The Sherlock of Saitama

“Hello Watson, I’ve been expecting you.”

The sudden greeting had come the moment I stepped into what I had believed to be a deserted classroom in the Special Purposes Building. I managed to conceal my surprise with uncharacteristic deft but could not prevent a low wheeze from escaping my nostrils as I caught the gaze of the voice’s source.

She was leaning against the sill of one of the classroom windows, a book cradled in her arms; leaving the book to rest on the sill, the girl sauntered over to where I stood, her long and cascading black hair fluttering in the late afternoon breeze.

“Close the door, will you? I don’t want to be overheard,” she spoke softly and, as though mesmerised, I turned on my heel and slid the door shut.

Turning back, I found that she was now standing only a couple of inches away from me; catching a whiff of the scent of summer fruit, I instinctively reversed until my back was pressed against the door. Inching closer ever so slightly, the girl produced a magnifying glass from her pocket and began to scrutinise me through its glimmering lens.

“You look like you’re going to be sick, Watson.”

“My name isn’t Watson, it’s -”

“Seishi Tanizaki. I already knew that, of course.”

The singularly large brown eye now looking up at me, vaguely reminiscent of the antagonist from a high fantasy series I had read years ago, could evidently read my mind as well as make me feel deeply uncomfortable. I remembered the textbook in my hand, the reason for my coming here in the first place and held it up over my face so as to protect me from her gaze.

“Oya…?” she directed her attention towards my makeshift shield. “A Japanese history book? What part are you on?” she asked.

“Hideyoshi Toyotomi just invaded Korea,” I replied.

“Oh! Class 2-B are a precocious lot, indeed! You are ahead of us, Watson, and by quite a bit.”

“H-how do you know what class I’m in?”

She seemed to find my puzzlement amusing. Putting away the magnifying glass, the girl headed to the centre of the room where she took a seat on one of the classroom tables. She began to flatten her skirt before turning an expectant eye towards me. I followed her and, without hesitation this time, repeated my questions.

“How do you know my name and what class I’m in?”

She did not deign to answer me, but instead said, “You asked me to come here. Isn’t this letter from you?”

The girl produced a folded piece of paper from her blazer pocket and held it out to me. Incredulously, I took the paper and examined its contents before thrusting it back at her and replying, “This is just signed ‘Watson’. You wrote this yourself.”

“Ah, so I did,” she admitted casually, and pocketed the letter.

“I’m not sure what kind of game you’re playing here, Haruhi.”

The mentioning of her name seemed to throw her off balance, but only for a fraction of a second. She regained her composure almost instantaneously, cleared her throat, and began to speak: “Please call me H-”

“I’m not going to call you Holmes.”

Haruhi Tsukishima looked up at me and pouted. Even though I had referred to her banally as “the girl” up until now, I was well aware of her fearsome reputation. I knew that if I valued my own reputation as a bit part player in this drama we call high school, then she was absolutely someone I should avoid.

But the dazzling creature in front of me, with her cheeks puffed out, and who was famous in the school district for both her beauty and eccentricity had already aroused my curiosity. It was natural that I knew her name, of course, since she was the closest thing Kamijousaki High had to a school idol, but how was it that she came to know mine?

I decided to play the role she had assigned to me, thinking it might help coax some information out of her. “Tell me, Holmes, how did you know my – uh – alias?” I hoped my face didn’t flush.

Haruhi seemed taken aback by this, but she quickly resumed the haughty air that one would expect from a person who believed themselves to be Sherlock Holmes.

“We were in the same class in our first year at Iwatsuki Junior High,” she explained.

“Were we?” I tried to recall.

“Yes,” she said, frowning at me as though she were offended by my poor memory. “I remember you quite well because you started stuttering during your self-introduction.”

Now that I could remember. There was a part of me that wanted to launch into a fervent defence of my middle school self, but I decided against it.

“It was nerves,” I told her, but it was clear from the glance she shot me that she couldn’t relate. Evidently, Sherlock Holmes was never nervous. “How did you know what class I’m in?”

She tilted her head to the side, as though to suggest the answer was obvious. “If I know your name then finding out your class is quite simple, is it not?”

“And the fake letter?”

“Fake letter?”

“The one that you said I sent to you.”

“Ah,” she smiled vaguely, “Maybe I just wanted to gaslight you a little?”

A highly dubious turn of phrase I thought, and the implication, frankly, was pretty terrifying. “You make it sound as though you knew I was coming here.”

“Oh, but I did know, Watson. I’ve noticed you coming into the Special Purposes Building every day for the past week. To study, I presume?” she observed, her eyes fell to my Japanese History textbook.

I set the textbook down on one of the classroom tables. It was true that the Special Purposes Building had become one of my frequent haunts as of late, but I had never run into her here before, or even seen her, so what she was saying still came as a surprise to me.

“And you were waiting in this room for me?” I inquired.

She nodded.

