Chapter 1: Admission Notice

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[Kensington and Chelsea – 128 King's Road – Second Floor, Master Bedroom]
[To Mr. Sherlock Holmes]

Sherlock received a most peculiar letter.

It was peculiar firstly because, as a rule, no one ever specifies the recipient’s address down to “second floor, master bedroom” when sending a letter. Surely, one could not expect a postman to deliver it straight into the bedroom?

Yet, that was precisely what had happened: the letter had arrived directly in Sherlock’s bedroom.

This was the second reason for its strangeness.

The postman was an owl.

Yes, an owl.

Sherlock glanced over at the top of the coat stand. There stood a black-and-white Eurasian eagle-owl. Moments earlier, it had flown in through the second-floor window, letter clutched in its beak, circled the room, and then dropped the letter directly into his hands with perfect accuracy.

It was almost supernatural.

At first, Sherlock was naturally startled—no one would remain calm in the face of such an event. But unlike most people, his initial surprise was swiftly overtaken by a surge of excitement.

He turned the envelope over. On the back was a deep red wax seal and an ornate shield, both striking to the eye. More remarkable still was the bold, capital “H” at the center, encircled by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a serpent. Despite the envelope’s limited space, each animal was so vividly rendered that they seemed poised to leap from the paper.

Sherlock retrieved a magnifying glass from his drawer and began to examine the seal with his usual meticulousness. His grey eyes sparkled; the faint tremor in his hands betrayed a restlessness beneath his calm exterior.

At last, Sherlock laughed aloud with delight.

“At long last—something to stir the spirit! The local criminals have been far too lethargic of late…”

In 1991, as the process of European integration accelerated, the member states of the European Union hastened to keep pace. Rumor had it that the European Community would, by year’s end, formally ratify treaties establishing the Economic and Monetary Union and the European Political Union. As one of the core members, Britain was eager to display its former imperial grandeur, especially in comparison to France and Germany, and increased its efforts to uphold law and order at home.

In fact, by the late twentieth century, large-scale criminal organizations had all but vanished from Britain. Only a few street gangs clung stubbornly to their presence.

Given this climate, London, as the capital, was naturally at the forefront. Under such pressure, the city’s criminal element had all but gone into hiding, temporarily ceasing their activities.

Moreover, Sherlock had only recently recovered from a serious illness, and his parents had enrolled him in a preparatory school.

For someone like Sherlock, who thrived on excitement and loathed a quiet life, these idle days awaiting the start of term felt painfully dull.

Until today.

Despite his inner agitation, Sherlock observed the envelope with the greatest care before opening it—an old habit of his.

“No stamp, emerald green ink, parchment paper, excessively heavy stock… curious.”

From his observations, Sherlock had already drawn some preliminary conclusions.

But he needed to consult the letter itself to be sure.

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Albus Dumbledore
(Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Grand Sorcerer, Order of Merlin, First Class)

Dear Mr. Holmes,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A list of required books and equipment is enclosed. Term begins on September first. We await your reply by owl no later than July thirty-first.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

“…”

Before reading the letter, Sherlock had imagined many possibilities. This, however, was not among them.

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Hogwarts?
A school of witchcraft and wizardry?
A grand sorcerer?

So… this was an acceptance letter?

The letter’s contents were so fantastical that even the ever-rational Sherlock sank into deep contemplation.

As promised, a second page was attached: a list of essential supplies for new students.

A quick glance revealed items such as wands, spellbooks, and robes—objects that existed only in the realm of fantasy literature and film. Even the textbooks, like “Standard Book of Spells” and “A History of Magic,” were credited with authors.

It was all absurdly convincing.

After a brief silence, Sherlock raised the letter to the light.

“Ha!”

His eyes shone even brighter.

Had it been any other child, they might already have surrendered to pure excitement and believed every word.

But Sherlock Holmes, aged eleven, was not like other children.

Far more mature than his peers, he was a boy of unwavering faith in science.

Magic?
Such things belonged to legend—how could they possibly exist?

Clearly, this was a prank.

An exquisitely crafted envelope?
Could be forged.

The letter’s content?
With a little effort, anyone could concoct such a story.

His own address?
The easiest of all—requiring even less effort than writing the letter itself.

The only real puzzle was the letter-delivering owl.

Sherlock had never heard of owls performing such tasks; carrier pigeons were the usual messengers.

But not having heard of something did not mean it was impossible. With enough dedication, Sherlock thought, it could be done.

