Stop trying to control me, Miss Moriarty!

Aysa Watson pushed open the oak door of the apartment and, following the light from the magic lamp, nodded slightly to the shadows in the foyer: "Good day, Mr. Hudson."

"Miss Watson, you've come back just in time. Would you like some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies?"

Asha took the still-warm cookie, took a small bite, and smiled, saying, "It's delicious."

Hudson grinned, revealing his uneven teeth, and laughed heartily, "Haha, I'm glad you like it..."

boom--!

Just then, a muffled explosion suddenly rang out from the ceiling above, dust swirled, and tremors followed.

Aza immediately shielded the elderly Mr. Hudson behind her, her gaze fixed on the top of the stairs.

After a moment, silence returned.

She sighed, then expertly turned to Mr. Hudson to apologize: "I'm so sorry, she's caused you trouble again..."

Hudson picked up his apron and wiped his sweat: "It's okay, it's okay, it's good that young people are energetic."

Elsewhere in London, the first thing residents would think of upon hearing an explosion is calling the police.

But this is 221B Baker Street, and the two of them have become somewhat accustomed to this kind of absurdity.

Because the best and strangest detective in all of London lives here.

After a brief farewell to Mr. Hudson, Aza quickly stepped up the stairs, grasped the familiar brass doorknob, and shoved it open—

"Charlotte!!!"

The room was filled with a strange smell of various alchemical materials, and the lingering smoke refracted the light from the magic lamp into a hazy halo.

"...Asha?"

A disheveled young girl slumped on the floor, a pipe in her hand, and lazily waved towards the door.

"Welcome back. Could you get me some matches?"

Asha sighed, took a box of matches from the mantel and walked over to Charlotte.

Her long, black hair was dry and messy, and her once clear, lake-like blue eyes were now shrouded in the fog common in London, numb and empty, her face covered in dust from the explosion.

The sparse sunlight pierced through the clouds and windows, illuminating her biasedly and painting angular shadows on her beautiful body.

When she exhaled a smoke ring and a gloomy yet satisfied smile appeared on her face, she possessed a strange quality that made it hard to look away.

Aysa's gaze shifted to the table, where she saw the shattered glassware. Her tone was filled with helplessness: "Have I told you several times already? Don't do alchemy experiments in the room."

"It's okay to do it once in a while, right?" Charlotte replied vaguely, exhaling another perfect smoke ring.

She tried to get up, but only managed a slight movement: "Oh, right... could you help me? The raw materials contain a paralyzing ingredient, I can't stand up..."

Asha sighed again and lifted the genius detective like a chick into the velvet armchair next to her.

On days when no cases came her way, her close friend's mental state was visibly deteriorating.

Then, Asha picked up a broom and began tidying up the room.

"Wait! Are you using magic crystal powder again?!"

She turned to stare at Charlotte, a handful of grayish-white crystalline powder clutched in her hand, her brow furrowed, her voice turning stern:

"I've told you before, this stuff is addictive, and it can cause neurasthenia and even organ damage. Your current state is all its fault; you need to control yourself!"

"I know, Asha."

Charlotte curled up in the velvet armchair, squinting, her tone as languid as a cat at midday: "But since it has such a strong stimulating and invigorating effect, its side effects aren't so important..."

"Charlotte," Asha interrupted her sternly, "I'm a doctor, and even you should listen to me in this matter."

Charlotte, who had been reprimanded, silently looked away.

"Pretending not to hear won't help! Once your prized brain becomes useless under the influence of excessive external magic, it will be too late!"

Faced with Asha's unwavering resolve, Charlotte could only sigh deeply and begin to complain, "But, Asha, I'm so bored..."

"Then go find Lestrade; Scotland Yard has enough cases to keep you occupied."

"Case?" Charlotte scoffed. "No, Asha, those can't even be called cases..."

With trembling fingers, she took a notebook from her coat pocket and handed it to me.

"You see, Scotland Yard has been accumulating this kind of sleep-inducing stuff lately. And the recent requests are all incredibly boring trivia like finding cats and fixing appliances."

She spoke weakly, her gaze vacantly fixed on the leaden-gray sky outside the window:

"Even though there's thick fog every night, no one uses it to commit crimes. I'm starting to wonder if all the criminals in London are dead... Speaking of which, would you like to go to France...?"

Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from outside the window.

Charlotte's complaints came to an abrupt halt.

A moment later, a familiar smile appeared on her lips.

Asha keenly noticed the change: "What's wrong? Is there something strange happening on the street, or a crime?"

"No, none of those!"

Charlotte's lifeless tone suddenly became cheerful, but considering her age, this tone was actually normal.

"A beautiful four-wheeled carriage and a pair of purebred horses, worth at least two hundred pounds. Asha! If nothing unexpected happens, a heart-pounding case is coming your way!"

She jumped excitedly from her armchair, then plopped back down on the floor, giving Asha a look that was a mixture of apology and urging: "Give me another hand?"

