Professor Holmes is not a villain.

The meeting with Miss Holmes was a disaster. (4)

It hadn’t even been two days since the new tutor arrived, and yet he was already making a suspicious proposal regarding the youngest daughter. Naturally, Mrs. Holmes couldn’t help but be wary—no, she was determined to be.

She had just finished apologizing to him, after hearing from the maid Sally that her youngest daughter had been rude to this young and handsome tutor on his very first day.

What should have been a straightforward conclusion to their conversation instead ended with an incomprehensible proposal, leaving even the rather unperceptive Mrs. Holmes with doubts.

Thus, Moriarty added a final remark. No matter how suspicious a proposal might seem, the promise of offering his services for free would inevitably make any ordinary person falter, even if only momentarily.

Of course, this didn’t completely dispel Mrs. Holmes’s unease.

But Moriarty had already anticipated this.

As he had briefly demonstrated in front of Miss Holmes, he was a man of exceptional intuition. Unlike Miss Holmes, who relied on observing and quickly deducing clues from his coat, Moriarty could usually grasp most people simply by looking at them.

He recalled the previous evening, his first day as a tutor, when he had dinner with the Holmes family.

The Holmes family was unremarkable.

As was well-known, Mr. Holmes had inherited the role of Anglican minister in the area and was respected as a local leader.

The head of the Holmes household, a man in his fifties, was austere and strict, befitting a religious figure, but above all else, he valued the preservation of his family. A perfectly ordinary man.

However, Moriarty could sense that Mr. Holmes harbored a subtle unease regarding his significantly younger wife. Mr. Holmes himself neither expressed nor recognized this feeling, but Moriarty read it clearly.

Still, unlike Miss Holmes, he was undoubtedly a dull man. The kind of person you could find anywhere.

Mrs. Holmes was much the same. Thanks to some fae blood in her lineage, she retained her youthful appearance even in her mid-thirties. However, she, too, seemed to find her ordinary life somewhat tedious.

If given the opportunity, she might even dream of a small rebellion, someone with a hint of a fanciful nature.

But she was an ordinary housewife, strict in her own way about her children’s education, particularly when it came to her youngest, Sherlock.

It was clear to anyone that Sherlock was far from an average girl, and with the moral and practical sensibilities typical of this era, Mrs. Holmes was already worried about the future of her unruly youngest daughter.

Yet, the reason she hadn’t been overly strict with Miss Sherlock was something Moriarty could also discern—after all, the girl was only eight years old.

The couple had three children in total: two sons and their youngest daughter, Sherlock.

At the dinner table, however, the eldest son of the Holmes family and Sherlock’s older brother, Sherrinford, was absent. The eldest son, three years younger than Moriarty, was studying theology at a strict boarding school to inherit his father’s vocation.

Sherrinford, Mycroft, and Sherlock.

Despite Mr. Holmes being an ordinary man, the peculiar names of his children hinted at an eccentric side.

It was only after coming to this household that Moriarty realized such names could even exist.

And fittingly so, though he couldn’t say for certain about Sherrinford, whom he hadn’t yet met, Mycroft and Sherlock were undeniably remarkable in Moriarty’s eyes.

Unlike the dull and idiotic people who were too unmemorable to recall after parting, these two were children he would remember even after a separation, special children.

Moriarty’s impulsive proposal to take on Sherlock’s education as well stemmed from this. It may have been a spur-of-the-moment suggestion, but he did not regret it.

And he was well aware that Mrs. Holmes still found his proposal unsettling. She was a tediously ordinary person, intent on hiring female tutors for her daughter’s education in the future.

Of course, the outcome of that plan was obvious without even needing much deduction. Sherlock was an extraordinary girl—no, an extraordinary being. She was beyond the capabilities of ordinary education and incompetent governesses. Moriarty could sense this instinctively.

Entrusting an eight-year-old daughter’s education to a young, unfamiliar man, no matter how trustworthy he might appear as her son’s tutor, was naturally unthinkable.

But Moriarty carefully added something more.

To someone who truly understood him, his brazen attitude might have been unsettling. It was a performance that exuded melancholy, as if he were a man weighed down by family and memories.

“In truth… speaking with young Miss Sherlock… I couldn’t help but be reminded of my younger sister.”

“Is that so? Then she must have been a beauty, Mr. Moriarty.”

“Yes, unfortunately, she passed away when she was just five years old. She was a child who adored me more than anyone. I still commemorate her to this day, madam.”

“Oh… My apologies, Mr. Moriarty!”

How could the simple and ordinary Mrs. Holmes dare to doubt the young man before her?

Moriarty, who couldn’t even recall his deceased sister’s name and had felt no emotions at her death, found himself, for the first time, grateful for her existence.

Of course, he could have lied without a sister, but any intelligent person had to prepare for every eventuality.

The chances were infinitesimally close to zero, but there was always the slight possibility that someone might investigate whether Moriarty actually had a deceased sister.

So, the fact that his sister had existed and passed away worked in his favor. Moriarty silently thanked the sibling whose name he couldn’t remember, though he soon forgot about it.

