Sherlock Holmes

The chainsaw was violently rubbing against the solid car body, and the harsh sound made the teeth of the people around them start to ache. But when the cockpit guard panel was finally removed, everyone looked at the empty driver's seat and felt... fell into silence.

Lilith stood next to the wreckage that was still smoking black smoke, her expression unmoved, as if she had expected this.

In fact, as early as ten minutes ago, she had already ordered some soldiers to search around the path where the armored vehicle passed. However, after all, the vehicle passed through too many places, and those tall buildings would definitely be able to block the vehicle. She could imagine the route, and so could the man named Sherlock. Therefore, the reason why he drove the car into a densely built urban area must not be just because he was in a panic.

That guy had a plan from beginning to end. It was difficult to hide a car in these dense buildings, but it was easy to blend into the citizens who were fleeing in confusion due to the fighting.

Finally, more than ten minutes later, the soldiers who had dispersed to search along the way met at an intersection. Through their goggles, they seemed to be able to see the confused and panicked looks on each other's faces, as well as the increasingly heavy breathing. , a soldier could only bite the bullet and connected to the call channel:

"Report. No target found"

Lilith did not linger near the wreckage of the armored vehicle. She had already left before the report arrived.

She was very angry and unhappy in her heart, but for some reason, in the deepest part of her consciousness, there was still a trace of strange joy. She attributed this emotion to the fact that the target was not dead, which meant that the only thing in this world was One of the experimental products has not been destroyed, which is undoubtedly good news for my own research.

But is there another possibility? I feel that the bastard guy is not dead, which means that the cat and mouse game between him and himself can continue to play?

Thinking of this, Lilith rubbed her temples. She felt that this idea was too childish. She was not the kind of child who would not be able to sleep for several days just because she lost in a game. Likewise, she would definitely not He may be the kind of lunatic who puts his personal interests above the safety of the world.

Absolutely not

The chase was not long, only about ten minutes, but it affected a large area. The chasing vehicles and the aftermath of shooting at each other, the smashed walls, the cracked road, In short, the panic caused along the way will definitely not be calmed down so easily.

Within several blocks of the surrounding area, there were panicked roars and screams, citizens running blindly, and speculators who wanted to take advantage of the chaos and rush into street shops to grab some goods. I don't know how long the chaos will last.

An embarrassed citizen was pushed among the panicked crowd and squeezed towards an alley on the side of the road. His head was covered with water stains and his wet hair covered his face. He looked like he was in a barber shop. Before finishing her hair style, she was frightened by the sudden chase and rushed out of the salon.

In the crowd, there were many citizens who were even more embarrassed than him, so no one would notice the man's too pale face and the bright red color on the inside of his lips, which was barely covered by the smell of shampoo emanating from his body. The smell of blood oozing out of his body, even if someone accidentally smelled it, when they looked back, that person would have been lost in the crowd and disappeared.

No one likes mice, but these rodents still survive in this desperate world with their ability to drill through doors and steal holes and their strong reproductive ability. No one likes cockroaches, but this creature seems to be able to survive in any harsh environment. They live tenaciously in the radiation of sunlight without even mutating.

And Sherlock now feels that he is not much different from these creatures that everyone shouts about. In the eyes of most people, he is even more hateful than rats and cockroaches. At least the relationship between humans and rats can only be called disgust. , and cannot rise to the level of racial hatred.

But at the same time, he seems to have the same terrifying vitality as them

He is still alive and continues to live. In this world that does not welcome him, he spent a few minutes to figure out the automatic driving system of the armored vehicle, and then the traffic directions recorded in various nearby blocks in the past six months reflected the drawn up plan. After a few presets for cornering, I jumped out of the car under the obstruction of the high-altitude view of an overpass.

The chaos around them is still there, and those people may be a little confused and panicked, but when their minds calm down, they will always go to a place they think is safe, or simply go home and hug their families. Then tell them about your dangerous encounter today.

They always have a roof over their heads.

But Shylock doesn't. He has no home or place to stay in this world. Maybe he has a destination, but that destination is at the other end of the distant gate of hell. He considers himself a restless person. He always felt that the things he hated most were silence and boredom, but after living in this world for more than half a year, he had missed that quiet hut, that shabby but comfortable sofa, and that small shop on Baker Street more than once. apartment.

He seemed finally tired and homesick.

But, how should I go back?

One of Sherlock's legs was blown to pieces. He could only endure the pain and squeeze through the crowd, and embed himself in the shadow of an alley with difficulty. Then he leaned against the wall, let his body slowly slide down, and tore open the wrapping. The clothes on his body were full of wounds from shrapnel and bullet holes that penetrated into his flesh and blood.

He took a few deep breaths, then inserted his fingers into the bloody wound almost like self-mutilation, and then pulled out the bullets inside. The terrifying pain made him frown slightly, but there was no Even if he makes any sound, he is just worried that the confusion caused by excessive blood loss will make him faint suddenly.

It is impossible for him to go back to the old Miller Detective Agency, and according to Lilith's personality, she should not embarrass the poor siblings. But if little Miller needs surgery, how much will it cost? After selling the detective agency , can you really raise enough money for the surgery?

He gritted his teeth, used the pain to wake himself up, and then told himself that now was not the time to think about these things. He was seriously injured and had nowhere to go. Maybe he would die in this alley tonight, or something even more tragic would happen. He was caught by Lilith's men, and when he opened his eyes, he was already a limbless white mouse, spending the rest of his life in a cold laboratory.

