49 – The reunion with the teacher was the worst (4) *Credit addition
Mycroft couldn’t avoid or ignore the fixed gaze of his sister. Above all, the young lady, who was still a small and tender girl in Mycroft’s sight, was his beloved sister.
The tragedy that struck the Holmes’ family left scars on all three siblings, but particularly left a big wound on Sherlock, the youngest, and this was always a problem Mattersbrother and Mycroft had no choice but to worry about.
Mattersbrother took over the role of the parent, at least partially, so Sherlock was not just a sister with a large age difference, but she also felt like a niece to Mycroft.
Therefore, Mycroft, who could sometimes be sarcastic, couldn’t mockingly ask if Sherlock took some medication.
Because his sister was really high on medication.
Of course, he couldn’t conclude that what his sister said was unfounded, and was nonsense made by her hallucinations from being high on medication. At least, Mycroft knew how to distinguish truth from lies, and at the same time, acknowledged that his sister Sherlock was not less intelligent than himself.
That’s why Mycroft hesitated for a moment and then asked the same question he always posed.
“So… do you have anything to prove or evidence it, Sherlock?”
“……No, I don’t.”
Upon her brother’s question, all Sherlock could do was bite her lips, unable to say anything else.
Mycroft’s argument was valid even to the layman’s eyes. Hypotheses that have neither evidence nor proof are ultimately meaningless.
Of course, it might have its own meaning in the world of academics. But Sherlock herself and Brother Mycroft were talking about a problem in reality right now.
Rather, she couldn’t help but feel grateful to Mycroft who objectively questioned whether she could prove her absurd hypothesis.
It was a reaction worthy of a person with an acknowledged, no, an intelligence superior to hers.
Of course, as a family member, there was some slight bitterness. She always lived rationally and coolly, but she was still young, and especially on matters relating to him, she unknowingly became emotional.
Even so, she didn’t resent Brother Mycroft who hardly believed in her hypothesis even after she had been arguing for it for several years.
Because if she were in Mycroft’s position, she would have done the same.
“Sherlock.”
Mycroft opened his mouth, gently as a brother and one of the few family members, soothing Sherlock and she nodded her head lightly.
To soothe his still childish sister, Mycroft spoke further with a sigh.
“If you could substantiate your claims, no, if you could even show a sliver of evidence that your hypothesis might hold even a shred of truth, I shall gladly stand by your side, even if it involves Her Majesty the Queen.”
“I know…”
“And you would also know this. I am a civil servant. I must always move conservatively. I cannot blindly believe in something that hasn’t been proven.”
A civil servant.
Sherlock smirked unknowingly. To the outside observer, he might’ve just been a normal 25-year-old civil servant.
However, in reality, he was a key figure within the British government, earning recognition for his exceptional abilities within just a few years and carving out a niche of his own. This person was his own blood relative standing in front of him.
In some ways, he bore more resemblance to that person than himself.
Over a few years, over ten years, he remained as nothing. He felt his mouth dry up.
He knew it was inevitable.
In fact, had he not caught wind of it by chance ten years ago, had he not faced the true form of that person, he wouldn’t have suspected anything. Just as Mycroft said, there was no factual evidence.
From noble mtl dot com
He was well aware that his slight hypothesis was actually the result of the intuition taught by that person ten years ago.
After all, if he didn’t infer based on the almost insane hypothesis that the person was the root cause of everything, he wouldn’t be able to deduce all the intricately woven events.
But why did he feel anxious unknowingly? Or was it because he was in front of a family member he could confide in?
Sherlock ended up acting out like a child unknowingly.
“I will be able to find some evidence soon. If Mycroft could also just move a bit, it would’ve been resolved more quickly.”
“A civil servant’s primary focus is a regular lifestyle, Sherlock.”
Realizing that Sherlock had relaxed, Mycroft crossed his arms and cleverly replied to his whining.
“Really, if only you could solve everything just by sitting down, you would certainly be the greatest person. Otherwise, quit being lazy, go outside and look for clues. Have you gained another pound?”
