Episode 19 — The Aftermath
“Holmes?”
In the late small hours, as the door of 221B Baker Street opened, Watson—nodding off on the sofa—lifted her head.
“Why are you back so late?”
She rubbed her eyes at the clock and asked, but Holmes passed her in silence and sank into her armchair.
“Did you solve the case?”
“…Yes.”
At Watson’s follow-up, Holmes answered in a low voice.
“Our Miss Holmes solved it, so why do you look like that?”
“………”
“I think you need a doctor.”
Sensing something was off, Watson switched on the light and came closer.
“Huh.”
She paused, then studied Holmes, who sat staring vacantly in the chair.
“Holmes, what on earth happened today?”
“…Do you want to know?”
“Seeing you now, I absolutely have to.”
At that, Holmes lowered her gaze and began.
“I made a mistake while solving the case.”
“You made a mistake? How—”
“And that mistake left an indelible scar on a man.”
Watson started to speak, then shut her mouth and listened.
“Until what little life he has left runs out, that scar will eat at him. And I’ll be there to watch it to the end.”
“……….”
“He stands on the other side from me, so we can only keep clashing. Either I win, or the side he’s on wins. Whichever, the day it’s decided, London’s fate will be sealed.”
Holmes’s eyes glinted in the gaslight.
“The problem is… he loves me.”
Her look held a confusion she had never felt in her life.
“Watson, I simply cannot see why.”
“………”
“There was no trigger, no plausible reason for him to love me. No plausibility, no logic.”
To her one and only friend, Watson, Holmes laid it bare.
“These rapid shifts in situation and feeling over the past few days—I turn it over and over, and I can’t make sense of any of it.”
She frowned, then let out a flurry of complaints.
“Maybe that’s why. My chest feels tight, and sometimes I feel terribly queasy. I get irritated for no reason, my nerves feel on edge.”
“……….”
“Perhaps I’m overthinking. Watson, if you would, I’d like a prescription for something that fits these symptoms—”
Holmes trailed off.
“…Why are you looking at me like that, Watson?”
Watson was smiling now, as if she finally understood.
“Diagnosis complete.”
At that confident tone, Holmes gave her a look that said go on, impress me.
“Never thought I’d be teaching you anything,” Watson muttered, then cleared her throat and began.
“Holmes, do you know everything you just described is a component of love?”
“I wondered what nonsense you’d spout.”
“Not in every case, sure. But most love arrives at an inexplicable moment—implausible, illogical.”
Holmes turned her eyes away, flat as a deflated kettle, but Watson pressed on, drawing on her own experience.
“Me too—but right now, you’re proving it better than anyone.”
At the teasing lilt, Holmes spoke with a look of incredulity.
“I can say with certainty: no.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not the sort to be swept up by feelings that are illogical, unproductive, and do nothing but cloud reason.”
“Then what are you feeling now?”
Pinned by Watson’s stare, Holmes looked aside and answered,
“Sense of duty. Guilt. Competitive spirit.”
“Hm…”
“A touch of pity. Responsibility. And…”
“You want to say the sum of all that isn’t love, right?”
“Right.”
Watson chuckled at Holmes’s suddenly sharpened tone, so unlike her usual manner.
“I think you’re wrong this time, Holmes.”
“Without objective, clear evidence, it isn’t worth saying—”
Watson held out the hand mirror from the table.
“Look at your eyes, Charlotte.”
Holmes’s words caught when she saw it: eyes that were always a dull, dark gray were still somber, but now slowly taking on a yellow cast.
“When a mana user undergoes a big inner shift, their eyes get tinted by the cause,” Watson continued gently.
“I don’t know why it shows in you when you’re not a mana user—but if you’ve handled mana stones so much that mana has saturated your body, it’s plausible.”
Holmes pushed the mirror aside.
“You misunderstand. It’s just a symptom of mana addiction, Watson.”
“Newlyweds come to my clinic with that exact misunderstanding all the time.”
Watson didn’t flinch.
“After a few visits, they just give up and live with it.”
“No. A few days of real sleep and I’ll be back to normal.”
Holmes rose, heading for the cot beside the chair.
“And ‘inner shift’ doesn’t have to mean love.”
“So you’ll deny it to the end, O great detective.”
“I’m merely thinking logically.”
She lay down and pulled up the blanket.
“I should close my eyes now. To ease the symptoms of mana addiction quickly—”
By habit, her hand reached for the cigarette holder—then paused, and dropped.
“Did someone tell you to quit smoking?”
“You’re extra needling today, Watson.”
Startled by the sight, Watson teased; Holmes replied in a drained voice and pulled the blanket over her head.
“Watson.”
“Mm?”
Watson had been smiling, watching her a while. She was just rising when Holmes’s voice drifted from under the covers; Watson tilted her head.
