Chapter 12
Even Death Don’t Let Them Apart (2)
According to the information from The Adventure of Lady Sherlin Hound Fandom wiki, Sherlin possesses four special functions within her brain—ones that seem to be innate, even supernatural.
Her supreme ability is ‘The Power of Deduction’—a brilliant talent that allows her to piece together facts and uncover hidden truths. But it wouldn’t be a true power if it weren’t extraordinary. The original Sherlin had the ability to construct a Mind Palace—a mental space where she could build a 4D investigative board, mapping out connections and reconstructing past events with stunning clarity, as if watching a theater of the mind.
I, however, am not that Sherlin.
I lack the intelligence to wield this detective’s Ultimate Skill, and even if I did possess it, I doubt my ‘Stupid Self’ would ever harness it. And yet, living in her body, I have inherited the other three basic skills—ones that do not require genius but are still effective in their own right.
The first of these three skills is ‘Photographic Memory’—a gift that allows me to recall everything I’ve seen, down to the smallest detail, like what a picture did. And, after the information recorded in the vast mental archive, that depended on me to search for the right piece of information at the right time.
The second is ‘Enhanced Cognition’—a function that accelerates my thought process, allowing me to analyze vast amounts of information in mere seconds. When activated, this ability buys me extra time to think in urgent situations, even making the world appear in slow motion for a few seconds when necessary.
And finally, the third: ‘Hypersensitive Perception’—a heightened awareness that amplifies all my senses beyond that of an average person. In investigations, it’s a gift that helps me catch the smallest clues others overlook. At a ballroom, it means I can eavesdrop on whispered gossip from across the room.
Sounds like an amazing gift, doesn’t it?
But beware—it comes with significant drawbacks.
A heightened perception means I’m sensitive to everything—pleasant and unpleasant alike. Trust me, an ear-piercing sound, a noxious smell, or unappetizing food can easily ruin your day—and of course, pain, another form of sensation.
That, too, is amplified by your heightened sense.
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“What do you mean by ‘Sense,’ Sherlin?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Are you suggesting that you have supernatural powers in perceiving things?”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “And if I say ‘Yes,’ do you have a problem with that?”
John’s lips curved into a smirk. “Oh, in that case, can I borrow you to find a missing item? By just sniffing the scent, you should be able to trace whatever I’m looking for, right?”
I clenched my fists. “Even if I could do that—THAT JOKE IS NOT FUNNY!!!”
His smirk faltered for a split second. “Wait, you can really do that?”
I refused to answer. Silence, after all, was often more effective than engaging in his nonsense. John, taking my lack of response as confirmation, simply hummed in amusement before returning to the topic at hand.
He gestured toward the corpse.
“Alright, then. Please tell me—what exactly is this concentrated substance?”
I crossed my arms. “How should I know? We need to run a forensic test.”
“A forensic test?” John sighed, shaking his head. “That would take too long. Can’t your ‘Sherlin’s Super Sense’ help identify it?”
“This isn’t a chef’s ‘Taste Challenge,’ John. I might be able to see traces of something, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to lick or sniff whatever that is!”
“So, Sherlin’s Super Sense has its limits—and those limits are overcome by my non-supernatural ability.”
“Oh? So you can do it? Please, enlighten me…”
John chuckled at my sarcasm, but instead of a retort, he casually accepted the challenge.
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Let’s begin with the gentleman.
He was slumped in his chair, his body still, his mouth foaming—no signs of struggle. Given how quickly he succumbed, it’s safe to assume he died almost instantly, or at the very least, so quickly that he had no chance to resist. That means the poison used on him must have had a rapid onset, something that shut down his respiratory system before he even had time to react. But for me, the flag of this poison is ‘Bitter Almond’—I don’t need to lick or sniff, the ‘Cyanide's’ scent is distinct enough to notice.
Now, turn to the lady.
She met something far nastier.
Unlike her newly-wed husband, she had time to react—she even managed to stagger toward the door before collapsing. That alone tells us her poison was delayed-acting, giving her a few moments before death took her. Now, observe closely. No foaming at the mouth. Lips turned bluish-purple. Trembling hands clutching the marriage certificate. Fingernails slightly darkened.
