Chapter 4: Lover's Eyes

Holmes leaned over to Billy at an indeterminate moment. "The jewelry thrown away by that murderer is likely worth no more than a few pounds."

As he spoke, Holmes reached out to take the locket, carefully wiping the water stains from its surface with a handkerchief. Watson brought over the kerosene lamp that had been resting on the floor, holding the light close so that everyone could see exactly what the object looked like.

The locket's design was not complex; it was, in fact, quite minimalist. As Holmes had suggested, it did not look particularly valuable at first glance. Once the water was wiped away, Holmes finally pried the locket open with care.

The seal on the locket was clearly poor, and as it opened, a small amount of water seeped out along with a few grains of sand. Holmes quickly cleaned them away with his handkerchief to reveal the contents.

It was a lifelike painting of a woman’s eye, the iris as green as a gemstone, gazing gently at those outside the locket.

Seeing such an eye in the middle of the night startled Billy, even though it was quite beautiful. Painting only an eye—wasn't that a bit unsettling?

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "A 'Lover’s Eye' brooch, popular in 18th-century England. Even though it has been soaking in water for days, I am certain it was crafted within the last year."

Billy: "..."

*Is the fashion in your England a bit too bizarre? You call this single-eyed thing a 'Lover's Eye'?*

However, if it weren't the middle of the night with such dim lighting, seeing such a gentle eye during the day might have held a certain charm. But for now, he would rather not dwell on it.

The canvas tucked inside the locket was protected by a layer of glass, but the seal was ineffective. Billy could see that the canvas had become damp, causing the painting to blur slightly, though not severely.

But why had he fished up such a seemingly worthless locket?

Holmes’s eyes narrowed slightly. He tucked the locket away and looked at Billy. "Your task for today is finished. Let us pack up our things and go back to rest."

Billy: "..." *I have a feeling Holmes is up to something else.*

However, Holmes was already happily heading toward the road, carrying the bucket of fish he had caught, and tossing out witty remarks: "I think our meals for the next few days are taken care of. Mrs. Hudson will certainly turn them into a feast. Believe me, Billy, our landlady’s skill with fish is far superior to those restaurants in Greenwich!"

Looking at the fish still struggling actively in the bucket, Billy felt nothing but envy. Why couldn't he catch a single fish? Holmes had been fishing for a while and already had a full bucket, even after throwing all the small ones back!

*This useless golden finger!*

Once they were in a hansom cab back to Baker Street and had stowed away the various items from the river, Holmes turned to Billy. "I have already rented a room for you next door—the one on the second floor, on the left. I have also prepared toiletries for you; you can move in straight away."

Billy shook his head instantly, standing his ground firmly without moving an inch. "Mr. Holmes, I am well aware of how peculiar my strange ability is. If I move next door, I fear I might meet with some accident. I am not picky about where I sleep; let me just lay out a pallet on the living room floor!"

He was being entirely truthful. Even the great detective Sherlock Holmes, in the original stories, could not always protect his clients; many had met tragic ends. If he moved next door, he feared something might go wrong, and he would be better off staying here on a pallet.

The conversation with Holmes and Watson while fishing that afternoon had revealed that they had just solved a case of murder and theft. This reminded Billy of which case it was from the original stories: the famous *The Sign of Four*, the case where Watson met his wife.

Billy couldn't recall all the specific details, but according to Watson, they had caught the mastermind—the man the police had hauled away. However, the accomplice who used blowpipes to commit murder, an Andaman Islander from what was claimed to be the smallest race in the world, had not yet been apprehended.

According to Watson, he was a ferocious and brutal fellow, yet fiercely loyal to those he considered friends.

Although Watson said the man had likely fallen into the Thames and drowned, what if he hadn't? As the weakest one, Billy was highly likely to be targeted in retaliation. Since they had spent the whole afternoon together, he would be safer staying by Holmes’s side.

If he were attacked while living next door, Holmes and Watson would have to run a long way to help. If he were sleeping on a pallet in the living room, they could just push the door open and rush in.

Of course, living this close carried the risk of being caught in the crossfire, but Billy felt more at ease here.

