Midoriya could hardly believe he was still in Japan.

The Georgian townhouses, Victorian exteriors, and cobblestone/tiled streets seemed to suggest otherwise. The signposts and chatter were clearly in British English, which was modestly tricky to audibly discern compared to American English. Even the people were Caucasian, especially most of the children, although there was a small mix of East Indians, Africans, and Middle Easterns in between. Perhaps what was most comforting of all was the same casual or office attire - all the Gothic stereotypes he imagined had all but vanished the moment he walked into town. If he was none the wiser and amnestic, he would have thought he was in England.

At a small roundabout, he crossed over from one street onto another, or rather strolled his way along. It pained not to look around, to be fascinated, so to speak, and thus maintain a nonchalant gait and calmness. Though the streets were completely carless, he needed to be mindful of occasional cyclists and dog owners. There were freshly baked cinnamon rolls at a corner café, which took every urge for Midoriya NOT to go inside. Not that he hated cinnamon rolls, but he was trying to muffle a giddy smile on his face. It smelled and looked so good...

Nevertheless, he found himself at the riverbank again, turning and walking to the right. It was a modestly long walk until he began seeing the benches lining the outskirts of Georgetown Park. He stopped after passing a bench, looking at his phone to check the time:

3:45 pm.

He jolted his eyebrows, promptly dashing his eyes around as he put his phone away.

"I'm early..." He murmured, helping himself a seat on the bench.

It wasn't long until he looked around again; he turned and peered over his shoulders; he scoped everywhere for Holmes. Seeing no one around, he slipped his right hand into his breast pocket, twirling a black fountain pen in between his fingers. Returning it as promptly as he produced it, he swiveled his head once more. Even as he looked behind him, he saw no one walking down the metaphorical beaten paths in the distance. That is until he saw no tree behind the bench.

Almost panickily gasping, he stood up and mosied away, it took him a few moments to slightly reduce his pacing. When he finally did tranquillise, leaning against another bench, he observed his surroundings, cautiously swiveling and squinting around. It took him a moment to realise that this bench had a tree beside it, the same exact one from yesterday. But just a few steps later, his left periphery saw a folded newspaper on the bench.

The slight and sparse wrinkle, especially on the outer edges, suggested that it was recently used. Reaching and opening the paper, he was about to inspect it further ... when a card slipped onto the ground. Dropping the paper and ducking under the bench, he recovered the card, which read in cursive:

"Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come all the same." - Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street

Standing up, he pulled his phone out, but an inward snarl rippled on his face. Being exactly four o'clock, he slipped his phone away, where he snatched and folded the paper under his right armpit, trudging back to Georgetown. About five minutes later, he reached the address, which took him to the front door of a Georgian townhouse. He dared not looking at his phone for directions before then, but the signposts and Georgetown's grid-like layout made it easy to locate the address. He only paused to marvel at the fact that there was a doorknocker on the door - a rarity in an age of buzzers and doorbells.

Reaching the doorknocker, he quietly knocked a few times, where the door promptly opened.

Greeting him was an elderly Caucasian woman around his height, which he addressed, in English, of course, "Um good afternoon, madam. Would you tell Sherlock Holmes that I need to see him at once."

"Oh, Mr Holmes is not here, young man. In fact, you just missed him." The Scotswoman kindly replied.

The teenager frowned slightly as he asked curiously, "Can you tell me where he went?"

"Oh I don't know, laddie. All I know is that he scrambled off without any rhyme or reason."

"Does he not live here?"

"Of course, he lives here. I'm his landlady."

"Land-Lady?" Midoriya parroted innocently, narrowly discerning her dense Scottish accent.

"Mhm ... excuse me if I may, but do you have an appointment?"

"N-No. But I was suppose to meet him at the park at four o'clock. I was wondering if something happened to him."

"Oh I'm sorry, Mr Holmes is not at home." The elderly Scotswoman politely shook her head.

"Does he go anywhere else? Surely, he must be running some errands, I suppose."

