Chapter 2: The Frustrating Golden Finger

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Watson glanced at the pearl necklace in Holmes’s hand, then at Billy, whose attire was typical of the lower districts, feeling somewhat puzzled. Yet he realized that the pearls Holmes held were likely one of the jewels the culprit had thrown into the Thames River. Although he had previously harbored a grudging hope that the culprit’s act of dumping the jewels into the river might level the playing field, allowing him to be with Mary Mostyn, seeing that some of the jewels could actually be retrieved stirred a quiet joy within him. At the very least, this was a solid assurance for Miss Mostyn, regardless of whether the other party would choose him because of the wealth.

“I’m no expert in jewelry appraisal,” Holmes said, “but I can tell this is definitely not newly made. It’s very likely from the contents of the chest.” He casually stuffed the exquisite, priceless pearl necklace into his pocket and fixed his gaze on Billy, who seemed unusually eager. Holmes’s keen intuition caught the subtle change; Billy appeared particularly excited upon seeing him. Could he be another aspiring detective? But Holmes did not think so. His sharp observation revealed faint clues.

What intrigued Holmes more now was the simple fishing rod in Billy’s hand. Without any pretense, Holmes took the rudimentary rod from Billy—a stark contrast to his own gentlemanly attire—and examined it closely, paying no mind to the dirt on the wood used as the fishing pole. “No matter how you look at it, it’s just an ordinary rod made of wood, a discarded line, and a rusty hook. Catching even a fish would be lucky,” Holmes concluded. He handed the rod back to Billy. “Kid, try fishing once more.”

Billy instinctively crouched by the riverbank and retrieved some fish innards from a paper bag, awkwardly baiting the hook before casting it into the water. Frankly, Billy had never fished before; he had only watched videos in his previous life, so his actions were mere mimicry. Under the watchful eyes of the famous detective Holmes, Billy felt nervous and even began sweating. “Mr. Holmes, catching that pearl necklace before was just a fluke. I doubt I’ll catch anything else after this,” he said cautiously. His shabby rod was barely able to catch fish, let alone those jewels accidentally scattered into the river.

His so-called fishing “gift” merely increased his chances of catching fish, not some other strange items. “No one can say for sure,” Holmes replied with interest, standing beside Billy with his cane as he watched him fish. Watson was thoroughly baffled, unable to grasp Holmes’s plan. While waiting, the police escorting the suspect arrived, stumbling slightly through the rough terrain. The fishing spot Billy had chosen was surrounded by thick weeds, with a narrow, uneven path trampled through the middle, apparently a good place for fish.

“Holmes, what are you doing here? Have you found the fugitive?” the lead officer asked. Holmes proudly waved the pearl necklace from his pocket in front of the suspect being escorted. “That fellow has probably drowned in the river. Even if you scattered the chest’s treasures along five kilometers of the Thames, I can still retrieve them.” Billy glanced at Holmes’s proud demeanor, amazed to see the legendary detective in person. Holmes’s teasing arrogance, especially with raised eyebrows and a smirking mouth, was almost endearing.

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This Mr. Holmes was exactly as described in the books Billy had read: over six feet tall, with a slender aquiline nose, a firm square jaw, and bright gray eyes. Not a breathtakingly handsome man, but possessing a unique detective charm, especially when wearing the iconic deerstalker hat.

The suspect was furious at Holmes’s boasting and snapped, “Finding just one pearl necklace is nothing. The rest of the jewels in the river are worth hundreds or thousands of times more. You’ll only have truly beaten me if you find the rest!” “Leave the rest to me,” Holmes said, tossing the necklace to the police. The officers, who had lost their bonuses due to the lost treasures, were overjoyed and caught the necklace carefully.

“Mr. Holmes, how will you recover the rest of the jewels? We’ll help in any way we can!” the police officers said eagerly. Holmes turned back to face the Thames, “You take the suspect back to Scotland Yard and wait for my word.” The officers left, glancing back repeatedly. Billy felt cold sweat on his forehead; it seemed Holmes had pinned all hopes on him. His small frame was hardly up to such a heavy burden!

Just as Billy’s thoughts raced, his fishing rod suddenly tensed. He snapped back to reality and quickly pulled, drawing the hook from the water. But under the glowing sunset, only the rusty hook gleamed faintly—no catch. The sweat on Billy’s forehead finally broke out; he felt ashamed in front of Holmes. “Mr. Holmes, that last catch was completely accidental,” Billy said awkwardly, looking away.

Holmes didn’t even frown. “A failure is just part of fishing. It’s all probabilistic. Keep trying. I won’t waste your things or time.” He pulled a gleaming gold sovereign from his pocket and handed it to Billy. Billy’s lips curled into a smile as he carefully tucked the coin into the innermost pocket of his clothes. Since Holmes asked, he would keep fishing! Though his mind could hardly match Holmes’s, he’d follow orders. But this fishing “gift” was terrible—two attempts and no fish. If he really depended on this to fill his belly, he’d starve here!

Billy shuddered at the thought. Without meeting Holmes, he might as well have sought charity. This fishing “gift” was utterly useless! He felt bitter and recalled games he’d played in his previous life. Was this a fishing skill that needed upgrading? If so, it was a trap within a trap! Given his current situation, upgrading fishing skills was far less practical than working as a dock laborer, who could at least earn a day’s meal. The low probability of catching fish with his current skill wouldn’t even fill his stomach.

Billy had a bad feeling—this fishing skill was just a cruel joke. After two unsuccessful attempts, that was his conclusion.

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Just as he baited the hook again, Watson appeared beside him, handing over a warm loaf of bread wrapped in paper and a steaming cup of milk. “Eat something before fishing again. Sherlock isn’t that impatient, is he?” Watson said kindly. Billy only then realized how weak he had become after his earlier excitement; his full attention on fishing had masked his fatigue. Watson was truly a thoughtful little angel.

Holmes touched his own nose, noticing Billy’s pale complexion for the first time. The boy had been so lively earlier, but now looked drained. It was Watson, the doctor, who noticed the signs. “Have you recently been very ill? Do you need medicine? It’s free—consider it payment for helping us,” Watson asked, watching Billy devour the bread.

Billy was too hungry to answer right away, stuffing mouthful after mouthful of buttered bread, finishing it quickly, then gulping down the milk before responding. “I don’t know what illness it was. I just slept for a whole day. Maybe after this, I’ll need you to check if there are any aftereffects.” He valued his life greatly now. Since a doctor had come to him—a little angel named Dr. Watson—he wouldn’t refuse.

Well-fed and refreshed, Billy felt revived. Although the sun had made him hot earlier, his body had still felt cold. Now he was better. Casting his baited hook into the river again, he heard Watson inquire, “You were unconscious? Were you injured? Any symptoms?” Billy recalled, “No injuries. I just buried my parents recently. Maybe I was overwhelmed by grief.”

Watson’s mouth opened in surprise, his face filled with guilt. He hadn’t expected his question to touch such a raw wound. Yet the boy’s expression was calm, showing little sorrow—perhaps numbness from pain. “I’m sorry.” “It’s alright. I can accept it now.” These were his parents, just ordinary people who cared for him. But fate is cruel; they died before he could use his gifts to save them.

If only they had held on a bit longer, maybe he could have rescued them with his abilities... but that was now impossible.