Chapter 3: An Unpleasant Meeting with the Old Bat

A month after Nietzsche's expulsion incident, the weather in London finally returned to normal.

Even 221B Baker Street was unusually lively.

First, after the Duke of Blackwood, captured by Sherlock, was executed, he crawled out of his grave, followed by a series of baffling murders.

The Prime Minister was anxious, trying to reassure the public and ordering that the perpetrator be found at any cost.

"How is this possible? No chemicals... no struggle..." Sherlock sat on the sofa, constantly reviewing data in his mind palace, "This defies logic!"

This was a miracle of crime... a miracle?

His thoughts suddenly turned to Irene Adler from the Bohemian scandal case. How did she escape the ambush, especially when she had taken Nietzsche hostage?

She knocked out all the police and guards and left with the photographs in broad daylight.

Clearly, this wasn't something a single woman could have done.

At this moment, Nietzsche yawned as he walked out of his room.

Is it still nighttime?

No, of course not. Sherlock had drawn all the curtains, creating an interrogation room atmosphere.

Nietzsche passed by the old churchman lying on the table and walked towards the bay window.

"Don't, don't open it... Ah!!"

The blinding sunlight made Sherlock disoriented. He slid off the sofa, rolling around on the carpet.

"It's summer vacation now. You should go out and get some fresh air. Also... I don't want to dine with our new 'guest' tonight."

"How long has it been, Nietzsche? Give your father a moment to adjust... ah!"

"A month," Nietzsche checked his watch and reminded, "I'm going to catch some amphibians for your experiments, so... see you tonight."

Originally, he was supposed to go with Hermione, but she called yesterday saying she had guests at home and couldn't go out.

Poor Nietzsche, being toyed with by Hermione.

Just as the two were still chatting, the door opened.

A middle-aged man in a black robe, looking like he belonged to some cult, walked in silently, holding a small wooden stick.

His greasy black hair reflected the sunlight coming through the window.

"If you're looking for Sherlock, he's not interested in any other cases right now."

Nietzsche looked warily at the man in front of him.

The door was locked, and only the Watsons and Mrs. Hudson had keys to open it from the outside.

But the man remained unmoved, blocking the doorway.

"I'm here for you, Nietzsche John Holmes!" he said in a long, drawling voice, his eyes looked hollow.

"You may call me Professor Snape, and stop deliberately losing your letters."

He pulled an envelope out of his sleeve as he spoke.

Nietzsche looked at the letter that was thrown away as a prank, his pupils dilated, and then he dodged to the side.

Shouting: "Stalker!!"

Before Snape could react, he saw Sherlock on the sofa instantly pull out a metal short stick and point it at him.

Looking into the dark muzzle, a sense of danger rose in his mind.

After 0.5 seconds of deliberation, the metal short stick emitted a loud "bang."

Wood chips splattered from the door frame next to Snape.

"Put your hands above your head!"

"What is wrong with you people?!"

Nietzsche suddenly saw Snape turning his hand holding the wand toward Sherlock.

He quickly crouched down, using a wooden training dummy as cover, his right hand forming a claw aimed at Snape's right hand.

Alright, he did have a few secrets.

Because of these "secrets," he could often beat students who were taller and stronger than himself.

Nietzsche called it "The Force!"

Snape, of course, saw his movement. Suddenly, a powerful, invisible force gripped his wrist, raising it above his head.

This was the last thing he expected.

"Who are you?"

But Snape just gritted his teeth, giving the father and son a venomous look, and said, "I am the Potions Master at Hogwarts, you bunch of Muggles."

When his gaze fell on the corpse on the dining table, he immediately realized this family was not ordinary.

However, Sherlock showed no fear, meeting Snape's gaze with equal intensity.

"Alright, Professor... who are you working for?"

"I work for myself! Enough is enough!!"

Snape muttered something under his breath, and a gust of wind erupted from him, pushing Sherlock and Nietzsche back.

With a flick of his right hand, a red flash filled the room.

Sherlock felt his Colt revolver fly out of his hand, uncontrollably.

"Now, can we just—"

Just as Snape was about to explain, Watson silently crept up from the hallway.

He drew his gun from his waist and pressed it to the back of Snape's head.

The metal brought only a cold chill.