Just thought of this

Suddenly, a figure rushed into the alley.

Sherlock was startled. Within the range of speed that a normal person could show, the figure's speed could be considered very fast. However, it was precisely because he was too fast that he crashed into a piece of trash beside the alley. bucket, and then fell directly to the ground, rolling out a long way before stopping miserably.

Sherlock's blurry vision finally saw the appearance of the man. He was a thin young man in his early 20s. His clothes were brand-name goods, but they seemed a bit too small. He had obviously bought them many years ago. As he got older, , it already doesn’t fit, but I still wear it to show off, and some tattoos can be seen from the collar. At this moment, the man hurriedly got up from the ground, turned around, grabbed a large plastic bag on the ground, and then hurriedly stuffed the food and beer scattered around into it.

As you can imagine, just a few minutes ago, this guy rushed into a grocery store, pulled out a plastic bag, and stuffed everything on the counter into it. The salesperson in the grocery store must have been scared and ran away. On the way, or this guy threatened the other party with a knife, and then turned around and fled. Anyway, in this chaotic stall, he was not worried that the police would come to take care of such a small matter.

Just a little gangster who took advantage of the chaos to grab something.

Sherlock didn't want to care about him, but this guy was stuffing something into a plastic bag. When he raised his head, he happened to look at Sherlock who was spread out against the wall.

The little gangster was obviously stunned for a moment. He stood there and looked at the man in front of him who was covered in injuries and his shirt was covered in blood. His clever mind seemed to realize who the person in front of him was in an instant. .

It can be clearly felt that this little gangster was startled at first, hurriedly dropped the bag in his hand and wanted to run away, but as soon as he turned around, he seemed to have thought of something, gritted his teeth and turned back, looking at Sherlock's dying appearance, eyes filled with laughter. There was a flash of ruthlessness.

He put his hand into his pocket, then took out a switchblade, lowered his body, and moved towards Sherlock little by little. Even though the two of them were already looking at each other, he was still tiptoeing, as if he was afraid that the other party would listen. The same sound as his own footsteps.

"Are you the traitor?!"

When he moved to about two meters away from Sherlock, he finally plucked up the courage and gave a low drink.

Sherlock didn't speak, but squinted his eyes slightly to seize the moment to rest. A ray of blood-red sunlight slanted into the alley at the right time, illuminating Sherlock's pale face. At this moment, the little gangster's whole body He tensed up, because he really saw the face on the wanted poster posted on the streets. In the flash of lightning, the viciousness of the little man penetrated his whole body, and he only heard a scream of unknown meaning, This guy suddenly grabbed the switchblade and stabbed it towards Sherlock.

It is estimated that at this moment, all his thoughts were thoughts like 'I'm going to fucking lose my temper'.

The next second, only a bang was heard!

The little bastard flew out directly and hit the wall of the alley firmly. Then he fell to the ground and vomited out the overnight meal.

Sherlock stood up with difficulty, and a slight movement caused severe pain. He walked towards the gangster, trying to take the knife in his hand and see if there was any cash in his pocket.

"Don't come here, there's a big shot behind me!" The man shouted while struggling in the vomit.

It is estimated that this guy was kicked, and he just subconsciously shouted as usual, completely forgetting that if the other party is really a traitor, then whether there is any big shot behind him has nothing to do with whether the other party can kill him or not. nothing.

But with these words, Sherlock seemed to suddenly think of something. He leaned down, thought for a while, and then slowly said, "Who is the big shot you are talking about?"

"ah?"

The gangster was startled and suddenly woke up. He stared at the extremely pale face so close to him with wide eyes. He hesitated and didn't say anything for a long time.

Three days later.

The chase between the armed forces and an armored vehicle that took place in a residential area seemed to have gradually subsided due to the media's tireless reporting.

In fact, it doesn't require much manipulation of public opinion. After all, everything just needs to be poured onto the traitor. And in this world, people who are experiencing diseases, mutations, blue skies they have never seen before, and bright sunshine that can only be seen in historical records, their moods have long been infected by despair and are numb. The panic under the bullets only lasted until that night, and there were no more waves.

Two men walked into a bar. One of them was wearing baggy clothes, sunglasses and a hat, while the other one showed off the tattoo on his arm.

The piercing music made the blood in the body tremble, the colorful lights overhead were swaying completely without rhythm, and in the middle of the dance floor, some white flesh was twisting with all its strength.

In any timeline, there are places that use noise and alcohol to anesthetize nerves, and in this world, such places are particularly popular.

"I'm going to the basement!"

The young gangster walked up to the bar and shouted at the bartender, not caring that anyone around him could hear his loud voice.

The bartender obviously knew the other person. There was a hint of impatience in his eyes, and then he looked over the other person's shoulder at the guy wearing sunglasses behind him.

"You know the rules, newcomers can't enter the basement." The bartender said gloomily.

Before he finished speaking, the man wearing sunglasses walked over directly, then slapped a wad of cash into the bartender's hand, showing an overly angular smile:

"Brother, please help me. If we are half-brothers, then I won't be considered a newcomer."

The bartender frowned. He looked at the half of the other person's face that was not covered by sunglasses. He felt that he had seen it somewhere before. Then he looked down at the wad of money in his hand and hesitated for a while:

"Come with me. But first, we don't have any safety measures here. If your little pet wants to go to the next game and is bitten to death in the middle, no one will compensate you."