The Detective's True Identity
Rain fell over London. It always did. A city shrouded in gloomy clouds, where bright sunlight was a rare sight. The Industrial Revolution that began in London had ushered out the age of mystery and brought forth an era of iron and civilization. It was probably around then that the skies filled with dark clouds began mixing with acrid smog.
"······."
The girl felt the vibrations of raindrops hitting her umbrella. The chilly night air mingled with the dreary weather, freezing the city solid. Winter was still far off, yet white breath already puffed out visibly.
With her hat pulled low and her outfit neatly adjusted, the girl resumed walking. The stars illuminating the sky were hidden by the clouds, but the streetlights brightening the city burned steadily, lighting up the world.
She entered one shabby building among them. A simple sign by the entrance read Holmes Office.
The inside was pitch black, without a single light. It felt lifeless, as if no one lived there. Sherlock paused at the entrance, staring into the darkness for a moment before flicking on the lights.
She placed her umbrella in the stand and stepped forward. Now illuminated, the interior didn't look like a normal home. The basic layout felt disconnected from any living space, and the countless newspaper clippings plastered everywhere drove the point home.
The moment she entered the office, she headed straight for the inner room. Sitting at the desk in what seemed like a study, she immediately began poring over a thick book.
Silence reigned. Whether by nature or habit, Sherlock didn't mutter to herself or make even the slightest noise—she simply maintained perfect quiet. The only sounds were the faint rustles as she turned pages.
And the content she was reading all pointed to one figure.
Phantom Thief Raven.
The hot topic shaking not just London but all of Britannia lately. His crimes had taken on meaning beyond mere theft.
A closer look revealed that not only her desk but the entire office—walls, floors, everywhere—was littered with materials on Raven.
What drove her to such extremes?
As the night deepened, Sherlock analyzed the documents without a hint of fatigue.
Then.
Knock knock.
A light rapping shattered the stillness. The girl looked up, staring toward the entrance.
A visitor at this hour? Even during the day, no one had come to Holmes Office lately.
Sherlock rose and approached the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's me. Sherlock."
A familiar voice. Realizing who it was, Sherlock narrowed her eyes slightly.
Opening the door revealed the expected woman, standing there in a dark coat. Gadget shook the rain from her damp shoulders and spoke nonchalantly.
"Haven't seen rain like this lately."
"How did you find this place?"
"I'm a cop."
A brief standoff ensued. Gadget spoke first.
"Mind if I come in? Got something to discuss."
"Sorry, I'm busy right now."
"Really? It's about the phantom thief. Guess there's no helping it, then."
As if she'd anticipated the response, the woman turned to leave without hesitation. Just as expected, the girl stopped her departing guest.
"Come in."
"Oh. Thanks."
Gadget entered the office and glanced around. Taking in the sheer volume and detail of the materials everywhere, she couldn't help but be genuinely impressed.
I thought she was just some genius...
With effort like this, she had no choice but to acknowledge her. At least Sherlock wasn't like those half-baked types relying solely on talent or magic.
The office's only table was the one in the study where the girl had been sitting. Sherlock added another chair and offered coffee.
"Sorry, but I can't drink coffee."
"Didn't expect that."
Gadget gave a wry smile. Fair enough—her image screamed coffee addict. Ironically, she smoked without a care but hated coffee for being bitter.
No other drinks apparently; she got plain water in a glass. What could an uninvited guest do? She should be grateful for the gesture.
As the female detective gulped down the water, the girl asked,
"What brings you here?"
"Like I said, something related to the phantom thief."
"Didn't you say last time you couldn't entrust it to me?"
"I did. I know."
Truth be told, she still felt the same. Could they really catch him relying on one detective? Gadget remained skeptical.
But circumstances had changed. The thief had struck again, this time with a far trickier riddle, and her team was on the verge of being sidelined in favor of the Executioners.
Yeah. That was the real problem.
The Executioners were, simply put, the police unit specializing in mysterious crimes. A national armed group handling bizarre cases involving things like magic. Despite the "police" label, they were worlds apart.
The Executioners never revealed themselves to the public. They lurked in the city's shadows, resolving incidents quietly while maintaining ironclad secrecy to keep it from civilians.
That's why they hadn't taken over the Phantom Thief Raven case yet. He'd been too flashy from the start, drawing eyes across London and Britannia.
But with the investigation dragging, the government had decided. They'd risk exposing the Executioners if needed to nab Raven.
"I need your help, Sherlock Holmes."
"······."
"When I heard this office's address, it clicked. Why your name felt so familiar."
She'd thought it rang a bell from the first time she heard it. That unusual name Sherlock—she'd definitely encountered it before.
"The bounty hunter who captured Jefferson Hope. That was you."
The girl wasn't a detective. She was a bounty hunter who personally caught vicious criminals.
Sherlock remained expressionless at Gadget's words, silent. When she finally spoke, her calm reply was as if nothing had changed.
"That doesn't change anything."
"Of course not, for this case."
Regardless of her infamous bounty hunter rep, Sherlock was performing her detective role admirably against Phantom Thief Raven. Her deductive skills rivaled any real detective's.
That's exactly why they needed this fake detective now.
Time for the main topic. Gadget pulled a card from her pocket and held it out.
"This notice was slipped into Scotland Yard's mailbox this morning."
"Scotland Yard? Targeting the police this time?"
"...We don't know. It's completely different from before."
Better to see for yourself. Handing over the card, Sherlock snatched it and scanned the contents.
Having read it all, she spoke flatly.
"It's a riddle."
"Can you solve it?"
"I have a vague idea, but nothing certain."
Gadget slumped slightly, disappointed by the honest answer.
"I see... Sigh."
Fair enough—if it were that obvious, she'd have cracked it ages ago. Feeling glum, she debated stepping out for a smoke.
That's when the girl across from her abruptly stood.
Gadget startled, asking in confusion,
"...Where are you going?"
"Just grabbing something. Wait a sec."
Sherlock rummaged through the study and office, gathering items. When she finally returned and set them on the desk—
Thud!
A heavy thump made the desk sag. It was a veritable mountain of papers: books, documents, newspapers, photos, drawings. Every kind imaginable piled together.
"What's all this?"
"Reference materials."
Sherlock dusted her hands casually and continued.
"Now, let's find out. What the riddle's answer really is."
"...All of them?"
"Yes. Any problem?"
"······."
In that moment, Sherlock's emerald eyes gleamed sharply.
The announced day arrived. The night breeze felt refreshing—somehow, my premonitions were good tonight.
"I wonder if she solved the cipher."
[Who knows. But it wouldn't be fun unless she did, right?]
"True enough."
Even if she did, she probably wouldn't pinpoint the exact spot. Likely settling on two candidate sites and trying to cover both.
"Then let's get started."
Another grand performance begins. Wonder if I can wrap up the stage successfully.
How will my esteemed rival detective respond?
Maybe I can look forward to it a little.