"But I'm sorry, I cannot help you."

"But it's a matter of the upmost urgency."

"I have already told you, young man, Mr H-"

Then, his right peripherals barely caught a glimpse of something black, before a familiar voice greeted him, "Ah, there you are."

"Oh..." The Scotswoman huffed, walking outside to address Holmes, "I told the young man you weren't here, but he wouldn't listen."

"It is alright, Mrs Hudson. We acquainted each other not long ago." Holmes reassured before walking past her and Midoriya, "Come along."

Once inside, out of habit, Midoriya looked around for a shoe rack.

"Wait a minute ... this is a European community." He realised, broken from his thoughts when Mrs Hudson closed the door.

But once they climbed the first floor and reached Holmes apartment, he gulped nervously, noting the finely furnished home itself.

"You come at a crisis, my dear boy." Holmes huffed, resting his cane and coat against the couch before rushing towards his desk.

Again, Midoriya reflexively and fruitlessly searched for a shoe rack. He promptly caught himself when he only found a bureau beside the door. But in doing so, his eyes slightly dilated to the disorderly state of his apartment. In front of the couch, there was a round table with a bowl of green apples, papers, and a violin all over it. Besides some wooden filing cabinets, there was a small opened cardboard box, filled almost to the brim with digital voltmeters.

"Midoriya?" Holmes said, his back facing the teenager as he was typing at his computer.

"Yes?"

"Watch."

Closing the door behind him, the teenager walked and crouched beside Holmes.

"What you're about to witness will solve the mystery concerning the Blossom Valley Crisis."

"Blossom ... Valley?" The teenager parroted.

"Have you not looked in the paper?"

Modestly frowning, Midoriya reopened the newspaper, flipping through a couple pages before spotting the Japanese headlines.

"Hanasōgen Engineering! Isn't that a subsidiary of Mitsui?"

"Yes."

"I thought it was a national investigation."

"Supposedly, if not for the Keiretsu's meddling. As you can see, it is officially closed."

"I mean, this is a multi-trillion Yen company, it must have a profound effect on the public."

"Indeed." Holmes murmured, which Midoriya could have sworn he felt a vexed tone in his voice.

"But why would a subsidiary of Mitsui hire you and therefore reopen the case?"

"Ah, correction: 'Tis is only the beginning." Holmes raised his right finger before returning to the keyboard, "Do you recognise the contents in that cardboard box?"

"Hai."

"Hmm?"

"Yes." Midoriya shook his head, repeating his reply in English. "I do, actually! In fact, my science class uses those voltmeters. Come to think of it, last year, we were making and testing zinc air and lead-acid batteries with those same voltmeters as well."

The teenager paused, however, where he eventually turned to Holmes, "I don't mean to be rude, but you don't strike me as a scientist yourself, never mind a teacher."

Reaching into his right pocket, he offered, all the while keeping his back to Midoriya, "What do you yourself gather as to the uniformity of the latest technology in Japan?"

Recognising the offer, the teenager took the magnifying glass, where he inspected each individual voltmeter. No more than five minutes would transpire, leaving the teenager in silence amid the muffled urban ambience and crisp clanking of a desktop computer keyboard.

"Apart from the flower pedals and stylized 'ん', presumably the [Hanasōgen Engineering] company logo," Midoriya reported, slowly inspecting the last one, "the engraved warning labels, and large analog controls, I can see nothing."

"On the contrary, my dear boy, you can see everything, but you failed to reason for what you see. You are too timid in drawing your own inferences." Holmes turned and said. "Needless to say, you have also wasted your time."

"Eh...?"

"Those metres are but a dime a dozen, or at least, too ... easily. These were only released three years ago, which, ever since their first iterations, were laboratory-grade multimeters. Those instruments you just inspected are in fact the same ones from your own school."

"W-Wait, those are ... those are laboratory multimeters?"

"Precisely. Each one is ¥630,000."

