t recognize me before slowly shaking his head.
“An embarrassing mistake. I do hope you’ll forgive my small blunder, Miss Wranwraek.”
“Easily forgiven but I can’t help but be curious as to why you made that mistake. Wranwraek and Watson may both start with the same letter but they are too phonetically dissimilar to be a simple slip of the tongue. Who was this Watson, if it is not impolite to ask?”
“Have I truly never told you about John Watson in all my tales of my London? He was the man who published the cases we worked together in The Strand. A retired soldier, dedicated doctor and excellent marksman.”
“A friend then?”
“Possibly my only friend, though he would likely disagree. At any rate, he would often politely intrude upon my experiments with questions or invitations. I suppose my mind simply wandered backwards in time due to the similarity of the situation, especially given how little of my focus was on anything but my experiment.”
That was certainly understandable enough. I’d been guilty of using old names with new people before in my life and it would be entirely too hypocritical to chastise him for such a thing regardless.
“Well, I was going to make some tea since I likely won’t be sleeping again until tomorrow evening. Would you care for some?”
He seemed about to answer me when something clearly caught his eye. His glance turned towards the window and his previously subtly tired features took on a sudden air of alertness. I looked out the window just in time to witness a member of the town guard march up to the door of our building.
“Sadly…” Holmes suddenly spoke up, “I don’t believe we’re going to have time to share tea this evening, Miss Wranwraek.”
I could hear the pounding of the door even from where we were on the second story of the building, extremely rude given the late hour so whatever the guard was here for had to be a matter of utmost importance. I was too curious to tear my attention away until the smell of Holmes’s pipe stole my attention away.
“How can you smoke under these circumstances, Holmes?”
“I smoke now because I’m not certain when next I’ll get the chance, Miss Wranwraek. You see, I took a considerably large gamble while you were out working today. If the young man at our door is not open to listening to my explanations, I’m afraid you’ll be in need of a new housemate.”
“What in the world did you do?!”
There wasn’t time for Holmes to answer me as the town guard entered our room the very next moment, no doubt courtesy of Missus Hamble’s master key. The guard himself was a younger human man, perhaps in his mid-20s, with a thick mustache that wrapped around his lips and curved back around his ears. A strange sort of tension oozed from his posture and my soldier’s instincts were set on edge.
“You are Sherlock Holmes?” the guard asked.
“I am,” Holmes confirmed as he took a long puff of his pipe. “I take it that my warning to Lady Bohemia ended up being for naught?”
“I have been tasked with arresting you for the theft of Lady Bohemia’s official seal. Your note is being treated as a confession of intent.”
“At what time was the theft first noticed, Officer…?” Holmes asked, gesturing for the guard to introduce himself.
“Guardsman Torbin Grayson and I’m not at liberty to discuss that sir, especially seeing as you are the accused in this matter.”
“How precisely am I supposed to prove my innocence, let alone help you catch the actual culprit, if I am not allowed to speak?”
“You’ll have your trial, same as everyone else.”
Guardsman Grayson pulled out a thick pair of shackles and moved to arrest Holmes. Holmes, strangely, seemed only mildly annoyed by this entire affair but my own feelings on the matter were much more severe. I marched between Holmes and Grayson and gave a salute.
“Captain Jocaryn Wranwraek, 1st Whitewood Wyverns. I’m afraid I must intervene in this affair and insist on accompanying Mister Holmes,” I said in the formal manner in which I’d been trained.
In his first bit of clumsiness since he’d arrived, Grayson scrambled to return my salute and dropped the shackles in the process. He didn’t even think to pick them up as he spoke again while still saluting.
“Apologies, Captain, but I’m afraid I don’t understand. What would be the point in accompanying this Holmes character to the prison? Since his crime is against a noble, bail will not be allowed.”
“I’m not accompanying you to the prison, Guardsman. I’m accompanying you to Lady Bohemia’s, where Mister Holmes will exercise his right to speak with his accuser whilst under supervision before the charge against him is finalized at the prison,” I explained.
“I was not aware of such a law. Fascinating…” Holmes said casually.
“Get dressed, Mister Holmes. You as well, Captain Wranwraek. You’ll need to be presentable if we’re to appear before a noble, even at this hour,” Grayson insisted.
I nodded and noticed only then the look of amusement on Holmes’s face. “A most exciting turn of events!” Holmes dumped the contents of his pipe into a bin near his chair and sprang to his feet. “To think that I would be able to access the scene of the crime through this country’s unique laws… but I digress. The case has begun and the game is afoot!”
