The Great Demon Holmes

Sherlock was completely bewildered... and dragged away...

Usually considering himself not too rusty in the brain department, he couldn't keep up with the situation at this moment.

He was pulled along by the hand, running forward in a manner that seemed clumsy to him.

The girl in front of him had golden hair, with fine strands woven into a simple braid swaying from side to side behind her head, some stray hairs blending into the dim sunlight.

She appeared clearly distressed, not daring to look back even once, but she tightly held onto a paper bag containing things like bread.

What was this young girl doing?

According to normal thinking, she must have seen Sherlock being followed and felt he was in danger, so she followed to help him... That much Sherlock could certainly figure out.

But what puzzled him was how this girl, a complete stranger, would lend a helping hand?

Were there still such fools in this era?

And wasn't her way of helping a bit too comical? Who squats at the mouth of an alley pretending to be a constable... with such poor acting skills?

And finally... she was actually dragging him along as they ran. If they were going to run, wouldn't she think she could run faster if she let go of that bag of food? Why hold onto it so tightly that the bread would get squashed...

All these various behaviors showed a kind of amusing foolishness. Hadn't she noticed that nobody was following them at all?

"Haha..."

For some reason, Sherlock suddenly felt quite good, and he laughed softly.

Fortunately, the girl in front didn't hear it; otherwise, it would have been impolite.

They ran like this for about five minutes, and the girl was already out of breath. Suddenly, at the corner, a crowd appeared. On a high platform, several robed preachers were loudly reciting blessings from the Holy Light upon this world. Below, some imperial citizens folded their hands together, closing their eyes in quiet attentiveness.

The girl quickly pulled Sherlock towards them, squeezing into the crowd. "Close your eyes! Close your eyes!"

She acted as if she were devoutly listening.

"Oh, alright," Sherlock smiled, but he didn't pretend to be a believer. After all, the other person had their eyes closed, so they couldn't see anyway.

In this manner, the two of them clumsily pretended for twenty minutes until the sun started to set a bit further west, and the sermon came to an end...

The praise of the Holy Light could only be conducted under the illumination of sunlight; that was the basic attitude.

The faithful gradually dispersed, and Sherlock poked the girl beside him. "Everyone... has left."

"Huh?!" The girl opened her eyes in panic, seeing the emptiness around, but fortunately, she didn't spot those drunken men. She finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phew..." She glared at Sherlock angrily. "Why are you so careless? Those drunks looked dangerous, don't you have any sense of self-protection?"

It sounded somewhat like lecturing a naive student.

"Oh, well...," Sherlock didn't know how to explain. He couldn't possibly say that he was the most dangerous one, so he ended up taking out two apples, a jar of pepper, a brush, and a can of tooth powder from his coat pocket.

"These are...?" the girl asked.

"You dropped them while running, and I caught them," Sherlock said.

The girl blushed, seemingly even angrier. She snatched those things from him and threw them into the paper bag. "Really, be careful next time you go out! Not everyone will help you!"

After saying that, she turned around and prepared to leave.

"Um... can I know your name?" Sherlock thought for a moment and asked.

"Why do you want to know my name?"

"Just... thank you for saving me. If I were to pray for you at the church, I should at least tell the nun a name, right?"

The girl paused, seeming to let her guard down a bit after hearing words like 'church' and 'prayer'. "Are you a devout believer?"

"...Well..."

"Haha, I'm sorry. It's strange for a believer to call themselves devout. My complete name is Jeanne Letizia Hudson; you can call me Mrs. Hudson. When you go to the church, please pray for my wealth."

"Oh, alright," Sherlock's smile was slightly awkward.

Because he didn't know why he needed to know the girl's name, let alone pray for her at a church. In theory, the two of them wouldn't have any further interaction.

But it was evident that this girl named Jeanne had a strong liking for money. Moreover, she seemed to be married, considering she emphasized the 'Mrs.' suffix.

Of course, it could also be to avoid harassment from men, a rhetoric popular in the upper district.

After a few simple exchanges, these two strangers quickly separated.

Jeanne disappeared around the corner of the street where several pet supply shops were located, perhaps because she had pets at home.

Sherlock continued on his way to his apartment building.

...

Fifteen minutes later, he stood in front of his apartment building, looking at the collapsed wall:

"Very well, no need to dwell... This place is definitely uninhabitable."

So he decided resolutely to move out!

Fortunately, it seemed that the landlord was unaware that the street's devastation was caused by Sherlock. Moreover, the landlord himself was a devout believer, which led to a great sense of guilt towards this tenant because it was the church's capture of the criminal that made the tenant unable to continue living there.

In the end, Sherlock unexpectedly received compensation and the red leather sofa he was quite used to, all under the apologies from the landlord, and he left the apartment.

Shortly after, while the sunset hadn't completely faded, Sherlock arrived at an "Association for Assistance to Outsiders."

To put it plainly, it was an agency.

They would help you find a place to live, work, servants, partners for those desperate to get married, alluring ladies on the street, carriages, and so on and so forth.

This was London, with an influx of people from out of town that was impossible to count, so these types of assistance associations were everywhere, even in small districts like Baker Street, there were as many as three.

But now, only one remained intact.

Sherlock told the staff his requirements, and five minutes later, his new residence was found!

Because it was still available for rent and hadn't been destroyed, there was only one left!

[Baker Street - 221 - B].

They didn't even give him a choice...

Thus, the association's staff brought Sherlock to the one and only destination.

It wasn't far from his previous apartment, and he could even see it with a slight glance. It was also on the second floor, the only difference being that the landlord lived on the first floor.

They knocked on the door of the ground floor, but no one responded. It seemed the landlord was out. However, the staff member from the association still took Sherlock to the second floor and skillfully found a key beneath a potted plant.

"As long as the house hasn't found a tenant, the key is generally placed near the door. It's an industry practice..."

The staff member smiled and opened the door with the key.

And gently pushed it open...

The scene inside the room slowly presented itself before

Sherlock's eyes.

"Sir, if you're satisfied, this will be your future home."

The person's face held a professional smile, making a welcoming gesture.

Then... they looked at Sherlock, standing at the door, stunned, eyes filled with disbelief.

"Sir?"

"Mr. Tenant, what's the matter with you?"

"Sir...???"