"¥630,000? That's like $5,000 apiece!"

"Or £3,822."

"Well no wonder it was so accurate. Our batteries were suppose to generate no more and no less than one amp; mine generated 1.00002, which earned me an 'A-' grade."

"Which is exactly why it is suspicious. If it was university, I would care naught. But, child science projects with premium scientific instruments is no accident."

"It was a exam that day. I didn't suspect anything of it."

"Ah, my dear boy. Have you not heard this saying: Once is an accident; Twice is a coincidence; Thrice is a pattern."

"Thr- what?"

"If it happens once, it is merely an accident. If it happens again, that is certainly a coincidence. But if it happens any further, it is, indeed, a pattern. Your school was not the only instance. Do you know Oarai Girls' Academy?"

"Y-Yes."

"They have received enormous shipments of those instruments, that is until the adjacent JAEA institution confiscated them a few months ago."

"Yeah, I did read about that somewhere. They said they were faulty, due in large part to the Jōyō nuclear reactor."

"Ah, nonsense! The same incident occurred at Chi-Ha-Tan Academy, Itan Private High School, and countless other secondary educational institutions throughout the country."

"W-Was uh ... was U.A. Academy also affected?"

Holmes stared at him momentarily, where he shook and murmured, "Certainly not."

The Englishman typed a few more things at his computer before he spoke more audibly, "Nevertheless, these concealments are only serving to arouse if not fan the flames of intrigue. The newspaper reports suggest otherwise, but the Keiretsu know that a scandal is ultimately inevitable."

"Well, sure, but not over a bunch of misdeliveries."

"No, no, no, that matter is a perfectly trivial one." He turned around again and spoke more softly, "It is just one of those whimsical little incidents that will occur when you have 140 million people all jostling each other within the space of no more than 400,000 square kilometers."

"I suppose that programme of yours has some deadly story linked to it." Midoriya nodded, noting the lines of code on the screen.

"Ah, come, come." Holmes gestured the teenager, the duo looking at the screen. "THIS is the actual crime scene."

"My goodness ... it's just mere coding. I can't read any of this. What exactly am I looking at?"

"For years, Mitsui had been delving into the matter itself, thereby minimising police involvement, that is until someone looked at the books. What seems like a simple demand chain, the company cannot fulfill the supply somehow."

"I think I know where this is going."

"Oh?"

"It's an extremely high quality product sold at conveniently low prices. It sounds too good to be true."

"It is now, but not in the slightest three years earlier. For years, the Keiretsu have been concocting a product to best its rivals. To compete with Chinese or North American mass production was a fool's gambit, lest you could craft something revolutionary. What you are seeing here is the gruesomely dismembered innards of the Hanasōgen computer server. This was once the brain of a sophisticated system that could store not thousands, nor millions, but billions of different programs. Those multi-billion programs built at least a trillion different products, which they customise from over 25 trillion different pieces."

"That's ... that's phenomenal engineering!" The teenager uttered amazing, "If I'm understanding this correctly, Hanasōgen not only automated the system and factory floor, their entire business is operated and managed by a supercomputer. Once the machine is running, you don't need any workers or managers on duty; it's a closed system."

"Precisely. It is also why Hanasōgen Engineering has a surprisingly small staff compared to its rivaling and parent companies. Even convenience store franchises have more employees than the entirety of Hanasōgen. Yet in spite of that, everyone is considered a suspect, all 500 employees to be exact."

"500 employees?"

"Mmm." Holmes nodded, "Everyone is thus a liability."

"Then if it was intentional..." Midoriya pondered, "It could mean it was an inside job."

"Precisely, which is why Mitsui not only presented me with that box, but also a copy of Hanasōgen's hard drive."

"That's a rather tall order."

"Certainly, it's not some tot home alone after school, who just so randomly burglarises the establishment and knows where the keys to the castle are being kept."

"No, I mean, why are you sharing this with me? Isn't there some law of confidentiality involved in this?"

