The next day, after Mash and Ritsuka established a terminal point at Holmes's house, they managed to contact Chaldea and get the latest news.
"First, we checked the era Solomon lived in, based on David's words, whom we met in Okeanos," a voice came from the speaker. "But we found no anomalies. Moreover, the burning of humanity wasn't even recorded there."
No evidence against Solomon, who had become the main suspect, could be found. Romani, Mash, and Ritsuka looked puzzled.
"But it doesn't seem like David was lying," Mash noted. "Besides, those Demon Pillars we fought..."
"Yes, those are Solomon's seventy-two demons," Romani confirmed. "You're right, Mash. We need to dig deeper, so the search will continue. You two, deal with this singularity for now. Good luck, Ritsuka, Mash."
The connection was broken. If it wasn't Solomon's doing, then whose was it? While the two were lost in thought, a commotion arose in the living room.
"Cheeseburger? I've only tried sandwiches before, but this... Mmm, divine! I think this dish will be a turning point in my life."
Holmes was full of praise, devouring the cheeseburger prepared by Deadpool. The detective's face was beaming – it seemed he had found his true love in the world of food.
"In the distant future, there will be 'Burger King'," Deadpool said instructively, sipping his coffee. "Remember their cheeseburgers. They will make you a hero. For about eleven years, at least..."
He spoke as if everything in another world was exactly like that.
"Oh, the coffee here is killer. Or did I only start appreciating it after changing bodies? I feel my mind clearing. Oh, wait! My stomach feels a tickle."
As if sensing something, Deadpool grabbed his stomach and looked around. At that moment, Mordred canceled her spiritualization and materialized in the room.
"It's quiet in the area for now. If we're going out, now is the best time."
Hearing Mordred's words, everyone began to pack quickly. This time, Holmes decided to go with them.
"Master should stay here and not stick his neck out," Mordred grumbled. "If you swallow this crap and fall like a log in the middle of the street, I won't save you."
Holmes, tying his scarf and putting on his coat, just gave a sly smile:
"Oh no, you will save me."
"Don't count on it! I won't!"
"Yes, you will."
"No! No! And again, no!!"
They clashed again, just like the previous evening. Mash and Ritsuka just exchanged bewildered glances, not knowing how to calm them down.
"Still, where are we heading?" Mash asked Holmes as they walked through the streets of London, shrouded in thick fog.
"Look at this fog. Doesn't it seem strange to you?" Instead of answering, the detective asked a counter-question. Indeed, for ordinary fog, it was too dense, and there was something sinister about it.
"I feel faint echoes of mana in it," Mash confirmed.
"Sharp observation. One breath of this magic-infused fog dulls the senses and clouds the mind. Eventually, all bodily functions fail, and death ensues. That's why Scotland Yard has imposed a curfew throughout London. Although tens of thousands have already died... As for you Servants, your nature is different from human, so this won't affect you..."
Despite Holmes's words about mortal danger, neither Ritsuka nor the detective himself wore gas masks and felt quite fine.
"Kid, you're clearly not a mage. And definitely not from the Clock Tower. But you're breathing this fog calmly... What a curious body you have," Holmes squinted, shamelessly examining Ritsuka. Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, Ritsuka instinctively covered himself with his hands.
At that moment, Deadpool, out of nowhere, slapped him loudly on the backside.
"Ow! What for?"
"Such a shapely rear."
Now they were pressing him from both sides. Ritsuka's chastity was under threat.
"A-and why doesn't the fog affect you, Mr. Holmes?" Mash quickly changed the subject.
"You could say I've inhaled so much of everything that I've developed immunity. Or I just stopped feeling it. Anyway, it's nothing," he shrugged carelessly.
"So where are we going?" Deadpool repeated the question.
Holmes quickened his pace, not looking back.
"To the red-light district. To the gang that runs the place."
"Oh, finally some fun is brewing!"
Holmes led them to a seedy place not far from where the second courtesan was murdered. Due to the fog and curfew, the establishments were closed, but people were still inside.
"Knock, knock, knock."
As soon as the detective knocked on the basement door of one of the largest buildings, a peephole opened. A man with a stern gaze gritted through his teeth:
"Closed. Get lost."
The peephole slammed shut.
Unperturbed, Holmes took a set of lockpicks and false keys from his belt pouch and began to tamper with the lock.
"Hmm... So... Eh," he pursed his lips, trying different options, but the lock didn't yield as quickly as he would have liked.
"Oh, forget it!" Mordred couldn't stand it. With one powerful kick, she broke down the door. Holmes just as unperturbed put away his tools and followed her with a smile.
"I clearly told you to get lost!"
In the basement, as Holmes had expected, a crowd of burly bandits had gathered. Cut off from the outside world by fog, murderers, and mechanical dolls, they couldn't conduct business and were already suffering from boredom and irritation.
"Damn bastards! I'm already miserable, and you're breaking down the door too! Are you tired of living?"
From sitting within four walls for too long, the bandits' eyes were bloodshot. They grabbed their brass knuckles and bats.
"We're conducting an investigation here," Holmes raised his hands, trying to avoid a fight. "Could you assist us? It won't take long."
However, seeing Mordred's eyes light up with anticipation of a brawl, he decided not to interfere further.
"I don't know how you got through the fog, but you're at the wrong address. Hear that, girl!"
"What did you say, bag of bones?" Mordred's eyes flashed crimson. The silver armored gauntlet shot forward like lightning and with a crunch embedded itself in the brute's jaw.
