Chapter 25, Episode 17: How Strange

Episode 16 is so strange.

I patiently waited until a dozen or so sniper rifle red dots landed on my head, and then, relying on London's cheat, I reported the location of each sniper one by one, leaving Mycroft with nowhere to retreat.

It's always the easiest way to deal with someone as extremely rational as Mycroft.

We can deduce his trade-offs, predict how he will minimize risks, and calculate when he will have doubts and when he will back down.

Unlike those who rely solely on intuition, who act before they think and fire two shots without giving me a chance to say a word.

But Mycroft is different.

He would consider things carefully, and he would also be forced to play psychological warfare with me, and he would suspect whether these snipers were people I had arranged in between.

Think about it, if Zhuge Liang hadn't encountered Sima Yi, who knew him well and was also afraid of him, but instead faced Zhang Liao and Lü Bu, then the Empty City Stratagem wouldn't have been possible.

As for me, I bet that Mycroft was wary of "Milwaldton".

In fact, to put it bluntly...

The way this world works is all about exploiting information asymmetry.

Those who possess more knowledge have a significant advantage; those who possess less knowledge can only passively endure attacks.

I have the theoretical backing of Sherlock Holmes and Sherlock Holmes, and I also have timely and detailed intelligence from London.

I have an omniscient perspective.

My opponent's position, strategy, and reaction were all within my prediction range.

If they can still break through this impasse, then they truly deserve to be called the "ceiling of the Sherlock Holmes world."

As for me, I've long wanted to try it myself and see what it's like to poke a hole in the ceiling with my own hands.

Faced with my confrontation, Mycroft's face remained completely expressionless. He merely nodded slightly, as if approving a predetermined procedure on a document. He omitted all emotional fluctuations, even taking a sip of coffee, his voice steady: "Very well, now that you've stated your 'bargaining chips' and intelligence capabilities, let's save time on probing each other. Now, state your demands and terms for exchange."

"You predicted it would be me before you came, so you must have already set a reasonable price in your mind. Just say it."

The air suddenly loosened when he handed the initiative to me.

As I leaned back in my chair, I realized a very real problem.

I hadn't actually thought that far ahead.

When I saw the name 221B Baker Street, I rushed over.

It seems there's no need to overcomplicate things.

"…………"

London: "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"London, my mind is blank. Help me, can you read minds?"

London replied without hesitation, "No."

"It's okay, I won't look down on you," I comforted you.

London: "..."

I looked in Mycroft's direction, silently picked up a 330ml glass of Coke in a crystal glass, with ice, no free refills, priced at £25, and made a tactical sip.

Let me recall, in Sherlock, Mycroft and Milverton were allies.

In fact, the basis of cooperation is not so-called trust, but simply mutual exploitation.

Milverton's "business" allowed him to easily access the scandals of countless politicians and powerful figures.

He could easily destroy Scotland Yard's authoritative image and the foundation of trust in the hearts of the citizens with a shady accounting scheme, or he could win laughter in London and even the whole country with a heartwarming food show, and assist in the reform and innovation of the catering industry.

Therefore, Mycroft certainly wasn't there for a mere copy of the D notification.

Similarly, the information I just saw was that "Mycroft was the director of MI6".

The matter of D's notification was far beyond the scope of his duties.

The most important thing is that he was able to reveal his brother's location to me. Even if he probably already knew that Milverton could investigate Sherlock Holmes's address at any time, it wouldn't matter if he just revealed it directly.

but!

These documents could simply be exchanged anywhere in a park.

This deliberate, reversed action can indeed make unsuspecting people think that he doesn't actually care about Sherlock.

But I understand Mycroft's character design; he wanted to give Sherlock a kind of "protection."

Therefore, this matter is definitely more complicated than imagined.

The meeting that touches on his weakness will inevitably also touch another weakness – the “British government”.

Mycroft probably thinks more highly of Milverton because I not only had all the information in the bank robbery, but I was also able to escape unscathed and make a fortune at the same time.

He also speculated that Milverton possessed a great deal of leverage over political figures.