"Quite the contrary; you're caught directly within the crossfire of this crisis. Very soon, your school will be demanding for more of Hanasōgen's finest products, which will no doubt add fuel to the looming trench effect. The future of scientific education and the Japanese economy is thus in peril, which Mitsui had entrusted me to resolve."

"You mean to tell me that Hanasōgen had made more than just voltmeters?"

"Oh far from that. It is the same company that provided everything from cooking appliances, laundry machines, to medicinal and informational hardware, all in the span of fifteen years with no more than 500 employees. It has made more money than Samsung or Apple ever made in the early 21st century, but it cannot afford to disclose its secrets, not even to the police."

"So you're a private investigator?"

"Ah, correction: Consultant Detective."

"The only consultant detective in the world." Midoriya narrowly, albeit skeptically, parroted.

"The only unofficial consulting detective." Holmes corrected again amid the clanking keyboard, "I take no credit in my cases. The work itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my particular powers is my highest reward."

The teenager simply nodded his head, intrigued if not increasingly mistrustful of the Englishman. He could have sworn he heard a restrained giggle muffled within Holmes' throat. Probably his own imagination ... again ...

"I crave mental exaltation. That is why I've chosen my own profession, or rather created it, but I am the only one in the world."

"So ... an intermediary between pro-hero and policeman?"

Abruptly, Holmes stopped typing, bearishly and swiftly raising his right forearm. The teenager almost yelped as he backpedalled a couple steps, only to see the Englishman keeping his back to him, hovering his right half-clenched fist beside his temple. There was a slight tremble in his fist, but his expression remain unchanged. Midoriya could only help but watch until Holmes lowered his arm onto the back of his chair. His fist remained clenched.

"You were unwise to explore Georgetown." Holmes huffed.

"Well, I ... I wanted to do something off the beaten path. I couldn't help myself."

"No, you certainly couldn't, save for your archetypal physiognomy. You are but a mere stranger in an unfamiliar community, which no doubt instilled some unwelcome pleasantries and inklings, save for Mrs Hudson."

"B-But I didn't cause any trouble."

"Of course not. That doesn't except the fact that you treaded incautiously to the wind."

"What do you mean? I-I made sure my friend wasn't following me."

"You were being tailed. One was a yanki; the other was a pickpocket."

"A yanki..." The colour in Midoriya's face began to drain. "Did he have blond hair and an explosive temper?"

Holmes simply shook his head, immediately relieving the teenage ... momentarily.

"Perhaps I have overestimated you..." The Englishman sighed drearily.

...

...

...

"You know, if it's any reassurance..." Midoriya trailed off, "I met my role model the other day."

"Oh...?" Holmes tilted his head rather disinterestedly, all the while standing and packing some tobacco in a oily briar pipe.

"He said if I wanted to help others, then I should become a police officer. I didn't want to say this to him, even if he admitted himself, but I still wanted to become more than that."

"I was aware of that." The Englishman murmured as he reached and alit a match.

"That's why I came to you. I mean, I admit, I could have ducked out, being how nervous I am myself. But he said this to me: I cannot simply say, 'You can become a hero without powers'. Until that moment, I had been, well, for the lack of betters words, fangirling, him since I was a little boy. I hadn't met him in person until that moment. But when he said that to me, it kept bothering me."

"Do tell." Holmes puffed, exhaling smoke as he slowly walked and peered out the leftward window.

But the teenager didn't continued, not when he formed a deep frown on his face...

"You knew?"

"I have my reasons."

"Y-You ... you knew?!"

"I believe I owe you an apology, for I haven't acquainted myself to you sooner."

"W-W-What are you talking about?!"

Taking another puff from his pipe, he calmly explained, "When I first met you the other day, I was aboard a train destined for Tatooin station. It was in the aftermath of Madame Mt. Lady's cock-a-doodle of victory that you have came to my attention. What law-abiding citizen, never mind a mere child, jots their observations and deductions in a Kokuyo notebook?"