“How did you know I’d come to this room specifically?”

“You didn’t come here first, of course,” Haruhi stated bluntly. “More than likely, the first room you tried was the one five doors down, but you couldn’t enter because the Manga Research club were in the middle of their club activities. Am I wrong?”

Her statement was on point – although the clubrooms were located in the two regular school buildings, Building A and Building B, club activities which required ample space were often held in the Special Purposes Building. However, the rooms in the Special Purpose Building did not belong to any specific clubs but were reservable on an “as-needed” basis.

Naturally, as a singular student, I couldn’t selfishly book a room for my own personal use… but there was no rule forbidding me from 'studying' in a room which would otherwise be unoccupied, which is what I had been doing for the past two weeks.

“You’re right, Holmes,” I admitted reluctantly. “How did you figure it out?”

“Because that was the room you used yesterday,” she explained.

In reality, it was a very simple explanation. I gravitated towards that room because it had been unoccupied the previous day, but the way the booking system was set up meant that a room which was vacant today could very easily be in use tomorrow, as my situation highlighted.

“I see. But that doesn’t explain how I ended up in this room. There are a dozen rooms on this floor alone.”

“Easy,” she spoke, reaching into her blazer pocket again and producing a single key, which dangled from a keychain marked with the letter “M”.

“I locked the doors to every single unoccupied room on this floor. You didn’t try any rooms before this one?”

I hadn’t, but for some reason, I didn’t think she was lying. The key in her hand was likely the master key to this building, hence the letter “M”, and I had no doubt that if I burst out of this room right now and tried to open the other doors on this floor, I would find them either locked or, if not locked, in use by some extracurricular club.

“What do you think of the great detective’s handiwork, Watson?” she asked me, grinning broadly.

“Detective?” I was surprised I could keep my cool in the face of this borderline stalker behaviour. “In this scenario, you’re clearly the criminal.”

“So you say,” Haruhi was unfazed. “But you’re the one who came here, Watson. And you’re interfering with club activities.”

“Stop calling me Watson,” I shot back, before gesturing around at the completely undisturbed classroom. “And what club activities? We’re the only ones here!”

“Even so,” she began to say, “I’ve reserved this room for the New Wave Mystery Society.”

“The New Mystery - what? You can’t have club activities with just one member…” my voice began to trail off as a thought suddenly occurred to me - if she really did reserve the room, and I had no reason to doubt this statement, it would explain how she knew which rooms were going to be unoccupied. Obviously, she had seen the reservation timetable.

Haruhi held up three fingers. “There are three members currently in the New Wave Mystery Society, including myself. The others are the third-years Seiichi Sawamura and Maya Bergeron,” she told me.

She added smugly, “By the way, I’m the club’s vice president.”

The position would be more impressive if there were more than three members in the club, I thought, but I kept that opinion to myself. Instead, I inquired as to the whereabouts of the other two members.

“Ah, President Sawamura? He’s applying for film school, so he’s been busy working on a short film. He hasn’t participated in club activities since the beginning of the term,” she explained.

Mr. President, you should give this poor girl the presidency since you’re a busy final year student, I thought to myself.

“And this Maya Bergeron? Why isn’t she here?” I asked.

“Probably because the President isn’t here,” the reply came immediately.

With that answer, I was able to immediately understand the social dynamics of this bizarrely named club. Essentially, Haruhi Tsukishima was a third wheel. Additionally, and although I did not consider myself to be a great detective like some people, I felt as though I knew where this ridiculous back-and-forth was leading.

“I’ll do it.”

“Oya? You’ll do what?”

“I’ll join your New Mystery Wave Club.”

“New Wave Mystery Society,” she corrected me irritably. “And nobody asked you to join.”

“Your club has three members, two of whom don’t participate in club activities – I’m still not sure what your club is or does, but you really only have a single active member,” I said.

I glanced towards Haruhi, but her stoical expression gave nothing away. She answered dryly, “And?”

“Well, your club advisor must not be very happy. If you don’t get more members soon, your club might be shut down. You saw me studying here alone after school, and thought you’d recruit me. You should’ve just asked normally.”

I could even imagine the proposition she was going to make to me, had I not ended the farce when I did: Join the Society and study in the clubroom after school as much as you want; pull the wool over the club advisor’s eyes by helping to create the illusion that legitimate club activities were taking place.

Haruhi gave me a contemplative look. “You think I did all that to coerce you into joining the club? Isn’t that a little too far-fetched?” she challenged.

“No," I shook my head. "Now, what does the great detective think of my deductions?” I asked her.

She sniffed. “Those weren’t deductions, they were inferences.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but she had shoved something into my arms and stormed out of the room before I could get the words out. It flitted to the floor, and looking down, I realised immediately what it was.

The fake letter signed by ‘Watson’.

I picked it up and turned the page over, revealing, as I had expected, an application form for Kamijousaki High’s enigmatic New Wave Mystery Society.