The establishment of the Time Travelers Alliance began in the first year of Conan

Chapter 293 "Sherlock Holmes" and "James Moriarty"

A foggy night on Baker Street in London in 1888.

As night fell, the slight chill that accompanied the darkness brought a calm to the drifting smoke.

Under the dappled glow of the gas streetlights, a gray-white veil, carrying the damp scent of the Thames and mingled with acrid coal smoke, gently engulfed every street.

The Gothic buildings along the street, with their tall and solemn spires, appeared and disappeared like ghosts in the ever-present fog.

On the red and sturdy brick wall, some green vines climbed, but they looked grayish under the cover of coal smoke.

This looks like it's in London in 1888, a perfectly normal year.

Strangely, the doors of almost every building were tightly closed.

You can even hear faint rustling sounds coming from behind the window—the soft crackling of a kettle boiling, or the barely suppressed cough of a patient.

However, no lights could be seen.

As if to avoid disturbing something terrible, there was an unspoken understanding in the whole neighborhood: don't turn on the lights, and try not to make any noise.

Therefore, Baker Street, and even London as a whole, is unusually quiet today.

However, there is one exception.

That's 221B Baker Street.

Warm, orange-red light gently emanated from the building that stood quietly in the mist.

As if drawing an insurmountable boundary in the thick fog and silence, a warm and bright atmosphere dispels some of the chill.

Of course, this light is also an excellent target.

A two-wheeled carriage appeared on the street at some unknown time.

As the clatter of horses' hooves echoed through the mist, the carriage drove straight toward the indistinguishable target.

The coachman, wrapped in a heavy black coat, seemed unfazed by this somewhat strange scene.

He parked the car in front of the familiar door, then picked up the black top hat hanging to the side and put it on.

Then he got out of the car, went to the slightly mottled wooden door, and knocked on the door with the door knocker.

"Thump, thump, thump." The crisp tapping sound echoed in the silence.

No response.

A hint of anxiety flashed in the coachman's eyes.

The client for this mission is a very important person, and he doesn't want to face that person's wrath.

So he cleared his throat, raised his voice slightly, and shouted:

"Mr. Holmes! Someone from the poker club wants to see you!"

……

On the other side of the door at 221B Baker Street, the interior seems like another world, completely different from the outside.

The fireplace in the living room was roaring with flames, several thick blocks of pine wood crackled and popped, and the sweet scent of pine resin filled the entire space of the house along with the warm light.

Looking around, everything is in a deep and warm color scheme.

The tables, chairs, and bookshelves are all made of some kind of mahogany.

Even the wallpaper on the walls is red. A thick red Persian rug is laid in the center of the mahogany floor.

Most of the tables were cluttered with various books and newspapers, giving the whole room a strangely comforting sense of disorder.

The only exception was a certain desk near the corner.

It's clearly been used frequently; the spotless countertop is covered with various chemical reagent bottles and glassware, suggesting that the room's owner must have a rich background in chemistry.

Now, the owner of this room, "Sherlock Holmes," is comfortably sinking into the deep red velvet sofa.

On the small round table to the side were two steaming cups of black tea.

Holmes looked up at Mrs. Hudson sitting opposite him—she looked extremely anxious, as if something big was about to happen.

He raised an eyebrow; Mrs. Hudson shouldn't be here at this time.

"Mrs. Hudson? Is there anything else you need so late?"

The moment Vermouth heard those words, her heart skipped a beat.

For Vermouth, from the moment she regained consciousness, she discovered the first thing that was completely different from "historical inertia":

Sherlock Holmes, at that time he had not yet gone to Dartmore!

This was a scenario that was almost unthinkable in the plan, yet it actually happened.

Vermouth was very clear about what Sherlock Holmes meant from Shinichi Kudo's perspective and understanding—in a sense, he was "the embodiment of reason and wisdom, victory and justice."

—If we could keep him in London, if we could wait until Conan and the others arrive at Baker Street tomorrow before getting him involved in the case…

"Then there must be a solution to this seemingly unsolvable situation!"

Vermouth and Professor Agasa put a lot of effort into this.

