HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

”Who keeps a diary?”

Sherlock picked up the diary and chuckled softly.

”Let me see—Tom Marvolo Riddle, Vauxhall Road, London.

I’m afraid anyone who saw this diary would think it belonged to a Muggle.

You advocate blood purity, yet still unconsciously follow ordinary habits.”

Sherlock flipped through it casually and found that except for the faded date on the cover, the interior was completely blank.

He took out a quill pen from inside his robes and wrote a sentence on the blank page.

[The quick brown fox jumps over a lazy dog.]

The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second, then seemed to be absorbed into the page, disappearing without a trace as if nothing had happened.

”Just as I thought.”

Sherlock showed an expression of no surprise. He put away the pen and turned to Dumbledore under Riddle’s furious gaze.

”Headmaster, we can end all this now, if you still want Professor Lockhart.”

Dumbledore glanced at Riddle, then at Sherlock, and finally at Lockhart lying on the ground.

In the end, he let out a long sigh.

The next moment, a worn and tattered hat appeared in his hand, and with a casual wave, the hat flew toward Sherlock’s direction.

Sherlock was slightly stunned, then quickly reached out and caught the old hat firmly.

He naturally recognized the hat that had sorted him into Gryffindor at first glance.

But clearly Dumbledore had brought it out for another purpose.

”Hahahaha, is this what you give to your students, Dumbledore? A singing broken hat?”

As a former honor student of Hogwarts, Tom Riddle naturally recognized the Sorting Hat as well.

He knew he was now trapped in a desperate situation, but his deep-rooted arrogance and unwillingness wouldn’t let him miss any opportunity to mock his enemies.

Sharp, ear-piercing laughter suddenly rang out, echoing continuously in the dark depths of the Chamber, making the surroundings tremble slightly.

”Don’t tell me you expect him to destroy me with something like this?

I’m not a basilisk—even if it crows like a rooster, I won’t be destroyed so easily!”

Riddle’s pale cheeks flushed slightly with excitement, his eyes flickering with an almost mad gleam.

Dumbledore looked at Riddle with compassionate eyes, shook his head slightly, then turned his gentle but firm gaze to Sherlock.

”Draw the sword!”

”What?!”

Riddle’s laughter froze. Both Harry and Hermione were stunned.

Dumbledore looked at Sherlock with a faint smile on his face. ”There’s a weapon in the Sorting Hat that can help you. When a true Gryffindor is in need, it can be drawn from the Sorting Hat.”

Sherlock frowned as he looked at Dumbledore. The words were clear enough, but this was obviously another test. However, from all the signs, this was also the final test.

So, Sherlock, for once, didn’t mock and put his hand into the Sorting Hat.

Dumbledore, Harry, Hermione, and Riddle all watched him tensely.

Especially Dumbledore. Just as Sherlock had deduced.

This was another test. And the final test.

Fortunately, Holmes never disappoints.

”Ha!”

With Sherlock’s low shout, a gleaming silver sword instantly appeared in the Sorting Hat. With a slight effort, he drew it out.

The blade was long and straight, flickering with cold, dazzling light in the dim illumination of the Chamber.

The hilt was set with a brilliant ruby the size of an egg, which emanated an enchanting luster like a blazing, beating heart.

Sherlock glanced at it and saw a name carved near the ruby-adorned hilt.

[Godric Gryffindor]

He looked at Dumbledore. ”Gryffindor’s relic?”

”Yes.”

”This can destroy that thing?”

”Not yet.”

Harry and Hermione couldn’t help but be stunned. Was the headmaster playing with them?

However, Sherlock heard the implication in Dumbledore’s words. ”It’s not that it can’t, but that it can’t ’yet.’”

”Yes, this sword doesn’t need polishing because goblin-made blades repel dust, and not only that, they can also absorb substances that can strengthen them.”

Harry and Hermione were still thinking, but Sherlock already understood.

Excellent, Dumbledore was indeed no longer testing him.

Perhaps others would still be puzzled by his words, but this level of hint was sufficient for him.

Sherlock first handed Tom Riddle’s diary to Harry, then gave the Sorting Hat to Hermione.

After doing all this, he gripped the Gryffindor sword tightly with both hands and strode toward the dead basilisk.

Only by observing the basilisk up close could one feel its terror.

Its body, like a small hill, twisted and coiled, its scales glinting with a cold luster in the dim light. Even in death, it still had considerable presence.

Sherlock stood before the basilisk, took a deep breath, and raised the Gryffindor sword high with both hands.

His arm muscles tensed, veins slightly bulging, his expression serious and focused.

The next moment, he exerted force suddenly, stabbing down at the basilisk’s enormous head with lightning speed.

