For the past few months, James, a manager at a regular trading company in London, had felt rather... terrible.
The noise about 'whose fault the economic downturn was' had been loud for a while. Anyway, whether the economy was good or bad, his salary rarely increased, and there was always little work to do.
Nevertheless, the reason for his miserable mood was due to another identity he held.
James was a son who made his parents proud, a faithful husband to his wife, and a somewhat aloof father to his two daughters, but at the same time...
He was an officer in the Baker Street Irregulars... in other words, the proud Sherlockian fan club of the Baker Street residents.
Of course, there were as many Sherlockian clubs in London as stars in the sky.
It was common for a member to belong to several clubs.
However, James was somewhat different from others.
Proud to live on Baker Street, the setting of Sherlock, and being one of the founders, he ran the fan club with extra enthusiasm.
He had declined the role of the club president due to his busy life, but if he had had more free time, he could have taken on that role as well.
However, even that joy of life ended completely a few months ago.
The Final Problem of Sherlock Holmes.
The end of Sherlock Holmes. All the clubs were struck dumb with shock and fear.
What followed was anger.
─What is this "Final Problem"? Don't be ridiculous. We will protest. We will never forgive this!
Such sentiments swept through all the Sherlockian clubs in London, and some even resorted to violence. Of course, they were easily subdued by Scotland Yard's batons.
Anyway, after experiencing such an ordeal, only emptiness remained. He was now like a kite with its string cut.
'Damn it, bloody Conan Doyle! That man killed Holmes and then writes such a dull historical novel...!'
Thus, he led the boycott of Arthur Conan Doyle's new work The Refugees.
The boycott had some effect, but as they say, revenge yields nothing. Nothing could fill the emptiness in his heart.
Then, one day.
"Huh? What's this?"
As usual, he bought Strand Magazine to quench his thirst for Sherlock, but he was always disappointed. He noticed something strange as he opened it.
An illustration on the cover depicted a middle-aged gentleman, scarf billowing, standing proudly atop Big Ben.
And the phrase written beneath.
The title Dawnbringer and the author name Hanslow Jin.
"Hm, a work by Hanslow Jin..."
Honestly, it wasn't quite to his taste.
Peter Perry felt too much like chasing a dream, and Vincent Villiers was better, but his obsession with money and power felt too worldly.
Work-related concerns... his job provided enough of that.
But since he had bought it, he might as well read it.
He didn't have high expectations as he opened the magazine.
And then.
"Oh... oh!?"
It was as if he had an epiphany, his eyes widened.
Such occurrences were happening all over London.
"Wow...! This is crazy, crazy!"
"A mechanical apparatus that becomes armour in an instant... that's so cool!"
He fought villains preying on citizens in the darkness of London, departing with impressive lines.
There was no profit or honour in it. Only justice.
To guard the night streets of London, defeating bizarre fantastical creatures threatening the citizens' nights, and searching for the evil demon that killed his parents and took his left arm, a fallen noble who mastered various Eastern martial arts and Western techniques.
Readers gradually became engrossed in the story of the avenger and saviour.
No man's heart could remain unmoved by such a romantic tale.
"Amazing. How could there be such a perfect hero?"
At that time, London indeed boasted a security gap so vast it was called an inhumane region.
Sherlock Holmes didn't become popular for no reason.
Citizens couldn't help but resonate with, admire, and praise the actions of Edmond Earhart as a substitute for Sherlock.
─I wish there was such a person by my side.
─I want to become friends with such a person.
─I want to become such a person.
It resonated perfectly with such sentiments.
Moreover.
"Thank you all for coming to the meeting today."
Even James, exhausted from overtime and workplace stress, felt his heart pound like a boy in love as he hosted a meeting after a long time.
However, the topic for Sherlockians that day wasn't about the resurrection of Sherlock Holmes.
"Did you see Dawnbringer in the latest Strand Magazine?"
"No, you haven't seen it yet? My goodness, you're missing out on half your life."
It spread like a syndrome.
This wasn't just about fandom.
"Hm, yes. The nights in London are indeed dangerous."
"Well, creatures like those werewolves are always around. Like the murderer in the second case, there are plenty of such people."
"Ha, my blood is boiling after a long time..."
Most of them placed a strange box on the table.
The lid of the box had two brass crosses acting as a sliding secret lock.
And inside the box were more crosses, a pair of pistols, a flask of brass powder, a Bible, holy water, brass candlesticks, a hammer, wooden stakes, and rosaries... in short, a 'vampire hunting kit' fashionable in those days.
James nodded in satisfaction as he looked at them.
