"Tell me from the beginning. What happened."
Inside 221B Baker Street, Strange stood calmly in a trench coat and scarf, looking at the man across from him.
The man was from Belarus, born into a wealthy family.
And it was obvious he was in serious trouble.
He had killed someone.
A woman.
And her background was even more formidable than his own.
None of that mattered to Strange.
What mattered was understanding the sequence of events.
Then making a judgment.
"It's like this," the man began, recalling everything in heavily accented English. "We were at a bar. You know, people like me go there a lot. I know many people. Especially women."
"I had good relations with the female bartender. We chatted a bit. But Karen was very unhappy."
"So after I brought her back to our apartment, we argued. Then we fought."
Strange sighed softly, his expression unchanged.
This was already drifting away from what he needed to hear.
But he stayed silent.
Letting the man finish was usually faster.
"She always mocked me..." The man didn't notice the shift in Strange's mood. "She said I weren't a real man-"
"It's wasn't," Strange interrupted calmly.
"What?" The man froze, completely confused.
"You can't say weren't," Strange said evenly. "You have to say wasn't."
His brow twitched slightly.
"Uh... okay." The man swallowed, clearly unprepared for this. He glanced at Strange for permission before continuing. "Then... I don't know why. I suddenly had a knife in my hand."
Strange's focus sharpened.
He quietly used magic to examine the man's mental state.
Aside from a rapid heartbeat, there was nothing.
No abnormal traces.
"You know, I have habit of fighting," the man continued. "I have teacher. He learn me how to deal with wild beasts-"
"It's taught," Strange corrected, exhaling helplessly. "Taught you how to deal with wild beasts."
"Uh... okay. Then I did it."
"You mean you stabbed her."
"I did it! I stabbed her! One stab, one stab, one stab! When I came back to myself and looked down, she weren't-she wasn't moving no more. Couldn't move anymore."
"Alright."
Strange felt like collapsing.
This grammar was unbearable.
This was the first time he'd encountered someone like this.
It was beyond clumsy. It was painful.
He felt lucky he was learning English.
If this man had to learn Chinese, he might drive the entire planet insane.
"Oh my god, I really don't know what happened," the man continued, oblivious to Strange's suffering. "I swear. I feel like I was drugged. Or enchanted. Maybe a vampire bit me. Or a succubus-"
Strange stood up.
He walked to the door.
Opened it.
And gestured politely.
The man panicked. "Mr. Holmes! You have to help me! As exorcists, your firm is the best! If you don't help me, I'll be hung!"
"No, no, sir," Strange sighed, smiling faintly. "You won't be."
The man relaxed slightly.
Then Strange finished calmly.
"You'll be hanged."
After escorting him out, Strange closed the door.
How many times had he seen people like this?
He didn't know anymore.
Ever since arriving here and using the name Sherlock Holmes, he'd encountered far too many.
But they all shared one trait.
After killing someone close to them, they blamed magical creatures that distorted the mind.
It allowed Strange to witness the darkness of the ordinary world.
And it sharpened his judgment immensely.
It was worth mentioning that this world had no Conan Doyle.
Naturally, there was no Sherlock Holmes.
Noah had been a little disappointed by that.
After all, that meant there wouldn't be a certain eternal elementary school student on a distant eastern island.
But he didn't care much.
So letting Strange use the name posed no problem at all.
Since Noah dropped him off here days ago, Strange had adapted quickly.
Shockingly quickly.
Even when clients came knocking that very afternoon, he showed no nervousness.
Now, Strange was also looking for a neighbor.
Someone to share rent with.
Not because he couldn't afford it.
Even with Noah's pricing, a former top surgeon wasn't short on money.
But after understanding Noah's intentions, Strange chose to find one anyway.
In his view, Noah was trying to integrate the magical world with the ordinary one.
Stephen Strange himself was the best example.
Aside from being intelligent, he had been an ordinary man.
Yet he became the apprentice of what he believed to be the second most powerful mage in existence.
Noah.
Add to that the elevation of exorcists, the integration of mutants, the exposure of magic to the public, the creation of druids as a new race-
And even the release of three movies about Noah in the ordinary world.
All of it pointed to the same goal.
Bringing the two worlds closer.
Noah was a reformer.
A pioneer.
So as his apprentice, Strange felt he should do something as well.
If he met Noah's expectations, perhaps one day he could return to the ordinary world as a mage.
And continue being a doctor.
Maybe even integrate magic with modern science.
Like Tony.
Strange was thinking a bit too far ahead.
But his logic wasn't wrong.
He simply overestimated Noah.
Noah wasn't that grand.
He was just indulging some very specific personal tastes.
Tony Stark couldn't be Sherlock Holmes anymore.
He was too famous.
Too recognizable.
And his Watson was a Kree named Yon-Rogg.
Another was a middle-aged Dumbledore.
So Noah chose Strange instead.
As for Watson?
Compared to an alien and a legendary wizard, Agent Everett Ross seemed easier to deal with.
Of course, whether this would end up as a hobbit slaying dragons-
Or a proper Sherlock and Watson-
That remained to be seen.
Strange didn't know he had overthought everything.
He checked the time, then turned to change clothes.
Today, he was meeting his new neighbor.
Apparently, the man used to be a pilot.
Seriously injured under special circumstances.
Now in London.
American.
Looking for a place to live.
Strange shook his head.
It was all the same to him.
Tony sat in his office, eyes locked on the screen.
After obtaining the Pym particles, he hadn't rushed into experimentation.
Instead, he was repeatedly reconstructing the theoretical framework.
He built the model quickly.
But didn't use it.
Tony was cautious now.
Perhaps Noah had influenced him.
Without enough data, he wouldn't act rashly.
Sometimes, he even admired his counterpart in another universe.
That Tony dared to do things he wouldn't even consider.
But that was because that version fully understood Pym particles.
In this universe, the particles were stolen.
The data was minimal.
"Howard," Tony muttered, "you were really something. Why did you have to ruin things with Hank Pym?"
Because of his father's relationship with Hank, Tony had nothing to work with.
He had the particles.
But no instructions.
No data.
"Ugh. This is bad."
He glanced at the Pym particles locked in his drawer.
Then at the watch-like device on the table.
Tony fell silent.
Thinking.
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