Chapter 1: The Letter from 221B Baker Street

"A storm is brewing, swirling clouds between the sky and sea..."

"Shut up, Nietzsche! You're scrambling my thoughts! Watson, get Mrs. Hudson to take him away!"

"Hey, I'm your landlady, not your servant... Nietzsche, dear, would you like a cookie?"

At 221B Baker Street in London, a boy pulled back the curtains in the living room, looking out at the gray sky, and recited passages aloud while standing in front of the arched window.

It wasn't long before gunshots rang out from the other side of the room, followed by mutterings from a middle-aged man.

Nietzsche turned his head, and what caught his eye on the dining table was not a delightful meal, but a corpse.

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady who had just walked in, was startled but not particularly surprised. She seemed used to such scenes, though she was a bit displeased by the bullet holes left in the innocent wall.

Alright... Nietzsche had to admit, it was intentional.

And the man at the table whipping the corpse was none other than the famous Sherlock Holmes. Nietzsche always thought his adoptive father bore a striking resemblance to the playboy named Iron Man from his dreams.

Sherlock Holmes and Tony Stark were opposites in character.

"Why don't you summon your all-powerful Jarvis assistant..." Nietzsche muttered to himself, taking a raccoon-shaped cookie from the tray.

"If I had that omnipotent robot butler from your dreams, Watson could retire in peace," Sherlock grumbled as he glanced behind him.

John Watson, who was jotting down notes nearby, suddenly felt wronged for no reason.

"Ahem... Nietzsche just has a vivid imagination. Alright, kid, maybe you should go play with that girl from school... Did you discover anything?" Watson asked.

"The time of death was about two days ago. No gunshot wounds, no signs of a struggle, no medical history, no traces of anything, as if..."

Nietzsche leaned over the table, inhaled the pleasant smell of gunpowder, and picked up the thought: "As if killed by magic."

"Interesting. The little tyrant who rules the school now believes in magic too," Sherlock said, stroking his stubble, his body sinking into the sofa as he puffed on his pipe. He raised his left hand and fired another shot at the wall, causing Mrs. Hudson to scream.

"Sherlock!!"

But Nietzsche calmly pulled a newspaper out of his bag and tossed it onto the table.

The headline read: "Bizarre Deaths, Another Failure by the England Police!"

"Dad, this is today's paper. Another murder happened this morning. The victim was a church member, and people are starting to believe this is divine punishment. Even some within the police think it's impossible."

"I'm not your... Oh, never mind. There's nothing impossible in this world!" Sherlock tilted his head, snatched the paper, and asked casually, "What do you think?"

"God is dead."

Nietzsche replied calmly.

"Oh God..."

Mrs. Hudson sighed, raising her head and closing her eyes in contemplation.

But Watson, in disbelief, closed his notebook and stared at Nietzsche.

"How do you know about the police?"

"Dad, I met Inspector Lestrade after school today. He told me," Nietzsche said helplessly. "Please don't look so surprised. After all, you keep a human head in the fridge."

"What? You have a head in the... fridge?!" Mrs. Hudson was even more shocked.

Sherlock and Nietzsche exchanged glances.

The father and son both coughed a few times, put on their coats in sync, and without a word, walked out of the room.

Leaving poor John Watson to deal with the questioning landlady.

Yes, Nietzsche had two adoptive fathers—Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

And he also had a very busy adoptive mother—Mary Morstan.

Though soon, she would be known as Mary Watson.

Although Nietzsche had been adopted by the Watsons, due to their busy work schedules, he spent most of his time with Sherlock Holmes... enjoying "interesting" experiences.

At least, Nietzsche found dealing with severed heads and dismembered bodies quite fun.

"Alright, kiddo, you've got what you wanted." Sherlock tapped the ash from his pipe and twisted the tobacco in the pipe's chamber. "So, what trouble have you caused at school this time that you need me to clean up?"

"You'll find out when you get to school."

Nietzsche gave him a disdainful look.

"I really don't know what Aunt Irene saw in you... Right now, if you dove into a crowd of beggars, someone would definitely toss a coin into your hat."

"You little antisocial maniac! Last time you were transferred because you went too far... What was the name of the fat kid you beat up again?"

"Dudley Dursley, a cake filled with lard."

This wasn't the first time Nietzsche had fought with classmates.

"You're not much better!" Sherlock scratched his unkempt beard as he suddenly stepped outside, squinting at the sudden change in light.

As he adjusted to the brightness, a postman, riding a bicycle on the newly paved road, swiftly handed Nietzsche an envelope.

The voice was hoarse, and from the lines on his hands, it seemed the man was about fifty years old.

"Mr. Holmes, your letter."

Nietzsche glanced away from the postman and habitually felt the texture of the paper.

It wasn't industrially produced paper. It felt rough, with tiny bumps that were distinctly noticeable. The cover had a stamp, the same as the wax seal: a shield containing a lion, snake, eagle, and badger.

The boy looked at the letters beneath the symbol, puzzled: "Hogwarts? I don't recall applying to that school."

Nietzsche didn't say much else, pondering as he walked. He only leisurely opened the letter when they turned the corner from Baker Street.

It read:

"Dear Nietzsche John Holmes,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of required books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. Please send your reply by owl.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress."

Sherlock curiously peered over and asked, "What does it say?"

"A magic school... Don't you think it's odd that during a string of religious murders, I receive this letter? Could it be a warning?"

Nietzsche frowned as he handed the letter to his scruffy adoptive father.

Sherlock, the professional in investigating clues, was better suited for this.

Upon receiving the letter, Sherlock also felt the texture of the paper, sniffed it hard under his nose, and even, after confirming Nietzsche had finished reading, stuck out his tongue to taste it.

He smacked his lips thoughtfully. "Handmade parchment... with a hint of chocolate. Interesting... Was the letter delivered by a human?"

"Of course, it's not like we have phone screens as small as a TV these days."

"But the letter emphasized you must reply with an owl. For an animal to deliver mail, it would need to be specially trained. Even for a prank, that's rather unprofessional."

Sherlock's face fell, disappointed, as he tossed the letter into the trash.

"So it's a prank?"

"A book list just to make it seem real?" Sherlock threw the paper aside and added, "Maybe it's just to lure gullible kids like you."

Whether it was a prank, a threat, or a real school, through the final clue, no matter how real it seemed, it all dissolved into nothingness.

No mention of how to obtain the required owl!

But one thing was clear—their location had been exposed.

"Who would go to a magic school anyway?" Nietzsche scoffed. "I'm destined to serve humanity!"

"Just because of the dreams in your head?"

"I always feel like those things really happened, Dad. You have to admit, there are some things words can't describe. Language itself is a kind of symbolic order, a form of violence."

Just like his name.

Nietzsche John Holmes, destined to break free from the framework of this world.

"So that's your reason for hitting your classmates?!"

As the eccentric father and son approached the school gate, a voice broke through their thoughts.

Looking toward the voice, they saw a brown-haired girl with a few freckles on her face and chocolate-colored eyes. She was holding several books, frowning as she stood by the entrance.

He, Nietzsche, had met the person who would be the most troublesome in his life.

Hermione Granger!!