Sherlock Holmes

So, why did Mr. Ripper kill Nightingale?

This is what Sherlock cares about most at this time, but unfortunately, he has no entry point, because the real Ripper has never appeared.

He just used letters one after another to create countless helpless murderers.

So what kind of person is this person? Why can he know the dark thoughts of so many people? Why does he have such terrible criminal talents and can easily build an incredibly large criminal group? If it weren't for Hopkins, an alien , is constantly reducing this group, so now, the Ripper is likely to have spread his minions to all levels of the empire.

[You can kill someone without taking any responsibility]

What a terrible temptation.

Everyone has a dark side in their hearts. Even the most well-behaved children have once fantasized about:

'It would be great if that guy died'

You can kill the hostess who beats and scolds you every day, you can kill the boss who deducts wages for various reasons, you can kill the classmate who bullies you, you can kill any rich man who is richer than you, You can kill any naughty child you dislike, you can kill your parents, your friends, your wife, your children, you can kill those people who live a happy life.

But, there is no need to bear any responsibility!

There is an old saying in the Empire: Never tempt the darkness in human form.

So when these wishes can really come true, how many people will be willing to open the envelope at all costs and release the "Ripper" in their hearts.

This is not an ordinary criminal, this is an opponent that can really interest Sherlock.

Therefore, he was now extremely excited and licking every crevice of his teeth to relieve the itching that came from deep in his gums.

Today is the last day of the preview date.

His mission is to protect Nightingale.

But now, this mission made him extremely looking forward to it, he really wanted to see what kind of tricks that guy could use in front of him.

The hands of the clock were constantly moving forward. No matter how long the days passed, time would eventually pass. Therefore, the sky gradually became brighter, and when the first ray of sunshine once again covered Baker Street, everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Of course, the day has not passed yet, so no one dares to really rest.

It was noon. Nothing happened.

Time came again at night, and still nothing happened.

Until 8 o'clock after dark, some soldiers were even a little confused, thinking that the Ripper had given up on this murder. After all, no matter who he was, he could only stay away under such a battle.

At 11 o'clock at night, the lights were brightly lit in front of the apartment at No. 221 Baker Street. Instead of changing places during the day, these people decided to stay here.

Speaking of the reason, it may be a little weird, because this is where Sherlock lives, so it is more reassuring than those more heavily guarded and complicated fortresses.

Hopkins and Gregson had met Sherlock, so in their hearts, they seemed to feel that no criminal would be willing to approach this simple apartment building.

In the room, a lot of people were staying together just like last night, making this small rental house seem a bit crowded.

In the tense atmosphere of the past few days, Gregson's mental energy has been exhausted to the extreme, but he understands that the closer to the end, the more dangerous and abnormal it is, because predators often inflict fatal blows on their prey when they are most relaxed. One hit.

But he came to the clock, looked at the hands carefully, and found that there was less than an hour left before the end of the day.

By the time it's past midnight, the Ripper's murder schedule is over.

"I said, this clock in your house will not be adjusted by anyone. For example, it is actually 10 o'clock now, and then let us relax our vigilance an hour earlier."

Gregson asked.

"There should be no such possibility. Unless someone can quietly change the time on our pocket watches, all the timepieces of the soldiers outside, the armored vehicles, and the Big Ben on the Thames River, otherwise, he can't make it happen. How did we produce the time error?"

Hopkins explained calmly.

"But... it's already 11 o'clock, and there's still no movement at all." Captain Gregson turned the revolver in his hand and muttered in confusion. It wasn't that he expected the Ripper to actually take action, but he Now I really can't think of what kind of attitude he will take to murder Miss Nightingale with only such a short time left.

"I think that guy probably doesn't dare to come." Nopa threw a metal sphere back and forth between his hands. If others knew, this sphere could explode and scorch the whole place in an instant. The huge current in the apartment probably wouldn't let her play with it like this again.

In order to make the people here relax a little, Nightingale said with a smile: "Otherwise, how about we announce in advance that the plan to protect me is successful."

This simple joke from the girl's mouth can indeed make people present feel a little relaxed.

Of course, it's just a matter of mentality. As for spirituality, everyone is maintaining the highest level of concentration.

11:30. Everything is as usual.

11:55. There are only 5 minutes left before the end of the day. Hopkins stood up, always ready for the final battle. Watson also stood up slowly and approached Nightingale. Nopa will Putting his hand into the huge satchel, Captain Gregson glanced at the clock again and found that it was already 11:56, and the second hand was constantly rotating rapidly in one direction.