Soon after.

A deliberately slow, light footstep came from the stairs, finally stopping at the door and gently knocking.

"Please come in!"

Charlotte had changed into a neat and tidy casual outfit, her hair was slightly combed, and her blue eyes shone with a calm and focused light.

A visitor, dressed in a black hooded robe and wearing an exquisite mask to conceal his identity, slowly walked in.

Her gaze darted between the two men, as if she didn't know who to speak to: "Excuse me, which one of you is Charlotte Holmes?"

"That's me, please have a seat."

The visitor's gaze shifted to Watson: "Then this must be Miss Watson. Could you please excuse me for a moment? I would like to speak with Miss Holmes alone."

Hearing this, Asha stood up to leave, but Charlotte gently pressed her arm down and said to the guest, "Rest assured, you can speak freely in front of Asha. There is no one in all of England who is more discreet than her."

The guest lowered his head and fell into a brief silence.

The sliver of skin peeking out from the edge of her mask appeared unnaturally pale.

Even though her expression and eyes were not visible, Asha could easily tell that she was wavering just from her tightly clenched lips and trembling fingertips.

"In that case... please swear that you will keep this a secret, because the following conversation will have the power to affect the whole of Europe."

"I'll keep it a secret," Charlotte agreed without hesitation.

"Me too," Asha said.

The visitor remained silent for a moment before speaking in a weak voice that still trembled slightly: "As your agent, I cannot tell you the details, but this matter involves the Olmstam family—the royal family of Bohemia..."

"I know all that," Charlotte interrupted her abruptly, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.

The guest was taken aback, stopped talking, and looked at Holmes with suspicion.

The middleman who recommended her here had assured her that Charlotte Holmes was a detective lady with a keen eye for European affairs, a meticulous mind, and boundless energy.

However, the girl in front of him, who appeared lazy and even somewhat rude, was quite different from the description.

Charlotte slowly opened her eyes and looked at the visitor casually: "Your Majesty, if you would deign to tell me the whole story, I will be able to serve you better."

Upon hearing this, the guest's eyes widened, and he immediately stood up: "What...what did you just call me?"

"If you want to conceal your identity, you shouldn't be riding in such an conspicuous carriage, and the clothes and jewelry under your robes are too luxurious."

A brief silence fell over the room.

"...You guessed right."

Finally, the guest removed her robes, and in a fit of despair, ripped off her mask and threw it on the ground, revealing a face that was both worried and undeniably noble and beautiful: "I am the Queen, there's no need to hide it any longer..."

"Yes, I knew before you even spoke that you were Her Majesty Ophelia Godreich Sigismund von Olmsstein."

"I am so sorry to have deceived you." The Queen sat down again, her hands clasped tightly. "This is the first time I have personally handled something like this, but it was just too important, and I had no choice... that's why I rushed here from Prague under the cover of night..."

"Hmm. There are always things in life that we have no choice but to do. So, could you tell me what happened?"

Charlotte interrupted the Queen again with the most polite words she could think of, urging her to get to the point as soon as possible.

"Here's what happened—"

A deep worry lingered on the Queen's brow as she began her narration:

"Three years ago, I met the boy of my destiny in Warsaw, and now, I'm in trouble again because of him. Erin Adler... I think that name should be familiar to you."

"I do have some recollection of him." Charlotte pointed to a thick collection of newspaper clippings on the bookshelf. "Aysa, help me find Erin Adler in the records."

"There's no need for that."

Asha shook her head: "He's the most notorious playboy in London's social circles, a womanizer who enjoys toying with women's feelings, a scumbag who can sleep with three different women in one day, the worst of the worst."

Charlotte looked at Aysa with slight surprise.

Her close friend, a typical British lady, rarely showed such anger and used a barrage of insulting words to describe someone.

"You seem to know him very well?"

Aysa scoffed, "Many of my patients are his victims."

The Queen was also stunned: "Adler...is he really that kind of person?"

"Let's get back to the main topic." Charlotte shifted her gaze back to the Queen. "It seems that Erin Adler has something on you?"

"That's right. It's a love letter..."

"Excuse my intrusion, but have you had sexual relations with Adler? Or were you secretly married? Or did you have any legal documents or proof of marriage?"

The Queen blushed and shook her head vigorously: "None of them."

Charlotte scratched her head. "Your Majesty, I don't understand. With only one letter, the handwriting and personal seal alone are enough to prove it's a forgery."

"He also has my photos."

"As a member of European royalty, His Majesty must have an abundance of photographs, right?"

"But," the Queen lowered her head, her voice even softer, "he's in the photo too..."

"...Well, that's a bit tricky. In any case, we absolutely have to get the photos back. Have you tried any other methods?"

"Yes, yes." The Queen's face was full of frustration. "I had people negotiate with him, trying to buy back the photos at a high price. I even sent thieves to search his house, but all to no avail."

