At the back of the pub, behind the Bartender counter.

There is a small room, with three lockers with a shade of yellow, most likely made of brass. The ceiling is only a couple of feet taller than Sherlock. Meanwhile, Sherlock could feel the sturdy floor beneath his feet, denting his feet on the ground from curiosity.

The background noise from the pub was muffled greatly, giving him the impression that the wall is securely insulated to block off the noises from the outside.

“Here’s your outfit. It might be a bit… too big for you since the last worker left, but I hope you don’t mind.” William opened one of the brass locker with a key strapped to his waist, reaching his hand inside, then took out a wooden box.

“Not at all.” Sherlock took the box from William delicate hand, feeling the weight of the content inside. Undoubtedly, it is heavily than what he expected from some simple attire.

William looked apologetic as he reach into the locker again.

Kaching.

The flapping of the keys twinkle against one another. After a short moment, William closed the locker and locked it away with his own set of keys from his waist.

“Here is also your set of keys. One for opening the door to here, and another for the pub.” William stick out the individuals key, explaining their function with a glistening look.

“Also, here’s your apartment key, for room 207 across the street.”

“Right.” Sherlock nodded.

“This keys, is a bit special.” William pointed out the last key.

It was yellow, similar to the color of the locker, which is either made out of brass or copper, but with his perception of old style craftsmanship, he guess that it’s probably brass. Sherlock took great note of the details at the tail of the key, as there is two delicate fin branching outward that comes back to the center, forming an arch.

“This keys is for the underground basement. The boss said that only the ‘waiter’ at the time can use the key, no one else is authorized.” William handed over the keys seeing that Sherlock heard his words.

“What exactly is the job of a ‘waiter’?” He asked, pretending to be hesitant as he add some stutter in his voice.

“Just think of it as a bodyguard… or cleanup for that matter. Sometimes, the discussion might get too heated, resulting in various conflict that could damage the pub and cause casualty, your job is to stop this from happening.” William briefly explained to Sherlock in a patient tone.

During this time, William received a handful of questions from Sherlock, who appeared to look older than him. To his surprised, Sherlock pin down the task quite quickly, as his questions contain crucial information that would make or break his job.

“What was your previous job, Sherlock?” William couldn’t help but asked with a curious tone to his voice.

“Don’t mind me, I was just a small little detective. As you can see…” Sherlock pointed at his shirtless body, then continued.

“I’m just a poor detective without a home, nothing much.” William looked apologetic and sympathizing as he encourage Sherlock.

“Don’t worry Detective Sherlock! The boss knows how to take care of his people, I hope you pursuit your career!” Sherlock, aka Hao Xu, couldn’t help but sigh. Feeling pity for the innocent youth in front of him.

In the end, he had no option. He’s playing the role of Sherlock, a runaway detective who somehow found his way here. Injured and unemployed, he have no choice but to work as a waiter. This narrative put less suspicion on his identity when the Union scout nearby, asking the locals if they see any ‘questionable’ individuals.

“You can start working tomorrow, there’s no rush. I have to leave for noon shift, If you have any question, you can find me across the street, number 204.” William turned toward the door, stopping before continuing.

“Oh right, that shot… it was fantastic!” He winked his eyes at Sherlock, who was confused at what he meant.

It was then he realized the entire ordeal.

The act of him killing that thug attracted the attention of the boss, who decided to hire him to be a ‘bodyguard’.

Sherlock sat down on the small bench, placing down his rifle by the locker, and opened the wooden box.

Inside was a black suit with an old Victorian style hat.

Sherlock lift up the outfit, feeling the soft fabric against his hand, causing him to think it’s made of cotton.

“Calling it a suit… is a bit much. It’s more like a cloak.” Sherlock put on the suit inside the locker room. During the process, he couldn’t help but realized how fitting it was for him.

It took him a minute to put it on.

After he was done, he stood in front of the mirror inside the room, sizing himself up and down.

The suit was tailored to be comfortable, easy to move around. It was a mix of cloak and suit, as the back of the suit have a small floating cloak rather than the usual tight-fitting aspect of the fabric. Meanwhile, he appreciate the chest pocket as he put the coin he received from Luke inside.

Sherlock looked at himself, it was only now he gets to see what he looks like.

“It’s not me, but at the same time, it is me. I am Sherlock, a detective. Not Hao Xu, not 01.” Sherlock, aka Hao Xu, quietly mutter to himself as he use his hand to change his facial expression, forming an unnatural smile.