"Master, can I beat them all here?"
Mordred's voice sounded so low and menacing, as if she were about to descend into madness, and H replied with the look of someone terrified to death.
"Halfway. So they're just breathing. Don't draw swords, don't sever limbs, don't break necks. Joints are up to you. Oh, and crush one testicle each."
Having received such a detailed order, Mordred grinned madly and lunged at the remaining gangsters.
"Well, ready for the funeral? Come on, pray to your god for mercy!"
As a dozen bandits rushed at her, swinging bats, Mordred skillfully maneuvered between them. Seizing an opportunity, she threw a punch in her armored glove, crushing bellies, and struck with her cuffed knee, inflicting severe internal injuries.
"Aaaah!"
Painful holds followed. Ducking under a brass knuckle strike, she intercepted the arm and with a crunch drove it into the floor. The gangsters could only scream as their limbs were twisted unnaturally in different directions.
"Wow! Simply 'de'-vine! Now that's what I call an exemplary spectacle. Hmm-hmm. My good sir, another cup of coffee. No extra portions, two sugar cubes."
"Ah... yes. Right away."
Unbeknownst to when he had taken a seat at the bar, Dedchu sipped strong coffee and cheered Mordred on.
"Watson should see this." H, also engrossed in the spectacle, bit his pipe and struck a match.
"Hey! Listen, you! Come here, you bastard!"
At that moment, one of the strongmen, having recovered from Mordred's blow, glared furiously at H. He backed away with a frightened look, calling for help.
"Uh... Mod? Mod!"
Mordred turned at the call but only smirked mockingly, not rushing to help.
"Help me, Mod!"
"Nope! I won't help!"
Mordred deliberately jutted out her chin, making faces, and H had to deal with it himself.
"Don't be afraid. First I'll deal with you, and then it'll be this girl's turn."
The huge bandit grinned, revealing his silver-plated teeth.
Ignoring the threats, H focused. The simulation of the upcoming fight instantly launched in his head.
"Calm down. Only cold calculation. First, a blow to the ear to increase disorientation. Hearing will be lost, panic will begin. He will instinctively throw a left hook – dodge. Simultaneously, a double blow to the liver.
While he hesitates, a blow to the throat – compress the trachea, preventing him from breathing. Now his right hook. Block with the elbow, a straight punch to the jaw from the left. A series of four blows to the solar plexus. The final chord – a kick.
Result: broken ribs on the left, broken jaw, suffocation, ruptured eardrum, multiple internal organ damage. Physical recovery – three months. Psychological – at least half a year. For those who rely only on mass, there's no better physiotherapy."
H rapidly closed the distance and struck the opponent's ear with a cupped palm. The giant's head rang, his vision blurred.
He instinctively threw a left fist, but H had already slipped aside, delivering a triple blow to the ribs.
"Kkh!"
A short cry, his stance broken. H entered a clinch and precisely pinched his throat. Choking, the bandit lost control and desperately swung his right arm.
H easily took the blow on his elbow, responded with a swift straight punch to the jaw, and delivered four more blows to the solar plexus. And then – the finale.
"Gha-a!"
With a jumping kick, H knocked the carcass to the ground. Wiping away the sweat that had appeared, he took off his coat and threw it to the stunned Ritsuka.
"The Master isn't bad, huh? You could have handled it yourself."
"You're a troublesome girl. You begrudged help, petty one."
"Nope! I won't help!"
"Yes, you will! And I will help!"
They immediately got into an argument. Either they weren't smart enough, or they just didn't get along. Mash and Ritsuka just gaped, watching the antics of this "London duo."
"'De'-vine! If it weren't for this rodent body, I would have stretched too. Mmm... what coffee! Another one!"
"Aaaah!"
Dedchu, watching the brawl with delight from the bar counter, wanted to smash a cup on the table out of excess emotion, but accidentally hit the bartender's head with it.
"Ooh. Oops."
The skirmish ended instantly. Modred beamed, pleased that she had managed to stretch her bones. H, without removing the pipe from his mouth, approached the only gangster who still showed signs of life.
"P-please spare me..."
"I'm not going to kill you. A few days ago in the brothel you 'protect,' a woman died. With her abdomen ripped open. Remember?"
The bandit frowned, trying to remember, and finally nodded.
"Do you know who her last client was?"
"I... I don't know..."
Suddenly, a sharp silver sword plunged into the floor right in front of his face. The blade passed a millimeter from his skin – the golden-haired warrioress had missed intentionally.
"N-no! No, it's all written in the book! Her name was Alice! Room two-J! Aaaaaah!"
Driven mad by terror, the bandit wet himself and immediately lost consciousness.
"So, let's see where this book is..."
H easily found the accounting ledger. After looking through the names, dates, and room numbers, he stumbled upon the last entry on the page. In the visitor's column, it simply read:
"H. J., so..."
H rubbed his chin, looking at the initials.
"A person whose name starts with H. J.?"
"Oh! Or maybe it's a code? H and J... Ha... Hanzo?" Dedchu speculated, while he and Mod tried to decipher the mystery of the letters.
H suddenly stood up, put on his coat, and quickened his pace.
"Hey, Master! Where are you going?"
H gestured for them to hurry and threw over his shoulder:
"To H. J.'s house."
"Who is that?" Ritsuka asked, running after him.
"Henry Jekyll. Or, as he's known, Doctor Jekyll."
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan