EHM 78🔐

Chapter 78 ….

Startled by Sally’s words, I hurried down to the first floor.

Just then, I ran straight into a man who had opened the front door and was stepping into the hall.

He was a head taller than most people, with a build that went beyond merely sturdy—wildly muscular, almost feral in presence.

…It was none other than Sherlock Holmes.

Why are you here of all places?

According to Inspector Lestrade, hadn’t he gone off to deal with the source of the curse?

No—but come to think of it…

The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Perhaps the “source of the curse” Holmes had mentioned was also entangled with the legend of this hellhound.

When Holmes noticed me coming down the stairs, he offered a faint smile.

“It’s been a while, Mrs. Carter.”

At that moment, Henry—who had come out after hearing news of an unexpected visitor—looked at me with curiosity.

“Emily? Do you two know each other?”

“Ah… more or less,” I replied.

I was in the middle of introducing the two of them when—

“Unauthorized personnel are not permitted entry, ma’am.”

Despite the polite wording, the detective in charge of the ‘Sir Charles Baskerville Murder Case’ approached us with a threatening air.

Just as I was about to reveal Sherlock Holmes’s identity, Sherlock himself stepped forward first.

“I am Sherlock Holmes, a consulting investigator acting on behalf of Inspector Greg Lestrade of the London Metropolitan Police.”

As he spoke, he took something from his chest and unfolded it.

The detective’s eyes widened when he saw it.

“This is Her Majesty the Queen’s—”

“Indeed.”

By now, the guests of the Baskerville household had gathered in the first-floor hall, watching the situation unfold.

Other detectives, ready to provide backup should an unexpected confrontation arise, stood on alert.

Surveying them all, Sherlock Holmes spoke calmly.

“By order of Her Majesty the Queen, this Sir Charles Baskerville murder case will now be taken over by myself, Sherlock Holmes, acting as Inspector Greg Lestrade’s proxy.”

The document in his hand clearly bore what appeared to be Queen Victoria’s signature.

Beneath it were the words:

[I, Victoria, Sovereign of the British Empire, Defender of the Faith, and Empress of India, hereby authorize the establishment of a ‘Special Investigation Unit’ to confront threats that endanger the lives of my people (…omitted…)]

A special investigation unit directly under Queen Victoria…?

* * *

The mystery surrounding the Special Investigation Unit under Queen Victoria was soon resolved.

“It’s a newly established department, created thanks to Inspector Lestrade’s persistent efforts.”

As mentioned before, Greg Lestrade had encountered crimes tied to unknown and mysterious entities more than once.

He had wanted to launch a full-scale investigation into the cult known as The Wisdom of the Stars, as well as its leader, Enoch Bowen.

“But as you know, Bowen wields significant influence within the upper ranks of the police, so every attempt failed. However…”

Another faction within the police—one not on good terms with the Bowen-connected officials—joined forces with administrators who were personally close to Inspector Lestrade.

Together, they petitioned the Queen directly to establish a special division…

“…And it seems it worked.”

“Indeed. Neither the Inspector nor I expected things to go this smoothly. Thanks to this, we’ve secured independent investigative authority for cases like these.”

He added that any case showing traces of involvement by unknown or mysterious entities would now fall under the priority jurisdiction of this Queen-sanctioned Special Investigation Unit.

“Then… you came because of the message I sent Inspector Lestrade?” Jimmy asked.

Sherlock turned to her and grinned.

“Exactly. The Inspector is currently tied up with another case, so now that I’m officially a police consulting investigator, he entrusted this one to me.”

Sherlock Holmes—consulting investigator in charge of the Baskerville murder case.

It felt as though the puzzle pieces were finally clicking into place.

* * *

Even with the overwhelming authority of the Queen’s warrant behind him, however, taking over investigative control from detectives who had been on-site for days was no easy matter.

In particular, the senior-most detective—who was eager to close the case by pinning it on Titania Baskerville—refused to accept it.

“Even if that paper you brought is genuine, why should we trust you enough to hand over our investigation?”

Unlike the original Sherlock Holmes, already renowned as a master detective, the Holmes of this world had so far operated mostly in Inspector Lestrade’s shadow.

Lestrade did say he dislikes becoming famous.

When challenged to prove his investigative ability, Sherlock looked the detective straight in the face and spoke calmly.

“Detective Sheimton, you had fried eggs and fish and chips for breakfast this morning, didn’t you? A bit heavy for a morning meal.”