She lowered her head, her posture almost pleading: "You must have heard that my engagement to the second prince of Scandinavia is to be announced next Monday. But if Adler publishes the photos and letters then... my reputation, the reputation of the Bohemian royal family, will be ruined."

"I see. We still have three days." Charlotte analyzed unhurriedly. "That should be enough to retrieve the letters and photos. So, what should we do about the money issue?"

"You have full authority to decide. I can even offer a province of the kingdom as a reward for retrieving the photographs."

"What are the current costs?"

The Queen took a heavy bag made of antelope skin from her bosom. "This contains 300 pounds in gold and 700 pounds in banknotes, as an advance payment."

Charlotte's eyes lit up. She quickly wrote a receipt in her notebook, tore it off, and handed it to the Queen. "One last question, what exactly did that photo look like?"

The Queen's beautiful face flushed crimson instantly. After hesitating for a long time, she finally stammered and struggled to speak:

"It's...it's six inches...in the photo, I'm...I'm lying on the ground...licking...licking Adler's shoes..."

"..."

Charlotte and Aysa exchanged a very complicated look.

"Excuse me for being so bold, but why did you do that back then?"

The Queen covered her burning cheeks with her hands, her ears turning red with embarrassment: "I... I was too young back then... I was just a princess with the third in line to the throne, and I never thought I could become queen... I was blinded by love and only wanted to give everything to that child."

"I find this emotion hard to understand."

"I still can't understand it now! I was completely insane back then—I had mental problems, but it had already happened."

"Your Majesty, you may return to your inn and get some rest," Charlotte finally said.

"What do you mean?"

A confident smile, as if she had everything under control, spread across her lips: "Don't worry, good luck will come soon."

Only then did the Queen's tense expression relax slightly, revealing a relieved look. She picked up the mask from the ground, put it on, and dressed herself properly again.

She stood up, hesitated for a moment, and then added, "If possible, I hope you won't hurt Adler..."

She then left 221B Baker Street without making a sound.

Charlotte didn't stand up from her chair until the sound of the carriage resumed, her tone once again tinged with a heaviness beyond her years:

"To be threatened like that and yet say such things—people driven by love are truly incomprehensible. I'm afraid I'll never understand this feeling, not even until I die."

She looked at Asha, "However, this commission will at least relieve some boredom. I'm starting to get curious about Adler, who managed to win the Queen's heart."

"He's a complete scumbag," Asha commented coldly. "Isn't time running out?"

Charlotte raised an eyebrow, her face radiating focused attention. "Don't worry, I've got a great idea."

"By the way, Asha, how old is Adler this year?"

Asha recalled her conversations with several patients. "He enrolled at Imperial College London this year, which means he should be a year younger than you..."

Watson discovered the blind spot.

16-1-3=?

The same goes for Sherlock Holmes.

The two watched the magnificent carriage drive away from Baker Street in silence.

.

.

.

The setting sun painted its last few stingy rays of light on the London sky, gilding the brickwork and smoke with a dark golden outline.

Erin walked lightly through the alleys near his house, feeling quite pleased with himself.

The chronic toxins accumulated in the body have been contained, and it will be fully cured in just half a month.

After ending her conversation with Professor Moriarty, she did not press the matter further.

And tomorrow is the wonderful weekend!

Finally, I don't have to experience that damn school life anymore!

"stop!"

A harsh, hoarse roar shattered the silence of the alley, followed by a strong, musty smell of cheap alcohol.

"Kid, hand over all your valuables! If you know what's good for you, I might spare your life!"

Several disheveled figures emerged from the pile of clutter and shadows, wielding rusty daggers and old wooden sticks, and surrounded Erin.

Erin calmly pulled out a small stack of banknotes and unfolded them in front of the homeless man: "Ten pounds each, can I leave now?"

Faced with this sudden windfall, the homeless men froze on the spot, their Adam's apples bobbing and the sound of them swallowing saliva was particularly clear in the alley.

The burly man at the head of the group, his eyes bloodshot, took a sudden step forward: "Dream on! We want everything on you!"

"Alright then," Erin sighed silently.

The alchemist warned him not to use his magic recently, but these vagrants were too greedy. A textile worker's weekly wage is only about one pound, and they were still not satisfied with ten pounds.

His fingers quietly reached for the short cane in his trench coat pocket.

"In the name of the Lord, you must not harm him!"

Suddenly, a slender young nun walked toward Erin and the homeless man.

"..." Erin's remaining good mood vanished instantly.

The situation before us is a complete replay of "A Scandal in Bohemia," except that Holmes has been replaced by a nun instead of a priest.

But isn't this plot development a bit too early?

He's only fifteen!

Moreover, as a devoted fan of the Sherlock Holmes series, he was once again filled with the absurdity he had felt when he met Moriarty.

[Main character Charlotte Holmes detected]

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The Red and the Black: Becoming "That Man" for Sherlock Holmes

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