Chapter 84
Sherlock’s Deduction
Tuesday, Morning.
Sherlock, who had just woken up, was curled up in his rocking chair that served as his bed, covered with a wool coat and slowly eating a sandwich brought by Edward.
Sherlock had a bit of hypoglycemia. If he didn’t eat something or drink some sugar water or honey water immediately after waking up, his brain wouldn’t be able to function.
This might be a congenital issue, or perhaps he simply didn’t like eating.
If Edward hadn’t brought him breakfast, he probably would have just made do with some honey water.
“You’ll get a stomach illness sooner or later if you keep this up, Hermes.”
Edward said in a deep voice, sitting on a chair by Sherlock’s desk.
He was also holding the same kind of sandwich. Soft white bread with beef, onions, cheese, lettuce, and a generous amount of cheese sauce.
It was a portable breakfast that Edward had ordered the household cook to prepare in advance last night.
Because he knew that Sherlock definitely wouldn’t eat breakfast if he could help it.
Although eating sandwiches for breakfast seemed a bit meager for the Moriarty Family, if the food were any richer or more complex, Sherlock would likely have no appetite for it.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and said lazily, “I usually try to keep myself in a state of hunger. This way, my brain can operate more actively.”
“Are you practicing asceticism?”
“Asceticism? No, no, no…”
Sherlock chuckled, raising his head with interest: “Why would you think I would torture myself for wisdom like a monk?”
“Isn’t it?” Edward retorted.
“Of course not,” Sherlock replied, “Caring too much about anything makes one fall into formalism and rules. That defeats the original intention of seeking wisdom.
“I admit that good things are good. If good and bad things are placed before me, and I have the opportunity to choose, I will naturally try to choose the good ones.
“But are bad things so unacceptable? Not necessarily. As long as they meet the need, then it doesn’t matter which one I choose—in other words, I don’t necessarily have to choose the better one.”
As Sherlock spoke, he popped the last bite of his beef sandwich into his mouth.
He chewed and said indistinctly, “Honey water and sandwiches can both awaken my brain. So, of course, I’ll eat whatever is handed to me. You can’t expect me to go downstairs and buy a sandwich in such a dazed state, can you? You don’t know how terrible it is when your brain feels like a dry machine that won’t turn.”
“Then you might as well hire a maid to take care of you.”
“No, no, no, forget it. My dear friend.”
Sherlock shook his head vigorously, indicating strong rejection: “You know, every document, every file in my room has its own place. All my bottles and jars have their own, somewhat esoteric, arrangement. Besides me, no one can put them in such a satisfactory and correct position.”
“This is quite similar to Eivass,” Edward commented, looking at the narrow, messy, and dimly lit room piled with various books, documents, and materials, “Seriously, you need someone to take care of your daily life. Or why don’t you go home and live? At least your cook can make you good meals three times a day.”
“Heh, forget it.”
Sherlock sneered, leaning back, the rocking chair swaying slightly back and forth: “If I go back, the old man will start arranging blind dates and marriage for me again…
“The brain becomes sluggish after gluttony, and numb after drinking. If one falls in love with another, or is obsessed with fame, or desperately craves money and wealth, the mind will also become unclear.
“You know, Edward. The Path of Wisdom is a selfish path. Truth is destined to be sought only by one who is alone. Marriage is too troublesome for me.”
“Hearing you say that, I thought you had walked quite far on the Path of Wisdom.”
Edward’s calm expression remained unchanged: “Isn’t the path you’ve walked the furthest one of authority? Besides, you’re twenty-six years old, it’s time to get married. It’s normal for Lord Arthur to be anxious about your affairs.”
“…That’s only temporary. Soon, my Path of Wisdom will overtake it.”
Sherlock vaguely brushed it off, then immediately counterattacked without hesitation: “Also, what about you? Aren’t you thirty-five and still not married?”
Edward simply shook his head slightly, his voice devoid of any fluctuation: “I’m widowed.
“I got married in my early twenties, but my wife tragically passed away later.”
“…I’ve never heard you mention that.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, his amber pupils widening slightly with interest.
But he didn’t press further here.
Chief Inspector Edward’s deceased wife—major events in the lives of such important figures could be easily investigated. Not mentioning it now was a show of respect for Edward, and also a testament to his own investigative abilities.
And Edward didn’t offer an explanation, but simply walked over and handed him this morning’s Glass Steps Herald.
Sherlock, lying in the rocking chair, got up to take the newspaper and then lay down again.
He rocked in the chair, his head nodding. He looked like he was feeling sleepy again after eating his fill. He spent a long time just on the first page.
Edward, standing beside him, waited for a long time before he couldn’t help but ask, “Did you see it? Eivass is in the newspaper again, and it’s the front-page headline.”
“I knew that yesterday.”
