Sherlock Holmes

Old Jack has two things to do today.

The first thing is that he has to pay the water bill.

The second thing is that he has to kill someone.

Because he has some procrastination, he always likes to put off difficult things until the end.

So he planned to kill that person first.

6am.

288 A.D.—London.

In fact, morning is not much different from dusk, and the visibility is not very good. The Berlin-made airship above the head floats lazily like a giant whale, blocking the sunlight that is not much. The whole city seems to be wrapped in a ball falling from the sky. among the dust.

But what's amazing is that when you raise your head, you can still see the large chimney in the distance pouring out thick smoke.

These chimneys are like flags, demonstrating the empire's supreme power and wealth. After the gates of hell were opened, these chimneys became even more diligent.

In the words of the newspaper. "If the factories don't step up their work, what will happen to the financial expenditure? Who will support the army? Who will make the weapons? Who will deal with the demons running out of the door?"

It sounds grand, but in fact, even people like Old Jack who haven't read much know that what comes out of those chimneys is the blood and sweat of poor people.

As for the money, it all goes into the pockets of the capitalists.

Oh, at this time, the word "capitalist" was not yet popular, so old Jack used to use other words to call them.

For example: a bastard with no asshole.

Xianglan Street, Xiacheng District, is a small street about two kilometers away from the Thames River.

It took Old Jack three hours to get here, and now the morning fog has almost cleared. Looking around, he could see cow dung that was not very fresh on the ground, trash cans on the roadside that had not been cleaned for months, steam billowing from the sewers, and two rats running past a wild cat. The cat just yawned lazily.

At the end of the street was a grocery store. Even if the fog cleared, the store was still hidden in the shadows of the surrounding walls.

This all goes to show that this is a great place to kill someone.

Old Jack was very happy.

He stepped over the cow dung on the ground, arrived at the door of the grocery store, opened the door and walked in.

"Morning!" He greeted a pot-bellied boss behind the counter.

The boss was holding a newspaper and looked over the top of the newspaper. He didn't say anything, and he looked fierce and unfriendly.

Old Jack looked at the red bloodshot eyes with obvious cirrhosis of the liver and the particularly prominent beer belly, and determined that this guy was the person he wanted to kill today.

"Excuse me, is there a fruit knife here?" he asked.

"Over there." The boss pointed in a direction with his eyes angrily.

"Thank you." Jack thanked him, walked over, picked out a handful, and walked back to the counter.

"Seven pence." The boss continued in that unfriendly tone.

Jack thought, with such an unpleasant temper, it was reasonable for someone to want to buy his life.

Of course, he didn't want to worry about who this guy had offended. He just wanted to finish the job quickly and pay the water bill.

"Excuse me, is there a police station nearby?" He took out a shilling and put it on the table.

"No."

"How many guests are there usually here?"

"There's no one on the street, where are the customers?!" The boss muttered angrily and turned around to find change.

Jack nodded in relief, then picked up the knife.

It went into the opponent's neck smoothly.

Sometimes, old Jack always wonders why human beings are so fragile and can be killed with a knife, but they can rule the entire world.

And those demons are obviously very powerful, but the gate to hell has been open for two hundred years, but they are still blocked by humans on the Antarctic continent, and they cannot even cross the Drake Strait.

Is it really because of those steam chariots that rely on boiling water to move?

Or is it because of those contractors who have a symbiotic relationship with the devil?

Whatever happened, he was just a killer with no reputation. He usually took orders and went about his life. He might stop working one day and starve to death at home. He had no intention of caring about things on the battlefield.

It's not easy for anyone these days.

Fortunately, today's job was quite easy. The knife was very sharp and easily penetrated the opponent's neck. Then it tore open the neck muscles and went straight to the throat. With a slight pick, the entire airway was cut open.

Seeing the boss staring at him with horrified eyes, covering his neck and falling down, writhing on the ground like a fat maggot, Jack sighed helplessly, turned around, and turned the door number to [CLOSE] On the other hand, he closed the door curtain and locked the door.

He's so fat. How much effort would it take to lift him out at once? Fortunately, there are no people on this street now. In 10 minutes, I should be able to carry it to the sewer.

Just thinking about it.

Suddenly, Jack had a bad premonition again, because when he saw the person on the ground covering his throat, his fingers were stuck in the wound because of too much force, and the thick knuckles were bright red there. He poked and poked into the cracks.

"Well, it shouldn't be."

Before he finished speaking, his premonition came true.

The boss managed to puncture his own artery.

Fat people generally have high blood pressure, and people with high blood pressure have fragile blood vessels.

In an instant, blood spurted out fiercely from the wound, like a small fountain, gurgling straight to the ceiling, and then was smashed into large blood flowers, splattering on the ground.

As we all know, killing is actually a very simple thing, but if the corpse is spraying blood everywhere, it will be annoying to clean up. This is the same as cooking is easy, but washing dishes is very annoying.

So Old Jack was completely decadent at this moment.

He leaned against the door, rubbing his head in pain, and once again had the idea of ​​​​retiring quickly.

"How can this be done?!"

And just when he was in great pain.

"Ring ring ring"

A series of telephone rings suddenly rang.

Old Jack was stunned and followed the sound to find the phone. Finally, he found the phone under a pile of newspapers on the counter.

The very standard 'Scottish Youth A. Bell' telephone was fairly common in this era, but it was not cheap.

He looked at the phone that kept making noise in front of him and hesitated whether he should answer it.

After weighing it over in his mind, he decided to pick up the phone first, even if he didn't speak, just listen to who the other party was.

So. He put the microphone to his ear

A very clear man's voice came from the phone.

"Hello, is this Mr. Jack? I'm sorry to disturb you, but I want to confirm, have you finished killing?"

"???"

Jack felt that his mind was blank for a moment, and then a ridiculous and evil feeling crept into his head.

"Snapped!"

He put the phone back.

To be honest, he was a little confused.

what's the situation? Is the person on the phone saying 'Mr. Jack'?

Are you talking to me? But how does the other party know I'm here?

Also, what does he mean by "the killing is over"?

Just as he was wondering, he suddenly heard a knock on the door: "Dong~dong~dong~".

Old Jack immediately turned his head. He had been a killer for more than thirty years. At this moment, he unusually held his breath.

‘Who could be out there? ’

He thought about it, and subconsciously began to feel lucky that he had locked the door just now.

'It should be a passing guest. As long as he doesn't say anything, he will know how to get out. ’

However, my thoughts have not yet settled

"Click! Click!"

The lock actually made a few soft noises!

Then the door handle slowly turned

Then, he was pushed away.

Outside the door, stood a man in a trench coat. He was very tall, but also very thin. He was about 30 years old. He had a very typical British face, but his nose was a bit high, which made his facial features a little too three-dimensional.

The gray sunlight shone in from the edge of his body, coating the blood in the room with an evil golden color.

The man glanced at the plasma fountain in front of him that had not yet stopped. He did not show any panic, but instead breathed a sigh of relief as if he suddenly understood.

"Huh--what did I say? I waited outside for 5 minutes and didn't see you come out. I thought you missed it. It turned out that the artery was broken. It doesn't matter. You just finish the killing anyway. That's okay. Even if someone gets the stolen goods together."

As the man spoke, he cast his gaze at Old Jack aside. Seeing the latter's confused expression, he casually took off his old top hat and placed it on his chest, bowing slightly lazily:

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. This is Sherlock Holmes, a detective."