A young man reminiscing about his beloved late sister and projecting those feelings onto her daughter, Mrs. Holmes couldn’t help but be swayed.

Moriarty’s appearance also played a role. Beauty was always the ultimate weapon.

Occasionally, perceptive individuals could see what lay beyond that beauty, but most people were simply captivated by appearances.

Moriarty knew very well that he was handsome. Unlike fools, he understood everything about himself and often used his appearance to gain advantages.

Dealing with fools was akin to carrying a revolver in your pocket for self-defense, and a good appearance served the same purpose.

Moriarty made one final move.

“As I understand… Miss Sherlock isn’t currently attending school or being tutored, is she, madam? In any case, I’m not someone who will stay in this household for long. Think of it as simply teaching her some basic reading or arithmetic while spending time with her. From what I’ve observed of Miss Sherlock… she seems to play outside quite often. Wouldn’t sitting down to study be a more… ladylike activity?”

“Yes… She’s still very young, so… she often plays recklessly and dirties the house with mud, much to Sally’s distress.”

“Think of it as a simple preview of lessons. As I mentioned, I’m not suggesting this because I expect compensation—I’m proposing it because I genuinely want to. Besides, basic arithmetic… as you know, can be a suitable accomplishment for ladies even in London society.”

Was that really true?

The truth didn’t matter. But for Mrs. Holmes, who was already concerned about her mischievous youngest daughter, the mention of London society and ladies’ accomplishments was enough to tip the scales in her decision-making.

“…I’ll discuss it with my husband first, Mr. Moriarty.”

“Of course.”

Although he instinctively knew the outcome was already decided, Moriarty ended the conversation with what appeared to be a warm and agreeable smile.

That evening, at the Holmes family dinner table, the topic naturally arose.

Unlike the first night when they had all dined together to welcome the guest, Moriarty was having his meal separately in the guesthouse prepared for him.

Mycroft, as usual, averted his gaze from his father and mother, who were discussing parish matters, and turned his attention to his younger sister sitting beside him.

Normally, Sherlock would have quickly noticed her brother’s gaze with her sharp instincts, but she seemed unusually subdued.

Of course, Mycroft remembered that his sister Sherlock was often subdued during dinner. But that was usually because she found their parents’ conversation dull.

This time, it was different. Mycroft couldn’t help but feel somewhat bewildered. Sherlock was an unusual sister, not at all like an eight-year-old girl. Though Mycroft himself was seen as peculiar by others, even he found her odd.

But now, his sister appeared genuinely like an eight-year-old girl.

She wore the expression of someone who had pleaded with her mother for a doll she liked, only to be disappointed when she didn’t get it.

To think he would ever see such an expression on Sherlock’s face, such a mood, it was something Mycroft could never have imagined in his fifteen years of life. He was genuinely surprised.

But Mycroft knew the reason. Sherlock was the only person in the family he acknowledged as smarter than himself, yet his own powers of observation surpassed hers.

Their new tutor, Mr. James Moriarty.

He had heard from the maid Sally and his mother that Sherlock had caused trouble with the guest on his first day. But there was clearly more to the story, something Mycroft wasn’t privy to.

Sherlock seemed to have a subtle desire to converse with Mr. Moriarty, and it appeared she had even hoped to see him again at dinner tonight. Last night, she hadn’t even had the chance to speak to him because of their mother.

For Mycroft, it was a strange feeling. He was happy to see his beloved little sister acting like a child, but he also instinctively felt a sense of unease about this man, Moriarty.

While he resolved to pay closer attention to their new tutor, surprisingly, their parents’ conversation turned to the matter of Sherlock’s ‘tutor.’

“Mr. Moriarty? Teach Sherlock?”

“Yes, he mentioned that she reminded him of his younger sister and that he had little to occupy his time, so he wanted to take on the responsibility. I think it’s fine, but what do you think, dear—”

“I want to do it! I want to learn from Mr. Moriarty! Please, Daddy, please! I promise I won’t cause any trouble and will study quietly!”

For a moment, Sherlock’s sudden outburst cast an odd silence over the Holmes family dinner table. Even Mycroft, uncharacteristically, widened his eyes and stared at his sister.

Sherlock, who was not like an eight-year-old girl, often amazed others by seemingly reading their secrets like magic. She loved running around outside, much to their mother’s worry, but she was otherwise mature.

If she had been born a boy like her older brothers, their mother might not have worried about her at all. She was upright, composed, and far from being childlike.

And yet, here she was, throwing a childish tantrum for what seemed like the first time. Both Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were so taken aback that they could only stare at her, forgetting even to think of scolding her.

Mycroft caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s bright eyes glinting red for a brief moment. Those eyes showed a childish side but also conveyed an intense longing for something.

In the end, Mr. Holmes had no choice but to give in to his daughter’s first-ever tantrum. In truth, even without it, Mr. Holmes, who valued the preservation and harmony of his family above all else, would have likely agreed.

And so, James Moriarty became Sherlock Holmes’s tutor as well. As their father granted permission, Mycroft could only stare at his little sister, who was beaming as if she had been given a precious doll.