Miss Holmes, the Professor Is Not a Villain

14 – Meeting with young Holmes was the worst (14)

“The age difference of 13 years is quite common for us. Even my mom and dad have a larger age gap. Also, I heard that there are cases of people receiving marriage proposals around the age of 10. And girls can get married at 12.”

“That’s true for some, but those cases are mere possibilities. After all, I am your teacher, and you are my student, Sherlock.”

What a peculiar era it was. The England under the reign of widow Victoria was hypocritical, tedious, and a bit insane.

Despite having a legal marriageable age, men were able to marry at 14, and women at 12.

Although it wasn’t common, it was also not a rare occurrence.

With seemingly no repulsion towards pedophilia, corrupt capitalists would seek out even younger girls in brothels.

Of course, Moriarty hadn’t considered such disgusting behavior, but Sherlock’s offhanded proposal was just enough to make him feel awkward, so he went back to stroking her head after refusing to continue the conversation.

The girl didn’t speak further, however, she seemed displeased at Moriarty’s refusal, protruding her lips as if in complaint. Moriarty pretended not to notice.

Despite it all, Sherlock was happy. And she feared that this happiness might disappear in an instant.

However, the girl was still ignorant of the evil and irrationality of this world. And ignorance can sometimes lead to sin.

Then the moment came.

Bang―

“What was that sound?”

A startled Sherlock jumped off Moriarty’s lap and shouted. She then turned to look in the direction where the gunshot was heard. It was a sound from her own mansion.

And it was when she was about to rush towards the mansion.

Bang―

A while later, the second gunshot echoed.

Sherlock then ran towards the mansion, leaving Moriarty behind. She heard her teacher following her, but she couldn’t bother with him at that time.

As she neared the mansion, an unexplainable feeling of anxiety began to fill Sherlock’s heart. She, of all people, could tell what the sudden two gunshots meant.

But that’s why she denied it.

She denied all possibilities.

Even the scenario of an armed robber suddenly invading her peaceful countryside mansion, a plot like the ones in crime novels, or a situation where the gun her father possessed was fired by someone, she denied them all.

‘It’s okay, no one got hurt, someone just shot the gun out of boredom, maybe father shot at the wall!’

Sherlock and Moriarty were the first to arrive outside her father’s study. Maid Sally was trembling in fear and confusion at the sudden gunshots down the stairs.

“Mo…Moriarty sir! I…I was hanging out laundry outside when there were su…sudden gunshots!”

“Calm down! Was anyone else in the house?”

“The…the pastor and…and the lady only!”

“Sherlock, don’t!”

Sherlock unknowingly opened the door to the study. Moriarty belatedly tried to stop her, covering her eyes and pulling her back, but she managed to see.

The scene she saw was unbearable. But the girl could see her parents lying on the floor of the study, a sight that should have been a dream.

A strange smell, for the first time, stimulated her senses. Only later could she recognize that it was the smell of gunpowder and blood.

Things that used to bring her joy in crime and detective novels were no longer pleasant.

She could not fully remember what happened afterward. She heard Sally’s screaming when she belatedly realized what had happened. She faintly remembers Moriarty, her teacher, carefully entering the study alone, covering the bodies.

She remembered her older brother, Mycroft, who had been studying alone in the backyard, coming in late, the people gathering.

She remembers burying her head in sobbing in the arms of Moriarty, her teacher consoling her touchingly.

And… And oddly enough, she remembered feeling something from Moriarty, who was comforting her.

While comforting her, the man, who should have been shocked by the sudden death of someone he knew, even if he wasn’t as sad as she was, seemed strangely immersed in some kind of ecstasy.

She wasn’t aware of it then, but he certainly was like that.

Moriarty, her teacher, was certainly smiling in secret.

The sudden tragedy of the Holmes family caused the small country town to mourn, and no one mentioned it anymore as if they had made an agreement.

The tragic death of Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, who were somewhat respected by the people, had a huge impact on the small rural society.

