Sherlock Holmes

In the night, Watson escaped into the shadows

Someone is hunting him!

Although many people were killed by this weak-looking doctor during the pursuit, in essence, there were still people who were chasing him.

Watson didn't know the specific reason at this time, but he could clearly feel that it was related to the air crash a few days ago. Of course, he definitely didn't know that Shylock contacted His Royal Highness the Holy Son that night, so his knowledge of the disaster, like all other civilians, all came from newspapers.

But at the same time, Watson could not really be confused by the seemingly true reports in the newspapers like other civilians. In fact, from the moment he saw the newspaper reports, he knew that this matter was not simple. . Because on the day of the incident, White Thorn Security Company received a notice that all employees were to go to a garden in Uptown London to wait for condolences from a powerful government official.

The location was very subtle, just in the opposite direction from where the airship crashed, and the so-called 'condolences' were nothing more than a boring interview by a newspaper reporter.

And on the third day after the disaster.

On that rare sunny morning.

Watson did not report to the White Thorn Security Company on time. He was a little worried about Sherlock and had not contacted him for three days. Watson had reason to wonder whether this guy was affected by the airship crash and died in the accident. A certain gas pipeline exploded.

So, he went to Baker Street. As for the result... of course there was no one there.

After that, Watson could only return to the White Thorn with a trace of worry, and when he opened the familiar door

A smell of blood penetrated the nose.

In fact, at this moment, he should have realized that things had developed to a point beyond his imagination, but the ordinary life in the past few years had gradually made his thinking more rational, which led to his subconscious seeming unwillingness to go. Think about the most insane development.

He followed the smell of blood, walked through the familiar corridor, walked up to the second floor, and then opened Miss Mary's office. There was no one there.

He took a few steps forward and opened several other doors. As a result, Mark was not there, his field team companions were not there, Priest Thompson was not there, and everyone in White Thorn was not there.

Until he followed the trace of blood and came to the end of the corridor, in front of the storage room that was not often opened.

Then, he slowly opened the door of the storage room.

At this moment, he finally realized that the world was still so ridiculous.

Even in the most prestigious mechanical capital of the entire empire, in the prosperous metropolis of London, in a civilized society wrapped in terms promoted by technology, rationality, education, quality, law, fairness, etc., everything , still seems so ridiculous.

Otherwise, why can I see those familiar faces, all piled together, piled in the pool of blood they shed and pooled on the floor? It was like a scene that didn't belong here, but was inserted abruptly, making it look so nondescript.

Watson just stared blankly for a few seconds, then closed the door.

He walked out of the white thorns. In the cold wind of winter, his expression didn't look any strange. Some women passing by were still attracted by his delicate face as usual. Some of them had more open personalities and simply cast their eyes on him. With highly suggestive gazes, Watson politely passed by these people as usual. No one noticed that this good-looking man's nails had sunk deeply into his palms.

The familiar pain stimulated his nerves, making him recall those past events again, as well as the thought that he had almost forgotten.

Once upon a time, he had always felt that the root cause of all diseases did not come from those tiny bacteria or viruses, but from many more normal things.

It comes from the unfairness, the estrangement between classes, and the differences between people; from the hypocritical smiles of nobles towards their servants, from the increasingly crowded traffic, and the increasingly expensive road maintenance costs; From the tip of the pyramid, from those who can influence the words of a newspaper;

Watson once mentioned in a casual conversation with Sherlock that the path of medicine is difficult, but the essence of his words is that it is difficult to do the task of 'saving people'.

After all, there is only one Nightingale, and there is only one girl in the entire world who can influence the entire world simply by 'curing diseases'.

And most doctors can only save a few people in their lifetime. It's not that these rescues are unimportant or sacred, but simply not enough.

When you see a boy who was brought back from the brink of death, he eventually embarked on the road of stealing because of his life, and then was hanged. When a child who was finally cured after the whole family raised all the money, but... After bumping into a certain clergyman, he was mercilessly thrown into prison; when a discharged patient became a floating corpse in the Thames; when a young girl defeated the disease, she could not defeat the increasingly heavy stall taxes.

At that moment, all doctors will sincerely feel that the treatment they can provide is so small and powerless.

Watson seemed to have returned to his apartment building very calmly, but he did not rush up. Instead, he sat on a bench at the street corner for a while. Sure enough, he saw some people wandering around again and again.