"Haha, so how about we form a vigilante group? As mentioned in Dawnbringer, protecting women and children is a gentleman's duty."
"Ho..."
"Ahem, yes, I learned baritsu (the fictional martial art with a cane from Sherlock Holmes) for this very day."
"Who knows? We might even discover Newton's legacy?"
"What are we waiting for? Let's get to it!"
Thus.
London entered the great age of vigilantism.
***
"Hahaha! Success, success!! A huge success!!"
George Newnes Publishing, a major media company in London that published Strand Magazine.
And George Newnes, the president of the company, cheered as he saw the steep curve on the sales graph titled Weekly Sales Figures.
"Finally, after months, recovery at last!!"
"Congratulations, sir!!"
"The patience has paid off!!"
The editors in charge of Strand Magazine also cheered in agreement with the president.
For the past few months since the abrupt end of Sherlock Holmes, they had been on edge.
A one-trick pony with Sherlock Holmes. Without Arthur Conan Doyle, they were done for.
They even heard mocking remarks like, 'Now that Strand Magazine is finished, why don't you come over to our side?' Publicly.
Only they could truly understand the long period of humiliation and suffering they endured.
But today, all that was over.
With Hanslow Jin and Dawnbringer brought in directly by the president, they could return to their proud lives once more!
More precisely, it meant they could look forward to bonuses this quarter.
Of course, it was still just a recovery trend.
It was impossible to return to the sales levels of the times when Sherlock Holmes was serialized in one go. After all, it was a monthly series.
Still, sales had doubled from before... in other words, they had recovered 20% of their peak sales.
Most importantly, the successful recruitment of Hanslow Jin was evident because:
"Sales in regions that previously didn't purchase are noticeably rising!"
"The response is better than expected! Even Sherlockian clubs are promoting the work voluntarily."
"See, I told you there's nothing better than Hanslow Jin!!"
George Newnes shouted proudly.
He hadn't expected it to be this successful.
He had hoped to stir up a new wave with Hanslow Jin, more to attract new readers, especially Hanslow Jin fans, than to appease the Sherlockians.
Honestly, how many readers would tolerate an author who suddenly kills off the protagonist and runs away with a 'Part 3 ends! Complete!'?
As readers themselves, they couldn't help but understand that feeling.
But surprisingly, not only the targeted Hanslow Jin fans but also the Sherlockians they had given up on were moved!
"Great, this is good! Now that it's come to this, let's launch a major promotional campaign. 'The successor of Sherlock Holmes, London's guardian Edmund Earhart!' Spread this phrase in all our magazines! We need to strike while the iron is hot! We're also selling a special 'Legendary Creature Hunting Kit' adapted from the existing 'Vampire Hunting Kit,' right?!"
"Yes, of course!"
"Don't forget to sell armour in a plausible form! As a separate item, of course!"
And George Newnes, true to his reputation as the 'magazine king' in London, the world's leading city of the time, moved swiftly.
He employed every possible method to fuel this trend. He poured oil on the fire. He made the flames burn even brighter!
How many pipe tobacco companies had they partnered with while selling Sherlock Holmes?
George Newnes quickly filed for copyright and partnered with hardware companies.
It was all about money, money!
"Uh, but sir, Westminster Abbey, where Isaac Newton's tomb is, sent a letter saying too many fans are visiting, and they can't manage it..."
"Ha, what's the big deal? If necessary, tell them to charge an admission fee! In a capitalist market, more customers mean profit, what's the problem?"
"But some people are digging up the grounds with shovels..."
"We're just a publisher! What can we do about that? Tell them to manage it well! Call Scotland Yard too! I mean, weren't there always people digging up cemeteries at night?"
"Um... okay. And the Royal Society called to say that Isaac Newton never conducted any alchemical research, as it's illegal."
"Ignore it! In today's world, who doesn't know that Newton did nonsense trying to make gold? They're just being formal!"
"Scotland Yard mentioned there's an increase in unidentified vigilante groups..."
"Well...! Isn't that a good thing?"
In any case, various reports and minor incidents were coming in, but such minor matters were no problem for them.
Having endured numerous terrorist threats and death threats from Sherlockians, the employees of George Newnes Publishing were too strong to be shaken by such trivialities.
"Good! Good! Let's keep this momentum! This is the beginning of the second golden age for Strand Magazine!"
Money was coming in. For a business, only that mattered.
***
Meanwhile.
─An endless plain stretched out. The starry night sky was like a sea...
"No, this isn't right!"
Arthur Conan Doyle tore up his manuscript once again.