It was in that near instance that Midoriya's frown lighten ... slightly.

"Of course, I was on my way to meet a client a few blocks away. Under different circumstances, I would have introduced myself after further observations. Therefore, it came to me as a surprise when you suddenly appeared in the park later that day. But when I saw you again, I couldn't help but smell recently smoldering cinders and ashes on your person. At first, I thought you were involved in a fire, but you not only walked with no limp or pain, your chest wasn't heaving or gasping laboriously. Then I saw the hand print on your right shoulder, suggesting you had a jolly encounter with an old acquaintance, so to speak. I eventually deduced that he did more than just exchange a few friendly salutations when I saw your singed brass buttons and the dirt mottled all over the back of your shoulders and bottom. That's not to mention a few strands of dirty blond hair inexplicably weaved atop your own. No doubtfully the work of an explosive ruffian with bottomless bark but hardly any deep bite. And surely, a yanki himself, who be responsible for dispiriting you, least of all that notebook of yours."

Once he was done explaining, he gently took a puff from his pipe, leaving a speechless and dumbfounded Midoriya to gawk at him.

"You know, I should make you sign a paper to that effect."

"W-W-What?" Midoriya shook his head and dilated his eyes, "What do you mean?"

"Because you have an extraordinary faculty for idle thought." Holmes cocked his head, "You remind me much of my colleague, Doctor Watson, who's practicing medicine abroad. Save for his time in the service, you behave almost like him, but you are young and inexperienced, let alone naive."

Midoriya coughed mildly just before Holmes began to take another smoke. But the teenager made no attempt to fan the smoke.

"You may sit down, if you wish." Holmes offered, which Midoriya accepted.

"Don't you have a fire alarm?" The teenager coughed softly.

"Don't you have to go home soon?"

"I told my mum that I be a little busy. She understands."

"Does she know you're here?"

"No, I hope not. I don't want her to worry."

"She has every right to do so. You are still but a child. Yet here you are risking your life in the apartment of a complete stranger you only met yesterday. That's not the least to say you have made the mistake of meeting your hero." Holmes grumbled lowly, especially in his last statement.

"Yeah, I know..." The teenager gazed at the floor and sighed penitently.

"But, tell me something. Did your hero carry a fearless smile on his face?"

Again, almost magically, Midoriya's repentant expression morphed into a stuttering stare, "Y-Y-Yes..."

"Did he also have blonde hair, and a large scar on his left ribs?"

At this point, the teenager's eyes were completely dilated, a deep frown slowly forming not long afterwards. It took him a moment to eventually reply, "Yes..."

"Was he also a towering gentleman?"

"Yes." The teenager replied with abrupt decisiveness, quickly standing up and peering out the right window. "Holmes!"

"Hmm?"

"Don't scare me like that! For a second, I thought you saw him walking around outside."

But the Englishman simply smiled, lightly giggling, nonetheless.

"B-B-But, seriously, though. How did you know he was my hero?"

"I cannot simply say, 'You can become a hero without powers'." Holmes quoted. "His former colleague, Mirai Sasaki, and my brother, Mycroft, invented it before he shared it to you."

A shocker gasp was about to form on his face, but a contemplative frown took over instead, "Your ... brother? I didn't know you had a brother."

"Oh yes. And I can assure you, he possess a far greater faculty for observation and deduction than I do."

"Holmes," Midoriya cleared his throat, "I know that you are a modest man, b-"

Abruptly, Holmes laughed heartily.

"My dear boy, I cannot agree with those that rank modesty among the virtuous." Holmes said. "To the logician, everything should be seen exactly as it is, and to underestimate oneself is as much a departure from the truth is to exaggerate one's own ability. What I have just told you about my brother is the exact and literal truth."

"Well, I don't doubt your word. But if there is another man with great powers as yours, how is it that neither the WHA nor the public have ever heard of him? Let alone myself?"