But now, looking at Holmes, who was still dressed neatly and sitting on the sofa as if he were about to leave at any moment, Vermouth felt a surge of anxiety.

Fortunately, she kept a close eye on Holmes's movements at all times!
Vermouth suppressed her anxiety and tried her best to maintain the proper demeanor and tone of "Mrs. Hudson".

"Sir, are you... planning to go on a long trip tonight?"

"Ah! Yes!"

Holmes looked up, and his sharp, hawk-like eyes met Mrs. Hudson's.

“Mrs. Hudson, do you remember? Not long ago, Sir Henry Baskerville sent me an interesting letter.”

He casually folded the newspaper in his hand and placed it on the table, then laid out another stack of documents, which were clues sent back by "Watson" from the "front line".

Holmes picked up his teacup and took a small sip.

Then, he picked up the notebook beside him, his eyes fell on one of the pages, and he picked up a pen to write something.

"The clues recorded by Watson have been sent back—"

He paused for a moment, then read out the clue he considered extremely important.

"Large hound footprints were found next to the body; Charles's cause of death is suspected to be a heart attack..."

"And there were also anonymous warning letters received..."

"To be honest, the truth is all too obvious, and it's time to close this case."

He stood up, walked to his desk, and put the notebook in the drawer.

Mrs. Hudson immediately stood up as well, her eyelashes trembling slightly—

Vermouth knew that this was probably her last chance.

In fact, this woman, who was a master of acting, undoubtedly took everything to the extreme while not violating Professor Agasa's instruction to "fit the character design".

Logically, Holmes should have set off for the Baskerville family manor when Watson began to get closer to the truth.

However, it relies on the short story in the original Sherlock Holmes stories about "Holmes staying in London and sending Watson to accompany Henry to the manor to record all the unusual events".

By using her identity as "Mrs. Hudson," Vermouth managed to delay Holmes' departure until September 29th!
Tomorrow, September 30th, Conan and the others will head to 211B Baker Street, following the "historical inertia".

But deceiving Holmes was no easy task—by the last day, September 29th, Vermouth had exhausted all the excuses she could find.

But she absolutely could not let Holmes miss the crucial moment.

Now, look at Holmes, who has already put on a coat and looks as if he is ready to go out at any moment.

Vermouth gritted her teeth; she knew she had to take a risk, even if it was just a test.

She simply couldn't bear to give up this precious achievement.

After all, Conan is likely to arrive here in less than 24 hours!

So she took a deep breath, hesitated for a moment, and her voice carried a hint of earnestness:

"So, you're planning to... head to Dartmore?"

……

Holmes did not answer immediately.

He turned his head slightly and met Vermouth's gaze.

Those eyes could pierce through people's hearts and look straight into the depths of Mrs. Hudson's soul.

Fortunately, Vermouth did not reveal any flaws.

She seemed genuinely worried about Holmes' whereabouts, just like that loyal, simple, yet slightly talkative landlady.

"Well, judging from the footprints in the photo, this is a very fierce hunting dog."

Holmes walked to the coat rack and reached down to take down the brown top hat hanging there.

He seemed to have thought of something amusing, turned around and glanced at Vermouth, a teasing smile appearing on his face.

"After all, Watson can't run fast, and it would be bad if he got entangled with the murderer."

Vermouth originally wanted to reveal the real culprit directly.

If he could use this to prove the simplicity of the case and demonstrate Watson's ability to solve it on his own, he might be able to persuade Holmes to stay in London.

But she couldn't do that.

Because a bracelet on my wrist had started to get hot, that seemingly simple silver chain.

Before entering this point in time, everyone was equipped with CYZ effect devices that were already in line with the appearance of the era.

"The function of this equipment is very simple: it will be anchored to your timeline, which already knows the 'truth'. And you all know about the analogy about the 'trap and dyeing machine'."

"If it starts to get hot, it means the device anticipates that you are on the verge of being 'reset'. And if it breaks or cracks, it means you probably only have a few seconds left."

The temperature of the bracelet changed according to her thoughts and the words she was about to utter.

