Sherlock Holmes

Dusk in London started at half past three. Due to the accumulation of water vapor in the clouds, the gray sunlight passed through the mirror and was dyed with a layer of bright crimson. The church bells in the distance gradually stopped, and the day's service it's over.

In the office, the old priest sat with his eyes closed. His sparse hair was like an insect's legs, twisting strangely and unnoticeably.

Director Lestrade leaned forward slightly and asked in a low voice, "Miss Catherine, do you know that detective?"

"do not know."

"Keke, you seem to be very dissatisfied with him."

Catherine recalled the hateful face in the elevator and said coldly: "The family member of a clergyman was murdered! What we need now is the most powerful and professional elite who can solve the entire case and find out the murderer by just one person. , before sunset tomorrow, the murderer's blood will stain the notice of the Tribunal red!

And you, just found me such a lazy, shameless scumbag who looks like he's been in a hallucinogenic state all day long? "

Director Lestrade looked at the other party blankly, surprised that his evaluation of Sherlock was really accurate;

"But noble Miss Catherine, I can assure you with the title of Scotland Yard's highest police officer that he is the only person in London who can meet your requirements."

He retorted carefully. As the top person in charge of the London police system, in his own field, he almost instinctively showed his stubborn and arrogant side. He completely forgot that just half an hour ago, he even lost Sherlock. I don’t even want to mention this name.

After Lestrade left, the old priest slowly opened his eyes.

He seemed to enjoy the closed-eyes meditation just now. The crimson sunset shone on the edge of his robe. Suddenly, a dark crack appeared out of thin air, and a huge spider covered with downy hair crawled silently. out.

It was as big as a trolley, and its eight eyes were like eight pitch-black beans, glowing with an eerie light in the setting sun.

The old priest stretched out his hand, rubbed the fur on its belly lovingly, and caused it to make a disgusting hissing sound:

"Lestrade has worked in the police system all his life. During the second demonic invasion, he was responsible for the security of the lower city alone and reduced the civilian crime rate there to a level that satisfied the church. It seems that his vision It shouldn’t be too bad”

"I just feel that such a lazy person has absolutely no merit at all."

A more interesting smile appeared on the lips of the old priest: "I went to the underground cell just now. The detective caught a murderer today to collect the reward. He stuffed the criminal into a box."

"In a box?" Catherine frowned in confusion.

"Haha, yes, a suitcase." The old priest smiled and made a shape in front of him: "I have never seen a person who was twisted like that and still alive, even those crazy people from the School of Life Research , and it also requires the help of a lot of instruments.

Moreover, the captured murderer was not a simple character. The reward had reached 200 pounds. I heard that it only took him two or three days to catch him and he was caught on the spot when he committed the crime.

For a mortal, being able to do this is already extremely outstanding. "

Catherine savored the old man's words and said after a while: "No matter how outstanding you are, you are still just a mortal."

There was a natural contempt in her voice.

This is not a disdain for the lower-class civilians by those in power, but a very reasonable and logical overlooking, which has nothing to do with politics, character, money, or even social status.

It's more like the eagle's attitude towards the rabbit that originates from the interspecies life.

After all, he is just a mortal.

Not a contractor...

In this era where the power of the abyss affects everything, the Holy See has mastered the method of controlling the power of the abyss with the human body a century ago. Therefore, an ordinary human being will naturally be questioned about his ability.

Fortunately, the old man's words were quite convincing. Catherine's face remained cold and she nodded after all.

In the lounge, Sherlock was lying on the sofa and fell asleep.

He has a book in his hand.

"How to save yourself when encountering small devils in the wild"

The author is a guy named Bear Grylls.

The cover is made of the cheapest cardboard, with a picture of a common hellhound vomiting acidic liquid at a beautiful lady in a dress. The painting is rough, and the paint has some color bleed during printing.

This kind of self-help book was very popular in a certain period. After all, no one knows where the cracks in the void will appear. What if you find that the space in front of you cracks when you are taking a poop, and a disgusting giant fly comes out? They are desperate to suck your brains out, so reading more books like this might increase your chances of survival.

But after more than ten years of market verification, everyone has gradually discovered that this kind of book is completely useless, because when encountering a void life, you either have a Lescott shotgun and enough bullets, or you run away quickly.

As quickly as possible, run to the contractor near you and ask for his help, or run to the nearest church, that's all.

If you have nothing and still want to use the knowledge in the book to fight with the opponent, you will definitely be very happy. There once was an author of self-help books who used a slide shovel to send himself into the newly cracked chest of a scavenger monster.

Door-to-door delivery, one step to your stomach.

"Do you want to smoke?" came a voice.

Sherlock was in a daze for a moment. He raised his eyes that were half asleep and saw Director Lestrade holding a cigarette and handing it to him.

"No, I have them here." Sherlock yawned indifferently, and then took out a box of [Blues Brand] cigarettes from his pocket.

"I still don't understand why you only smoke blues. It's obviously such an old brand and not easy to buy, but it's so choking."

Sherlock lit the cigarette and took a deep breath without answering the question.

"You see, that's why you're so unpopular. There's so much going on about you that's hard to figure out, and you never explain it."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in disbelief: "If you have anything to say, tell me quickly, don't beat around the bush."

"I took a job for you, a murder case." The director said, then paused briefly: "Although I don't want to admit it, it's about the Holy See."

During the conversation, he kept watching Sherlock's expression. He thought that after hearing the word "Holy See", the other party would be at least a little surprised. However, Sherlock just frowned slightly and returned to his sleep state. Not awake.

"Why didn't you react at all!?"

"Oh, thank you very much."

This careless tone made Director Lestrade very unhappy. He angrily put out the cigarette butt:

"This is the second fucking thing I hate about you. You are not pious to the Holy See at all!!"