Miss Holmes, the Professor Is Not a Villain

37 – Jane Watson, 15 years old, Witch (1)

On the early morning of Friday, December 13, 1867, the London air was profoundly cold. In particular, the air in North London’s Clerkenwell, which James Moriarty was observing while stationed on the rooftop of a building, felt much colder.

Of course, Moriarty fully understood this was due to the atmosphere the area exuded. Originally, Clerkenwell was home to various clockmakers, and a place that artisans who sold or repaired luxury clocks frequented.

Currently, Moriarty owned several luxurious clocks to maintain her professorial dignity and the reputation of the organization she led. Accordingly, she had several favorite shops and craftsmen in the area.

But concurrently, Clerkenwell held a grimier place, the existence of Clerkenwell Prison, which held criminals awaiting trial.

Of course, the existence of the heavily guarded and impenetrable Clerkenwell Prison was generally disregarded by the local residents. The prison, which had been there for nearly 20 years, was already a part of life for most, barring the middle-aged and elderly.

Was it out of consideration for the street wanderers dying in the winter chill? Moriarty averted her gaze from the telescope studying the heavens, discretely fetched her pocket watch, and checked the time.

About 15 minutes had passed since the sound of the first explosion. The watch hands announced that it was just after 4 o’clock. As if scheduled, another massive explosion reverberated from the direction of Clerkenwell Prison.

Because the location was somewhat distant, she couldn’t directly feel the heat and the shockwave. This was a slight disappointment, but the presence of the frantic street crowd enabled her subconsciously to experience the heat.

People’s fear of a sudden explosion, or the confusion of those who had just awakened and were yet to fully understand the situation.

The struggle and fear of the prison guards trying to protect their colleagues who had been blown to pieces in the explosion, and the impatience and anger of those seeking to achieve their objectives through this explosion.

Lastly, the police officers who had just started to mobilize, realizing that their opponent was armed with guns and hastily calling for backup.

Everything was satisfactory. Although the fools had not followed the plan as he had originally instructed and a minor error had caused the plan to be implemented a day late, sometimes the unexpected intervention of an event was not necessarily bad.

He was a person who, to some extent, pursued perfection but enjoyed the involvement of variables. If he was truly a perfectionist, he would not have left his first beloved apprentice, who was attending a girls’ boarding school and growing up as a detective, alone.

“It’s a fantastic fireworks display, isn’t it, Moran? Guy Fawkes would approve as an Englishman who remembers a great tradition. The Smith-Stanley cabinet will essentially be finished and even the old man will suffer in his last days.”

Moriarty began to speak, sitting wrapped in a blanket as if he had just emerged from an astronomical observation session, observing only the stars in the sky with his telescope.

Knowing full well that he was not focused on the spectacle unfolding at a distance, Moran, in her capacity as a faithful maid to her master, offered him a cup of freshly brewed tea.

Of course, she didn’t forget to put in one and a half cubes of sugar according to her master’s preference. Two years had passed since she had been taken in by her master, and Moran could confidently say there was nothing she didn’t know about him.

“The wind is cold, so cover yourself with the blanket properly, master. You caught a cold at the beginning of this year, remember? You should always be careful since you’re frail.”

“It was unusually cold at the beginning of this year, Moran. Ah, the tea is good.”

Moriarty took his tea from the girl and shifted his gaze from the telescope.

He wasn’t lying. In January that year, London had been unusually cold, and Moriarty, too, had caught a slight cold. It was the coldest winter in hundreds of years, so it was definitely not because Moriarty had a weak constitution that was the reason for Moran’s incessant worry.

As he savored his tea, Moriarty cast a sideways glance at the girl who was silently standing by his side, like a faithful hunting dog.

Sharp yet keen, Moran immediately noticed this, but she resisted the urge to meet her master’s eyes and, instead, observed the unfolding situation on his behalf.

It was a distance that would require a telescope for an ordinary person, but for Moran, with her predator’s eyes, the faint but distinguishable distance was enough.

She was dressed in a decorous maid’s outfit, and her hair was neatly tied in a bun above her head from which her wolf’s ears jutted out. But to anyone else, she would have seemed like a well-educated and secretarial individual.

