I founded Tantric Buddhism in London

"It seems to be the first case in the original work - the study of the word in scarlet."

Watson looked at the signature at the end of the letter.

Tobias Grayson...he had heard of this name. He was also a detective, but unlike wild detectives like Sherlock Holmes, he was an official detective affiliated with Scotland Yard and worked for the public.

Among the idiot detectives in London, he and Lestrade are the only two top-notch figures. They can be called smart and capable, but they both have the problem of being conservative. They are too old-school in their thinking and find it difficult to accept the new scientific ideas. The method of solving crimes makes him inferior among detectives.

Moreover, these two people have always had bad tempers and all kinds of overt and covert fights. If they were both responsible for this case, there would be a lot of fun on the scene - all of the above are from Charlotte's original words.

Watson asked: "Want to go there?"

Charlotte pondered: "I haven't decided whether to go or not. Grayson always looks down on us female detectives and only thinks of me when he encounters difficult cases that cannot be solved. I'm just thinking about going." Don’t give him a blow while he wants something from me this time.”

"Besides, even if the case is solved, this guy will definitely take the credit for himself."

Charlotte combed her messy hair behind her ears and murmured: "But, it's rare to be able to go to the scene of a murder in person to defeat his prestige... In the past, even though Grace knew in her heart that her talents were far greater than But I never dare to admit this in front of other people. This time I just went to the scene to laugh at him in front of his subordinates. "

"Then I'll inform Victor."

Victor is the coachman of the Holmes family. Specifically, he should be Charlotte's exclusive coachman. The spacious four-wheeled carriage belongs to her alone.

Charlotte put on her woolen coat, and her eagerness to try it out revealed her true inner thoughts.

She looked at Watson's left leg, "By the way, your legs and feet are still good, right?"

Watson smiled pretending to be relaxed and waved his cane, "There's no problem, I just can't run. Besides, it's not my turn to track down criminals."

They got on Victor's carriage and soon arrived at the street where the crime took place.

This place is a little far away from the bustling urban area. There are only four houses in the whole street, two of which are vacant. It is sparsely populated. It looks like a geomantic treasure place for committing crimes.

No. 3 Garden Street, Lauriston, looks like a typical haunted house just from its appearance. The grass in the garden has been neglected for a long time, withered and sparse, the moldy walls are covered with dense ivy, and the thick gray windowpanes are as white as eyes. The shadows, especially the small round window in the attic, are the most eye-catching, like the single eye of the giant Polyphemus.

The withered old trees are twisted like people crying in despair. Combined with London's unique haze weather filter, it gives people a gloomy feeling at a glance.

At this moment, there is a circle of people doing good things around the wooden fence wall of the scene, there are more than ten people. Watson estimated that residents from the three nearby streets would come here to join in the fun.

There was only one burly police officer blocking the entrance to the courtyard to maintain order and prevent idlers from breaking in and disrupting the scene.

Watson followed the tall female detective out of the carriage. Charlotte did not go straight to the crime scene. Instead, she walked slowly around the perimeter of the yard and carefully observed the situation in the yard.

He focused his attention on the busybodies who were watching.

According to the criminal psychology that has not yet sprouted in the contemporary era but has been gradually improved in later generations, most criminals have the habit of returning to the crime scene, not only to avoid missing evidence, but also to always inquire about the progress of the investigation. There are even some psychopaths. The purpose of revisiting the scene is simply to see the old scene and recall the thrill of killing at that time.

He walked among the crowd, always paying attention to the expressions of the people he passed by. Curiosity, fear, worry... all kinds of faces passed through Watson's eyes.

Perhaps his skills in micro-expression analysis were not deep enough and he failed to detect suspicious targets.

"Watson, let's go in."

Miss Charlotte had already glanced around and called her assistant. Judging from her expression, she seemed to be unable to find any useful clues.

The female detective showed Grayson's souvenir, and the police officer guarding the door let him go.

Watson slowly stepped onto the wet and muddy path in the garden, and his leather boots were immediately stained with mud.

He lowered his head and focused his gaze on the dense and messy shoe prints in the courtyard.

Identifying traces is an indispensable and necessary skill on the battlefield.

Watson only had to glance around to know that about seven people had passed by here before them - if their footprints were not completely covered by those who came after them.

He even inferred the approximate height and build of the owner of the footprints based on the size and depth of the footprints.

In Watson's eyes, the messy footprints began to shine with light, and the light condensed into blurry figures, all of which were models built based on the inference results.

Watson kept these results in mind and followed Holmes into the courtyard.

