Sherlock Holmes

In fact, from a drama point of view, the atmosphere of this section is very good, that is, a person who is not that strong in character, but has the talent to be good at killing, and then lives a very contradictory life, and finally finds satisfaction before his death. inheritance, just casually recall the past few decades, and that's it.

However, Sherlock suddenly came over and disrupted the entire atmosphere.

The old beggar turned his head in confusion, and his eyes met Sherlock's.

This was something he never quite understood about the other party.

It was obvious that he no longer wanted to kill anyone, it was obvious that Nightingale's life was saved, and it was obvious that no one died in this room. This was already the best ending.

Why does this guy come out to ask this kind of question?

So, he shook his head and signaled again that he didn't want to say anything more.

There are some things that the fewer people know about, the better, so there is no need to swear to the Holy Light at the top of your lungs, or scold the other person not to ask such stupid questions again, just shake your head and refuse in a normal way. He even There is no excuse to make up a reason.

Because he knew very well that if he didn't say it, no one would make him say it.

Maybe Sherlock, a young man, felt that since he was seriously injured now, he could be arrested and tortured. Maybe he could get some potion from the Academy of Life Sciences to make people sleepy and can only tell the truth and pour it into him, but These are impossible things.

Because no matter how weak he is, even if his internal organs are completely burnt to death, it is impossible to keep him here with dozens of guns.

So he shook his head, which was getting heavier due to lack of blood, and then used his only remaining hand to support the wall. He slowly stood up, his blood-soaked clothes left the ground, and he pulled out streaks of sticky silk.

Just like what the old guy Dante said, the world already belongs to those young people.

That's why he walked out of the town that day and met a prisoner in the Blood Prison.

That was the last thing he did for this world.

As for myself.

He has also done the last thing for this world. John Watson is a very talented young man. In many cases, he is very similar to his younger self.

Of course, he knew exactly what he wanted.

In fact, looking back on the past few months, in the process of selecting inheritors, it seems that no one can give up the temptation of [Ripper]. Even people like Hopkins, after possessing the ability to kill anyone, , they all began to gradually give up on the imperial laws they had always respected.

Although the "Imperial Law" indeed has no value of continuing to be respected.

But Watson, he never changed at all from beginning to end, and he even resolutely shot himself because of a girl.

Haha, they are people who have drank together so many times, and this brat didn’t even hesitate at all.

Of course, this is what he admires most about Watson.

And in that situation, Watson could obviously shoot himself in the head or heart with the first shot, but he didn't.

Deep down in his heart, he was probably still thinking about whether to stop himself first, and then let Nightingale heal his injury after figuring out the reason.

Trying to get a victim to treat a murderer who wants to kill her

Alas, the world of young people has become increasingly difficult to understand.

The old beggar finally stood up with difficulty, dragged his lame leg, and walked little by little toward the outside of the house.

"Miss Nightingale said that she was going to end her travels in the empire and go to the front line." Sherlock suddenly said something that had nothing to do with this situation.

The old beggar coughed, which was caused by the blood flowing into his trachea. Then, he ignored Sherlock and continued walking forward.

On the street, countless guns were aimed at him, but no one fired, because none of Captain Gregson in the room fired. He just pointed the gun at the old man nervously, sweat dripping from his forehead.

The old beggar walked toward the crowd, and the armed men retreated to both sides.

Then

It was so ridiculous, watching the other party walk out of the range of the searchlight, and then disappeared into the night.

That's it. It's over?

Shouldn't a group of people rush up, pin this old guy to the ground and tie him up?

Shouldn't we give an order and directly eliminate its range?

Why do you have to watch this murderer who has been struggling in the empire for many months just go away?

Of course these soldiers didn't know that this was the best ending.

The night in London was as dark as ever. The rain a few days ago did not leave many puddles on the ground. Some coachmen seemed to have received the news of the power outage in the upper city and began to rush towards the other side of the Thames River, possibly hoping to take advantage of the power outage. This hard-won power outage will help us pick up a few more business deals.

No one would care. Under the shadowy street lights, a ragged homeless man was walking forward with difficulty.

He staggered step by step, and something was dripping under his thin clothes. It was blood, but under the raging night wind, there was no time to spread the smell of blood to the surroundings.

This is an old man who is about to die.

But no one would believe that he had never felt so relaxed in his life.

When the gun behind him fired bullets, he could actually dodge, but he was very comfortable letting the gunpowder and shrapnel explode in his body.

In fact, he has not been very happy in his life. Maybe he is a perfectionist who is destined to be unable to experience too much happiness. Even if he is thrown into another world, even if there are no demons in that world, humans do not have to face it. If he doesn't need to pray to the Holy Light for blessings and blessings in the face of extinction, he will probably still live an unhappy life.

Maybe, he couldn't even kill people in that world, so he would be left with despair and loneliness. He might try to find a belief other than the Holy Light, but he would still be depressed by this and hide in a place full of paint. In the pungent smelling room, he curled up into a miserable lunatic who was incompatible with society.

But it doesn't matter.

He felt colder and colder because there was less and less blood in his body and could not store temperature. In fact, he always felt that he should have died when the assassination attempt failed 30 years ago.

Suddenly light fell from the sky, and the clouds in the sky dispersed, revealing a bright moonlight. Vincent raised his head and saw the stars on the clouds. Due to the loss of blood, his vision was getting blurry, and this Once, he seemed to really see halos all over the sky, like pieces of undissolved oil paint, all spinning inwardly from some unknown source, forming blurred vortexes.

He smiled and thought in a funny way that if someone looked at the sky from their own perspective, they would probably praise it and say that the painting he painted in the end was actually quite similar.

Baker Street, 221B.

The accident at that moment actually did not cause much damage to the street. Apart from a not-so-deep ravine on the road and the collapse of a wall, there was almost no other damage.

In the bedroom, Nightingale was not too frightened. In fact, her main emotion now was confusion.

Because she herself didn't know why the old man wanted to kill her.

Watson stood guard by the bedroom door. In the past few minutes, he apologized to himself 11 times. Until the end, he saw that he was really not angry, and seemed to be a little distressed because of too many apologies. Then finally stopped.

at this time

"Creak" sound.

The door was pushed open, and Sherlock walked straight in without even changing his blood-stained clothes.

"Miss Nightingale." He said straight to the point: "What level of contractor are you?"