All of these point to systemic failure—two poisons fit this profile: Arsenic and Ricin. But if I had to bet, I’d place my wager on ‘Ricin.’
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“You speak so smoothly about poisons, almost like you’re an apothecary,” I remarked dryly.
John smirked and leaned in just enough to whisper in a conspiratorial tone. “Well, actually, let me tell you a secret…” His voice dropped lower, just for my ears. “As a consultant, I must advise my clients on the proper use of these substances.”
“Ah, yes, how could I forget?” I scoffed. “You are an expert at doing bad.”
John chuckled but didn’t deny it.
I shifted my gaze back to the corpses. “By the way, can your expertise help you notice something else? Look carefully—both of them have traces of poison not only in their bodies but also on their pockets.” I paused, gauging his reaction. “And here’s the odd part—the substances are swapped from what was found on the body. The poison that killed the gentleman left traces on the lady’s pocket, and the poison that killed the lady left stains on the gentleman’s.”
John’s expression flickered, his amusement giving way to brief surprise.
That wasn’t something I saw often.
“Pockets? Swapped?” he echoed, as if even he hadn’t expected that.
“And there’s more,” I continued. “The containers are still here. Even though they appear empty, I can sense traces of their contents.”
John straightened, his sharp gaze sweeping over the scene. “If the containers are still at the crime scene, and it’s unlikely that anyone else entered after their deaths… then—is it possible this was a ‘Murder-Suicide’?”
“If that’s your theory, then there’s an inconsistency,” I tapped my chin. “If one of them had planned a ‘Murder-suicide,’ why would they use different poisons? Even the idea of a typical murder by a third party doesn’t make sense for the same reason.”
“Oh?” John’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the puzzle. “Then, do you have an explanation?”
“I have one, but it’s need valid motive”
“My Little Lady.”
Hudson’s familiar voice cut in from the entrance of the private dining room, her composed presence a stark contrast to the crime scene’s grim atmosphere. She stepped forward with a slight bow. “Ms. Marigold has brought the document you requested. I asked her to remain outside, as I believe this scene would be… unpleasant for her.”
“Good,” I said, glancing toward the door. “Ask her to wait. I have a few questions for her myself.”
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Marigold stepped forward, clutching a stack of neatly bound documents. “Lady Hound, these are the profiles and personal information of Ms. Leclair and Mr. Aldenworth, as you requested, but…” She hesitated as I moved around her, like a predator circling its prey. Her grip on the papers tightened. “Eh? What’s happened, Lady Hound? Why do you need to interrogate me?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“My apologies if this makes you uncomfortable,” I took the documents from her but didn’t bother flipping through them. Instead, I set them on a nearby table with little interest, my gaze fixed on her instead. “But I believe an interview is often the most efficient way to obtain information. As the guildmaster, you likely have valuable insights into this situation—so please, cooperate with me.”
“Yes?” Marigold replied, yet still hesitated.
“Tell me—do you know the possible reason for them to get killed?” I paused for a beat, then tilted my head. “Or, perhaps, is there any possibility for what reason they would have to kill each other?”
John raised an eyebrow. “Hm? What makes you think that?”
“John, think about it—two people, both poisoned. But if someone intended to murder them both, why bother using two different poisons? That’s not typical behavior for a killer who chooses poison as their weapon.”
“So, you’re suggesting these were two separate acts of murder?”
“And I suspect that they were each other’s murderer,” I nodded.
“Interesting theory, but if that’s the case, what reason would they have to approach their potential killer so willingly?”
“I don’t know yet. But, there are many possibilities—vengeance, passion, greed... or maybe, just stupidity.”
John let out a quiet chuckle.
“My dear Sherlin, don’t tell me—you got this idea from a novel again?”
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Tsk… What a smart jerk!
But yes, of course, it came from novels.
In my previous life, I had read plenty of stories built on the theme of Mutual Destruction Tragedy—Macbeth, Hamlet, Game of Thrones. Every one of them followed the same cycle: characters so determined to destroy their enemy that they ended up suffering a loss so great it was sometimes worse than death.
