The Meeting with Miss Holmes Was the Worst (7)
“They tried to write Rachael, but due to unavoidable circumstances, they couldn’t finish it. And judging by the slightly off spelling, the culprit’s probably someone with a relatively low level of education—or maybe someone who speaks with a dialect.”
“So?”
“That’s what the dimwitted Scotland Yard inspectors would think. I can confidently say most of them wouldn’t even get as far as what I’ve added. Or they might not even consider it meaningful in the first place.”
Moriarty smiled, pleased by the girl’s response. Seeing her teacher smile at her, Sherlock felt her own mood lift, and she grinned innocently in return.
But the deduction wasn’t over yet. No answer had emerged. As her educator, Moriarty asked again for the solution—not pressuring or scolding, but with the firm belief that she could at least uncover most of it.
“Right, go on then. So what does it mean?”
But the girl’s expression darkened for a moment, frustration flickering in her eyes. Yet this clever child seemed to grasp why her special teacher had posed this riddle to her. Moriarty only grew fonder of the intriguing girl.
“It definitely has another meaning. So... this must be what you meant by intuition, right?”
The teacher nodded instead of answering, so Sherlock let out a small sigh and continued. Of course, that sigh was directed at herself—frustration at having unraveled nearly all the clues but still failing to land on the final answer.
“But... I don’t know. It’s frustrating, but within the limits of my knowledge, I can’t figure out exactly what RACHE means. It’s probably a foreign word, right? And you gave me this riddle to emphasize how important it is for me to build a broad knowledge base.”
“Yes, you’re right, Sherlock. Fortunately, you’ve grasped exactly what I wanted to convey. You’re a smart girl, after all, aren’t you?”
Sherlock had to forcibly suppress the corners of her mouth from turning up at the praise that wasn’t quite praise. It was truly strange. She knew full well that the man before her was an exceptionally special adult. But this feeling—unlike the praise from her mother and father—was entirely new, leaving her a bit confused.
The girl was human, after all. No matter how brilliant, smarter than adults, or able to see what others couldn’t, she couldn’t help but feel good hearing praise. Of course, praise from her parents was wonderful. She loved her family. Even if they were sometimes ordinary, boring, and failed to understand her, she loved them sincerely. So hearing praise from them was naturally pleasing.
But at the same time, it was something utterly expected. Sherlock took pride in her intellect. She knew she was exceptionally smart, so praise was simply her due.
That’s why, perhaps, the praise from the man before her—the one she herself acknowledged—felt so special, like true recognition of real achievement.
Of course, Sherlock didn’t forget to ask about the riddle’s answer.
“So what does RACHE mean, sir?”
“Revenge.”
Moriarty said it curtly. The word might sound somewhat sinister, but Sherlock nodded simply and accepted it.
“I see. A foreign word for ‘revenge’... Fascinating. So which language is it?”
“German.”
“Then it could be the work of one of those anarchists people talk about. Or maybe someone disguising it as such.”
“...Do you even know what anarchists are?”
No matter how smart the girl was, it wasn’t a term one expected from her lips, so Moriarty found himself asking without thinking.
Sherlock shrugged lightly.
“Not exactly, but I learned they’re bad people. From a serialized novel, actually.”
“Well, opinions vary depending on political and social views... but the key is you need to learn about such people before drawing conclusions. Same with German. So, what’s your take now that we’ve solved the riddle, Sherlock?”
“...I definitely see what you mean, sir. If I knew German, I could’ve solved it perfectly.”
“That’s why building knowledge is crucial. It also helps cultivate intuition to some degree. Intuition is like a sense, but the broader your knowledge, the better it develops. If you hadn’t suspected it might be a foreign word, would you have even attempted the riddle?”
The girl didn’t answer right away. But as if vowing to heed her teacher’s lessons, she stared at Moriarty with an intensity that might burden others.
Of course, Moriarty felt no discomfort. Others might have. A pretty child like her would make anyone hard-pressed to meet her gaze. In a few more years, when she grew to Moriarty’s age, any man might blush and look away first.
