Chapter 2: The Door at the End of the Corridor
Chapter 2: The Door at the End of the Corridor
The contents of the envelope were thin, appearing to be just a single sheet of paper.
But this moment jolted Sherlock out of his shameless daydreams.
He didn't immediately pick up the fallen letter but instead stared up at the owl circling overhead, his eyes wide with uncertainty.
Training an owl to deliver messages?
Is this a traditional custom among the British nobility?
Like the homing pigeons used in ancient China?
Sherlock was no expert on foreign history and customs, so he couldn't figure it out. Shaking his head, he bent down to pick up the letter from the ground.
The owl, seeing that he had retrieved the letter, stopped hovering in the air. Disappointed at not receiving a food reward, it gave Sherlock a reproachful glance before flapping its wings and flying off to the nearby woods to hunt for mice.
Sherlock, of course, had no idea what the owl was thinking. He frowned and began examining the letter in his hand.
The envelope was made of thick parchment, and the address was written in emerald green ink. There was no stamp.
"Mr. Sherlock Forest, 13 Magnolia Road, Surrey"
The name on the address was indeed his own. He flipped the envelope over and saw a wax seal and a coat of arms on the front. The large "H" was surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
The crest, composed of these four animals, seemed oddly familiar, but Sherlock couldn't recall where he had seen it before.
He knocked on his head and shook it, not eager to open the envelope immediately. Instead, he held it along with the will and decided to go inside the house first.
The keys to the front gate and the front door were attached to the same ring, returned to him by the hospital along with his other personal items when he was discharged.
The rusty gate creaked loudly as it opened.
The yard was overgrown with weeds, causing Sherlock, who had a preference for tidiness and a mild case of Ocd, to frown.
But now was not the time to deal with that. He walked along the narrow path surrounded by weeds and made his way to the front door.
Just as he was about to use the key to unlock the door, the old wooden door let out a long, creaking sound and opened on its own.
Sherlock froze, a strange sensation as if a cold breeze had just passed by him.
Having been educated in China's nine years of compulsory education and seven years of high-quality education, Sherlock was a staunch materialist in his previous life.
Although he had experienced the inexplicable and scientifically unexplainable event of being transported to the past and possessing another body, his mindset had not yet fully adjusted.
A haunted house?
Sherlock shook his head and laughed.
How could there be ghosts in this world?
Ghosts were just as much a fantasy as magic, something adults made up to deceive other adults.
The door must have been left unlocked, and a gust of wind must have blown it open.
Finding a scientific explanation, having a sufficient excuse, and feeling adequately reassured, Sherlock pushed the door open and walked inside without hesitation.
In stark contrast to the yard's disorder, the living room was surprisingly tidy.
But the overall atmosphere of the room was unusually dark.
Despite the clear sky outside, very little sunlight managed to penetrate the room, making it feel like a medieval castle, with a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.
Sherlock casually placed the will and the envelope on the shoe cabinet next to him, then took off his coat. Just as he was about to toss it onto the sofa, he suddenly noticed a coat stand that had somehow appeared beside him.
He paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked suspiciously at the coat stand, which was just a step to his right.
Was this thing here just a moment ago?
Of course, it was just a fleeting suspicion. Sherlock's attention had been on the living room's decor from the start, and he hadn't paid much attention to whether there was a coat stand by the door.
He hung his coat on the stand and then walked into the living room with the will and the letter in hand.
As he turned to enter the room, the coat stand, as if coming to life, silently moved back to its original inconspicuous corner.
Sherlock, with his back to it, was completely unaware of its movement.
Once inside, he first inspected every room in the house.
Apart from the poor lighting, it was a very ordinary and clean, well-organized place.
However, the owner's taste was somewhat retro, with most of the furniture and decor in a medieval European style, which, combined with the dark environment, made it feel more like a dark fortress of some medieval lord rather than a modern residence.
But aside from that, the house, though somewhat dilapidated on the outside, was well-equipped and spacious. The living area on the ground floor and the resting area on the second floor were perfectly separated.
For someone like Sherlock, whose ultimate goal in a past life was to never even dare to hope for such a place, this house alone was more than enough to make him feel fortunate.
However, while inspecting the bedrooms on the second floor, a strange door at the end of the corridor caught his attention.
It was a gray-black wooden door. If not for his focused gaze, the dark environment would have made it almost invisible to the average person.
Moreover, the door was completely bare, with no patterns or even a doorknob.
If not for the metal hinges connecting the door to the wall, which Sherlock noticed by chance, he might have overlooked this room entirely.
He still hadn't sensed anything amiss and attributed the strange door to the quirks of his new body's original owner, much like how he had decorated his home to resemble an "old witch's secret base."
Partly out of a desire to thoroughly understand his new living space and partly out of curiosity, Sherlock stood before the door, extending his hand to gently push the door, which had no handle.
The door opened a narrow crack, revealing a soft, warm yellow light from within.
At the same moment, a shrill female voice suddenly erupted from behind the door.
"Shaaarlock!"
Caught off guard, Sherlock stumbled backward a few steps, his back pressing against the wall, his entire body bristling with alarm!
Someone was in this room!
(End of Chapter)
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