These people are killers.

There is someone, or some force, who wants all the people in White Thorn to die. Thinking of the airship disaster not long ago, Watson is very sure that White Thorn Security Company may have inadvertently become an important player in a chain of clues. Node, and in order to cover up the truth, some people began to carry out very thorough cleaning activities.

Well, because I was late for work today, I became the drop of oil that was not washed away in this cleaning.

He got up, went to the grocery store opposite, bought a hat, and then exchanged his thick designer suit with the store owner for his obviously outdated winter coat.

In this way, he covered up his too-pretty blond hair, walked into the alley opposite the apartment, and walked to the end.

There, there was an old man whom he often visited.

But at this time, the old man had disappeared. The abandoned steam furnace used to protect him from wind and rain was empty. However, there was a scalpel placed on the shabby small table next to the bed.

There is a letter under the knife

Watson walked over and picked up the letter. The handwriting on the letter was not very nice. It could be seen that the person who wrote it had not touched a pen for a long time, but there was still a dazzling sharpness between the lines. strength.

[Last divination, I said that your life will soon become exciting.

But I'm not sure if the word 'wonderful' is the right word.

Thinking about it afterwards, what I actually meant was that you finally had a reason to do what you always wanted to do.

You and I were very similar when we were young, not just in terms of wine or appearance, but you and I are both good at things that ordinary people are not very good at.

Therefore, I took it upon myself to leave this gift for you as compensation for treating me to a drink for so long. I hope you can use it smoothly.

I also hope that when you and I meet again, we can still have a good time over wine.

——————To my little friend, Holtz]

Watson stared at the letter blankly. It was really hard for him to imagine that this old drunkard who was usually decadent and sloppy to the extreme would have such a hobby of writing letters.

And judging from the choice of words and sentences, this guy seems to have received a good education.

only.

He looked at the scalpel in his hand and found that it was just a brand that could be bought easily in medical equipment stores. It only cost 20 pence. Compared with the wine at night, it was not even worth a bottle cap.

So he smiled and said angrily:

"How many times have I told you, my name is Watson, not Holtz."

After that, the scalpel turned slightly on his fingertips and disappeared. Watson fastened his hat and walked out of the alley against the wind.

And passed by a patrolman disguised as a passerby.

At this moment, the patrolman was very keen and saw a trace of golden hair under the thick brim of his hat. He immediately noticed it and stretched out his hand to catch the man, but as soon as he turned his head, he felt something Something went into the trachea.

He started coughing, then clutched his throat and collapsed to the ground. A large amount of blood seeped out from between his fingers. Soon, he died in the snow with unwilling eyes.

A few hours later, Sherlock watched the scene unfold in front of him under the night sky.

In the picture, Watson is being hunted by many people, but he is like a ghost, using various incredible methods to kill those who are being chased one by one.

However, as he killed more and more people, more and more people were chasing him. These people began to form groups of five and were well-equipped. Eventually, it seemed that the steam armor of the security team began to appear in the picture. There were even a few contractors.

Sherlock's frown deepened. So Watson is being threatened with death?

"What's wrong with you?" Nightingale noticed something strange about the man next to her and couldn't help but ask.

"I want to be discharged from the hospital."

"What?" Nightingale was startled. She couldn't see the pictures in the other person's mind, so she felt that Sherlock's request was so sudden and without any reason: "You can't leave yet, your body is not strong yet." Recover, at least you have to wait for one more day, and I should be able to regain some energy."

"I'm sorry, beautiful lady." Sherlock said, stretched out his hand to clasp the plaster on the other arm, and with a strong force, the plaster was torn open directly. He squeezed his numb palm and turned around. About to leave.

"Ignore the doctor's dissuasion and leave the hospital without authorization. All consequences will be borne by the patient himself!" Nightingale stood up and said very sternly.

"Really?" Sherlock hesitated: "Then if I am really injured again, I can only ask you to help me treat it again."

Before he finished speaking, his figure had disappeared into the night.

Nightingale's face was full of anger, but she was still extremely beautiful. How could he leave the hospital without permission in front of the doctor and shamelessly ask the doctor to wait for him to come back and treat him again?

Looking at the direction in which Shylock disappeared, Nightingale thought angrily, if you really come back to me with injuries all over again, you must instruct the nurse to use the largest needle when treating the patient! !