"Oh he's very well known in his own circles." Holmes turned and sat at his desk once more. "Now I wish you don't compare me and my brother to those abhorred paragons of justice, let alone him."

"W-W-Why?"

"He's a member of the Diogenes Club."

"Diogenes Club?"

"It is the oddest if not the most secretive club in London, let alone in England. Shyness, misanthropy, and quirklessness are its qualifications. My brother is also one of the founding members."

Midoriya was about to reply, but a simple shrug and agreeable, albeit nervous, smile formed instead.

"Ah ... as I suspected." Holmes murmured as he tapped his keyboard.

"Huh?"

Walking and squinting at the computer screen, Midoriya inspected the lines of code. Meanwhile, Holmes rested his pipe on the desk, letting the tobacco simmer and shrivel.

"You see, deleting a computer file erases only the name of the file. The data itself remains in the computer's memory until it is replaced by something else. So it is often possible to recover the information. But in this case, it was-" He lectured, tapping his right finger onto the screen, "-purged."

"Purged?"

He took a piece of scrap paper, presenting it to Midoriya, "Watch."

Instantly, he briskly crumbled and tossed it into his waste basket.

"Go pick it up."

Pretending he wasn't aback by the Englishman's alacrity, Midoriya crouched and recovered the paper.

"Got it." He represented.

"Good. That is a deletion." Holmes stoically applauded, grabbing and unfolding the paper. "Now..."

He ardently slid the paper into his shredder. Even though it was just scrap paper, the teenager was shocked when the gentleman opened the shred bin and sprinkled its half empty remains in the adjacent fireplace.

"Go pick it up." Holmes nonchalantly commanded.

"B-B-But..." Midoriya stammered innocently, standing and gawking at the modest mess of burning paper.

"Hmm?"

"H-How am I suppose to do this?!"

"Exactly. That is a purge." Holmes explained, "And yes, I was rhetorical."

"Oh ... yokatta." The teenager sighed under his breath. "I hope we're not connected to the Internet..."

"Of course not. In fact, I have no use for it nor telephone service."

"Uh yeah, I saw that..."

"Hmm." Holmes simply hummed, scrolling down a few times, "What do you make of this?"

"I think it was a virus."

"Nay."

"Eh?"

"A virus corrupts data by inserting its own code into whatever program is being run. It's a digital pandemic, spreading and wreaking havoc wherever its tendrils could go. Needless to say, the damage is too surgical - all viruses are catholic menaces."

"W-Well ... it could be user error. An accidental deletion, perhaps."

"Nonsense! The system had numerous safeguards; it's perfectly unassailable to imbeciles and simpletons. Again, it's too surgical - only the key manufacturing programs had been obliterated. You did propose it was an inside job?"

"Yes."

"Then you would be correct." Holmes then stood, walked, and rummaged through an adjacent wooden filing cabinet, where he pulled out a Manila folder. "Hanasōgen has no more than 500 employees, but according to Mitsui's own reports, all of them had been cleared. Four such persons keep nagging me."

"Who?"

Holmes didn't say anything as he returned to the desk and rest the file before the teenager. Though it was already open, it took a moment for Midoriya to comb through the contents. Meanwhile, Holmes took his pipe again, tapping and emptying its expired contents in the fireplace.

"Wait, I recognise him!" The teenager chirped.

"Who?"

Midoriya lifted and presented a picture between his left fingers, which Holmes rushed over and saw.

"That's my math teacher." Midoriya stammered almost excitedly, "I've had him last year and now again."

"Roido Teimoshi." Holmes identified the middle age man in the picture. "He was one of their networking administrators before leaving the company on good terms. How uncharacteristic."

"Eh?"

"You are familiar with your country's business etiquettes?"

"Um, a few. I mean, there are some companies that still practice lifetime employment."

"Then you would also know that your companies are dearly fond of indirectness, specifically the art of making an employee quit voluntarily."

"You mean like, transferring someone to a job worse than the one before it?"

