Disclaimer: "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama.
Becoming Conan
by FS
Chapter 2: Orange
They've been partners in crime but never partners in love (not even when "partners" is preceded by "casual", "former", or "one-time"). And though he knows that the mere attempt at changing this aspect of their relationship is out of the question, he has the feeling that protecting her and Ran from the Organization back then was easier than protecting them now—when his own weakness is the source of danger but parting from her would be like giving up life itself.
c.
Conan Doyle's father passed away in 1893, the year which ended Doyle's domestic happiness. Louisa was diagnosed with consumption (which is now called "tuberculosis") and was given only a few months to live. Although there was no known cure for consumption, Conan Doyle resolved not to let his beloved wife die. Since there was evidence that the healthier climate in Switzerland could bring some improvement, he arranged a move to Davos, Switzerland.
Sherlock Holmes might have brought his creator great fame and fortune, but Sherlock Holmes was to his creator also a source of great annoyance—and Doyle began to develop a mild weariness against this "automaton", which grew into implacable hatred as time went by. "I couldn't revive him [Sherlock Holmes] if I would, at least not for years," so Conan Doyle wrote to a friend later, "for I have had such an overdose of him that I feel towards him as I do towards pâté de foie gras, of which I once ate too much, so that the name of it gives me a sickly feeling to this day."
To escape the pressure of churning out new Sherlock Holmes mysteries for the monthly publications in The Strand Magazine and to make time for what he considered more serious work, Doyle let his iconic consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and Holmes' mysterious nemesis James Moriarty fall to their deaths at Reichenbach Falls, Switzerland—the 120-metre waterfall Doyle considered picturesque and terrifying enough to become the grave of his troubled hero.
A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. An examination by experts leaves little doubts that a personal contest between the two men ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such a situation, in their reeling over, locked in each other's arms. Any attempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely hopeless, and there, deep down in that dreadful cauldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their generation. ("The Final Problem", in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by Arthur Conan Doyle).
After finishing "The Final Problem", which he intended to be the very last Sherlock Holmes story, Doyle wrote only two words into his diary:
"Killed Holmes."
Louisa's health improved in Switzerland, but it wasn't easy for either Conan or Louisa to live so far away from home…
c.
Although the two-floor holiday chalet with three separate bedrooms and a porch isn't small by any definition of the word, it feels (or rather sounds) cramped with all the kids and adults shuffling along the corridors in flip-flops and rubber sandals, and Shiho tries hard to enjoy the fleeting luxury of having a bedroom to her own before the next guest changes this situation. At least—so she consoles herself—the visits have been so timed as to duration that the house will always be full but never overcrowded. Eri-san, the Eternal Drunk, and Kudo-kun's parents had left the isle by the time the Professor and the Detective Boys arrived; and Tsuburaya-kun, Kojima-kun, and Ayumi-chan drove off the day before yesterday to make room for Hattori-kun's family and her. Shiho strongly suspects that Kudo-kun has intentionally prevented Tsuburaya-kun from meeting her although she finds Kudo-kun's attempt at helping the boy get over his crush on her futile at best. Admittedly, distance is an effective remedy for unrequited love. But it's no use hiding her from Tsuburaya-kun since she is going on a camping trip with the Professor and the Detective Boys next month.
Looking about the small bedroom once again to make sure that everything is in order, Shiho wonders how she is going to protect her secret while sharing the room with a detective. She would have preferred sharing her room with the twins; but since the Professor is already sleeping in the living room, Sera-san would have to share the bed with Shiho or with either of the married couples. In view of this predicament, it was only natural that Shiho had no choice but agree to share a room with "Masumi-chan" while the children had to stay with their respective parents, much to everyone's disappointment.
c.
The weather is excellent, however, and in spite of her frustration over Watson and Mary Morstan aka Mr and Mrs Kudo, Shiho enjoys the rare sight of golden sunlight filtering through the slats of the blue-painted windows. In the course of the years, she has come to appreciate the little things which will always lift her mood: a brisk walk through one of the nicer districts of the city, a leisurely stroll through the woods; the sight of water shimmering in the sunlight, the warmth of a late summer afternoon…
The sight of her latest travel notebook also brightens her mood. It must be either the uplifting peach-coloured linen cover or the smooth copper-coloured satin bookmark, or the illustrated warning on the first page ("Read this without permission and die!")—or the worrisome fact that it contains all the conversations she has had with him ever since she came here in longhand, albeit abridged. It would have been safer to use shorthand, she has to admit in retrospect, but she didn't want to since she associates shorthand notes with her work for the Organization and she prefers to see the words spelled out on paper.
No sooner has she opened the notebook to jot down their post-breakfast talk about Conan Doyle's private life and the mystery of Watson's wife than the door flies open and Chandler comes tumbling in, followed by Christie, who never seems to leave his side. Shiho doesn't know what disturbs her more: the fact that their mystery-obsessed father has given them nicknames reminiscent of noir and whodunnit novels or the realization that she has forgotten their real names after using their sobriquets for so long.
"Why didn't you go to the beach with us today?" asks Christie—the serious, precocious one—while Chandler is eyeing Shiho's notebook in fascination.
Distant memories of another summer at the beach come flooding back, and Shiho is momentarily distracted by the images of seagulls and dolphins and sharks sailing in the blue sky. In her hair, she can also feel the wind—slightly cooler than she likes it—and in her hand another hand (warmer than hers) in a firm, reassuring grip.
It was sunny today but still too cold for her to swim, she explains to Christie and takes Chandler into her lap. "Don't ever read other people's diaries and notebooks!" she dramatically preaches. "Unless you have to solve a mystery, you should protect other people's secrets as if they were your own!"
"What colour are you?" asks Chandler with a child's disturbing talent to hop topics (she is glad they aren't going to repeat the game of "What animal are you?" and "What vehicle are you?") while Christie solemnly informs her, "You're a mystery, says otousan."
"I'm Red. And I'm sure your otousan says that about everyone!"
Shiho demonstratively flips her hair, rolls her eyes, and purses her lips, whereupon the kids, who have been following her movements in the mirror opposite the bed, crack the same beatific smile.
"You aren't Red—you're Orange!" Chandler declares, ruffling her hair. "As orange as this book here!"
Since he only holds the book in his tiny hand and brushes his fingers against the linen cover without trying to open it, Shiho relents. Just let him play, she tells herself. After all, what can happen?
"So I'm Orange?" She smirks. "As orange as a peach, or an apricot, or a tangerine? All the delicious things?" She doesn't ask them what colour they are, knowing from experience that Chandler would only say that he was Orange, too, and that Christie would declare that Orange is dull.
"Obachan says you either love or hate orange. There is no in-between!" interjects Christie instead. Children are unpredictable, as Shiho has had to learn over and over again.
"I love orange," declares Chandler, as expected, and snuggles against Shiho's chest. Unexpectedly, Christie admits that she loves orange, too, and compares it to autumn leaves and fire and sunsets.
"My otousan loves me, though!" Christie sobs. Knowing that she can burst into tears within seconds at this age, Shiho hastens to soothe the girl lest another drama happens.
"Of course he loves you—just like he loves Chandler and your mother, too!"
"Really?" Christie blinks, visibly debating with herself whether she should laugh or cry. "I've heard obachan and otousan talk, though. Otousan said he was only in love with you!"
c.