39 – Jane Watson, 15 years old, a Witch (3)
In defense of James Moriarty’s social honor, he merely observed the other party out of occupational habit.
Observation, as Moriarty emphasized when teaching Sherlock, was about scrutinizing the characteristics of the subject. The most important thing was finding things that no one else could see. However, that did not mean that he should ignore the most conspicuous parts of the subject.
Moriarty merely observed the most salient parts of the girl with quick action.
There was certainly no hidden intention.
Of course, it was a fact that the girl’s development demonstrated the wonders of the human body to a surprising degree, and it was undeniable that anyone, not realising themselves, would be compelled to look her way. Yet Moriarty was not one of those people. Perhaps.
And the girl, who convincingly accepted this defense, was indeed a unique being. Her beautiful hair that caught the eye belatedly was silver. Even in London, where all sorts of eccentricities occur and strange beings wander the streets, silver hair was a rare hair color.
‘Is she albino? No, her eyes are green.’
As Moriarty surmised. Also, it was far from the white hair that albinos experience. The girl sported unique hair that literally shone silver, and she had locked her green gaze onto the watchmaker without noticing Moriarty’s gaze.
Of course, Moriarty continued to observe. All to briefly alleviate the boredom of waiting. There was no other reason.
‘A once thriving middle-class, home circumstances have not been good for about two years. Her age is… at most, seventeen, still young.’
The reason Moriarty’s gaze had unconsciously fallen on the girl’s chest was because of the dress she was wearing.
The girl had tried to dress in an old-fashioned style, but her dress was somewhat worn. Moriarty noticed that the dress she wore and the hat on her head were fashionable about two years ago.
Ordinarily, Moriarty would not have been particularly interested in the types of clothes women, especially girls, wear. However, over the past two years, he had virtually raised Moran under the guise of education and inevitably gathered some information in the process.
Officially, the relationship between Moran and Moriarty was that of employer and employee, but in private, they would seem like a nephew and uncle to those who knew them.
It seemed that the girl, who naturally boasted a mysterious atmosphere with silver hair, could afford to wear the latest fashionable dresses until about two years ago, but she no longer seemed to be able to do so.
Her dress was so torn that it seemed pitiful, and whether it was because the girl had grown rapidly in the last two years, or because of the near abuse, the fabric that should cover certain parts was stretched so tight that the dress seemed quite small on her.
The geometric patterns that should adorn the dress beautifully were distorted as if they were about to tear, creating mathematical discord.
Considering puberty, she could be estimated to be up to 17 years old. There was no ring or anything like that on her fingers, so there was a high chance she was not yet an adult.
She was certainly either a girl head of household or a girl equivalent to it.
If she had a fiancé, or was already married, or if her parents were still alive, even though she looked mature, they would not have allowed the girl to go out alone early in the morning.
Of course, considering her age, it was a surprising growth rate, but right next to Moriarty, Moran had grown considerably in height over the course of two years, and so, that seemed reasonable. The growth of a child is a remarkable thing.
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Is a peculiar point the fact that she writes a lot? Is she a stenographer? That could not be determined. Her right sleeve was rather tattered, and the girl herself seemed unaware of the ink splotches scattered across her lower chest, but it was certainly not the amount of work to rashly conclude that she was a stenographer.
But that was all.
While there was no reason not to find out more if he tried, he didn’t feel the need. She was an unusually unique girl and certainly as beautiful as Sherlock or Moran, but she was merely a person passing by.
Thinking so, Moriarty calmly turned his gaze back to the counter and waited for the watchmaker. A strange silence crept around.
The silver-haired girl finally seemed to notice the presence of Moriarty and Moran and discreetly glanced at them, but Moriarty neatly ignored her.
Moran, however, seemingly displeased with the girl for some reason, kept trying to look at her, so Moriarty clicked his tongue lightly and had to caution him.
Finally, the watchmaker emerged from behind the counter having finished the reception work for the clock and opened his mouth.
“It will take about a week to repair. Is that okay, Professor?”
“Yes, that’s fine. I will come back in a week. Or I can send someone.”
“Yes, yes, just a moment.”
The watchmaker began to issue a simple receipt. Once completed, he handed it to Moriarty. Accepting it, Moriarty along with Moran, attempted to head toward the entrance.
However, due to the watchmaker’s words that came from behind, Moriarty unknowingly had to stop walking.
“Ah, Miss Watson, the clock you left is here.”
“Thank you.”
“Professor?”
The moment Moriarty stopped walking and turned around, Moran had no choice but to ask out of confusion. However, before replying to Moran, Moriarty had no choice but to fix his gaze on the watchmaker and the girl called Watson, who was receiving the watch.
Again, like an occupational disease, her eyes first fell on the watch the girl was wearing.
It must have cost over 50 guineas, clearly indicating that she came from a wealthy family. However, even Moriarty had several watches of that price in her mansion safe, so it didn’t particularly matter.