Watching her, Moriarty felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction. Of course, there was still a long road to go. It had only been two years since he brought Moran with him.

Of course, Moran was also considerably different from when they first met. She had been a girl who was only skin and bones, barely escaping death by starvation on the streets. But now, she was radiating with a sense of health, evident to anyone who saw her.

She was just entering puberty and was growing rapidly day by day, which was obvious. As a man who constantly observed people due to his profession, Moriarty could detect that Moran’s height had increased by about an inch within a mere span of a month or two, even in the dark mornings of London.

Just like how children grow fast, it was clear that the girl, who was like a wolf cub, would soon grow into a giant wolf, a beauty.

Then, Sherlock, the day he would meet that girl was drawing near. Of course, a few more years would still be needed.

By then, that girl would no longer be a child, but a fully grown detective capable of confronting Moriarty.

In that sense, he too had to start moving busily in order to meet Sherlock.

“Are there any anomalies, Moran?”

“The armed police are moving faster than expected, master. Should we intervene?”

Since it was a report from Moran, there was no need for him to verify it himself. This was unmistakably rooted in Moriarty’s trust in her.

In a short span of two years, Moran had begun to learn everything at a speed that would have surprised even Moriarty himself. She seemed like a person with a clear goal.

He didn’t see any need to know. As long as he remained her faithful wolf, it was all the same to him.

So, he took a moment to contemplate the task at hand. He had already paid for the job, and he had only come to watch for fun, so there was no obligation for Moriarty to do anything more from here.

It was a simple request.

The Fenians, also known as the Irish Republican Brotherhood, had come to him to rescue their members incarcerated in prison. Moriarty had only created a plan to blow up the prison and facilitate their escape.

Of course, that was all there was to it. He didn’t get involved in how they would escape after that or how they would evade the eyes of the British government and escape abroad. The other side wasn’t willing to pay an additional amount either.

He was a professional, he only worked as much as he got paid for.

However, after hearing Moran’s report, he wanted to act on a small whim. While boredom was the main reason, he was certain that if the Irish Brotherhood knew of this, they would thank him.

“The idea of inducing chaos isn’t bad. Kill one, and injure another in the leg, Moran.”

“Yes, master!”

Like a dog gleefully following its master’s command, Moran pricked up her ears and hurriedly ran towards the wall from where she could see the direction of the prison.

The police officers running to suppress the riots and explosions in the prison could never even dream that someone on the rooftop was aiming a gun at the back of their heads.

Moran discreetly lifted her skirt. Underneath, she wore bloomers to allow her to move quickly, but more importantly, a strange-looking pistol glinted as it was attached to the inside of her wide skirt.

The girl skillfully took out the gun, assembled it, and loaded the bullets from her pocket. It was an image that didn’t quite fit the girl, but Moran moved silently as if everything was natural, carrying out her master’s orders.

It was an air gun specially made for Moran by Moriarty. Though it was small enough to be handled comfortably by a young girl, it was sufficient enough to take aim remotely at the officers.

As these proceedings were happening, Moriarty continued to observe the stars in the sky. The special air gun hardly made a sound when fired, and of course, Moriarty couldn’t hear it.

He was only aware of Moran’s completion of the mission when she came up to him shortly after, asking for praise.

“Master, master! It’s finished! I’ve done everything you asked, haven’t I done well? Right? So please pat my head!”

“…Come closer.”

“Squeak! Squeeeak!”

Moran was certainly growing up well, but occasionally, she acted childishly. She seemed like a dog wanting a reward after having skillfully completed its master’s orders.

But Moriarty did tend to treat this dedicated servant kindly. Considering her young age, he patted Mara’s head.

As he had to spend more time, Moriarty discretely removed his hand from the girl’s head and concentrated on observing the stars again.

Moran created a distance between them with a slightly disappointed look, but soon composed herself and began tidying up around the master.

As day broke, Moriarty was able to step back into the chaotic streets with Moran’s escort, and took steps towards his regular watchman shop, to establish an alibi and take care of personal matters.

He could not even foresee that there, he would have an encounter with a witch girl.