"Precisely." Holmes grunted. "Hanasōgen had given him an impeccably good reference, which, coincidentally enough, was around the same time that those multimeters entered the market. Funny that he has the audacity to seek employment with one of his customers."

"Oh? Were you looking for him?"

"I was thinking about it. Figures he would be hiding in plain sight."

"What about the other three?"

"One quit, and the others are still employed. Nekota, Mika, and Hideki, who so happens to be Roido's short-lived successor. None of them fit the description."

"What about Nekota?"

"She's a recent graduate from Oarai; she had no knowledge of the company."

"Hideki?"

"He's an HR manager from the company's Kobe offices. He was recently brought down by his 30 year war with bronchitis. In fact, he died last month in hospital here."

"Then that leaves Mika."

"Mika is a middle aged musician-turned-receptionist from Kanazawa. She's too well-natured given her school and familial history. Obviously not mathematically or technologically inclined, contrary to that plant manager husband of hers."

"And Roido-sensei?"

"Previously employed at Mitsubishi Heavy Industries, but from what you told me, now, a school teacher."

"That is certainly out of character for him."

"Hmm?"

"Why would a former networking administrator stoop to educational penury? He's essentially overqualified for the job."

Midoriya could have sworn the Englishman smiled before replying, "THAT is exactly what you're going to be finding out for the entire month."

"Eh?!"

"Yes. You are going to be taking up the case with me. If you are going to be more than a constable, let alone any guardian of the law, you will need more than extraordinary powers to make a difference. The fact is, crimefighting is only a margin of the story in the vicious cycle of cat and mouse."

"Y-Y-You ... a-are ... going to ... teach me?"

"Oh, no, no, no, I will not bore you with lectures. I will give you experience, analysis, and deduction. You have already demonstrated that you are not only willing, you are fit for the job. Yes, I still believe I have overestimated you, but your diligence and courage suggest otherwise. You have a pen and book?"

"H-H-Yes."

"Show me." Holmes presented his right hand.

Reaching and offering him the pen, Holmes promptly inspected it.

"This is a Nakaya." He deduced, "My dear boy, this is a classic, not a utilitarian instrument."

"No, but I didn't buy it. Every now and then, my mum used it to sign paperwork. Before that, my dad used it himself. I never got to know him or his profession, never mind visit him, however."

"That could explain the worn nib and woman's fingerprints." He remarked before scribbling briefly on a piece of scrap paper ... and smelled the ink. "American. Soybean is odourless; this ink is dark, musky, and bleached petrol."

"Uh ... yeah, it's a Noodler's Massachusetts."

The teenager could have sworn he saw a slight twitch in the Englishman's lips afterwards...

"And the notebook?"

Midoriya reached into his randoseru, presenting the empty book with a slight shake.

"Excellent." Holmes congratulated, returning the pen to him. "That being said, you're better suited with a pencil. Now, if I were you, I would make my way home at once. Your work will be starting tomorrow, but we will not be meeting again until next Saturday. Gather as to the routines and habits of your Roido-sensei whatever means possible, but don't, under any circumstances, take any recordings of him - they are not reliably admissible in the court of law."

"What about snapshots?"

"If they are unedited, dated, and unmagnified, yes. Still, I would refrain from photography until you have your own camera and film, preferably NOT loaned from anyone."

"Okay."

"And as for your friends, they will be the least of your concerns." Holmes stood and walked near the fireplace, where he took and offered Midoriya a semi-bent tomato-like pot pipe. "Here, take this."

"Oh, uh, Holmes ... I don't smoke."

"No, but you will need it."

Somewhat reluctantly, but cordially, Midoriya took and pocketed the oak pipe.

"Now, you best be off." Holmes bid farewell as he sat down and faced his desk

"Oyasumi nasai." Midoriya stood and bowed curtly and lightly.

But when he turned, walked, and grabbed the doorknob, Holmes suddenly reminded, "One last thing: Keep it subtle."

With a simple nod, Midoriya left.