However, the girl called Watson, the watchmaker was sure about that.
But she didn’t think deeply about it instantaneously. There was the possibility that her actions might seem suspicious. The Moran next to her seemed confused by Moriarty’s unusual demeanor, so she calmed Moran’s shoulders and stepped outside. Then, she momentarily paused outside the store door.
“Wait… Just give me a moment, Moran.”
At Moriarty’s words, Moran didn’t speak any further. Like a loyal dog guarding its owner, she simply stood beside Moriarty, maintaining her silence.
She instinctively knew that her owner was paying attention to the peculiar girl that was just there, but she didn’t reveal it.
It was Moriarty’s business. Moran’s sole duty was to protect Moriary, obey her orders, and live alongside her.
While contemplating on this, Moriarty had to gather her thoughts.
Surely, that was Watson. Moriarty was certain. Occasionally, estrange instinct would whisper to her. As it had happened with Sherlock, and when she met Moran for the first time. Of course, in Moran’s case, she couldn’t fully understand why her instinct spoke to her, but she assuredly phantom it as Moran turned out to be an exceptional girl.
And right now, her instinct was again informing her.
That girl was indeed Sherlock Holmes’ eternal assistant, Watson.
Regrettably, she didn’t have a clear knowledge about Sherlock Holmes in her memories from a previous life, so she couldn’t remember the specifics about Watson or what kind of person she was.
But since they had come across each other as girls, she was confident that the knowledge would come in handy.
So, what should Moriarty do now?
In the meantime, Watson stepped outside, and briefly observed the street, standing next to Moriarty.
Seemingly aiming to catch a carriage, but due to the aftereffects of the bomb terror in the dawn, there was undoubtedly a layer of apprehension for a young girl like her to return home alone.
Just as Moriarty kept thinking, she decided to make contact, so with a friendly smile that anyone could see, she struck up a conversation with Watson.
“The streets are a bit disordered due to a terrible incident that occurred near the Clerkenwell prison this morning, isn’t that right, madam?”
“Ah….. Yes, you’re right. I had no idea coming in the morning, I was surprised to see everyone in a commotion when I arrived.”
“I heard you are Miss Watson, isn’t that correct? Oh, I apologize, I’m not a suspicious person. My name is James Moriarty, I am a humble professor. Here is my business card.”
“Ah… yes, nice to meet you, Professor Moriarty. My name is Jane Watson.”
Watson obediently engaged with Moriarty in a small chat after accepting the business card. Anyone would engage in a conversation if she wanted them to.
Moving swiftly to the point, Moriarty spoke up.
“Anyway…You seem underage. Isn’t it risky to be walking around alone? I have many inattentive students, so your presence immediately caught my eye.”
“I will be fine, but thank you for expressing your concerns. I would be okay once I catch a carriage.”
“Miss Watson, if you’re feeling insecure, should I call someone or accompany you? You shouldn’t take it any burden; I can’t simply watch a lady in distress.”
Watson seemed to contemplate Moriarty’s offer, and Moriarty sensed that it could be over soon, but Watson replied in refusal.
“Thank you, but I don’t think the person behind you would like it. Ah, there’s a carriage, I will take my leave now, Professor Moriarty, but I will remember your name.”
Watson, almost fleeing, immediately caught a carriage and disappeared from Moriarty’s sight.
Once she was out of sight, Moriarty could somewhat guess the reason. Turning around, she caught a glimpse of Moran, who was displaying a fierce expression just moments ago.
“Moran?”
“But Master! That lowly girl with flashy red hair should NEVER be approached! That girl parades her sagging breasts around, trying to seduce everyone on purpose! She’s a witch, Master! She’s a wretched woman who devours men! No matter how much interest you have in her, I must protect you, Master!”
“Ah… Moran, watch your words.”
Despite being well-trained over two years, Moran occasionally let slip vulgar words common in the street when excited. Ironically, most of the times, young Moran didn’t quite understand the meaning.
Reminded by Moriarty, Moran coughed awkwardly. It had probably cost Watson’s trust due to her mini-wolf lashing out at the outsider.
Although disappointed, Moriarty was confident that she would meet Watson again, along with Holmes.
However, Moran’s words were irking.
“A witch, you say?”
“Phorlock, she reeks even worse than that filthy guy. She’s a witch, master! Clearly a vulgar witch that brazenly… harrumph, seductively ensnares people. Trust me, ma-ma…master!”
“Alright, alright, calm down, Moran. A witch you said…”
Wouldn’t that make an interesting combination?
A detective with the bloodline of a witch and a fairy. It was clearly an undeniably enthralling combination to eventually face-off against.
Promising a future, Moriarty returned home with Moran.
But just two days later, he was able to meet Watson again at the secret social club and gambling hall near Downing Street.
