Bloody Sunday Riot (3)

Chains rattled as I awoke from my slumber.

'Ah… I see…'

I remembered my past two lives.

'It wasn't a revelation… It was regression.'

In my first life, I died without knowing what had happened and prayed to the mad gods and died.

In the second, upon seeing the vivid 'dream', I contacted Gia Lestrade for her help but everything went in vain and now I was in my third life.

'How did I regress? Didn't I regress around a full two days before? Why regress to this point?'

'...How am I not mad?'

It was truly unexplainable how I was not mad. A meeting with God who spoke just a few words caused me to become a crazed animal for a few minutes. Yet, facing those abominations which were madness itself didn't cause me to go mad.

My brows scrunched as many questions filled my mind but I laid rest to them and focused on escaping from Buckingham Palace first.

It was in the dead of night right before midnight.

'...It feels somewhat strange that my fingers are back.'

I commented, controlling my Arts to once again blow up the iron chains.

As four small consecutive explosions happened releasing me from the chains, I hurriedly gathered the bare minimum. This time without a large briefcase.

"If the world ends in a single day, it would be better if I carry only the essentials."

I mumbled.

'It's not as if that briefcase had helped in the life before…'

Crash!

As the window broke from gunfire, I quickly ran with all my might once more.

Behind me was the familiar sound of heavy metallic footsteps that increasingly got louder by the second.

"Mr. Alvis, we ask you to stop in your tracks immediately!"

The familiar lines came out of the pure and knightly Benjamin as I immediately shouted back.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline Mr. Benjamin! I have something to do out here that in my personal opinion is far more important than your mission from the princess herself!"

Benjamin let out a dumbfounded sound behind me.

Once again by sacrificing my index finger, I disorientated the knights long enough for my escape while holding my bleeding hand.

"Hah… Hah…"

Breathing heavily, I wiped the sweat off my forehead and leaned against a brick wall.

It was never easy to get away from the royal knights, but in the end they were human like I am.

Lifting my shirt, I saw the stitches had become once again undone.

'I can't rely on Gia Lestrade, she will not believe me and will arrest me. I have to work on the logic that this regression is limited.'

Upon realizing the regression was slowly shortening, I had decided not to rely on Gia Lestrade's help for a second time.

'...It's strange, I thought I would be back within the white room once I died. I suppose there are always exceptions.'

I smiled upon realizing I had another chance to make things right along with the realization that there were exceptions to my ability.

'I have twelve hours before the mad gods descend. There must be some type of condition in order for the mad gods to descend, I have to stop it.'

Trafalgar Square.

Mad Gads.

Dead bodies.

'...Is it a sacrificial ritual in order for the mad gods to descend?'

It was the most straightforward answer and primitive magic of all, rituals. Even before humans had discovered and used magic in a systematic and logical way, rituals were held to appease the gods to wish for something. Asking for rain, asking for peace all through the sacrifice of lives.

'...If I go by this logic then surely Trafalgar Square is the place where the magic ritual is taking place along with where the ritual must be set up.'

However, my face scrunched in confusion.

'No matter how well the ritual is hidden, it couldn't possibly hide all mana traces from the professors from the August Institute who pass by the square daily, could it?'

Such was the reason for my confusion.

'...Do I truly need to work on this alone?'

'Charlotte Holmes would no doubt take this case if brought, but it's now past midnight. Would she even be awake? Not only that, but there are simply problems with her that are almost the same as Jill the Ripper.'

I simply couldn't trust her with as much trust as I had Gia Lestrade. Gia Lestrade in essence was a simple woman, she worked on the path of justice and wished for the peace of London. A straight-forward character that could easily be seen through even with a stone-cold mask.

Charlotte Holmes was a woman who craved more than anything, cases. She would stop at nothing for her curiosity to be quelled until her dying breath.

Over the past months in my free time, I had read A Study In Scarlet published by Dr. Watson several times in order to study the enigma known as 'Charlotte Holmes'.

That is the reason this woman frightens me. I have read about her and the case she had with Dr. Watson.

She is a human-skinned monster with an insatiable thirst of mystery and cases like no other being on the planet.

I cannot predict her when I cannot even predict whom I thought was the easier target.

'...No, I might just need to be honest with her.'

I was at my wits end.

