The ability to see through phenomena to essence, to discover truth in minute details, is certainly a talent.
But it must also be forged through continuous practice.
Initially, Sherlock started with relatively simple problems.
For instance, when meeting a stranger, determining their history and profession through observation.
Such training might seem childish and boring, but it could sharpen one's observational abilities.
As time passed and practice continued, Sherlock's skills in this area became increasingly proficient.
Now he already knew where to observe and what to look for.
He had summarized his own deductive method.
Though not yet perfect, observation and analysis had become instinctive for him.
If he were in a train car, he could even tell the occupations of all fellow passengers through observation.
—Unfortunately, no one would bet with him, or he would surely make a fortune.
While Sherlock questioned the pub owner Tom, the latter led Sherlock and his parents through the bar to a small courtyard surrounded by walls on all sides.
Sherlock's gaze quickly swept the surroundings, finding nothing but a trash can and some weeds.
So... the problem was with the trash can?
Sherlock stepped forward two paces, approaching closely.
At the same time, Tom made his move.
He slowly drew his wand, preparing to do something, when he suddenly turned back to smile at Sherlock, reminding him:
"Once you have a wand, you'll need to come in yourselves—remember this brick's position. It's above the trash can..."
"Third brick up, second brick across."
Sherlock said calmly.
Tom turned to look at Sherlock with surprise: "You... how did you know?"
Because only it was different from the other bricks on the wall, whether in color or the degree of wear around its edges.
For someone skilled in observation, discovering this wasn't very difficult.
"Truly amazing observational ability!"
Tom, upon hearing Sherlock's explanation, couldn't help but express sincere admiration, then gently tapped the brick three times with his wand.
The Holmes family stared intently at the brick.
Next, something astonishing happened.
The tapped brick began to shake.
First, a small hole appeared in the center.
Then the bricks on both sides moved rapidly, and the opening grew larger and larger.
Finally, a wide archway appeared before them.
The archway led to a cobblestone street that seemed to go on forever.
Compared to the originally dim and cramped Leaky Cauldron, this street appeared exceptionally bright.
One could say that their view suddenly opened up completely.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley."
Tom's voice rang out at just the right moment.
This was their destination: Diagon Alley.
Sherlock turned around to see the archway narrowing, the wall returning to its original state, and Tom waving goodbye to them.
"That short man... he has no money on him. He should be preparing to run now."
Sherlock thought for a moment and decided to give a warning.
Hearing his words, Tom's face immediately changed, as if remembering something. Without even thanking them, he ran back inside.
Then they heard sounds of "Stop!" "Stop right there!" "Catch him!" faintly coming from inside the pub.
Sherlock shrugged, withdrew his gaze, and walked onto the street with his parents.
Diagon Alley formed a stark contrast with the Leaky Cauldron.
Bright, wide streets, bustling shops, crowds of people.
Even the well-traveled Mr. Holmes couldn't help saying, "To think London would have such a place—it's truly unimaginable."
Mrs. Holmes nodded, agreeing with her husband's assessment.
Sherlock fell into thought.
Since confirming that magic's existence wasn't fake news, the magical world's attraction for him had grown stronger and stronger.
Now it seemed that the Leaky Cauldron—Diagon Alley existence was somewhat similar to the mirror worlds of science fiction works.
However, the magical world shouldn't exist separate from the mundane world. Presumably, even if the city government didn't know, the Prime Minister and the Royal Family should be aware.
Having such a place would certainly mean much less tax revenue for the city government.
Sherlock thought to himself.
Following McGonagall's instructions, the three first went to Gringotts Wizarding Bank on the north side of Diagon Alley.
They needed to exchange some magical currency.
Yes, though somewhat unexpected, the magical world truly had its own monetary system.
Gold coins were Galleons, seventeen silver Sickles made one Galleon, and twenty-nine copper Knuts made one Sickle.
This exchange rate inevitably made Sherlock somewhat disdainful of wizards' mathematical abilities.
Even if they couldn't arrange it as decimal, they should at least make the exchange rates between the three currencies consistent!
Though Britain had once had the old system of 1 pound to 20 shillings, one shilling to 12 pence, since the 1971 currency reform abolished shillings, it had long since changed to 1 pound exchanging for 100 new pence.
The mundane world was constantly progressing—why couldn't the magical world keep up?
Regrettable as it was, money still needed to be exchanged.
Compared to other buildings in Diagon Alley, Gringotts Wizarding Bank was quite distinctive.
The towering white building made it stand out like a crane among chickens in the surrounding low buildings, and its bronze doors gleamed in the sunlight.
However, what attracted people most was the fellow standing at the door in a scarlet and gold uniform.
Short in stature, with long arms and legs, a dark face, and a long, pointed beard—that was...
"A goblin."
Seeing this scene, Sherlock's eyes lit up—another creature from legend.
"Are you here to exchange money? Don't wander around, follow me."
Probably recognizing the non-wizard status of the Holmes couple, the goblin immediately guessed the trio's purpose, bowed to them, and spoke.
Sherlock noticed the other's distant attitude and rather cold tone.
'Tsk, still having such an attitude in the service industry—the magical world really should train them properly.'
The Holmes parents weren't in the mood to consider this. Mrs. Holmes even looked somewhat worried:
"Tarquin, I wonder if the money we brought is enough? Sherlock seems to need quite a lot of things. I wouldn't want him to suffer in such a distant place..."
"Don't worry Violet, Trust me, there's no problem."
Mr. Holmes quietly reassured her. The Holmes family foundation was quite solid.
Sherlock's grandfather was a hereditary country squire—in Victorian times, that would be proper nobility.
Even in present-day London, they belonged to the upper tier of the middle class.
So as long as the magical world's currency values weren't too outrageous, Mr. Holmes was confident in his family's purchasing power.
When following the goblin through the second silver door, the text carved on the two doors caught Sherlock's attention.