"Stop your tricks, or I will risk being thrown out by Mrs. Hudson and shoot you on the spot."

Watson rarely showed his fierce, violent side in front of children, but as a friend and guardian of Holmes, he couldn't afford to be picky when danger came knocking.

Even with a Muggle's gun pressed to his head, Snape showed no emotion.

"If Dumbledore hadn't forced me to come out, I wouldn't bother with this."

As he finished speaking, Watson and his wife saw Snape twist his body. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared in the corner of the room.

The gun moved again, pointing directly at him.

"Reparo!"

Snape coldly drew a circle with his wand, and the disarrayed room began to restore itself.

Objects floated back to their original places.

Curious Sherlock lay on the ground, sweeping his hands around the floating objects.

Unfortunately, he found nothing.

"How is this possible?"

"I'll say it one last time: I am a professor at Hogwarts and one of the Heads of House. Your son is a wizard. I must say, you are the most..."

He intended to say "freakish," but swallowed his words.

But that was the truth!

He had never seen a Muggle household with a corpse on display, along with various strange blueprints and dangerous weapons.

Nietzsche frowned and said, "I remember you called us something like Muggles, what's that?"

"It's what wizards call ordinary people."

Snape watched as Watson used his cane to hook up a revolver and handed it to Sherlock, his eye twitching. "It's the most benign term, with no malice."

"Tell me, what trick did you just pull? The Duke of Blackwood, whom I once captured, also spoke of magic. So what sleight of hand did you use just now, or was it some electromagnetic device?"

In Nietzsche's eyes, Sherlock's exploration of new things suddenly overlapped a bit with Stark from his dreams.

"What is that thing in your hands?"

"A pistol."

"Attack me... just like when I first entered. Protego (Shield Charm)."

Watson shielded Nietzsche behind him, looking at Sherlock with a perplexed gaze. He suddenly felt uncertain.

Suddenly, Nietzsche's foster mother, Mary, grabbed the gun and calmly fired at Snape's left leg. The bullet hit the white, transparent wall.

But the strong recoil also made Snape draw back his leg.

This time, everyone saw clearly that this cold, uninvited guest remained unscathed under the ruthless bullet, blocked by just a thin film.

Mystery... Sherlock's eyes saw only this.

"Nietzsche cannot be a wizard."

"Hmm... it seems he does have some secrets. Why don't you try what you just did again?"

Snape's hook nose pointed towards the boy behind the Watson couple, committing his appearance to memory.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I don't know anything about wizards, and there's no way I'm going to any magic school with you."

Nietzsche was very clear about his own identity.

His future path should be one leading to the Royal Academy of England, entering a research institute with excellent grades and the insights from his dreams, contributing to humanity in this world.

Of course... if he were an ordinary child, perhaps he would long to become an omnipotent superhero and magician.

But Nietzsche's bedtime stories were all about various murder cases and the changes in human nature under different circumstances, told by Sherlock and Watson.

"You... can do it too?"

Even Watson could easily sense his adopted son's calmness in the face of all these strange phenomena.

"Of course he can, and he's already surpassed many wizard students... but I should remind you, using magic recklessly can lead to the formation of an Obscurial."

Nietzsche corrected, "That's called the Force."

"We are wizards; it's called magic."

He couldn't stand the stares from the Watsons, so he raised his hand and waved at Snape.

The chair under the other person flew away at an extremely fast speed, and finally fell heavily on the ceiling, breaking into several pieces.

At this moment, Professor Snape, having lost his support, was affected by gravity and found his backside intimately acquainted with the floor.

His hands, tucked into his black sleeves, clenched into fists.

"Why have you never told us?!"

"Oh... I thought Aunt Eileen would tell Dad. It seems she indeed values her promises."

At this point, Sherlock could no longer sit still.

He withdrew his scrutinizing gaze from Snape and, with a tone of resentment, said, "So you played a part in one of my two precious failures?"

Nietzsche stuck out his tongue.

The Bohemian scandal was simply because Eileen had taken a private photo of the governor.

At that time, she thought she would become a political scapegoat, and the sincerity she showed then was something Nietzsche remembered most vividly.

"I need this photo just to save my own life."

And this was also her last message to Sherlock Holmes when she left.

______