“H-how could you possibly know that…?”

The detective’s eyes widened, but Sherlock’s deductions continued.

“And that’s not all. You jog for less than an hour every morning as a habit, and every night you go out for a walk, pray outdoors, and only then go to bed. Am I wrong?”

Because none of it was wrong—

The stunned Sheimton soon snapped back to his senses.

“Even if all that is correct, what does knowing my breakfast or walking habits have to do with your investigative skills?”

“If you still have to ask that after seeing this, I’d say your intellect isn’t particularly sharp.”

Sheimton flushed and was about to explode—

When Sherlock’s gaze suddenly turned icy.

“Then again, that explains why you’d clumsily try to fabricate evidence using fresh blood. Isn’t that right?”

“What—what are you talking about?!”

The detective played dumb, but his face had already gone pale.

“Perhaps you should wipe the blood off your sleeve before speaking.”

“……!”

Startled, Sheimton looked down at his sleeve—but it was clean.

A hint of laughter crept into Sherlock’s voice.

“Before coming to the manor, I stopped by a nearby ranch. The owner told me an odd story… about a man who demanded fresh blood.”

“…What nonsense is this?”

“What’s even more interesting is that the man’s appearance…”

With his hands clasped behind his back, Sherlock pointed to one of the detectives standing behind Sheimton.

“…closely matched one of your subordinates there.”

“……Ha.”

“Thus, I arrived at a hypothesis.”

Noticing the color drain from the faces of the subordinates, Sherlock smiled at Sheimton.

“That you intended to frame Miss Titania Baskerville by fabricating false evidence using sheep’s blood.”

“Ridiculous. Where’s your proof? All you have is conjecture—”

“For now, yes.”

Sherlock stepped closer.

Overwhelmed by his presence, Sheimton flinched and stepped back.

“But once we begin a proper investigation—starting with the ranch owner as a witness—evidence will surface in abundance.”

“…Ghk.”

“You can either let this become a public scandal…”

Sherlock lowered his voice.

“…or hand over investigative authority peacefully and remove yourself from this case entirely. The choice is yours.”

Stepping back, Sherlock smiled as he looked over Sheimton’s subordinates.

“If this ends up in the official records, neither you nor your men will escape responsibility.”

Sheimton hesitated briefly—

But soon made his decision, as Sherlock later reported to me.

When I asked which he chose, the detective shrugged.

“The latter, of course.”

Sheimton not only handed over investigative authority but also turned over all collected evidence, then withdrew completely from the manor with his men.

“That’s good news. But there’s something I’m curious about…”

Recalling the textbook Holmes-style deduction he had just displayed, I asked:

“How did you know the detectives were trying to fabricate evidence to frame Miss Titania? Is that inductive reasoning too?”

Honestly, I was impressed.

The last time I met him, I hadn’t sensed this great detective side of him at all.

“I have this fellow to thank for that,” Sherlock replied.

A smile spread beneath his sideburns as he pointed to his own nose.

“Your… nose?”

Unlike the original Holmes, this version of Sherlock was cursed to become a werewolf.

“Not as sharp as when I transform, but my sense of smell is still far keener than that of an ordinary human.”

Before arriving at Baskerville, he had been conducting a personal investigation in the area and heard the story from the rancher.

“And wouldn’t you know it—the moment I met Detective Sheimton, the stench of blood hit my nose.”

At that instant, all the clues in his mind snapped neatly into place.

“So I tested him a bit—and sure enough, he cracked almost immediately.”

In truth, he’d already researched Sheimton’s habits, tastes, and routines in advance—specifically to pressure him with a display of “great detective” theatrics today.

“And as for the breakfast deduction—that was thanks to this nose as well.”

Ha.

I let out a hollow laugh, but at the same time, I felt reassured to have such a reliable ally.

“Alright. What’s the plan now?”

“For now, I’ll review the evidence handed over by the police, then conduct a fresh search of Sir Charles’s room.”

Sherlock looked at me with a serious expression.

“And in that process, Mrs. Carter, I’ll need your help.”

That single sentence carried many unspoken implications.

He was here as the investigator in charge of a case involving unknown and mysterious entities.

Which meant ordinary investigative methods alone would not suffice—and the number of people capable of assisting was extremely limited.

As Jimmy had said, only Sherlock, Sally, and I were unaffected by the evil and ominous aura surrounding this place.

My reply was brief.