In a moment of silence, Vermouth could only think of one answer and suggestion that best fit "Mrs. Hudson's" logic: "I think you should give Watson some confidence."

Holmes's voice carried a hint of regret at Mrs. Hudson's suggestion.

"Yes, I think so too."

He took off a brown top hat, took a long-handled black umbrella from the umbrella holder, held it in his hand, and then gently tapped the ground with the tip of the umbrella, making a crisp sound.

"After all, Watson did a really good job this time."

Holmes turned to face the door, then glanced at the even more "anxious" Mrs. Hudson.

Obviously, it is very difficult to lie to someone whose name is almost synonymous with "keen insight and wisdom".

However, Holmes did not comment on Mrs. Hudson's strange behavior.

He spoke softly: "To be honest, he simply laid out all the clues and motives in front of me, as if he would reveal the murderer if I allowed it."

He got it.

One single thought occupied Vermouth's mind.

She held her breath, almost certain that Holmes had sensed something amiss in her words.

But—he hasn't said it yet.

He seemed to be just habitually lost in thought, but his eyes grew brighter and brighter, almost blindingly so, as if he were staring at something that didn't exist in the air.

The detective began to mutter to himself:
"However, the Jack the Ripper case is indeed a problem; he recently killed another person in the Whitechapel district."

Vermouth was taken aback at first, then her pupils contracted slightly.

She was so familiar with the time and place of the case that she almost reflexively answered the question:

"Yes! And now all of London is because of him—"

“But since my name is on the letter of authorization,” Holmes interrupted her, his tone gentle yet carrying an undeniable air, “then I should go myself.”

He picked up the hat, elegantly put it on, and a Holmesian, slightly mocking smile played on his lips.

"I don't want to hear rumors one day at some knight's tea party or from other nobles that 'Mr. Holmes backed out at the last minute'."

Vermouth took a step forward almost instinctively.

She knew that if she didn't stop it now, it would be too late—

Even if she is completely "reset" or even "truly killed," she will try to keep the "key helper" Conan needs in this final battle.

Vermouth is prepared for the worst.

"Mr. Holmes!"

She decided to sacrifice herself almost the instant she shouted it out.

"The kids of Baker Street—"

"Boom, boom, boom."

Just as described at the beginning, three familiar knocks at the door interrupted Vermouth.

—It was as if fate itself had come to knock on this door at this moment.

Then came the equally anxious voice of the coachman.

"Mr. Holmes! Someone from the poker club wants to see you!"

"Poker club?"

Vermouth did not recall such a scene in the Sherlock Holmes stories, nor did she recall any corresponding description based on historical inertia.

Then she immediately realized—

Someone is interfering with history.

In the instant she was stunned, a creaking sound came from the door.

Holmes pushed open the door and disappeared into the mist.

"If those children make any new discoveries."

His voice came through the crack in the door, “Let them write it in the notebook in my drawer.” “—Write it on the last page.”

The sound of the door closing was heard.

Vermouth practically rushed to the familiar desk and reached into the tightly closed drawer.

The moment her fingers touched the brass pull ring of the drawer, the frighteningly hot bracelet made her abruptly pull her hand back.

Vermouth was just a hair's breadth away from being reset.

Now, she looked down at the delicate "bracelet" that was so intricate that its technological components were almost invisible; it was on the verge of breaking.

But she had no time to think about that at the moment; she could only feel her heart pounding violently.

A thought flashed through her mind like lightning.

That phrase, "the last page," wasn't meant for her.

An unbelievable thought popped into my head.

etc--

Yusaku Kudo didn't die?!

……

"Sherlock Holmes".

No, perhaps now we can finally unveil that disguise and speak that name—

Kudo Yusaku.

The carriage emerged from the coal smoke, the streets deserted.

But through the car window, he saw shapeless things standing under the streetlights by the roadside in the hazy fog.

The dim, yellowish light flickered violently, and those things hostile to life, as the light crept across every brick and stone of the street, occupied every shadow on the street corners and alleyways.

Holmes then met those malicious, imprisoned gazes.

