Chapter 17: A New Disappearance

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This was clearly not the title of a novel. Billy intended to turn it into a series, eventually compiling it into a book. After all, there were so many detective skills to learn that even writing bit by bit could fill numerous chapters.

The first topic, naturally, was the luminol reagent explicitly requested by Holmes. But before that, the protagonist had to be established. A popular science novel needed a main character who would captivate readers, allowing them to learn skills through his experiences and feel a sense of immersion.

After much thought, Billy ultimately chose a cliché setting—because clichés are time-tested and appeal to the majority.

That is, the protagonist acquires a legacy by falling off a cliff—an old trope popular across cultures and eras. Who wouldn’t want to encounter such a fortuitous adventure?

Billy’s setup had the protagonist chasing prey, accidentally tumbling off a cliff, and being rescued by a hermit detective living in seclusion. This unexpected bond, combined with the protagonist’s innate talent, led the hermit to decide to teach him how to become a detective.

The detective began instructing him on how to make convenient detective tools, starting with the miraculous luminol reagent. Following Holmes’s idea, Billy set it as a formula the hermit detective had discovered by chance, with its original creator unknown.

Coincidentally, someone disappeared from the village where the protagonist lived. Curious, the protagonist sprayed the suspect’s room with luminol, revealing countless traces of blood and confirming it as the first crime scene. This clue eventually led to the real murderer.

As he wrote, Billy felt as if he were crafting a novel and became increasingly self-conscious. Was this too fictional? It seemed he hadn’t included enough actual detective work.

Reviewing his outline, Billy decided to elaborate further—detailing how to search a crime scene, how to reason step by step from clues, and how to communicate with suspects and witnesses.

Though he felt his knowledge was still limited, he believed he could manage writing a relatively introductory popular science article.

With a rough outline planned, Billy finally began to write.

Perhaps because he was writing about knowledge he knew intimately, or because he had read so many detective novels in his previous life, his writing flowed smoothly, uninterrupted, and inspiration struck hard—he couldn’t stop once he started.

When he came to his senses, he had already finished this not-too-lengthy case.

Just as he put down his pen, Holmes’s voice sounded behind him: “It seems assigning you to write a novel was the right choice. You write faster than Watson did most of the time.”

Billy blushed at the compliment. “This is my first time writing a novel, so I’m a bit excited. I probably won’t be this fast next time.”

Holmes reached out, took the stack of papers Billy had finished, and began reading from the first page.

Holmes read quickly. Billy glanced sideways, carefully observing his expression—Holmes occasionally furrowed his brows, then relaxed them moments later, repeating this cycle. Billy’s heart fluttered nervously.

How was his work really?

Ten minutes later, Holmes finally placed the papers on the table. Billy stared at his face and saw a sincere smile, devoid of the usual sarcastic, ironic smirks: “Well done, but there are some details that need adjustment. You grew up in London and haven’t seen true countryside life, so some common-sense errors are inevitable.”

Holmes then pointed out specific mistakes by page and line, causing Billy to scramble for his pen and take notes.

“Once Watson returns, have him review it too. But I think you’ve done very well—much better than Watson’s first draft, which went through many revisions and was even rejected once by the magazine.”

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Watson pushed open the door again: …

Why did he always hear Holmes talking about him whenever he entered in the past two days?

Billy, seeing Watson, thought: …

What a strange coincidence!

The atmosphere was slightly awkward, but Holmes didn’t mind at all. Instead, he called Watson over: “I’m surprised Billy finished the draft so quickly. Watson, you just arrived in time to review it and offer some suitable revisions.”

Watson was accustomed to Holmes’s manner and, good-natured as ever, showed no irritation. He quickly joined Billy and took the draft handed to him.

Holmes didn’t waste time but turned to continue his chromatography experiment.

Though the last case was solved, Holmes still needed to study plant toxin chromatography further—just in case a similar case arose again.

Watson read more slowly than Holmes but far more carefully, making Billy even more anxious.

After finishing, Watson smiled reassuringly at Billy: “I must say, Billy, you have exceptional talent. Sherlock’s right; this is much better than my first attempt.”

Billy didn’t immediately rejoice because he sensed Watson wasn’t finished.

“But there are some details to tweak. For instance, the witness questioning contains too much dialogue. I understand you want to show an authentic detective process, but for readers, many details are unnecessary. You could summarize them to keep readers interested rather than bored and turning to other works.”

Billy nodded immediately, agreeing with Watson’s point, and jotted it down.

“Besides that, no other flaws. I’ll write a letter now. Billy, copy the revised draft cleanly and bring it to me. I’ll send it to my editor with my letter. I’m confident they’ll publish your article in Detective Notes. It would be a huge loss for them not to!”

Billy’s heart settled completely, and he nodded eagerly.

He first marked changes on the original draft, then carefully recopied it on fresh paper.

He had to keep the original safe—losing it would mean rewriting everything.

Before mailing, they had lunch together. After the meal, Billy promptly took Watson’s letter and his manuscript to the post office.

Holmes paid him a fixed salary, but earnings from popular science articles were extra income. Who wouldn’t want to earn more?

Billy happily thought about what he could do with the payment if the article was accepted. He already had clothes, and Holmes provided toiletries. For now, there was nothing else he needed to buy.

He wasn’t ready to leave Holmes’s side yet. His special ability still felt too extraordinary, so staying close to Holmes gave him a sense of security.

As for food, Mrs. Hudson’s cooking was far better than Billy’s mother’s—not because of superior skill but due to ingredient limitations.

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For instance, the oil used differed: his mother bought cheaper fat rendered from roasted meat to substitute for butter on bread, while Mrs. Hudson used real, more expensive butter.

Mrs. Hudson could afford more meat and various seasonings, while his mother had to stretch scarce money with more staples and very little meat.

At least now, Billy was satisfied with Mrs. Hudson’s meals—a tremendous upgrade from his previous life.

He couldn’t have milk regularly before; now he had a glass every morning.

Not to mention coffee and tea with lunch and dinner.

Considering all this, even if he received payment, there wasn’t much he needed to spend it on yet—he would have to save it for now.

Still, having more savings gave Billy greater peace of mind.

Not dwelling on this, he began making fingerprint powder from graphite.

It was a meticulous task, requiring grinding the graphite finely.

Before he could finish, there was a knock at the door.

Watson had left after lunch, so only he and Holmes were inside.

Seeing Holmes busy, Billy hurriedly wiped his hands and went to open the door.

Luckily, he had placed paper under his hands while grinding, or it would have been hard to clean.

Opening the door, he saw a young woman dressed in a Basque skirt. Billy couldn’t help but wonder why the clients for the last two cases had been young ladies.

Though curious, he stepped aside quickly to let her in.

Holmes had finished tidying his experiment equipment as Billy opened the door. Wiping his hands, Holmes approached the anxious woman: “I am Sherlock Holmes. Who are you looking for?”

The young woman was startled: “How do you know?”

“Just simple observation. Your expression is confused, anxious, and lost, without pain or struggle, so it’s unlikely to be a violent incident. It must be a disappearance.” Holmes gestured for her to sit.

Billy rang a bell to summon a maid with tea, then sat nearby.

Holmes remained in the armchair facing away from the window, while the client sat in the armchair facing the window—just like countless clients before her.

“It’s a friend of mine who’s missing. But I have very little information. I don’t even know what he looks like or his exact age. I only know his name, but I’m not sure if it’s true.” The young woman finally spoke.