“0.5 pounds, Sherlock. And you know my job too. I just receive information, organize it, and provide advice. Each person has their own assigned work, so there’s no need for me to move unnecessarily.”
“Have you heard anything about Sebastian Moran?”
Sherlock, who knew and recognized Mycroft’s ability better than anyone else, asked about a woman who has been bothering him since he was off guard.
From the start, Sebastian was a maid he didn’t like just by her name.
Without blinking an eye at Sherlock’s question, Mycroft calmly opened his mouth.
“Sebastian Moran, Lieutenant. Retired Lieutenant of the 1st Engineering Brigade of the Bengal Army. Born in London on February 15, 1830, his father was Sir Augustus Moran, a former Persian ambassador. Graduate of Eton School and Christ Church College at Oxford, known as the “Tiger of India”, gained fame due to his outstanding marksmanship and has three book publications. But after his disgraceful retirement and return to London, he disappeared after 1864. Is this the person you were looking for?”
“No. There’s a woman with a hairy body. Anyway… As always, you have an amazing memory. If only you used that ability a little bit more to solve these London crimes.”
“Being a detective is what you want, Sherlock.”
“Specifically speaking, I am an investigator, not a common detective. Anyway… that person is the problem. I must reveal that he’s behind everything, Mycroft.”
Again, you’re going to talk about new hypotheses?
Since Mycroft was already familiar with the pattern of conversation, he waited patiently for his brother’s mouth to open.
Of course, the newly expected hypotheses soon poured out from his brother’s mouth, and Mycroft provided comments from a rational perspective.
“As it’s near London, it’s convenient in many ways. Taking a comprehensive look at various materials in the British Library, this allows me to revisit the cases I missed. It’s obvious that all of them commit an idiotic mistake or leave it unresolved due to sloppy investigation skills.”
“So, which case is suspicious, Sherlock?”
“In 1864, the suicide of Edward Leford. That was a murder, Mycroft.”
“…Are you talking about the case where the man committed suicide in prison? Of course, it is unfortunate that such a scandalous event occurred before the trial, but that was a clear suicide, Sherlock.”
“That’s the limit of Mycroft. You always judge by looking at the information that comes up. I’ve always told you that, if you don’t correct that habit, it will harm you one day. No, it’s a pity because it happened a long time ago and I can’t investigate it anymore, but I’m sure the jailer was bribed by someone.”
“So, what’s the other case?”
“The murder of John Harmon in 1868.”
“It was a tragic incident around inheritance. A tragedy, but too mundane, even clichéd.”
“That’s not what I mean, it doesn’t seem like he died at the scene to me. Initially, he was mistaken as dead, but he was alive for a while, and then he was murdered again.”
“… Who would go through all that trouble, for what reason?”
“…Even I have limitations with only data at hand. However, it means that a strict on-site investigation is necessary. Take for instance, the Edwin Drood murder case that happened two years ago in 1870.”
“It’s…a missing person case, Sherlock. There’s still a possibility that Edwin Drood might be alive—”
“It’s murder, big brother, a murder! It’s not because I’m a public servant, I can’t help it! Put away such talk! It’s a murder executed so cunningly that not even the body could be found!”
In the end, his younger sister, unable to control herself, spoke in excitement. Calmly, Mycroft asked back.
“So… You don’t have…evidence to overturn the investigation result, Sherlock?”
“Yeah……. That’s the problem. I don’t know……brother……. What… what if all this is just my delusion?”
Quietly, Mycroft poured another cup of still warm tea for Sherlock, then opened his mouth. His words were neither affirming nor denying.
“You should drink up first, then take a nap. It may be good for your mental health to enjoy your drugs sparingly, but intoxicated as you are now, any thoughts won’t be good.”
As much as the girl wanted to retort, she obediently followed her brother’s advice in silence.
But the anxiety remained. For various reasons, she despised James Moriarty so much. Of course, she still couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.