But Moriarty just smiled faintly. He still couldn’t pinpoint his own motives. Yet guiding and leading this brilliant girl was, in itself, undeniably enjoyable.
The lesson continued.
“Of course, I won’t teach math all year long, but most agree it helps with intuition, so I’ll teach you some basic principles, Sherlock.”
“Very well. If you say so, sir, I must follow.”
She had already half-trusted and followed Moriarty, but the riddle had convinced her utterly that she must believe and obey this man before her. Now, without a word of protest, the girl’s eyes sparkled as she focused on him.
What to start with? Moriarty pondered briefly. There was no need for a rigid curriculum. Mrs. Holmes didn’t want one anyway; he just needed to teach the essentials.
So Moriarty opted for a freeform approach. Both he and Sherlock preferred freedom, so neither minded. There were differences between the man and the girl, but their commonalities ran deeper. Perhaps a fated connection.
Of course, neither Moriarty nor Sherlock believed in such things. At least, not yet.
But the lesson had to go on. Moriarty finally spoke, beginning with the most special entity in mathematics—just as he had for himself and now for Sherlock.
“Then we’ll start with prime numbers, naturally. I heard it’s your first time with a tutor, but you can handle basic arithmetic, right?”
“I’m not a child, sir. I can do much more complex calculations. Prime numbers, though? What are those?”
At her childlike curiosity, Moriarty smiled.
“They’re special numbers in many ways—ones that mathematicians obsess over and explore endlessly. Numbers divisible only by 1 and themselves.”
Of course, academically, there were more complex definitions. But no need to burden a child with them. She wasn’t destined to be a mathematician. He just needed to use math as a tool to impart suitable knowledge and guide her.
“Only by 1 and itself... Special, like a person who can only be understood by one other besides themselves.”
For a moment, the girl fixed her gaze on Moriarty without realizing it. Unfortunately, he didn’t grasp the childish sentiment behind it. Had he known, he might have acted differently.
Oblivious, Moriarty continued.
“I figured you’d latch onto that. There’s much fun to be had with primes, but we’ll take it slow. The key point is they exist infinitely.”
“How do you know?”
A perfectly Sherlock-like question. Unthinkingly, Moriarty patted her head, finding her inquisitive spirit admirable—and this tiny being, who brought him smiles and joy with every action, utterly endearing.
Too late, he realized his impulsive gesture while stroking her hair. A rare slip for him, ever distant from emotions.
Sherlock felt much the same. From anyone else—even her mother—she’d have sulked and resisted. She always saw herself as an adult and hated being treated like a child. Moreover, they’d known each other less than three days.
Yet she didn’t reject his touch. When he quietly withdrew, she even felt a twinge of regret.
To dispel the awkward air and return to the lesson, Moriarty pressed on.
“Our great Euclid proved it using reductio ad absurdum. Oh, we’ll learn that too—you’ll love it. But for now, just know they’re infinite.”
“Got it. And?”
“The trouble is, primes are so erratic— no pattern. Mathematicians still toil to find one, but for now, none exists. So we rely on the hard process of sieving them out.”
With that, Moriarty calmly wrote numbers from 1 to 50 in his prepared notebook.
Sherlock watched his every motion intently, barely breathing.
Once ready, he continued.
“It might tie into your favorite method. Long ago in Greece, there lived a man named Eratosthenes, Sherlock. He devised this—simple, yet the only method still used today... one detectives like you would love.”
“What method?”
“Simple: eliminate them one by one. First, cross out 1—it belongs nowhere, so not prime. Next, 2—the first prime, very special. Its multiples aren’t prime either. Understand so far? So what next?”
“Cross out all multiples of 2.”
As Sherlock said, Moriarty began striking out the even numbers beyond 2 up to 50. The brilliant girl already grasped it.
“I see—finding clues one by one and eliminating.”
“Yes. Next, 3—a prime, so strike its multiples. Then 5, 7, and so on. Interesting, isn’t it?”
At her teacher’s words, the girl nodded as if entranced. Her heart began to pound fiercely. She’d known it already, but Sherlock was certain the year ahead would be filled with joy and happiness.