After all, the fact that a card can be discarded means that he has more than one good card, and these good cards may also involve Mycroft's gray operations or personal weaknesses.

As the head of intelligence, Mycroft would certainly have to oversee the existence of "Milwaldton".

What he could offer was, as a representative of the entire state apparatus, the guarantee of security within permissible limits provided by Milverton. As long as Milverton didn't overstep his bounds or threaten national security, his gray-area actions could be tacitly approved.

In exchange, Milwaldton would provide the basis for being exploited.

...

I looked again at Mycroft, who was waiting quietly.

Honestly, I have no demands of Mycroft Holmes.

Because he definitely can't provide what I need most.

He can't guarantee that Sherlock won't kill me.

If possible, I'd like him to share his personal phone number. That way, when I'm bored, it'll be like opening a new game map; I can go there anytime to bother him, touch this, or touch that.

However, Mycroft clearly wanted a price that would give him the peace of mind to file me under his own control.

Because his persona is that of a lazy person who wants to solve problems once and for all.

My aimless and capricious attitude would greatly annoy Mycroft, who would be particularly concerned about the failure of this meeting.

Mycroft wanted to negotiate directly this time, hoping that I would take the initiative to say, "I want official-level information immunity and exemption from liability," so that this uncontrollable disaster could be turned into a manageable risk.

Thinking about this, I suddenly felt a sense of boredom.

Weighing options, strategizing, intelligence gathering, and strategic maneuvering—this is Mycroft's world, as orderly yet uninteresting as geometric lines.

After a pause, I switched to a completely different logic than his and said, "Mr. Mycroft, do you know why some people like to collect fairy tale books?"

"It's not because I believe in stories, but because I like the feeling that fairy tales give people without having to think about internal logic or calculate human nature."

Mycroft stared straight at me, patiently waiting for me to finish recounting the background.

“I don’t need any passes or exemptions from you. It’s too boring, like putting a collar on a stray cat.”

This sentence made Mycroft raise an eyebrow.

I tilted my head as if I were thinking about an interesting question, "We could actually make a fairy tale agreement."

"The Fairy Tale Agreement?"

Mycroft looked as if he were listening to an alien speak.

London: "...Your choice of words is so weird, so disgusting."

Me: "I'll bear it."

I continued to maintain my romantic and free-spirited persona: "Whether it's at the Chelsea Flower Show, the East Bookstore, or the Thames Riverbank, in any setting outside of work, you can come up to me and ask me one and only one question. Whatever the question, I will give you the truthful answer."

"And you must allow me to occasionally appear as an uninvited footnote in your story."

I said, "Perhaps there's a greeting hidden in a crossword puzzle in The Times that only you would notice, or maybe the waiter in your favorite coffee shop will offer you a lesser-known hot drink with an interesting name."

Mycroft said, "So, you want to keep an eye on me on a daily basis?"

"No, no, no, I don't have the energy or time for that. These accidents are just minor incidents in life."

I laughed and said, "Mycroft, you don't have any friends, do you? Our agreement is 'I want to be your friend,' using conventional morality and ethics instead of an exchange of benefits to bind our relationship."

Seeing his frozen expression, I immediately exercised my right as a friend, speaking in a tone as casual as if we were discussing the weather, and said, "To begin, I'd like to ask again, can you cook for yourself?"

I didn't need his reply; I simply stood up naturally, bringing the conversation to a close.

"Alright, that concludes our first friend chat. Next time we meet, it'll be your turn to ask me questions."

Goodbye, Mycroft.

London: "Are you in such a hurry to leave because you know he'll definitely reject you?"

Like someone who's successfully pulled off a prank and quickly leaves the scene: "He can't give me what I want, and I'm not interested in what he can give. Rather than let it end without any surprises or unexpectedness, I'd rather make him care, struggle, or even get annoyed!"

"Haha, I can tell he'd rather be blackmailed for a million pounds than think about how to be friends with me."

"If this meeting fails, he'll come looking for me again! Next time I'll have dinner beforehand; I can't afford to lose next time."