And, oh, let’s not forget Sherlin’s Final Problem.
If we followed the original script, Moriarty had summoned Sherlin to settle their rivalry once and for all. Through his perfect calculations, he was certain she had no chance of defeating him—he had accounted for everything, every possible outcome of their battle.
But Moriarty, ever the self-obsessed scumbag, had never understood the concept of ‘Sacrifice.’ So, when Sherlin realized she couldn’t win, she did something he never expected—she threw herself at him, dragging them both into the abyss.
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“Anyway, this is a Matchmaking Guild. Those two murderers wouldn’t have met if they hadn’t been matched,” I said, my gaze locking onto the increasingly nervous guildmaster. “Ms. Marigold, I expect you to answer truthfully. I wonder… do you have any information that has been kept off the record?”
“L—Lady Hound,” Marigold stiffened. “We’ve provided you with all the information we have!”
“Really?”
“E—Even if there were more, we couldn’t share it,” she swallowed. “That would violate our policy.”
I exhaled sharply, then—with a swift motion—slammed my palm onto the table.
Marigold flinched.
“You might not realize your situation,” I leaned in slightly, shifting into my ‘Bad Cop’ persona. “A couple just died in your private dining area. If I don’t solve this mystery soon, your Matchmaking Guild will be one of the prime suspects. And when that happens, your reputation won’t just take a hit—it will crumble. And you won’t be the only one suffering the consequences. Every staff member will be caught in the fallout if this business collapses.”
I narrowed my eyes. “So… do you really have nothing more to say?”
Marigold hesitated.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to answer—but nothing came.
“I… I really can't say anything more, Lady Hound.”
That wasn’t a lie.
She was trembling—genuinely afraid of something. But what?
I sharpened my focus, studying her closely. Then, I realized I wasn’t the source of her fear. Her eyes kept flickering elsewhere.
So, I followed her gaze… and it landed on him.
That insufferable “JOHN!!!”
I gritted my teeth, cursing his name.
“Oh?” John blinked at me, entirely unfazed. “May I be of service, my fair Lady?”
I jabbed a finger at him, sharp and accusing. “You know something, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied smoothly, without the slightest hesitation. “The customers’ information belongs to the Guild. I merely consult with them to assist in refining the matchmaking system.”
My gaze flicked back to Marigold.
Her face had gone deathly pale.
“Ms. Marigold,” I pressed, my voice turning cold, “is this place just a front for some illicit operation?”
“N-No, my Lady!” Marigold jolted, flustered. “This business is legal! Even if I occasionally seek Mr. Moriarty’s expertise…”
“About that, I can confirm.” John placed a hand over his heart, his ever-present smirk unwavering. “The Guild operates strictly within legal bounds. However, countermeasures are necessary for undesirable clientele—those who visit the Matchmaking Guild with ulterior motives. So, I simply lend my expertise… in exchange for a share of the profits and a VVIP membership.”
“You—!” I shut my eyes, inhaling sharply as my fist clenched at my side.
“You better give me an explanation for this.”
“Absolutely,” John answered with a flawless customer-service smile. “Ms. Marigold, I give you permission to bring out The Black Book for Lady Hound to review.”
Marigold stiffened at John’s words, but after a long moment of hesitation, she gave a reluctant nod. Without another word, she disappeared into her office before returning with a worn, leather-bound ledger.
Since it was called The Black Book, it was, indeed, black.
“Let me see,” I murmured to myself as I flipped it open.
Inside, pages upon pages were filled with specific client records—not the usual matchmaking profiles, but dossiers marked with warnings and annotations. These individuals had been flagged as potential troublemakers.
Since it was inappropriate for the Matchmaking Guild to outright ban someone without a legal or policy violation, the receptionists were trained to proactively identify risks. While these individuals were still allowed to participate in the Guild’s activities, they were placed under strict surveillance.
Abusive Suitor…
Serial Cheater…
Marriage Scammer…
The Guild segregated them from legitimate clients. But not only that—rather than removing them completely, they matched these people together, keeping them too busy to interfere with respectable customers.
I wanted to praise its brilliance.
But if I did, I knew someone might be excited to death.