Whether because the Gryffindor sword itself was sharp enough, or because the basilisk was already dead, the process of piercing through the basilisk’s body was much easier than Sherlock had imagined.

After a slight, muffled ”thud,” Sherlock felt his sword encounter some resistance before directly piercing through the basilisk’s head.

Riddle stood quietly watching this scene. He appeared calm, but his heart was full of unwillingness and anger, he naturally wanted to stop everything Sherlock was doing.

But with Dumbledore here, he was powerless.

He knew this memory of his was about to meet destruction.

Even if he firmly memorized the appearance of this fellow Sherlock who had ruined his plan, it would be useless now.

Sherlock maintained the position with both hands gripping the inserted sword for about a minute before withdrawing the great sword.

Watching the green liquid slowly seeping into the blade, Sherlock knew he had understood Dumbledore’s words correctly.

”That should be enough.”

He said quietly, turned around and walked toward Harry, indicating for him to place the diary on the ground.

Harry now understood what Sherlock intended to do. The confusion and bewilderment in his eyes were gone, replaced by determination and trust.

He carefully laid the diary open flat on the ground, then stepped aside.

After doing all this, Sherlock turned again toward Tom Riddle.

”Have you thought of your last words, Tom?”

”You will pay for this,” Riddle looked at Sherlock, saying each word distinctly, ”It won’t be long... I will definitely return!”

”Old tricks, nothing new.”

Sherlock shook his head somewhat disappointedly and cleanly thrust the Gryffindor sword into the center of the diary.

The next moment.

A piercing scream rang out, and streams of ink gushed violently from the diary like surging black tides, instantly flooding the surrounding ground.

Tom Riddle’s already clear image began to twist and struggle. His arms kept flailing as if trying to grasp something, but it was ultimately futile.

As the ink continued to pour out, he let out screams from his mouth, his figure gradually becoming blurred and unclear, finally disappearing into thin air as if he had never existed.

As for the diary, it was still hissing and smoking.

Sherlock no longer looked at the smoking diary, but turned to Dumbledore instead.

Dumbledore’s gaze swept over Sherlock, Harry, and Hermione one by one. He looked at Lockhart still in a coma, the diary with the Gryffindor sword stuck in it, the place where Tom Riddle had vanished...

He stood there quietly for a long time before letting out a deep, long sigh. ”Let’s go.”

Hogwarts Headmaster’s Office

The portraits of former headmasters on the walls disappeared completely the moment they saw Sherlock enter the office.

The phoenix Fawkes, however, let out several clear calls. It flew to Sherlock’s shoulder and gently pecked his ear.

As Dumbledore had said earlier, it had finally become beautiful now.

Its whole body was covered with amazing red and gold feathers, with a long, golden, peacock-like tail and equally golden claws. After showing Sherlock its sharp golden beak and two bright black eyes, it flew back to the gilded perch behind the door.

”It seems Fawkes likes you very much, Sherlock.”

Dumbledore smiled at this scene, then turned his gaze to the desktop.

The four followed his gaze and saw three items neatly arranged on the wide desk.

The diary completely destroyed by the Gryffindor sword, the great sword with its blade now clean, and the old Sorting Hat that looked ordinary but held hidden secrets.

”It’s finally over.”

Dumbledore was the first to withdraw his gaze, his eyes behind the half-moon spectacles sparkling with relief.

He showed the four a smile as warm as spring breeze, his white beard trembling slightly with his smile.

”I must thank you properly. You’ve proven that my choice was right—the future of this world will ultimately depend on you young people to create.

Now, I welcome any questions from you all. This time, I will not refuse to answer.”

Upon hearing this, Ron couldn’t help but nudge Harry with his elbow and whisper. ”That sounds like something Sherlock would say.”

Ron was speaking from experience.

Just as Sherlock had told him before they officially entered the Chamber, reinforcements had arrived shortly after Sherlock and Harry left.

What he hadn’t expected was that the person who appeared before him would be Dumbledore, such a powerful ally.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore hadn’t brought him along to the Chamber. After understanding the situation, he had simply sent him back to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

This inevitably made Ron feel somewhat embarrassed.

But out of concern for his companions, he could only stay in the girls’ bathroom, waiting for their return.

Seeing that only Ron had returned, Myrtle became curious and started chatting with him.

So, Ron sat on the high toilet seat, listening to Myrtle tell stories of the past.

Until Dumbledore returned with his companions.

Fortunately, this time Ron wasn’t left behind again, but followed the victorious group to the headmaster’s office.

So, at this moment, he had a belly full of complaints and couldn’t help whispering to Harry.

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