But more than anything else, it had a lot to do with the fact that there had been no special incidents so far. The old policeman, who was stationed quite far away and was alone, even called for support immediately after arriving at the mansion flustered by the terrible ‘accident.’

Eventually, several policemen from quite far away came to conduct an investigation, but in honor of the late Pastor Holmes, the investigation concluded that it was an accidental shooting that caused the couple’s death.

This was the final tribute to Pastor Holmes, and the church also granted permission for the body of Pastor Holmes, who was not a suicide but had died tragically from a firearm accident, to be buried in the church cemetery.

Sherinford, who suddenly lost his parents, came down to his hometown quickly as the de facto head of the family. Considering his situation, the school allowed him to graduate early, and as a result, everything was smoothly concluded with Sherinford succeeding his late father Holmes’s parish.

Of course, The Holmes siblings, who lost their parents, were greatly hurt by the sudden tragedy and could only console each other.

The funeral took place, and everyone cried. In the face of grief, no logic or reasoning mattered. They could not think about anything, be it Sherlock or Mycroft, in the face of death.

Moriarty’s presence became somewhat out of place, but he mourned the death of the Holmes couple together, attended the funeral, and comforted the three Holmes siblings like an adult.

Throughout the incident, Moriarty had to especially comfort Sherlock who followed Moriarty closer than anyone else. Moriarty needed to try.

He did not wish to see Sherlock fall apart.

Faced with the sudden tragedy, Moriarty ended up returning to Oxford sooner than planned. It was still winter when he left, long before the arrival of spring.

On his last day, Moriarty wished to say a quick farewell to the siblings.

“Where is Sherlock?”

“She avoided me, claiming she said her goodbyes yesterday. I guess she didn’t want to say goodbye to you either.”

“I see. Anyway, Mycroft, you’re planning to go to Oxford as well, aren’t you?”

“No, I intend to go to Cambridge.”

“I see.”

After briefly conversing with Mycroft, Moriarty sensed an inkling of suspicion from Mycroft towards him but chose to ignore it as it was too insignificant to draw any conclusions.

As he left the Holmes’ mansion, he whistled. Despite feeling a tinge of regret for not meeting Sherlock, he knew this did not mark the end of everything.

‘I wish I had said a proper goodbye, though.’

The evidence collection was complete. Now, he needed to return and prepare himself for Sherlock Holmes, the detective he’d eventually be dealing with.

However, it was clear that the world was moving in favor of Moriarty.

While waiting for his carriage, Moriarty noticed someone panting, running towards him. And to his anticipation, there stood a confused young girl.

Sherlock’s reluctance to bid farewell to Moriarty wasn’t just because she was childlike.

As the day of their parting approached, Sherlock was able to face the tiny doubts and anxieties in her heart, almost as if she had suddenly come to her senses.

But she denied the possibility. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have done it. It should not be!

Despite this, Sherlock was a detective. Unconsciously, she stepped into her father’s dusty study, which had long been neglected of cleaning.

It was a tragic place, shunned by all following her parents’ departure. A minimal investigation had taken place, but Sherlock knew how inept the constables of that era were.

The crime scene had not been preserved properly, and possible clues were scattered everywhere.

There, Sherlock found a crumpled letter near the fireplace, clearly intended for her mother.

The handwriting was unrecognizable. It was foreign yet familiar.

“Handwriting can be very useful, but it can be easily changed too. Therefore, your novel is full of errors, Sherlock.”

“Is that so?”

“There’s a similar case in Du Maur’s work which is read by those university dummies. See, if I use my left hand, oh, I mean the hand that I don’t usually use, my handwriting changes entirely, looking weird and different.”

Memories of a lesson ignited in her mind, reminding her of Moriarty’s teaching methods. His intuition solved the puzzle that had been tormenting her.

Sherlock immediately ran towards where Moriarty should have been. Fortunately, she was not too late.

She needed to confirm. She wanted to deny it. It had to be untrue.

However, as a detective, she needed to confront the horrifying truth.

“Is it you, sir?”

Detective Sherlock Holmes opened her mouth to Professor Moriarty.