Watson sighed, his short beard twitching. “To be honest, it’s a bit hard to believe…”
Nonetheless, he climbed in, carefully seating himself on the carriage bench, bracing for the inevitable impact.
When the carriage finally pulled up near Baker Street, Watson let out a long breath of relief. He had been on edge the entire way, but fortunately, the morning’s mishaps hadn’t repeated themselves—except for the final few minutes. To avoid a pedestrian, Arna had swerved and nearly plowed into a hedge, leaving both of them with a dusting of leaves on their heads.
“Next time, I think I’ll just walk back,” Watson muttered, plucking a leaf from his own head before reaching over to brush the greenery off Arna, who was still wobbling as she guided the carriage back onto the main road.
“Liar, you said the same thing this morning,” Arna replied with brimming confidence. “You’ll miss my brilliant driving.”
Watson grunted but didn’t argue. He stepped down and waited for Arna to take the carriage to the stables before they walked side-by-side toward 221B.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Watson asked. “If you need help, just let me know; I happen to be free. I could give the children a check-up, write some medical certificates, that sort of thing.”
Arna thought for a moment.
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, before extending a friendly fishing invitation. “But if we’re going to the factory—before that, do you want to go fishing?”
She was certain of her success. No one could resist the temptation of fishing! No one!
Watson fell silent for a moment. *Get up at six in the morning to fish in the wind and rain just like her? Is she serious?*
“I’m afraid that’s a bit early for me,” he said tentatively. “But I’d be happy to go see the children with you after breakfast.”
He had no doubt that if he agreed to the fishing trip, Arna would be pounding on his door at six in the morning and wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted.
Arna’s face fell. Her left eye screamed, *How could you refuse me?* while her right eye added, *You don’t like something as fun as fishing? You have no taste!* but her mouth simply said, “Oh, alright.”
For some reason, Watson felt a pang of guilt.
As they neared the entrance of 221B, Watson quickly pointed toward the door to steer the conversation away from that dangerous topic. “That looks like Holmes,” he said, puzzled. “Why is he crouching on the doorstep?”
Arna followed his gaze and caught her breath.
Holmes was indeed crouching on the front steps, staring intently at an uninvited guest perched on the stair railing. The guest’s ears were twitching, its tail was taut, and its sharp eyes were staring back at Holmes with utter disdain, as if looking at a particularly stupid pigeon. Its bright gray eyes were narrowed into slits, and its sharp claws were dug firmly into the wooden orb of the banister.
There was no doubt that if anyone tried to pet it now, their arm would end up with several bright red scratches courtesy of this ill-tempered fellow.
Watson’s eyes widened. He looked at Holmes, then at the cat that bore a striking resemblance to him, and his lips twitched. “Is this your new companion, Holmes?” he teased.
Before Holmes could answer, Arna exclaimed with envy, “Really? Your cat, Holmes?”
She didn’t seem to doubt the doctor’s words for a second, her attention completely captured by the feline.
Holmes retracted his hand, pretending he hadn’t just been rebuffed by an angry hiss a second ago. “Not mine,” he corrected. “This is clearly a creature that lives a solitary life. Look at its firm muscles and fluid lines; it suggests a fierce lifestyle and a rich diet. And of course, those sharpened claws… it has likely encountered many meddlesome humans.”
Watson suppressed a laugh.
“In other words,” he said, struggling to keep a straight face, “while we were away, Holmes has been trying to bribe this stray cat with food, but without success.”
Holmes shot him a glare.
“This is merely scientific observation, Watson,” he said, turning to Arna. “How is your progress? You should know, when the owner of a building starts storing food in a factory, the rats who smell the scent will begin scurrying about.”
Arna, who had been trying to coax the kitty over, suddenly broke into a cold sweat. “Ah, well…” she stammered.
In truth, when she had checked her panel today, she found that for some reason, all the red dots in the factory had turned green. *The plan… surely the plan won’t be derailed just because the enemy side has completely defected?* If she couldn’t complete this side quest, would it affect her final ending achievements? For instance, if she missed a town quest, would she be forced to join the ranks of heartless capitalists?
Just as Arna froze, the cat leaped from the railing. It didn’t jump toward Holmes; instead, it traced an elegant arc through the air and landed squarely on Arna’s shoulder.
Arna felt the weight settle. The black cat’s furry ears brushed against her cheek, and its sharp claws lightly pierced her coat to maintain its balance. Its tail swished back and forth, and its purr was so loud it threatened to drown out Holmes’s voice.
Finally unable to hold it in, Watson burst into a fit of laughter. “It seems our detective doesn’t have to worry about getting bitten after all,” he joked.
Arna was overjoyed. “It’s my cat now!” she announced, stroking the cat’s head under Holmes’s slightly jealous gaze.
Holmes huffed and stood up, straightening his back and dusting off his coat with exaggerated vigor. “Irrelevant,” he muttered. “It clearly has questionable taste in companions.”
“Perhaps it simply sensed a kindred spirit, and like poles repel, Holmes,” Watson said, hanging his hat on the rack. “Aloof, unpredictable, and prone to sudden outbursts.”
Holmes glared at him again, which only made Watson laugh harder.
