COTE: Self-Preservation

Y2V3 Epilogue: Sherlock and Moriarty

The 14th of June.

I returned to that eastern area of the school, past the port which looked the same as before.

Past the supply crates, what looked to be temporary housing for the seamen.

I get off the main path and turned into a narrow alleyway.

It's a place the setting sun doesn't reach. It's dimly lit by a store sign. Opening the door that read 'Doyle's', I walked into the quiet store.

As I go down the creaking and narrow timber steps, I first hear music. A jazz number. The song makes me feel as if I'm going back in time as I take each step. Or, perhaps, compared to the outside world, this is a place within the past.

Everything within the store appears to be submerged under a yellowish-brown colour that you might find near the bottom of the sea. The bartender who was wiping a glass looked at me for a moment before looking back to the object in his hand.

There was one other guest in here.

"Hey, Yagami."

He turned around and greeted me with a pleasant smile. I sat down on the bar stool next to him.

I ordered a soda, and the bartender placed it down in front of me. The ice cube inside was in the shape of a sphere, but it was roughly cut.

"The history of this place is that one of Arthur Conan Doyle's distant descendants could never find a good bar when he visited Japan. So, they decided to create their own. And it looks like this school decided to add one here," Yagami explained, his eyes focused on the ice cube.

I nodded, taking a sip of the soda I got.

"Do you like Sherlock Holmes, Ayanokouji-senpai?"

Hmm, the incredible detective who faced off against Professor Moriarty, huh?

"The works themselves are well written. As for the character, he's rather chaotic. A genius, but a genius whose mind only works when it needs to."

Yagami nodded, "One day, a headline about a murder took place in England. Black armbands were worn by the men for mourning. Who do you think died?"

Hmm, is this a riddle?

No, it's not cryptic enough.

"Maybe the governor or perhaps a member of the royal family?"

The boy shook his head, "It was Holmes. Or, more precisely, the series. Doyle had written Holmes flinging himself from a cliff alongside Moriarty, both of them heading to their deaths. People were so outraged that a woman even hit Doyle with her purse out in the street."

I'd never heard of this story before.

"Doyle got fan letter after fan letter, asking for the return of the detective. And, eventually, he succumbed to the pressure. He kept writing, and writing, and writing," Yagami muttered, his voice sounding tired, "He even raised his prices to exorbitant amounts to stop it, but publishers just met them. What do you think happened when Doyle died?"

Yagami's eyes met mine for the first time since I entered.

"A headline was made. But no armbands were worn, and life continued on as normal."

His voice was low like he was recounting a personal anecdote.

But as for Doyle's fate, it does seem tragic. He fell victim to his readers' demands. He created the detective, but the detective held him captive.

"When he died, it wasn't 'Arthur Conan Doyle died', it was 'Author of Sherlock Holmes died'. Only what he produced matters. He's engraved in history, but even then, his entire purpose in life felt like it was boiled down to being the creator of Holmes. It was given to him," Yagami mused.

"It's tragic, I guess. Creations are more remembered than the creators, that's just the way it is, unfortunately."

Yagami nodded, rolling the ice cube in his cup with his pointer finger like it was a toy. 

"Only remembered for what value he brought, huh? Sounds like a dream. I can see why Doyle hated it, but to me, it sounds perfect."

This took a different turn than I was expecting.

"You asked me why I was doing this, so I thought I should answer you. I was tired of standing among the common clay, and you're the only obstacle in my way. The only difference being the aging of my bones year by year isn't enough."

Yagami reached into his blazer pocket, taking out a folded memorandum and handed me a pen. I noticed that he added the condition that we wouldn't get the other expelled, which I did appreciate.

"Is that enough for you to satisfy your curiosity?" he asked me, a small smile on his lips.

I nodded, signing the document and sliding it back to him.

"It's enough."

He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.

For the rest of the night, no matter who entered, we didn't seem to speak a word. But it wasn't unpleasant at all.

We ate in silence, understanding what would happen soon.