When the plot-skips players into the game world

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When Sherlock awoke as usual and went downstairs in his pajamas for breakfast,

he saw two familiar yet unfamiliar figures beside the dining table.

"Aiwass?"

Sherlock's steps halted as he descended the stairs, murmuring to himself.

Instead of sitting in a wheelchair being pushed over by Lily, Aiwass was now sitting steadily on a stool. He looked completely recovered.

And Lily wasn't standing behind Aiwass but was seated beside him.

In just a week's absence, Sherlock keenly sensed that there seemed to be an increased understanding between the master and servant.

"You're looking much better, Sherlock."

Upon hearing the voice, Aiwass turned his head, smiling and greeted him: "It seems you've adapted well to life at the Bishop's place."

It was still very early, but Sherlock did not seem tired; it appeared his biological clock had adjusted somewhat.

It might also be due to his hypoglycemia being treated—his previously hollow cheeks had filled out noticeably, and his somewhat brittle hair had regained its luster. Considering this, perhaps his hypoglycemia had been simply due to his unhealthy lifestyle.

"Indeed."

Sherlock nodded in agreement.

Leaning on the stair's handrail, with a smile curving his lips, he said, "It was indeed a bit uncomfortable at first because I am usually dragged by Mr. Kent into handling some troublesome cases. Suddenly having free time, I felt unwell all over.

"But once I got used to it, I was able to calm down and read books, do research. Thanks to Mrs. Mina, I often neglected to eat when I was living alone, but she always reminded me on time. Plus, I've been free of work pressures lately... Being able to eat three meals a day and keep regular hours, I feel like my health has improved quite a bit."

Mr. Hermes was very optimistic about his own health assessment.

Aiwass leaned back in his chair: "I think you'd be the same if you were living in your own house."

"No, no, no, that wouldn't do."

Sherlock furrowed his brows immediately: "It's not that I dislike them—how should I put it, my family actually prefers quiet."

As Sherlock spoke, he quickly walked down the stairs.

He took a seat next to Aiwass, then continued: "Do you know about Mycroft's 'Barrel' Club?"

"Your brother?" Aiwass asked.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, "Unless there's something pressing, he spends every afternoon there at a fixed time. I think it's the strangest club on Glass Island, filled with eccentrics.

"You know, Avalonians enjoy socializing in various clubs. Joining different clubs is often their way to meet new friends and enter new circles. But not everyone likes socializing, and there are always some recluses, misfits, or those who simply do not like to mingle. Yet, being reclusive doesn't mean they have to stay in the shadows.

"The Barrel Club was started by Mycroft, you must have met him, right?"

Sherlock asked this and then continued.

Aiwass nodded, recalling the man he had met at Sherlock's funeral, who was at least three times fatter than Sherlock but had a mild demeanor and a bright mind: "Mhm, he's indeed a very smart man."

"The rule of the Barrel Club is that no one's allowed to speak to each other, nor engage in conversation. The club is large, with very comfortable facilities and good lighting.

"Members can sit in any room they want, drinking tea, reading, doing crossword puzzles, painting, reading the newspaper. The club offers free tea and the latest variety of periodicals, both entertainment and academic. You can also play chess with someone, but the rule is the same—no talking, no strange actions, no loud sounds, no drawing attention to oneself."

... Isn't that just a study room?

Aiwass suddenly took interest: "I think it sounds quite nice."

"Just speaking of the atmosphere, I also think it's quite nice. It's just that it's a gathering place for all the eccentrics of Glass Island, like..."

At this point, Sherlock paused slightly: "Through my investigation, the sculptor Lars Graham is often seen there too."

This was a code that only the two of them could understand.

— This was the "Bone Sculptor's" name.

"But I haven't joined the Barrel Club because I actually can't stay quiet for long... When my train of thought breaks, or when I am too bored, my heart easily becomes restless. Then I might punch a bag, practice shooting and swordsmanship, or play the violin to excite my brain that's about to fall asleep.

"As a result, whenever I'm home, my family finds me as annoying as a child. And the house has many rules, only Mycroft seems to always keep them happy. An occasional visit home is best, I can feel the warmth of family without it becoming bothersome. After a day or two, I have to return to my own place—besides, you don't get business coming to your door when you're at home."

Sherlock explained.

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"Ah, I get it."

Aiwass nodded, understanding dawning on him.

It was like when a child working or studying away from home returned for a visit; for the first few days, they were smothered in care and concern. But after a week, they'd be annoying to everyone and constantly scolded.

Especially someone like Sherlock, with his irregular schedule, disinterest in meals, occasional two-day seclusions, and the weird noises he'd make at odd hours... His treatment at home definitely couldn't compare to the mature and worldly Mr. Mycroft. No wonder Sherlock moved out to live on his own, at least he wouldn't be scolded there.

But Sherlock's relationship with Bishop wasn't that close. Half-stranger, half-life-saver, he couldn't really be himself here and had to be mindful of politeness. So when Mrs. Mina called him to dine, he had to obediently come down and eat. And just like that, over a week, Sherlock's biological clock was forcibly reset.

Aiwass clicked his tongue in amazement; this was probably what they meant by one thing conquers another.

"Why don't you just stay here permanently?"

Mrs. Mina was distributing breakfast for four at the table.

She smiled at Sherlock and said, "You're looking for a new place to live anyway, right?"

At this, Sherlock hesitated, a bit of apprehension creeping in: "But... wouldn't that be a nuisance for you?"

"You could pay rent."

Mrs. Mina laughed, "I can't relax if you live on your own."

She and Mathers had never had children. And over these past few days, she had come to realize that Sherlock was indeed a good kid. But his lifestyle habits were far from reassuring... Mrs. Mina was almost certain that if she let Sherlock go out and rent a place, it wouldn't take a month for him to revert to his old ways.

She had finally managed to get Sherlock's health back on track, and she didn't want all her effort to go to waste.

"Anyway, Mathers and I don't have kids, and it's a shame for such a big house to have over half its rooms always empty. No one lives on the second floor anyway, and cooking for one more is no trouble at all. It's just one more knife and fork to set."

"...I'll ask Bishop Mathers about it later."

Sherlock was clearly tempted: "It's just that, visitors might trouble you, right?"

"No problem, I'll take care of that. Your staying here could even attract business to my shop."

Mrs. Mina said with a smile, "The stairs from my fortune telling shop lead right up to the second floor living room. Why not turn the living room into your office?"

Since Mrs. Mina had put it that way, Sherlock felt it would be impolite to raise the issue of moving out.

"I'm very grateful for your hospitality, Mrs. Mina."

Sherlock said earnestly, "I don't have any money on me now, but I'll bring the rent later."

"Looks like I've witnessed something lovely."

Aiwass laughed.

This gave him a good excuse to drop by frequently.

"Speaking of which, where's today's newspaper?"

Sherlock asked softly, "I'd like to read the paper while eating."

During this time of limited contact with others, his understanding of Avalon came solely through various newspapers.

"Here, just be careful not to get it dirty."

Aiwass handed him the Glass Staircase Daily he had been reading: "Or do you want a different paper?"

"This one is fine."

Sherlock glanced at it and casually remarked, "You made the headlines again... Huh?"

He took a closer look and finally made out the headline.

"Young hero Aiwass Moriarty, awarded the Holy Sword badge, kidnapped by Demon Worshippers at school and is now missing!"

Sherlock looked at the paper, then back up at Aiwass, who had handed it to him.

"...Now missing?" Sherlock repeated, unsure.

"Yep."

Aiwass shrugged, "That's right, I'm missing."