The question was, would anyone really go to such lengths for a mere prank?

The answer was yes.

For this sort of thing had happened before.

Once, Sherlock’s dream had been to become a pirate. Strange though it was, it was not inconceivable—after all, piracy was part of the nation’s folklore.

During that period, Sherlock had received a letter, much like this “acceptance letter,” though it had been delivered by a regular postman.

The writer claimed to be Captain Jack, once a legendary pirate who had roamed the seas with a loyal crew, robbing the rich to help the poor. But he had been outwitted by another villainous captain, who stole his beloved ship. Broken-hearted, he had fallen on hard times.

He wrote to Sherlock because he believed Sherlock had the makings of a great pirate, and so, in defiance of all tradition, he had decided to train Sherlock as his successor. The goal was to defeat the scoundrel who had stolen his ship and reclaim all he had lost.

At first, Sherlock had been skeptical.

But as time passed, Captain Jack had used every means to prove himself.

Sherlock was not like ordinary children. Gaining his trust was no simple matter.

Throughout the affair, he had tested and investigated, but found no flaw—everything was perfect.

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Yet, just when Sherlock finally believed him and resolved to follow Captain Jack on his adventures, he was told it had all been a ruse.

The revelation struck Sherlock like a bolt from the blue.

He drew a deep breath.

There was no need to dwell on the past.

But one must never stumble twice at the same stone.

Now, Sherlock’s powers of deduction and analysis far surpassed his younger, naive self. Forewarned by previous experience, he would not be so easily deceived again.

So, even though common sense declared that owls did not deliver post, his previous ordeal proved that, given enough effort, one could surely train an owl to deliver letters.

The person behind it had always relished toying with his emotions.

Reflecting on that episode, Sherlock paced his room.

At last, he made a decision—hardly a difficult one—sat down, and began to compose a reply.

Dear Professor McGonagall,

It is an honor to receive your school’s acceptance letter, and I would be pleased to attend. However, neither my family nor I have ever heard of “magic,” and we are quite unfamiliar with the necessary preparations for enrollment. If your school could arrange for a member of staff to visit and answer our questions, I would be most grateful.

—Sherlock Holmes

A faint smile played at Sherlock’s lips.

If he was to seek excitement, he might as well see it through.

Since his adversary had made their move, he would respond in kind.

To his surprise, the moment he finished his reply, the owl atop the coat stand hooted, flapped over to him, and took the letter from his hand before soaring out the window.

So eager?

Sherlock extended his hand experimentally, and the owl immediately snatched up the letter and was gone.

Watching its flight—both swift and steady—Sherlock could not help but marvel.

Clearly, a considerable effort had been devoted to training this owl.

That, in itself, warranted serious attention.

Given what he knew of the person behind it, Sherlock was certain this was not the end.

How would they respond?

Would they try to win his trust through a series of letters?

Would they send someone to impersonate a teacher from the school of magic?

Or would they simply appear and bluntly declare it all a hoax?

Hmm, that last seemed unlikely—after all, both sides were eager to prolong this contest.

Whatever happened, Sherlock looked forward to what would come next.

At the very least, this summer would not be dull.

What he did not expect was how quickly the response would come.

On the third day after receiving the acceptance letter, Sherlock was having breakfast with his parents.

Mrs. Holmes picked up the newspaper, glanced at it, and exclaimed to her husband, “Tanan, that burglary has been solved—Sherlock was right, it really was the one-armed man!”

Mr. Holmes smiled and looked at his son. “If I recall, that was a case from three months ago.”

Sherlock popped a piece of bread into his mouth and replied coolly, “Scotland Yard has always been this efficient—and always manages to overlook the obvious.”

“Scotland Yard” was not a place name, but a nickname for the Metropolitan Police of London. The police headquarters was not located in Scotland, nor did it police Scotland. Its original site was at 4 Whitehall Place, and a back entrance there opened onto Great Scotland Yard, which became the public entrance. Over time, “Scotland Yard” became synonymous with the police force itself.

Using place names to stand for institutions was hardly unusual: Fleet Street, 10 Downing Street, for instance. Not only in Britain—other countries had similar habits. Sherlock, ever interested in investigation, knew of places like Lubyanka, Six Gates, and the Icehouse Grand Hotel.

Mr. Holmes, hearing his son’s appraisal of Scotland Yard, could not help but suggest, “Sherlock, why not become a detective someday?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but did not answer.

Just then, a Eurasian eagle-owl flew straight in through the open window.