Charlotte Holmes would undoubtedly sweep this case before the aforementioned time but something irked me about this case in which I could not place my fingers on.

I shook my head, my wound slowly bleeding, reminding me of my borrowed time.

'I'll consult Charlotte Holmes no matter the stakes. I already did so before with Miss Lestrade anyways.'

* * *

221B Baker Street.

A cold and chilling night it was on the 13th of November 1887 as the Big Ben rang indicating it was now 2 o'clock, two hours past midnight.

Alvis hid in the shadows, wary of any metallic sounds and police officers.

Knock, knock—

He knocked on a wooden door of the lodging house as light flickered on the house, disrupting the residents who were sleeping.

Creak…

The door opened slightly, the person behind hidden and open only enough for the voice to pass to the recipient.

"Who's there?"

It was an unrecognizable male voice.

"Is Miss Charlotte Holmes' residence? I need to speak with her please."

Alvis' voice sounded desperate, almost in a begging tone.

"Are you perhaps one of her clients?

"Yes, if possible I would need to see her right this moment."

"..."

A slight pause.

"I see… Their residence is at the top of the floor."

The door opened and a sleepy man's figure was shown.

"My apologies."

"No no, it's quite alright. I've had this happen many times because of those residents and at this point it is rather expected to be awoken by a client of hers."

"I see… Have a good night."

Alvis excused himself as he stepped on the wooden stairs leading to the Holmes and Watson residence.

Knock, knock—

"Who's there?"

A young female voice resounded. It was the familiar voice of Rachel Watson.

"Is Miss Charlotte Holmes' residence? I need to speak with her please."

"Is this regarding a case?"

"Yes! This is more urgent than anything you have right now I assure you."

"..."

A quiet footstep resounded as a brown iris and some brown hair observed Alvis for a minute.

"You seem to be bleeding quite a bit judging from your hand placement and unknown liquid on your hand. You seem quite suspicious, why are you coming in the dead of night for a case. Could it not wait a couple of hours?"

Alvis scrutinized Rachel Watson before replying.

"Dr. Watson please let me in, it's Alvis Quinn. You have seen me a couple of times at the hospital you work at…"

The narrow brown eye widened.

"Oh, it's you! The unlucky one who always gets into accidents."

"Ah… Yes… Me, the one who gets into accidents…"

'Even though I knew that this was how they perceived me, it still quite hurts that I'm seen in such a way.'

The door lock clicked as Watson's full figure was finally in view, a clumsy mess of clothes put on.

"Please come in. Although there's not much I can do for you, I'll at the very least see that wound on your stomach." Watson muttered, "How on earth did this happen?"

She seemed much more calm upon the realization that the person she had answered was a frequent patient.

"Is Charlotte Holmes up right now? I urgently need to speak with her as soon as possible."

Watson sighed.

"Usually she would have been the one to answer the door, but because of the sudden drought of cases she's been doing mana stone tests and drugs making her completely pass out and sound asleep. I'll get her out within a minute, keep applying pressure to the wound until I come back!"

Watson rushed into the boarding house.

'...I can definitely smell cigarettes and a hint of drugs… Is what the book said true? Charlotte Holmes is a drug addict without an ongoing case.'

They say geniuses were eccentric, but it seemed even more severe for the young Charlotte Holmes.

There were loud noises, glass breaking, shouts, and urging…

Within ten minutes, Charlotte Holmes along with Rachel Watson was down, both haggard and in clumsy clothes.

Charlotte Holmes had black hair and gray eyes. Although she looked haggard and overall lusterless and depressing, there was an air of mystique that didn't seem to go away. But even without the strange air to her, her looks were pleasing to look at.

"..."

'...She shows signs of mana addiction.'

The areas around her eyes and her fingernails told him so.

But Alvis simply kept a blank stare at the scene as he kept his right hand on his wound.

"Ah… Hello Miss Holmes, if you could listen to my case…"

He acted as if he saw nothing and started talking.

"Yes, please go on."

Holmes replied, adjusting her clothes to make for a more neat impression. Something that was already shattered when Alvis heard the several strange noises in the past ten minutes.

"Firstly, do you believe in God?"

Alvis asked in all seriousness.

"???"