“…There’s no way to turn a person with vampirism back to normal, is there?”
“Of course not.”
Watson answered.
“I’m no specialist, but if there were, vampire hunters wouldn’t exist.”
The blanket over Holmes trembled slightly.
“But as for easing the symptoms a little—I might know a thing or two.”
Watson searched her memory for papers she’d read at university.
“I once read a paper that vampires who drank the blood of someone they loved were stronger and more rational than others.”
“…………”
“It’s old, so I don’t know how reliable it is—but if the case calls for it, I’ll try to find it.”
Charlotte Holmes quit cigarettes and mana-stone research from that day on.
“…Thanks for the answer, Watson.”
Because of a mistake she’d made, there was a man for whom life without her would become hell—long before that short life was over.
—whooom…
And, conversely, the same held for Charlotte.
‘My curse; your vampirism.’
Whether by nature or not, she neither understood nor even recognized it yet.
‘In the end, we need each other.’
In the heart that had never, ever thawed, something implausible and illogical that Isaac Adler had sown was already stirring.
‘Even stripping out emotion and judging rationally, the conclusion’s the same.’
“Holmes? Are you smoking under there?”
‘You have to spend the rest of your life as my assistant. At present, that’s the most logical, plausible, proper outcome.’
Only—it would grow a little crooked.
“What’s with this black smoke…”
‘…Owned by the gray-haired one.’
Not even Adler had foreseen that.
[Villain Maker: Professor Moriarty’s introduction plausibility satisfied]
[Progress 17% → 51%]
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[Love-Hate Relationship: Chapter 1 Complete]
[Villain Maker: 17% → 51%]
“This feels… oddly ominous.”
Pushing through the curbside fog, I glanced at the messages hanging in the air, shivered at a creeping chill I couldn’t place, and swiped them aside.
‘…Still, I do feel more secure now.’
The close of the first case—the opening bell of the main story proper.
And the results are very good.
‘Perfect as a foundation for the organization.’
Complete domination of Lady Joan Clay—one of the toughest of the mid-bosses. A clean absorption of the “Red Mana League.”
And major progress on two main quests.
‘…Combat power up a fair bit, too.’
Best of all, I’ve successfully obtained a pure-blood vampire’s power.
Sure, the penalties are no joke.
But in this body that’s as good as dead anyway—and if I properly leverage the golden mana whose original owner mistook its color his entire life—that penalty’s no problem.
[The case has concluded.]
All worked up, I got another pop-up.
[You can now view your Reputation.]
Seeing that, I finally clocked what this system was.
[View now?]
[Y/N]
“This is the achievements system I pitched, for hell’s sake.”
Exactly what I argued for an hour to get into the build: an achievements system.
Unlike churned-out schemes that hand out stat bonuses and busted skills, this one just shows the player’s current situation and progress—focusing solely on stoking challenge and fun.
“…Tch.”
Naturally, for me—stuck in this world—it isn’t great.
Showing the situation and progress is fine, but in other words it only shows them, without intervening in anything.
If I’d known, I’d have lobbied for a shop system or something.
—bzzz…
Still, I couldn’t not check; I reached out—when a sharp tingle pricked my hand.
“…Huh.”
What could hurt enough to register in a body that’s basically dead? I turned my palm—and my eyes went wide.
[Mr. Adler, come to my office at once.]
Looks like Reputation will have to wait.
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A few dozen minutes later—
“You’re here.”
“………”
I hurried to Professor Moriarty’s office—and immediately squinted.
“Professor?”
Half a bottle of whisky already gone, she tipped more into a glass, dropped in a sugar cube, and stared straight at me.
“What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I have a question for you.”
Despite the scene, there was not the slightest hint of a buzz in the chill of her eyes and the economy of her movements.
“In this case, I took a risk and hid my mana inside the circle.”
She began in an even tone, and I kept my guard high.
“I’ve never done that before. I don’t want anyone to know I’m a mage.”
“…I see.”
“But you are my one and only assistant, aren’t you? So I could take the risk.”
She cocked her head in her old habit.
“And yet, Adler—you seemed to treasure that girl ‘Charlotte Holmes’ more than me.”
“Ah, that’s—”
“You said you wouldn’t trade her ‘for the whole world,’ and even pledged what remains of your life.”
Before I could explain, her gray eyes gleamed as she asked me,
“After hearing that, I was truly curious.”
“………”
“Does that ‘whole world’ include me?”
The air in the room began to freeze.
“Mr. Adler.”
Sweat prickling cold, I was right back in the mood of the day we met. Professor Moriarty smiled brightly and posed a question.
“Take your time. The night will be very long.”
A question on which not just my life, but the fate of this world might hinge.
“What, exactly, am I to you?”
Save the grad student.