Responding like this, my steps were as light as if I were walking on clouds, my emotions still lingering on the smug feeling from joking with Mycroft.

London ruthlessly poured cold water on my enthusiasm: "...You're so boring."

My happiness is based on my own abilities, and I will not feel that my happiness is meaningless because of other people's opinions.

But no matter what, my excitement vanished completely after I walked two hundred meters from Belleville Street.

I should take Mycroft's black car with me first and have him take me home.

However, in that situation, if we had stayed together in the unlicensed taxi, I wouldn't have achieved the effect I wanted.

After walking a few steps, I started looking up Moran's phone number and asked him to come pick me up.

The phone rang for a while before it was answered.

The moment the sound came out, I thought I had turned on some BBC news channel.

It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening. "Oh, Albert, you live with Moran?"

“…So it was Milverton?” Albert’s tone noticeably dropped.

Before he could hang up, I said, "I'm near Whitehall. Have Moran come pick me up. He drove my car away."

There are taxis on the road.

I said, "If he's busy, you can come and pick me up."

"I'm not going."

“Then it’s a pleasant surprise. I’ll be waiting for you in Whitehall. I won’t let you come for nothing.” I hung up the phone before he could reply.

London: "...What information are you going to give him?"

"What intelligence? I'll give him 50 pounds." I even shook the banknotes in my pocket.

Three seconds of silence.

London: "...Can't you take a taxi?"

"No. I value my life."

The murderer in this case was a taxi driver.

London: "Albert must hate you for making fun of him like that."

Haha, you make it sound like I care.

As night fell, the wind in the streets near Whitehall grew colder and colder.

Watching the streetlights cut the ground into mottled patches of light, I hesitated for a moment, but decided to continue waiting.

Twenty-five minutes later, a familiar beam of car lights finally lit up on the street corner.

It's a white Volvo.

After the car came to a steady stop at my feet, I immediately opened the car door, only to find it was securely locked.

Albert only agreed to speak to me through a crack in the car window.

To prevent him from closing all the windows, I put my hands in the gap between the windows and the car, saying, "Since you're already here, let me get in." After saying that, I slipped another 50 pounds into the gap.

When the money fell onto the car seat, Albert's eyes darkened, and he immediately turned around and gave the money to the homeless man on the roadside.

He has a very fierce expression and is very difficult to talk to.

"Is this all you're giving me?"

I thought about it and thankfully I had a Plan B. "I was just joking with you. This is what I really wanted to give you."

I took a chocolate out of my pocket.

This is milk chocolate I bought from the supermarket; I even shared some with the secretariat team.

At that time, everyone was scared away and nobody wanted it.

The chocolate sat in the break room all day, and no one even glanced at it.

So I took it with me, intending to give it to Herbers. But I was interrupted by Mycroft's text message, and I forgot about it.

Now, the milk chocolate "plop" fell onto the passenger seat.

I was filled with excitement, waiting to see how Albert's expression would change.

Given Albert's temperament, he would most likely throw such a childish gift back at him.

As a result, Albert seemed to be in a different, quiet rhythm.

He took the package, glanced at it, gently ran his fingertips over the folded corner, and then snapped it shut in his hand.

Albert's tone remained remarkably calm.

"Get in the car."

The car doors unlocked in response.

...That's strange.

I stared at his calm profile, a huge question mark popping into my head.

"London, you need to analyze this quickly. Is he so angry that he's decided to get in the car and kill me?"

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Author's Note: Thank you for your support! Go to bed early!!

Today, it's like a kitten trying to squeeze itself into a car by prying open the window.

There's a similar story with chocolate. Once, I brought a famous milk chocolate and shared it with my friends.

I thought everyone would like it, but nobody wanted it. They usually eat the snacks I bring with me.

As a result, everyone politely refused repeatedly, so I had to eat it myself. I took the first bite and it was "overly sweet." I drank half a cup of tea.

Later, when I mentioned that chocolate, I always said it was the kind of chocolate that would scare people away if you threw it into a crowd.

Thank you again for your support!

I'll write about Watson's appearance tomorrow.