These ugly things hidden in the nooks and crannies of the stage dissipated silently, like a wisp of smoke.

The coachman, however, kept his eyes straight ahead, only wrapping his black clothes tighter around himself.

Finally, the carriage stopped at the somewhat old but renowned "Poker Club" throughout London.

—The only pub in all of London that dares to open at night.

The territory of the "professor" who wielded enormous influence throughout Europe and was known as the "Napoleon of the criminal world."

There were already people waiting there.

It was Colonel Moran.

This man, who had the bearing of a soldier, appeared unusually nervous at that moment.

He leaned against the solid wall of the club, looking alert as if he might be about to engage in combat at any moment, with his right hand resting naturally on the inside of his coat.

There was a revolver hidden there that could be drawn at any time.

Upon seeing the man slowly stepping down from the carriage, wearing that familiar deer antler hat, his expression relaxed for a moment, then became serious and respectful.

He said respectfully, "Please come with me, sir. The professor is already waiting for you."

Yuzuru nodded slightly and followed Colonel Moran into the tavern.

Unlike the silence, even deathly stillness, outside, the club's main hall was still brightly lit, with laughter and the sound of drinking echoing between the crystal chandeliers on the ceiling.

They bypassed this "normal" approach and ventured deeper into the club.

Laughter became increasingly rare, eventually fading into silence.

Finally, Holmes stood before a heavy oak door.

Moran, who was leading the way, knocked on the door three times, then stood respectfully to the side, gesturing for Holmes to open the door and come in.

Behind the door was a private room that was completely different from the front hall.

The fireplace was burning with precious fragrant wood, filling the room with a blend of cigar and cedar aromas. In the seat opposite the door sat an old man dressed in black, his face obscured.

—Professor James Moriarty.

"Oh, my old friend!"

He opened his arms, a perfectly timed smile playing on his lips, as if welcoming a comrade he hadn't seen in years.

"It's been so long since I've seen you, my Sherlock Holmes."

Immediately afterwards, the professor turned and parted the curtains. He pointed out the window, his voice tinged with a pitying mockery:

"Look at this city now, how deserted it is."

"Jack the Ripper turned all of London into his stage. And the righteous detective? He was still cowering on Baker Street like a frightened kitten."

"Holmes" then sat down directly opposite him.

He ignored the sarcastic remarks and asked Moriarty a direct question.

"So—you agreed to that condition?"

Moriarty's smile froze for a moment, but quickly returned.

"No, no, no -"

He shook his head slightly, adopting a more gentle tone.

“Holmes, perhaps you haven’t fully grasped something. You—are now trapped in this ‘city’ as well.”

He sat back down at the table and pushed the photographs on it in front of "Sherlock Holmes" like a gambler placing his bets.

Mrs. Hudson.

John Watson.

Eileen Adler.

The professor paused, a hint of threat creeping into his voice.

"From what I understand, Mrs. Hudson, and Watson, and even..."

"Even that woman named Eileen, it seems they're trapped in this 'city' too?"

"If Jack the Ripper were to find them one by one and disembowel them..."

Moriarty didn't continue speaking; he looked up at the detective, trying to see some kind of wavering in him.

Holmes's gaze merely swept across the photographs, his expression unchanged, as if the lives and deaths of the people before him had nothing to do with him.

He calmly and directly stated Moriarty's biggest fear.

“They have the opportunity to go out, and they can go out anytime as long as I stay.”

This is, of course, a complete and utter lie.

But Moriarty's smile suddenly vanished.

He knew, of course, that the guy in front of him wasn't telling the truth.

Based on his understanding of that alliance, and from the changes in London during this period, and from the information he obtained from the spies he had placed around "Holmes"—

It's impossible for those people to get away with it all.

So the two of them sat facing each other in silence.

The air in the room seemed to freeze.

Even the white mist swirling beneath the ceiling now stands in stark contrast to the surrounding mist.

In the end, it was the "professor" who spoke first.

“Holmes, you should have noticed something amiss. Jack the Ripper is out of control now.”

His voice sounded deep and restrained, but it couldn't hide the suppressed anxiety and unease within it.

