Chapter 84 Sherlock's Speculation

Tuesday morning.

Sherlock, who had just woken up, was curled up in the rocking chair he used as a bed, covered with a woolen coat and slowly eating the sandwich that Edward brought.

Sherlock had low blood sugar. If he didn't eat something or drink some sugar or honey water right after waking up, his brain wouldn't be able to start working.

This may be a congenital problem, or he may simply not like to eat.

If Edward hadn't brought him breakfast, he would probably have just had some honey water to make do with it today.

"You're going to get a stomach bug sooner or later, Hermes."

Edward said gravely as he sat in the chair next to Sherlock's desk.

He was holding the same sandwich in his hands. Soft white bread filled with beef, onions, cheese, lettuce, and a generous amount of cheese sauce.

That was the portable breakfast that Edward had asked the cook at home to prepare in advance last night.

Because he knew that Sherlock would definitely skip breakfast if he could help it.

Although eating sandwiches for breakfast seemed a bit shabby for the Moriarty family, if the food was more sumptuous and complicated, Sherlock probably wouldn't want to eat it.

Sherlock squinted his eyes and said lazily, "I usually try to keep myself as hungry as possible. This way my brain can work more actively."

"Are you doing penance?"

"Practice? No, no, no..."

Sherlock chuckled and looked up with interest. "What makes you think I'm torturing myself for wisdom like a monk?"

"Isn't it?" Edward asked.

"Of course not," Sherlock replied, "If you care too much about something, you will easily fall into formalities and precepts. In that case, you will lose the original intention of seeking wisdom.

"I recognize that good things are good. If good things and bad things are placed before me and I have the opportunity to choose, I will naturally try my best to choose the good ones.

"But is the worse one so bad that it's unacceptable? Not necessarily. As long as it meets my needs, I can choose either one - in other words, I don't necessarily have to choose the better one."

Sherlock said, dropping the last bite of his beef sandwich into his mouth.

He chewed and mumbled, "Honey water and sandwiches both wake up my brain. So of course I'll eat whichever one is handed to me. You can't let me go downstairs to buy a sandwich in that drowsy state, right? You don't know how it feels to have a brain that's as slow as a dry machine. That's terrible."

"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, expressing his strong refusal. "You know, every document and file in my room has its own place. All my bottles and jars also have their own, somewhat mysterious placement. No one except me can put them in such a perfect and appropriate place."

"You're quite similar to Aiwass in this respect," Edward commented, looking at the narrow, messy, dimly lit room filled with various books and files. "Honestly, you need someone to take care of your daily life. Why don't you go back home? At least your cook can make you some good meals three times a day."

"Oh, forget it."

Sherlock scoffed, leaning back and rocking his chair slightly back and forth. "If I go back, the old man will start arranging blind dates and marriages for me again..."

"After overeating, the brain becomes sluggish; after drinking, the brain becomes numb. If you fall in love with someone, or are obsessed with pursuing fame, or desperately desire money and wealth, your mind will also become unclear.

"You know, Edward. The path of wisdom is a selfish path. Truth is meant to be found only in solitude. Marriage is too much trouble for me."

"When you said that, I thought you had come a long way on the path of wisdom."

Edward's expression remained calm. "Isn't the path you've taken the furthest to reach authority the most important? Besides, you're already 26 years old, so it's time for you to get married. It's only natural that Sir Arthur should be anxious about you."

"...That's only temporary. Soon, my wisdom will surpass yours."

Sherlock dealt with it vaguely, then counterattacked without hesitation: "Also, what about you? Aren't you thirty-five years old and still not married?"

Edward just shook his head slightly, his voice without any fluctuation: "This is called widowhood.

"I got married in my early twenties, but my wife died unexpectedly later."

“…I haven’t heard you mention this before.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, his amber pupils slightly opening with interest.

But he didn't ask here.

Inspector General Edward's deceased wife—major events involving such important figures could be easily investigated. Not mentioning it now was a sign of respect for Edward, and also a sign of confidence in his own investigative abilities.

Edward didn't offer to explain, but just walked over and handed over this morning's "Glass Steps Newspaper".

Sherlock, who was lying in the rocking chair, stood up, took the newspaper, and lay down again.

He was rocking in his rocking chair, his head nodding. He looked like he was feeling sleepy after a full meal. He spent a long time reading the first edition alone.

Edward, who was standing nearby, waited for a long time before finally asking, "Did you see that? Aiwass is on the newspaper again, and it's the front page."

"I found out yesterday."

Sherlock said lazily, "I guessed it the moment I saw His Highness as soon as I entered the club. Speaking of which, when we were in school, didn't we also have a 'Crystal Slippers' badge?"

