Chapter 1: The Golden Touch and the First Encounter

Billy never imagined he would end up in such a dire situation. His mind was dazed, and sitting here holding a fishing rod, trying to catch fish, was entirely sustained by sheer willpower.

He felt weak all over; his stomach was growling loudly, and the hunger had already begun to make him feel nauseous.

It had only been about an hour since he regained consciousness and recovered his memories—that was based on overhearing passersby, so he couldn’t be entirely sure if it was true. After all, as a penniless member of London’s lower class, how could he possibly have anything to keep track of time?

He recalled the eighteen years of memories living in London, as well as fragments from his previous life. But compared to his current memories, most of his prior life was blurred; he only retained the knowledge he had learned and the things he had encountered. Who he truly was in his past life had long since faded.

He had no clear memory of how he died in that former life, only the instant of pain.

Now, in 19th-century London, Billy had become the child of an ordinary lower-class family. His parents had come to London with hopeful dreams but ended up as part of the slums in the East End. His father worked as a dock laborer, and his mother was a laundry worker.

He was supposed to have younger siblings, but perhaps because of the harsh living conditions, they died shortly after birth.

The dreadful environment and grueling labor eventually claimed his parents before he reached adulthood. Billy spent all their savings trying to cure them but failed to save them.

In the end, even the burial costs for his parents were donated by charitable organizations. The blow was so severe that Billy fell ill himself, drifting in and out of sleep in the cramped rented room, spending through his eighteenth birthday in such a haze.

When he woke again, what faced him were his restored memories and an inexplicable golden opportunity—a fishing skill he suddenly realized he had gained, without explanation, as if crossing over inevitably came with such a boon.

In his current weakened state, finding work to earn money was impossible. Perhaps he could get a little food from nearby charities, but Billy felt he could still barely support himself.

The place where he lived was near the Thames, close to several large docks—convenient for his father to find work there.

Fortunately, being near the docks meant there was plenty of discarded trash around. Although nearly all valuable items had long been scavenged, Billy managed to find a sturdy piece of string and a slender sharp hook.

He tied the string to a solid stick he found, attached the hook to the other end, and rummaged through the garbage for discarded fish entrails. Finally, he arrived at the banks of the Thames to fish.

This was Billy’s current reality.

To be honest, the Thames didn’t smell pleasant, especially where Billy was now, in the river’s lower reaches where all the sewage converged. The stench was almost unbearable. It was September, and the hot weather made the foul water evaporate quickly, making him feel as if he were soaking inside that nauseating river.

Even though he should have been somewhat accustomed to it by now, if it weren’t so close and he lacked the strength and money to fish upstream, he wouldn’t have chosen this spot for his meal.

But now, penniless and weak, this was all he could do. Billy comforted himself with the thought: better to eat something unclean than starve.

Before regaining his memory, Billy had worked alongside his father at the docks, building strong muscles, though perhaps starting work so young had stunted his growth somewhat.

Various vessels sailed on the Thames, especially with several large docks nearby, increasing the traffic. Billy wondered if fishing here was a bad idea—those fish were probably scared off by the propellers’ noise.

Most of the boats were steamships, with thick white steam billowing from them. But why were there sightseeing boats mixed in?

There was hardly anything to see around here; all the ships were busy cargo vessels rushing to and fro, and the surrounding area was the impoverished East End. The lower Thames was filthy; Billy thought tourists here must be mad.

From his observation, several passengers on one ship were dressed neatly and carried canes, clearly middle-class gentlemen, except for one man who wore a deerstalker hat and was tied up like a prisoner.

As Billy was about to look away, his gaze met the man’s sharp, hawk-like gray eyes. The intensity made Billy instinctively avert his eyes.

That man was definitely dangerous, Billy thought.

Just as he considered sneaking another glance, his makeshift fishing rod twitched.

Billy suddenly perked up. He wasn’t aiming to catch anything big, just wanted to test the new skill and catch a few small fish to make a warming fish soup.

The fishing line tugged distinctly, but Billy felt no struggle from a hooked fish, which puzzled him. Still, he quickly pulled the hook from the water.

Under the dim afternoon sunlight, he clearly saw the shimmering silver light of his catch.

But the shape was off—it didn’t look like the glint of fish scales.

Billy swiftly tossed the catch into his hand and finally realized what was wrong.

He had caught a pearl necklace!

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone approaching fast. Billy quickly stuffed the necklace into his coat and warily watched the direction the person was coming from.

Could this be someone trying to rob him after seeing his sudden fortune?

Then Billy saw the familiar man with the deerstalker hat, who should have been on the steam sightseeing boat. The man’s sharp gray eyes gleamed with excitement as he hurriedly approached, holding a cane in his right hand.

Billy’s heart skipped a beat. Could this man have lost the necklace? But why would a grown man lose a pearl necklace?

Or perhaps he intended to give it to his parents, fiancée, or wife.

At that moment, Billy finally saw the steamship they had arrived on, docked nearby. The passengers had disembarked, including a friendly-looking man with a full beard chasing after the man in the deerstalker hat, though he was clearly a step behind.

“Hey, Sherlock, what did you find? Didn’t we already catch the culprit?” the bearded man shouted as he ran.

The man called Sherlock, now standing before Billy, scanned him up and down with those piercing gray eyes, making Billy shudder as if X-rayed—no secret could hide from those eyes.

“Sherlock Holmes, you might have heard the name. The culprit I caught threw all the stolen jewels into the river. It seems you just reeled in a pearl necklace he tossed in,” Holmes spoke rapidly but didn’t try to snatch the necklace from Billy’s grasp. Instead, he simply stared.

Billy knew well how some middle-class individuals looked down on people like him, the lower class, feeling they weren’t even the same kind of people. Holmes’s respectful approach earned his genuine goodwill.

But then Billy caught another key point in Holmes’s words—his name was Sherlock Holmes!

Why had he never heard of this supposedly famous man before? Perhaps because Holmes mostly handled cases involving the middle class, so someone from the East End like Billy never came across his name.

Even though newspapers were cheap now, a penny was enough to buy a loaf of bread.

So, Billy’s memories from this life held no trace of Sherlock Holmes, but in his previous life, he had long admired Holmes—he was the most renowned detective ever created, with Holmes symbolizing extraordinary investigative skill!

The man before him was actually Sherlock Holmes, not merely a historical figure of 19th-century London, but the very detective from the famous stories!

The shock of this truth left Billy’s mind reeling, but trusting Holmes, he instinctively pulled the pearl necklace from his coat. It was still stained with Thames grime and riverweed. Embarrassed, Billy wanted to take it back to clean before returning it.

But Holmes was swift. Before Billy could react, he took the necklace, showing no disdain for its dirtiness. He pulled out a handkerchief, cleaned the pearls meticulously, then examined them closely with a magnifying glass.

By then, the man who had been chasing Holmes finally caught up. Billy’s eyes landed on the kind face and full beard of this companion—surely the famous Dr. John Watson.

This was the scene unfolding before Billy on the docks of 19th-century London.