"If we don't cooperate, we'll all die here."

Ultimately, he is the one at a disadvantage now.

Because he only has two cards left to play.

Moreover, what he really wants now is not "playing cards" or "playing chess".

Professor Moriarty, or rather, Karasuma Renya.

What he wants most right now is to "extricate himself" from this card game or chess game.

"That's right, cooperation is indeed necessary."

Holmes nodded, of course he knew the importance of that, "but the key is—what to do next."

“You must agree to that condition, Moriarty.”

Holmes's voice also became serious.

“You know this is part of the partnership, and I have to make sure you don’t run away as soon as you leave the city.”

“You know too much, and your position is far too important. If you don't stay and protect it, the whole city will eventually—”

Moriarty's expression changed.

He stood up abruptly, his voice sounding furious, but in the next second it turned into a deep sorrow, even a plea.

"You know that position is the last thing I want! You guys plotted against me first!"

Karasuma Renya slammed his fist hard on the table.

"I want that damned book, I just want to get somewhere where He isn't here! You're the ones who brought me to this damned London!"

The moment Karasuma Renya regained consciousness, he realized that he had fallen into the Alliance's trap.

For him, who was once part of the story's timeline, learning the "Seven Chapters of Conan" was a piece of cake.

And at the time, he shared the same idea as the league—

If you can't afford to offend, can you still afford to hide?

After learning the "Time Traveling White Horse Technique," he immediately fled to an earlier point in time, a point in time before even Shinichi Kudo existed.

He was then captured in London in 1888.

In fact, he and Yusaku Kudo were the first to appear in London.

He became the criminal organization that controlled all of London.

As expected, Yusaku Kudo became "Sherlock Holmes".

With the help of that book, Karasuma Renya once controlled the underground forces throughout Europe.

But that's not what he wanted.

What he longed for was to escape the shadow of a fixed, unshakeable narrative—

He no longer cares about his identity as a chess player; he just hopes to become an unnoticed "horizontal line" on the chessboard.

Even after realizing which era you belong to, and who you have become.

Karasuma Renya immediately tried to escape again—to escape from "The Phantom of Baker Street".

He clearly failed completely; as if held firmly by the gravity of a star, his ritual never succeeded.

After news of the sixth pointer emerged, Karasuma Renya became even more impatient and aggressive.

He knew very well that the whole of London would soon become a stage and plaything for a god.

Therefore, he went head-to-head with "Sherlock Holmes".

Both sides were trying to obtain the sixth pointer to increase their chances of winning the negotiations.

The disaster struck much faster than Karasuma Renya and Kudo Yusaku had anticipated.

—Jack the Ripper has appeared.

Today, the silent streets of London and the overlapping silhouettes of Jack under every lamplight speak volumes about the seriousness of the situation.

"And if He were to discover the truth because of this, the fate of each of us would be worse than death."

"yes……"

Holmes nodded, pondered the meaning in the professor's tone, and then repeated what he had said.

"It's definitely worse than death."

Karasuma Renya braced himself against the edge of the table, trying his best to steady his swaying body.

"So there's nothing more to discuss?"

Now, it's time for Yusaku Kudo to reveal a little information.

“I’m not lying. Your staying in the city is a necessary condition for leaving the city.”

He paused, then added, "Moreover, if you stay, I guarantee you'll have another chance to leave later; otherwise, you'll have nothing."

“Fine—” Karasuma Renya finally managed to squeeze out the words of agreement through gritted teeth. “But you must swear on the honor of Sherlock Holmes, the honor of the real Sherlock Holmes.”

Yusaku Kudo looked up and met those unwavering eyes.

He knew that this was Karasuma Renya's bottom line.

“Alright, I swear on my honor as the ‘real Sherlock Holmes,’ you will definitely have the opportunity to leave the city in the future.”

……

And so, the final piece of the puzzle leading to a happy ending was found.

【Karasuma Renya】, also known as 【Global Event Retrieval Guide】.

He is an indispensable part of the [Time Loop and Cosmic Events Propulsion System].

(End of this chapter)