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“John, do you realize what you’ve done!?”
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“Well, I don’t realize,” John answered, utterly unbothered. “Please tell, what have I done?”
“In this ledger—Genevieve Leclair and Cornelius Aldenworth—both listed as scammers. One posed as a wealthy widow, the other as a shipping magnate. Leclair preyed on businessmen, Aldenworth haunted rich single women.” I exhaled sharply, fighting the urge to throw the book at his head. “And guess what? Thanks to the special system that you designed, the Guild matched them together!”
Realizing what role he played in the tragic poetry of it all, a slow grin spread across his lips.
“Ah, what a tragic irony, and a fine match, indeed. Even Death seems to agree with me, so they also refused to let them part!”
I stared at him, skeptical.
“Fine match!? No, this is not fine! If this book was created under your consulting,” I pointed at him, my voice rising. “Then you are responsible for their murder!”
“Oh? How so?” John raised a brow. “Would you mind explaining it more clearly?”
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The woman and the man—a scammer couple.
She pretended to be a wealthy widow, and he posed as a shipping magnate. And what a twist for them both—they were matched together. The woman sought a businessman, and the man hunted for a rich, single woman.
Their plan is straightforward.
To trick each other into marriage.
And today, the very day they signed the certificate to make it official. Their intentions were mutual—secure the marriage, claim the inheritance, and poison the other. The only flaw in their plan was they never expected their so-called ‘Beloved’ to do the same.
The man preemptively poisoned the woman from the start with a slow-acting poison—one that would only take effect after she had already signed her name. Meanwhile, the woman took a simpler yet surer approach. She waited until she had his signature, then slipped him a rapid-onset poison, ensuring he died instantly in his chair.
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“I knew it! It must work! My refining matchmaking procedure works perfectly!”
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John clapped his hands together with enthusiasm, as though he had just completed a grand masterpiece.
"Seriously, this isn’t a joke," I snapped. “Someone just died!”
John didn’t flinch. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, his calm demeanor utterly unshaken by my anger. “And what if the Matchmaking Guild had paired them with someone else?” he asked, his voice disturbingly casual. “Don’t you think the casualties might’ve fallen on the innocent? They could’ve dragged someone else into their toxic love.”
"So, you don’t feel guilty at all?" I demanded, my blood boiling over.
John’s expression remained unchanged. His indifference was infuriating.
“Oh? Should I be the one to ask—what guilt have I committed? Those two were scammers from the start. They were going to deceive each other whether the Guild matched them or not. Neither the Guild nor I told them to kill each other.”
It was a flawless argument—one I couldn’t refute.
If only he were as good of a person as he was at debates, I was certain he’d be much more popular among women.
Still—“Oh, no!” Marigold stressed out, despite the fact that the incident had been successfully resolved. “‘Scammer Couple Killed Each Other at the Matchmaking Guild’? That’s still going to be a scandal!”
“The facts are unavoidable,” I hummed, tapping my chin in thought. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t… refine the narrative a little.”
John’s eyes glinted with curiosity. “That’s interesting. Go on.”
Before I could answer, the heavy boots of the Metropolitan Knights announced their arrival. But they weren’t alone—a swarm of journalists poured in right behind them. And who else would be the center of attention, if not the first Investigative Knight to respond to the scene?
“Chief Inspector Lestrade! What happened here? What can you reveal about the situation?”
Lestrade stiffened under the barrage of questions, clearly overwhelmed.
I took a step forward, snatching John’s top hat straight off his head and tilting it at a perfect angle to cast a shadow over my face.
“Just shut up and play along,” I murmured.
John shot me an incredulous look, but before he could protest, I turned sharply toward the crowd.
“Between the inept authorities and the detective who personally solved the case, whose account do you truly want to hear?” The journalists hesitated. A few exchanged glances. But then—“Lady Detective! It’s her—it’s really her!”
“Wait, she’s real? I thought she was just an urban myth!”
And just like that, the dam broke.
The crowd stormed toward me and John, cameras flashing like lightning.
John let out a suffering groan. “Seriously? This was your plan!?”
I smirked, gripping the brim of the hat.
“Like I said—you just shut up.”