Sherlock said lazily, “The moment I entered the club and saw His Highness, I guessed it. Speaking of which, didn’t we have a ‘Crystal Slippers’ badge when we were in school?”
“Only you did. I’ve never been interested in music,” Edward replied casually.
He ate his sandwich and waited for Sherlock to finish reading the newspaper before asking, “What do you think?”
“It’s not a good thing. But it’s not bad either.”
Sherlock tossed the Glass Steps Herald aside: “Secretary Ralph being assassinated in public has a very bad influence. But this is just deliberately hyped tension.
“What’s truly important is that this incident happened close to Princess Isabel. And Director Gordon couldn’t apprehend the professional assassin in the end.”
“Although, based on our investigation at the scene yesterday, Director Gordon’s actions were all entirely correct. But often, what you actually did doesn’t matter… What matters is that people believe you did it.
“In any case, Gordon let a very dangerous Extraordinary escape. It’s already late November, and the New Year’s Eve is just over a month away. If things aren’t resolved properly soon, public opinion will be a disaster. A high-level Extraordinary who can kill and has escaped is basically spitting in the face of the Inspection Bureau, calling them incompetent. At that point, not only Gordon, but the entire Inspection Bureau might come under pressure—you in the Inspection Department must have wanted to compress the Inspection Bureau’s scope of authority for a long time, right?”
“In fact, he was incompetent. But dealing with Director Gordon at this moment would only make people realize that the problem is out of control, leading to greater panic and further exacerbating the situation.”
Edward said in a low voice, “Therefore, the Inspection Bureau plans to hold a large-scale commendation ceremony for Eivass this week to highlight his achievements and distract the public.”
“Didn’t we have a commendation for the Pelican Bar incident last time?” Sherlock asked doubtfully.
“The two commendations are combined into one. It’s still on Thursday afternoon. This time, the plan is not to award the ‘Crystal Cross Medal,’ but to directly award the Sacred Sword Medal,” Edward said solemnly.
“Hoo.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow: “In what capacity? The Sacred Sword Medal is usually awarded to heroes who have contributed to the defense of the nation or achieved merit on the battlefield.”
“‘For single-handedly discovering and thwarting an assassination attempt on Princess Isabel by a rogue extraordinary assassin.'”
“Ah? So it’s an attempted assassination now? And Secretary Ralph is just an innocent bystander who got caught in the crossfire?”
The black-haired youth with messy curly hair lay lazily in the rocking chair and sneered, “It’s not impossible, I guess. Then let them report it that way for now.”
“…For now?”
Edward caught Sherlock’s word: “Did you find something out?”
“It’s not an investigation, it’s a deduction. This is truly an interesting case, my dear friend. I thought about it all night yesterday, going to bed at three or four in the morning.”
As Sherlock spoke, he took out his small notebook: “Let’s start with the most crucial part, according to urgency.
“I’ve finished decoding those documents. They contain a large number of addresses and names written in a cipher.
“You’re probably not interested in the reasoning process in between. I’ll give you the conclusion directly—this document found at the scene is related to the smuggling case at the port.”
“…You mean the ‘Sweater Brotherhood’ lead?”
“Yes. That is to say, Minister of Trade Dross is likely involved in the smuggling case.
“And I’ve also identified the assassin’s identity. It’s an assassin society from Iris Flower called ‘Eagle Eye.’ Only they use this kind of specialized weapon. They are remnants from the fall of the Black Hawk Duchy… consider them mercenaries. They might accept any commission, including attacking nobles and even royalty of various countries.”
At this point, Sherlock closed his notebook.
He looked at Edward meaningfully: “Under what circumstances do you think an assassin who traveled all the way from Iris Flower would kill a private secretary of a minister directly related to the Star Antimony Kingdom’s smuggling case, in a public place?”
“I think it’s to frame someone,” Edward answered without hesitation. “That’s why the deceased was holding the document with his back to the killer and fell from the second floor. This indicates he most likely wasn’t retrieving the document, but delivering it.”
“Oh, your inference has some merit.”
Sherlock’s lips curved slightly upon hearing this. “But unfortunately, that possibility doesn’t exist. Because I confirmed the handwriting on the document yesterday. It clearly comes from the same person as the coded messages on the shipping manifests we confiscated from the Sweater Brotherhood. After deciphering the code, I successfully decoded the document, and discovered it listed a series of warehouses and the corresponding manager of each warehouse.
“Thank goodness, I have old documents signed by Secretary Ralph in my files. Although he deliberately controlled his handwriting, it’s definitely the same person.
“So I thought of a possibility. Someone holds Minister Dross’s leverage, and therefore wants to expose him.”
“…Is that so…”
Edward murmured in a low voice, gazing at Sherlock, and asked in a calm and clear tone: “Then who do you think it is?”
“Analyzing from the aspects of relationships, motive, ability, and alibi,” Sherlock paused, “I believe it might be your father, Professor Moriarty.”