"You're the only one who has it. I've never been interested in music."

Edward replied casually.

He ate a sandwich and waited for Sherlock to finish reading the newspaper before asking, "What do you think?"

"Not good. But not bad either."

Sherlock tossed the Glass Steps newspaper aside and said, "Secretary Raff was assassinated in public, which had a very bad impact. But this was just a deliberate attempt to create a tense atmosphere.

"What really matters is that this incident happened to Her Royal Highness the Princess. And Commissioner Gordon was ultimately unable to apprehend the professional killer."

"Although according to our investigation at the scene yesterday, Chief Gordon's actions can be said to be completely correct. But many times, what you actually did is not important... What matters is that you make people believe what you did.

"Regardless of the situation, Gordon has let a very dangerous assassin escape. It's already the end of November, and the Chinese New Year is just over a month away. If this matter isn't properly resolved, public opinion will be affected. A high-level transcendental being who kills people has been let go. This is basically blaming the Supervisory Bureau for its incompetence. By then, not just Gordon, but the entire Supervisory Bureau might be under pressure. I'm sure your Inspectorate has been wanting to reduce the scope of the Supervisory Bureau's authority for a long time, right?"

"The reality is that he's incompetent. But punishing Commissioner Gordon at this time will only make people realize that the problem is out of control, making them more panicked and the situation further out of control."

Edward whispered, "Therefore, the Supervisory Bureau plans to hold a large-scale commendation meeting for Aiwass this week to highlight his achievements and distract the public."

"Wasn't there a commendation for the last incident at the Pelican Bar?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.

"Two commendations combined into one. It's Thursday afternoon. This time, we plan to not present the 'Crystal Cross Medal', but directly the Order of the Holy Sword."

Edward said in a deep voice.

“Wow.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "In the name of what? The Order of the Holy Sword is usually awarded to warriors who have made contributions to the defense of the country or have made great achievements on the battlefield."

"'Single-handedly discovered and prevented the assassination attempt on Princess Isabel by a Transcendent Assassin.'"

"Huh? This turns into an assassination attempt? Secretary Raff becomes an innocent person affected?"

The black-haired young man with messy curly hair lazily slumped in the rocking chair and sneered, "It's not impossible. Let them report it this way for now."

"……First?"

Edward caught Sherlock's words: "What did you find out?"

"Not an investigation, but a deduction. This is a truly fascinating case, my dear friend. I thought about it all night and didn't go to bed until three or four in the morning."

Sherlock said, taking out his little notebook: "First, prioritize the matters and start from the most critical point.

"I have already decoded those documents. They contain a large number of addresses and names written in a coded language.

"I'm sure you don't care about the reasoning involved. I'll just state the conclusion—this document found at the scene is related to the smuggling case at the port."

"…You mean the 'Sweater Brotherhood' line?"

"Yes. In other words, Trade Minister Droste might be involved in the smuggling case.

"I've already ascertained the assassin's identity. He's from the Iris assassin society called the Hawkeyes. Only they wield this special weapon. They're the remnants of the Black Hawk Principality after its demise... mercenaries, so to speak. They're likely to accept commissions from anyone, including attacks on nobles and even royal families."

Having said that, Sherlock closed the notebook.

He looked at Edward meaningfully. "Under what circumstances do you think an assassin who came all the way from Iris would kill the minister's personal secretary, who was directly involved in the Star Antimony Kingdom's smuggling case, in broad daylight?"

"I think it's to frame someone."

Edward answered without hesitation, "That's why the deceased fell from the second floor to the ground, holding the documents, with his back to the murderer. This means he was most likely delivering documents, not picking them up."

"Oh, your speculation does make some sense."

Sherlock's lips curled slightly as he heard this. "But unfortunately, that possibility doesn't exist. Because I confirmed the notes on this file yesterday, it clearly came from the same person as the code on the shipping bill we seized at the Sweater Brotherhood. After cracking the code rules, I successfully decoded the file and found that it listed warehouses one after another and the corresponding warehouse managers.

"Thankfully, I have a file here with a document signed by Secretary Raff. Although he carefully controlled his handwriting, I'm sure it was written by the same person.

"So I thought of a possibility. Someone has something on Minister Droste and wants to expose him."

"There's such a thing..."

Edward murmured softly, staring at Sherlock, and asked in a calm and clear voice, "Who do you think it is?"

"Analyzing from the perspectives of interpersonal relationships, motivations, abilities, and alibis," Sherlock paused, "I think it's possible that it's your father, Professor Moriarty."

(End of this chapter)