Arna carried the cat inside, ignoring the two men’s childish behavior. After dinner, she sat in her usual chair with the cat on her lap, absentmindedly scratching its head and chin. The cat’s paws “bloomed” as it stretched and rolled around on her knees.
“Let me guess,” Holmes said, naturally taking a seat beside her. “Your plan isn’t going very smoothly.”
While Watson was in his room putting away his medical kit, Holmes raised a finger and whispered, “Money?”
Arna, who had been looking at her panel and thinking of a name for the cat, immediately turned to look at him. “Yeah,” she said, holding out her palm expectantly. “Got some?”
She knew it! Whenever a player was short on cash, a kind NPC would appear like a helpful angel investor to hand out funds!
Holmes theatrically patted his pockets, all of which were visibly flat. “Alas, my last shilling has gone who-knows-where,” he said slowly. “My dear Isaacs, if I had even a single shilling to spare, I wouldn’t have pawned Watson’s spare stethoscope last Tuesday.”
Arna: “…”
*What the hell? How is he even poorer than me?*
She reached into her pocket with a look of disdain, pulled out a shilling, and placed it on top of his head. “Here.”
Holmes instinctively reached up to steady the coin before it fell. “Aren’t you the one short on cash?” he asked, caught between laughter and tears. “And relax, I’ve already redeemed the doctor’s stethoscope.”
“I’m short on cash, but I’m not short on one shilling,” Arna said, slumped in her chair. “I feel like a patent application is going to cost a lot more than that.”
Thinking of this, she looked at Holmes again. “Do you know how much it costs to apply for a patent? I mean, the cheapest kind.”
Holmes flicked the shilling with his finger.
“A patent application? The fees are hardly low. You must realize, patenting is a delightful quagmire of bribery, petitions, and bureaucracy,” he said, standing the coin on its edge and giving it a gentle push to make it spin. “The Home Secretary’s signature fee, the Chief Prosecutor’s investigation fee, the Royal decree draft fee, license fees, stamp duty…”
The coin clattered as it fell flat on the armrest, and Holmes’s voice trailed off.
“In total, it might cost around a hundred pounds each,” he said. “Per year.”
Arna’s face went numb. “And such patent applications,” she said in a daze, sinking into her chair as if falling into a bottomless mire of poverty, “I have three.”
Through her accumulation over the past period, she had only managed to save up about ninety pounds. Not to mention, the guys in the East End seemed to have grown a brain recently; they weren’t trying to mug her as often anymore.
*Sigh. Money, money, money!*
Watson walked out of his room to find Arna slumped on the sofa as if her soul had left her body, while the black cat, having jumped off her lap, was impatiently rubbing against her shins. Holmes was enthusiastically using a string—it looked familiar, like the one used to tie the curtains—to coax the cat, but the cat ignored him, looking quite annoyed.
“It seems I’ve missed something,” Watson said, pouring himself a cup of tea and taking a sip. “Where did the conversation go?”
“We were talking about how Holmes pawned your spare stethoscope last Tuesday,” Arna said hollowly. “Dr. Watson, do you have a hundred spare stethoscopes? I’d like to pawn them too.”
Watson nearly choked. He looked at Holmes. “What?”
Holmes: “…Don’t be nervous, Doctor, I’ve already redeemed it.”
He was forced to explain the whole story from beginning to end.
After hearing the full account from Holmes, Watson shook his head. “Come now, Holmes, stop joking—you surely already have a better way.”
Arna’s eyes lit up as she looked at Holmes.
Holmes looked at the cat, which still refused to acknowledge him, and discarded the string with a look of regret. He walked over to a table piled with clutter, pushed aside some bottles and documents, and searched for a long while before finally unearthing a crumpled envelope.
“Lestrade’s latest request for consultation, involving some blackmail and discarded jewelry—the owner is a Viscountess, and she’s willing to pay two hundred and fifty pounds for the service,” he said, waving it like a trophy. “Assist me tonight, and your patent fees will manifest out of the mist like a prime suspect.”
Watson: “…Wait, your ‘better way’ is bribing her to accompany you on a case?”
“Cooperation,” Holmes corrected. “Well, Isaacs, shall we? Care for a trip to a Viscount’s mansion at midnight?”
Arna looked at Holmes, then at Watson. “You guys are definitely hiding something from me,” she said suspiciously. “Isn’t Dr. Watson your usual partner for cases?”
Watson’s teacup hit the saucer with a loud *clink*. His mustache twitched, clearly finding the situation amusing. “Perhaps it’s because I don’t wish to climb drainpipes after midnight.”
“Incorrect,” Holmes corrected, already donning his coat and reaching for his hat. “It is likely because the Viscountess adores him. Last time, she fed him three slices of apple cake and asked our Doctor of Medicine from London University if he would consider accepting a private, long-term medical consultation.”
Watson’s face turned bright red, the color spreading down to his neck. He snapped in embarrassment, “That was—I never—Holmes, you told me I needed to distract her!”
“Yes, yes, you did it for the sake of efficiency,” Holmes waved him off. “In any case, we need a specific set of extra skills tonight.”
He turned back, looking for Arna. “For instance, Isaacs is quite skilled at coordinated striking and fighting…”
The next second, he saw Arna walking out of her room, shouldering a Large, Golden, Shining Sword. His voice trailed off. “…No, wait. Perhaps we won’t need it that much.”