Just a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor: No More, No Less

Chapter 2: A Mysterious Letter and a Strange Door

The envelope felt thin, likely containing only a single sheet of paper. Yet, for the first time since shamelessly embracing his fantastical new life, Sherlock awoke with a jolt. He ignored the letter that fluttered to the floor and gazed upwards, wide-eyed, at the owl circling overhead. Uncertainty gnawed at him. Trained owls delivering letters? Was this a peculiar custom among British nobility, akin to the carrier pigeons of ancient China? After all, his expertise wasn't in deciphering foreign customs. Shrugging off the mystery, Sherlock bent down and retrieved the letter.

The owl, satisfied that its task was complete, ceased its aerial patrol. Unrewarded with a treat, it cast a sidelong glance at the bewildered Sherlock before flapping its wings and disappearing into the nearby woods in search of mice.

Of course, Sherlock remained oblivious to the owl's thoughts. He frowned, scrutinizing the letter in his hand. The envelope was crafted from heavy parchment, the address inscribed in emerald green ink, and curiously, lacking a stamp.

Mr. Sherlock Forrest 13 Magnolia Road, Surrey

The name on the address was his own. He flipped the letter over, revealing a wax seal emblazoned with a coat of arms. A lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake intertwined around a capital "H". The emblem, composed of four animals, felt strangely familiar, yet Sherlock couldn't pinpoint where he'd seen it before. He tapped his head in frustration and shook it clear. Resisting the urge to tear open the envelope immediately, he clutched it and the will he'd received earlier, heading towards his new home.

A single key on a ring served as both the door and room key. The hospital had returned it along with his other belongings upon discharge. The rusty hinges screeched in protest as he opened the front door. The overgrown yard, a stark contrast to his own preference for neatness, elicited a frown from the slightly obsessive Sherlock. However, dealing with that wasn't a priority at the moment. He navigated the weed-strewn path, his steps leading him straight to the house door.

Just as he reached for the doorknob, a long, drawn-out creak echoed from the aged wooden door. Before Sherlock could even insert the key, the dilapidated door swung open on its own accord. He froze in place, a sudden chill washing over him.

As a product of China's nine-year compulsory education and seven years of rigorous higher education, Sherlock had been a staunch materialist in his previous life. Even though a bizarre turn of events had landed him in the past, inhabiting a body defying scientific explanation, his core beliefs hadn't entirely shifted.

Haunted house?

Sherlock scoffed at the notion. Ghosts were mere figments of imagination, a tool adults used to frighten other adults, just like magic tricks used to entertain children. It had to be a simple case of an unlatched door, blown open by a stray gust of wind.

Reassured by his own scientific reasoning, Sherlock pushed the door open and entered the house as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

The living room, in stark contrast to the cluttered yard, was surprisingly tidy. However, a pervasive gloom hung over the entire space. Despite the bright sky outside, sunlight struggled to penetrate the windows, lending the room a medieval castle-like atmosphere.

Placing the will and envelope on the nearby shoe cabinet, Sherlock shed his coat. As he reached to drape it over the sofa, he noticed a coat hanger standing beside him, seemingly materialized out of thin air. He paused, casting a suspicious glance at the hanger positioned a mere step away to his right. Had it been there before?

Of course, it was just a fleeting thought. From the moment he entered, Sherlock's focus had been on the living room's furnishings, and the presence of a coat hanger near the door hadn't registered. He hung his coat and proceeded into the living room, the will and letter clutched in his hand.

The moment his back turned, the hanger by his coat seemed to come alive, silently shifting its position back to its inconspicuous corner near the door. Unaware of its movement, Sherlock continued his exploration.

A thorough inspection revealed a perfectly ordinary, albeit slightly dim, house. The owner's taste leaned towards a European medieval aesthetic, which, coupled with the dim lighting, gave the impression of a dark medieval fortress rather than a modern residence. Despite the slightly shabby exterior, the house boasted complete amenities and ample space. The first-floor living area and the second-floor sleeping quarters offered a clear separation.

For someone like Sherlock, whose previous life had been marked by frugality, such a residence was beyond his wildest dreams. Even without the inheritance from his newfound 'cheap' father," Sherlock mused, "this suite alone made him lucky enough."

As he inspected the bedrooms on the second floor, a peculiar door at the end of the corridor caught his attention. It was a stark, gray-black wooden door, almost invisible against the dim hallway. Unless one actively searched for it, the door would easily blend into the shadows.

Furthermore, the door was completely bare, devoid of any pattern or even a doorknob. If Sherlock hadn't noticed the faint glint of the metal hinges connecting it to the wall, he might have subconsciously dismissed it altogether.

Until now, he'd attributed any oddities to the eccentricities of the previous occupant. Perhaps the original inhabitant had a penchant for the macabre, decorating the house like an "old witch's secret lair."

Driven by a combination of curiosity and a desire to fully understand his new surroundings, Sherlock approached the door and gently pushed it with his hand. The door creaked open a sliver, revealing a soft, warm yellow light emanating from within.

Simultaneously, a sharp female voice echoed from within the room,

"Forrest!! Forre! Forrest!!"

The unexpected scream sent Sherlock stumbling backward, his back colliding with the wall. Every hair on his body seemed to stand on end.

Someone was in there.