The Great Demon Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 54: Meow…

Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway… wearing the most common type of long dress available in the market.

Light blue, the material looked decent, but it was a bit worn from washing.

In this era, the people's faith in the Vatican was so deeply ingrained in every detail of their lives that most women's fashion had a touch of church nun's habit, some even being the same style with brightly colored prints on the collar and cuffs.

Like the pajamas Mrs. Hudson had worn before, which had a little bear printed on them—pajamas like these weren't actually very popular in the market.

“Landlord? Heh, what a strange title. Just call me Mrs. Hudson…” Sherlock smiled. “Okay, Mrs. Hudson.”

To be honest, it was a bit odd for someone her age to insist on being called 'Mrs.', but Sherlock still changed the way he addressed her.

“Actually, it's nothing important. I just made a little too much dinner, and I didn't want it to go to waste, so I came up to see if you were there.” She said casually, with a hint of 'old hand' about her. This surprised Sherlock, because the woman was clearly a kind-hearted person; otherwise, she wouldn't have taken the risk of helping a complete stranger.

Yet, she could also converse so easily and casually with a man she had just met, even daring to invite him to her home for dinner… In the downtown area, after renting a house, one must find an opportunity to observe the tenant's character and manner of speaking, and to discern whether they are an alcoholic, a gambler, etc., as a way to ensure the safety of one's property.

So, this "Mrs. Hudson" was actually quite knowledgeable about the ways of life for ordinary people in the downtown area.

Oh, almost forgot, this landlady had a history of owing money to loan sharks… Well, this made Sherlock reconsider his assessment of her.

"Really?! By the light of God, thank you so much. Please wait two minutes, I need to change into something more presentable."

"Such a thoughtful gentlemanly gesture..."

And so, Sherlock returned to his bedroom, changed into a white shirt, put on a sleeveless jacket, and even tidied his slightly disheveled hair.

Meeting the landlady was, in some ways, more important than meeting his fiancée's parents.

...

...A few minutes later.

The landlady's home on the first floor of Building 221B.

Actually, just by walking in, one could tell that the owner of this room couldn't possibly be a married woman, or even a girl with an object of affection!

A woman experiencing the stirrings of love—whether it be satisfaction, attachment, regret, resentment, or even wanting to slap herself—no matter how much she tried to disguise or conceal it, could no longer possess the disdain and naivety that a young girl harbors towards unknown love.

A drawing board by the window, a few bunches of bellflowers by the bedside, a faintly scented blanket, and neatly stacked shoes by the door—many details suggested that Mrs. Hudson was living a life of considerable effort.

And she lived solely in her own world, without any expectation of anyone else intruding.

Even the chair at the table and the completely mismatched set of tableware were newly purchased in the last few days.

At this moment, Mrs. Hudson was placing a pot of soup on the table, and Sherlock, with his keen eye, neatly arranged their tableware.

"Beef," the landlady said with a smile after setting down the soup pot.

Sherlock paused slightly. Beef wasn't something you could just get your hands on anytime. Instinctively, his gaze fell on the pot; in the golden broth, some ingredients, tinged with a warm hue, floated quietly.

"Not much. I found a bargain at the market in the next block the other day."

"You can find such good stuff for free?"

"Yes, a woman from the Upper Town came here with several servants to buy beef. I guess she wanted to invite someone from the Vatican to dinner, and she'd heard from someone that the beef in the Lower Town was fresh, since the slaughtering is all here." The landlady said happily, "But during the purchase, the woman actually said she didn't want the cow's rump because that's where they excrete waste, it's dirty, and eating that would be disrespectful to Vatican officials. Good heavens! Those people in the Upper Town are really crazy!" "They don't even know that the most delicious part of a cow is its rump..."

"...Perhaps they're not eating for the taste, but for the ritual."

"Maybe. Anyway, a few of us saw it, then discussed it with the butcher at the stall, and divided the rest among ourselves." Mrs. Hudson carefully sprinkled some pepper into the broth, taking a delightful sniff of the increasingly enticing aroma: "Sometimes, the stupidity of the upper class seems to bring some benefits to the lower class." As she spoke, she used a large spoon to scoop some potatoes into Sherlock's plate; the small pieces had been simmered in the broth until soft and appetizing.

What followed was a not-too-slow, but very harmonious meal. The landlady had even prepared some beer;

Sherlock's pretense was quite good; his humorous small talk and impeccable dining etiquette made the other woman think he would be a well-behaved tenant.

However, when he told his landlady he was a detective, Mrs. Hudson hesitated for a moment, but after careful consideration, she accepted Sherlock's profession.

What impressed her most about Sherlock was that throughout the entire encounter, the tenant only answered her questions without asking any overly personal ones.

This kind of trust was quite rare.

As for Sherlock… he didn't need to ask questions. In fact, he trusted his own reasoning and judgment more than others' self-descriptions.

This landlady, despite her earnestness, kindness, and sometimes slightly naive naiveté, was quite shrewd in certain matters.

Otherwise, she wouldn't have hidden a large iron rod within easy reach behind the curtains beside her.

Sherlock had every reason to believe that if he displayed any drunken or abnormal behavior, this kind landlady would immediately scald him with boiling soup, then grab the rod and beat him to the ground, and the next day, he would be kicked out.

Perhaps this is the unique contrast between a naturally simple person and the harsh realities of the modern world, shaped by the struggles of life.

Just then…

“Scratch… scratch…” A soft scratching sound came from the doorway.

Mrs. Hudson turned to look at the door, smiling. “The little guy must have smelled the broth and can’t stand it.”

As if to confirm her words, the scratching intensified, accompanied by a pitiful meow tinged with anger.

“How about… we let it in?” Sherlock suggested with a smile.

The landlady hesitated for a moment, then sighed helplessly. “Alright, if I don’t share some with it, this little guy will probably hate me for life.”

Then she got up and walked towards the door.

The door opened, and as usual, a cold draft, carrying London's characteristic dampness, blew into the room, slightly dissipating the warmth around the dining table. The little kitten, perhaps out of natural caution towards unfamiliar surroundings, didn't rush in immediately after the door opened, but its eyes were fixed intently on the direction of the broth, unable to look away.

This combination of desperate hunger and a touch of fear amused Sherlock, yet his smile held a hint of worry:

"At this rate of temperature drop, this little guy... might very well freeze to death this winter..."