Holmes stared at Billy for a few seconds before giving his answer: "If you don't mind the conditions."

With that, Holmes rang the bell for the maid to bring spare bedding to lay on the floor.

Billy had briefly considered the sofa, but after looking at the small loveseat—littered with scraps of paper covered in Holmes’s writing—he abandoned the idea and settled for the floor.

The three of them shared a late-night snack. While it was standard fare for Holmes and Watson, for Billy, it was the best meal he had eaten in the eighteen years he had been here.

Cold beef leftover from dinner, steaming white bread, and a cup of hot milk—even though it made him sweat in the heat of summer, Billy found it delightfully delicious.

He remembered that he usually ate extremely cheap smoked herring—the kind you could get two of for a penny and a half. While cheap, they were not gutted and were prepared very simply. He could still recall the foul taste, but he had been forced to eat such things to survive.

Now, he had a pound in his pocket. If he worked hard to earn more, he would at least be able to afford the properly gutted and salted herring. That was his final thought before drifting off to sleep.

He had no time to ponder other chaotic matters; the exhaustion of a busy day and the lingering weakness from his recent illness quickly lulled him into a deep slumber.

He slept until daybreak, only to be awakened by Holmes getting up. In truth, Billy had already woken up naturally, but he was reluctant to open his eyes.

He felt that although the pallet was hard and made him a bit uncomfortable, the warm, clean bedding was far better than what he had at home. Even though his mother tried her best to keep their house clean, the foul odors of the lower districts permeated every home, and that unbearable, damp, putrid air could never be scrubbed out of their clothes.

Billy climbed up and finished washing after Holmes. Just as he stepped out of the washroom, he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Was that the maid coming to deliver breakfast now that they were up?

Just as Billy thought this, Holmes suddenly turned to look at him, his eyes filled with slyness. "Billy, from now on, do not say a word. Just listen silently from the side."

Billy was confused. His stomach was growling; as a strong, newly adult young man, his metabolism was high. Dazed by hunger, he nodded in agreement. He then watched as Holmes walked quickly to the door and opened it just as the person outside was about to knock.

"Oh, heavens, Sherlock! How did you know we had arrived? Did you hear our footsteps?"

The voice was familiar. Billy finally realized who it was—the police officer who had escorted the murderer the day before.

"The jewelry is all in that box. Take it away. I trust you will be fair and just in returning these items to Miss Morstan later. After all, I have cataloged every single piece. It took quite a bit of effort to fish them out of the river," Holmes said, stepping aside.

The police officer was long accustomed to the slight sarcasm in Holmes's tone and paid it no mind. He lunged at the box sitting on the table and flipped open the lid, which wasn't even locked.

The moment it opened, the officer was almost blinded by the countless jewels inside.

"Good heavens, Sherlock! You really found them! My bonus is finally within reach! Thank you, Mr. Holmes! I shall take these back to report the case closed, and of course, I will remember to return them to their rightful owner!" The officer left, overjoyed, clutching the box full of jewelry, leaving Billy no room to speak.

This left Billy even more bewildered. What Holmes had said earlier was entirely wasted, as he hadn't even had the chance to chime in.

But just then, more footsteps sounded—not the fading footsteps of the officer, but someone else approaching.

*Is it the maid this time?*

Holmes, still standing at the door, did not close it. Instead, he turned and sat down in the chair with its back to the window.

As Billy pondered what was happening, a young lady walked in. She looked haggard, dressed in a green bustle dress that accentuated her figure with a thick hip pad, and wore a simple hat.

She looked surprised for a moment to see the door open, but upon seeing the two men in the room, she immediately managed a forced smile.

Before she could speak, Holmes gestured to the chair opposite him, facing the window. "No need for pleasantries, Miss. Please, sit down first, and then tell me what matter you wish to entrust to me."

Billy looked at the lady's face and felt a strange sense of familiarity, especially with her eyes.

His brain, preoccupied with thoughts of food, finally struggled to recall where he had seen them. He realized with a start where he had seen those eyes—they were the "Lover's Eye" he had fished out of the river last night!