At this moment, a tall detective with blond hair and pale face stood at the door of the house. He held a notebook under his ribs. He showed an embarrassed expression after seeing Holmes, and he came over reluctantly.

"Miss Charlotte, you are finally here. This is really great. I have kept the crime scene intact for you, and no details have been touched."

"Oh, well, what about here?" Miss Charlotte pointed to the messy path in front of the door that looked like it had been run by a herd of African buffaloes, and said with a hint of sarcasm: "Oh, I understand, Grayson, you must think this is the same as The circumstances of this case have nothing to do with it, so why would you allow your subordinates to do whatever they want?"

Grace wiped the sweat from her forehead and explained vaguely: "I...I have been busy inside, and my colleague Mr. Lestrade is responsible for all the outside matters. ”

"Hey! Grayson, don't blame me, you guy. You came to this scene first."

A thin detective with a handsome oily haircut hurried out from behind the door. He shouted angrily at Grace.

It seems that this is another outstanding official detective in London - Lestrade.

"You have the nerve to say you're late?! You obviously live in the next block, but why are you here later than me? You're obviously handling the case passively! It seems I have to report your work attitude to my superiors!"

"Hiccup -" Lestrade was so angry that he let out an angry burp that was rich in single malt alcohol. "Don't talk nonsense. I...I worked overtime last night to handle the case. I got up late this morning. Do you think Does everyone have nothing to do every day like you, Grayson, and get off work on time?!”

Seeing the two men scolding each other like shrews, the female detective raised her sword-sharp eyebrows at Watson with a look of 'Look, I'll just say it'.

Seeing that the two elite detectives were getting more and more fierce, and seemed to be about to take action, Charlotte quickly stepped forward to pull them apart, and scolded: "It seems that having you two great detectives here is enough, and there is no need for it anymore." I’m a wild little detective, so I’ll go?”

Lestrade let go of Grayson's collar, rubbed his hands and said flatteringly: "No, Miss Holmes! We have tried our best, but we still haven't gained anything. This is a typical strange case, completely in line with your preferences. You have a weird appetite, that’s why I specially invited you here.”

Charlotte chuckled and pushed away the two people blocking the door, "Let's take a look inside first."

The door panels and wooden bolts of this room had been roughly removed and thrown aside. The room looked like it had not been inhabited for a long time and lacked the vitality of the world. There was a rotten and moldy smell everywhere.

But the floor was swept clean and spotless. It seemed that the deceased who sneaked into the empty house was still a tidy person, but unfortunately it was now covered with muddy footprints.

Watson and Holmes followed the two police detectives into the front hall, and saw that the large square room was filled with mountains of books, all of which were old and had leather covers with traces of time engraved on them. After a quick glance, I saw that they were all strange and wide-ranging documents, such as: books from a secret society with roses and crosses printed on the cover, promotional pamphlets by a prohibitionist campaigner, fragile-looking manuscripts, and contents. An unsightly picture album...

Watson moved his gaze away from the lustful body portrait painted in psychedelic colors and turned to observe the scene.

The once colorful wallpaper on the wall of the front hall was covered with mold and peeled off in large areas. Faint light filtered in through the gaps in the boarded windows, but was blocked by the rising dust, making the indoor environment particularly hazy and gloomy.

The victim of this case lay on the swollen wooden floor, a stiff and upturned body, lying in the middle of a pile of scattered books, with a beautiful extinguished kerosene lamp in front of him.

This kerosene lamp seemed to be sculptured from a flawless crystal. It was crystal clear and seemed to be shining with bright starlight in the dim room. It was really too beautiful.

Watson cast his eyes on the lamp wall, and in a daze he seemed to see a cold light flashing past. The light and shadow were mixed with a pale face as emotionless as a machine, which was watching silently. The busy people in the room seemed to be observing and recording, as if they were ghosts imprisoned inside.

The pair of blazing white eyes suddenly looked at Watson, who happened to meet his eyes.

The moment their eyes met, a strong light burst out from the lamp!

This intense light, which can penetrate glass and skin, pierces Watson's eyeballs like a sharp sword!

Light leaked in through the cracks in the skull, dripping like viscous liquid onto the folds of the brain.

Some kind of bone-chilling coldness froze his consciousness, but his thinking was clearer than ever.

Watson seemed to be ascending, his noble soul separated from his weak body, and every light and color in the world became brighter, brighter, and more colorful...

"Hey man, give in."

The police officers coming in and out woke up the absent-minded Watson. He looked at the ordinary and slightly exquisite kerosene lamp in bewilderment, feeling that he seemed to have forgotten something.

He comes from the glow and we can't help but look at it.