Today is coming to an end.

Everything seems to indicate that the Ripper's murder preview has completely failed.

And at this moment, at the corner of Baker Street, a ragged old beggar wandered into the light of the searchlight.

He walked very slowly, limping, and seemed to have difficulty even doing the most basic movements.

A security guard spotted this person immediately and immediately raised his gun to face him. At this time, even if the other person was a poor scavenger with a broken body and no weapons in his hands, there was no way he could Anyone who slacks off even a little bit about it.

"leave here!"

The soldier ordered, and the gun in his hand was already aiming. What is certain is that as long as the poor beggar takes another step forward, he will pull the trigger without mercy.

A beggar's life is nothing compared to the safety of Miss Nightingale. So at this time, no one will care whether the other party has no fighting ability at first glance, let alone I will care whether this old beggar is innocent or not.

Fortunately, although half of the old beggar's ears were missing, his hearing was still intact, so he stopped obediently.

But he put his hand into his shabby clothes.

"What are you doing?!"

The soldier in front of him noticed the beggar's movements and immediately shouted. In an instant, countless guns were aimed at the beggar, and there was only a burst of gunshots "Bang! Bang! Bang!", and several bullets were inserted into the opponent's body. There was a large clear blood mark on his shoulder and abdomen, and his already broken leg was penetrated by a bullet, causing him to fall to the ground miserably.

It was only then that everyone finally saw clearly that what he took out of his clothes was actually a letter.

Thirty seconds later, a soldier knocked on the door of No. 221B.

After Gregson carefully pointed his gun at the door and then opened the door, the soldier hurriedly handed over a letter.

"Report, we captured an old beggar."

It was said that he was captured, but in fact, based on the gunshot wounds of the old beggar, he was basically about to die. However, the soldier obviously didn't care much about this and continued:

"He said there was a letter for Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"A letter?" Captain Gregson frowned. He clearly felt that this matter was a little strange. At this time, there were only three minutes left before midnight. Suddenly a letter was delivered. He must have thought about it. Very abnormal.

But the letter looked so ordinary, and it definitely did not contain any flammable or explosive materials, so Captain Gregson did not drive out the soldiers in front of him at the first time.

And at this moment, Sherlock's eyes had already turned to the letter in the soldier's hand.

His eyes opened slightly.

There seemed to be a trace of excitement shining in the depths of those pupils, but they still managed to restrain themselves and asked Hopkins next to them:

"Is this this kind of letter?"

Hopkins was breathing a little faster at this time, because he was sure that the envelope held in the soldier's hand was made of the same material he received.

To put it more clearly, the real "Ripper" who has never shown his face actually sent a letter to Sherlock at this juncture!

"Don't answer."

Hopkins looked at Sherlock, with obvious panic in his eyes. He shook his head extremely uneasily. Although he didn't know what would happen to Sherlock when he received this letter, he felt that , definitely not a good thing!

However, it was already too late.

Sherlock at this time! Received a letter from the real Ripper!

How could he not open it and read it?

So, he had already taken steps towards the door.

It is now 11:57:39.

He took two more steps.

The people in the room saw Hopkins' expression, but they didn't know what the letter meant, nor did they understand where the other person's frightened expression came from, nor did they rush forward to stop Sherlock.

In fact, even stopping it is useless.

The time has come to 11:57:40.

Sherlock is about to take the third step. At that time, he can just reach out and take the letter.

But at this moment.

Suddenly, he stopped, then frowned, as if he thought of something, tilted his head, and asked the soldier holding the envelope at the door.

"Tell me, who sent this letter?"

"An old beggar." The soldier did not feel at all how many frightened and complicated emotions were filled in the past three seconds. He just reported to the detective with great respect.

After hearing this, Sherlock was silent for a few seconds.

"Did this old beggar suffer serious physical injuries? His whole body was in a state of disrepair?"

he asked.

"Yes!" The soldier nodded in reply, but it was obvious that he was a little curious as to why the detective in front of him knew such a thing.

But he didn't ask.

Because the moment he nodded, Sherlock had already turned around and looked in the direction of Nightingale.

Now, he was less than one meter away from Nightingale.

The latter could clearly see Sherlock's eyes, and then she found with some confusion that the person he was looking at didn't seem to be her.

But it was John Watson standing behind him