* * *

Within the dimly lit sitting room, Charlotte Holmes is smoking from a pipe as Rachel Watson is tending to Alvis' wounds.

"...Hmm… Truly intriguing. Watson, are you certain that these aren't ramblings of a madman and a genuine case?"

Holmes asked.

"I don't think so." Watson shook her head, "I have met this man on several occasions but he showed no signs of a disorder or trauma of any kind. I think it is safe to assume that this is a genuine case and not some man mindlessly talking."

Holmes sighed as a gray smoke exhaled from her mouth.

"I'll do anything, please…"

Holmes looked at Alvis with peering eyes.

"Where are you from again?"

"Ah…"

"Well just from seeing you, I have a few guesses. A scholar? A student at August Academy? A librarian? Perhaps a noble? Or even a working member of some noble house."

"You don't seem religious, but I suppose there are always exceptions like Jean d'Arc. The peasant man who proclaimed to have been given God's protection and blessing who fought and won a battle in Orleans during the Hundred Years' War."

Holmes talked, her assumptions and findings coming out.

'Is she trying to read my expressions by telling me all this…? It is quite unnerving.'

Alvis felt naked in front of the genius.

"...Well I suppose there's no true need to observe you like this. Very well, we'll take this case. You said that the world is ending in half a day?"

"Yes, please stop this madness."

"I suppose there's no time to waste then. Let's go to Trafalgar Square."

Holmes said, trying to hide an obvious joyful tone in her voice, her eyes which were once dull and lusterless had become like an obsidian, shiny and sharp. And her hair which looked brittle and frail seemed to shine like her eyes.

* * *

It was silent and very few people roamed around.

At Trafalgar Square it was quiet to the point of eeriness. It was dark but nothing seemed out of place.

No ominous things lurked, it was so utterly ordinary that I panicked.

I asked Holmes, "Miss Holmes… Have you found anything?"

She was kneeling and observing the ground with almost fanaticism.

"Be quiet, I can understand your panic but that won't help us at this moment now will it Mr. Quinn?"

I shut my mouth after that remark.

Holmes muttered as she went around the large square like a bloodhound trying to find a scent.

Even with the large amount of space she returned in only thirty minutes.

"So?"

Watson asked, her concealed revolver in her coat pocket.

Holmes' head shook.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

She sounded rather monotone at the lack of evidence.

"This does confirm my theory."

"Theory?" I asked with doubt.

"Yes. If what you said was true and we base that this ritual was indeed a ritual, then it must be a special case. Just like how people of the past danced as a ritual, this as well could be something of the sort. Perhaps not a dance, but something that allows for the ritual to take place at any place."

"If that is true…"

My brows creased as a disturbing thought came into my mind.

"Yes, it is what you speculate. If the ritual can take place anywhere that means that our culprit doesn't necessarily need to use Trafalgar Square but rather any place in order to start this ritual."

Holmes' calm words confirmed my thoughts.

"But did you not mention that in both revelations that it took place in Trafalgar Square? That must mean that there are indeed some type of prerequisite or conditions that are not easily changeable that the caster chose this place as the ritual site."

We stood silent at Holmes' words as she eventually spoke again.

"...With my current abilities, this is not something that I can deal with. I believe that we'll need the help of my sister."

A hint of frustration seeped into her words. It was clear that she did not want to seek her sister's help.

'Sister…?'

'I don't recall a brother of Sherlock Holmes… But I suppose that should be the case as I have never read the book series nor have I seen many spoilers. The most I know are the names of famous characters and the incident of Reichenbach Falls along with this world's version of 'A Study In Scarlet'.'

"You had a sister?"

She nodded, "Yes, although not publicly known, my sister is named Mycrony Holmes. She will surely be awake during this time."

"I see…"

Watson looked rather tired as she rubbed her eyes constantly and her head bobbed.

As we walked on the dark and silent roads, we came to a club.

'...A club?'

I had expected that a sister of someone such as Holmes would be in a university, or perhaps even be a civil servant of some kind.

Calling it a 'club' by modern standards was rather strange as the inside and out was furnished quite lavishly almost like a place for a ball or private gatherings.

The guards let us in quite easily and soon we were in front of a rather wealthy looking door, one that was still a notch short from Jill the Ripper's.

"Come in~"

A lazy voice called out.