229. Watson
In 19th-century London, the air was thick with the mingled smells of coal dust and horse manure.
Gaslights cast a faint, flickering glow in the hazy night, shrouding this industrial-age metropolis in mystery.
On the streets, gentlemen, impeccably tailored in suits and top hats, walked briskly, canes in hand. Ladies, in long dresses cinched at the waist and adorned with feathered and lace caps, moved with elegance. Workers, dressed in rough fabrics and wearing flat-topped hats, bore the marks of a day's toil.
A tall, lean man walked slowly through the crowd, his steps firm and rhythmic, his eyes clouded yet radiating a confident sharpness.
He wore a dark cloak and a deerstalker hat—an uncommon attire for the time, yet possessing a unique charm. He always carried a pipe, taking occasional puffs, smoke swirling around him as if deep in thought about some complex problem.
"This month's expenses seem a bit high again..."
He murmured, his fingers stroking the pipe.
It looked like his detective agency would have to move again; the exorbitant rent forced him to temporarily bow to the pressures of life.
Back at his apartment, a mail lay quietly in his mailbox.
He opened the envelope; it was signed by Stamford, an acquaintance.
The letter essentially told him about a shared apartment on Baker Street, where the rent can be split with others, smaller than his current place, but much cheaper.
He took a puff of his pipe, then slowly exhaled, the smoke brushing against the letter and pushing it to either side.
"221B Baker Street... let's go check it out."
Baker Street wasn't particularly far, but it was relatively remote.
Soon, he found his destination by following the address.
He knocked gently on the door. The doorbell rang softly, and the door slowly opened.
To his surprise, a delicately handsome tomboy stood there.
Her azure eyes held a hint of melancholy. Her hair was tied back in a high ponytail, and she wore a monocle. Her trench coat, though oddly chosen, strangely blended her features together.
No Adam's apple. A girl? Stamford hadn't told him about it!
He mentally grumbled a few times. Although he was an older single man, it didn't mean he harbored any urges or desires. Besides, sharing an apartment with a girl was somewhat inconvenient.
"Hello, I'm Sherlock Holmes. I heard this place is available for sharing, so I came to check it out."
Just then, he noticed a look of shock and disbelief in her eyes.
It was as if she had met someone she had never expected.
"Yun…"
The words, unique to Shenzhou, escaped her lips.
But she pursed her lips, still not uttering the name.
"Miss, do we know each other?" he asked hesitantly.
"...Nice to meet you. I am John H. Watson."
Watson's chest heaved with inexplicable excitement, her breathing becoming heavy and noticeably rapid.
"Hmm, hello. I'll call you Watson. Are you planning to hold our conversation at the doorway like this? While I don't mind, I think a comfortable chair would make our conversation much more convenient."
He didn't seem to notice Watson's unusual behavior; there were too many strange people and too many strange things in this world.
"Please…please come in!" Watson realized he had just left him standing at the door and quickly stepped aside to let him in.
He stubbed out his pipe and went inside.
The furnishings inside were rather simple. In the center of the room was a long table piled high with books, documents, and newspapers.
Maps and charts hung on the walls, pinned to the faded wallpaper with thumbtacks.
Below was a large armchair, its leather surface slightly worn, bearing the marks of time.
Apart from a slightly messy long table, everything else was neatly organized.
"Watson, are you a detective too?" he asked.
Because he himself was a detective, he was very familiar with this kind of environment.
This kind of setup was typical of a police station or a detective agency, but a police station obviously wouldn't be crammed into such a remote place, much less allow outsiders to set foot inside.
"Uh… sort of. I came here to track down a criminal," Watson explained.
"A criminal?" He glanced at the newspapers on the desk.
They were all about recent major events in London.
"Watson, you must be from Shenzhou, right?" he inquired.
From certain details of daily life, he could roughly deduce Watson's hometown; the words marked in red on the newspaper were clearly from Shenzhou.
"Hmm," Watson nodded.
He walked around the room a few more times, quite satisfied with everything.
"Don't you have anything to ask me?" His sudden question caught Watson off guard.
"What?" Watson seemed a little confused.
"You've been observing me since I came in, observing my face, my subtle movements, and so on? Do I... resemble someone you used to know?" he asked.
"...Yes, very much so." Watson looked into his eyes and nodded.
"Unfortunately, although I've learned a little Shenzhou language, I've never been to Shenzhou, so I might not be the person you know." He shrugged.
"He...is gone." Watson pursed his lips and answered.
"I'm truly saddened by the news."
He removed his hat, his expression solemn.
"I'm a detective too, but I haven't solved many cases and haven't made a name for myself yet. After you get to know me a little, would you agree to let me stay here?" He looked at Watson and asked.
"Of course, there's nothing wrong with that." Watson nodded in agreement.
"Nice to do business with you, my friend." He extended his hand and shook hands with Watson.
Soon after, he moved his things over and settled into his small room.
To get along with this slightly unfamiliar roommate, he spent about a night learning some Shenzhou language.
This wasn't difficult for someone with a photographic memory.
However, his accent was a little strange and needed some time to correct.
"Good morning, Watson." He tried to communicate with Watson in Shenzhou.
"...You also speak Shenzhou?" Fu Hua listened to the strange pronunciation, and even his usually cold face showed a slight unease.
"I just learned it last night. I even gave myself the Shenzhou name. You can call me that from now on."
He noticed Watson's strange expression, but he didn't seem embarrassed; after all, he was just a beginner.
"What is it?" Watson asked curiously.
"Yun Ling, Yun as in cloud, Ling as in command."
…