Sherlock Holmes

Of course, Ms. Milhouse wouldn't dwell on the issue because she wouldn't expect a fugitive to tell her his next whereabouts.

So, listening to the clashes and curses between the parade and the security police outside the window, she smiled and said: "I really don't know how your supporters will feel after learning that you admitted to murdering the emperor. .”

"That's none of my business." Sherlock spread his hands: "I have never denied that I am a criminal. Besides, I have never tried to package myself as a hero. The assassination was concealed by the government and the Holy See. I Their heroic deeds are also deliberately exaggerated by them. To be honest, these are all so that they can better control the people of the empire. And now, my existence threatens the stability of society, so I naturally deserve to die.

More than 99% of people are mediocre, and they cannot be exposed to the truth. You are the president of the Holy Journal, and you should know this better than me.

Therefore, these people who support me now will probably be shouting on the streets in three to five days holding signs saying 'Murderers must die'. "

Ms. Milhouse nodded. Although what she said was very heartbreaking, it was true: "It seems that you are already very aware of the current situation, so you should also be able to guess that I will not publish these things in the newspaper." It's on, right." She shook the disc in her hand.

"Indeed, you will definitely not do such a stupid thing, so I'm sorry, I have to make a simple threat to you." Sherlock said easily.

"threaten?"

"Yes, I'm not here to ask you to do something, I'm threatening you, so from now on, you keep this disc well, and I will contact you at a time that I think is very suitable and ask you to be there at a certain date. The origin of this disc will be published somewhere in a journal, and my recording will be broadcast to the world on the Holy Journal's radio station."

"Impossible." Ms. Milhouse refused without thinking: "If this kind of thing is published in the newspaper, then I will be invited to drink tea at the Public Security Bureau that day, and maybe I will be arrested the next day. Transport him to the blood prison! He will die anyway, why should I listen to your threats?"

"Don't worry, I'm not a fool. Trust me, if the time comes, even if I don't threaten you, you will take the initiative to announce these things."

"I don't think there will be such a day." Milhouse said directly: "You are now a wanted criminal throughout the empire. What qualifications do you have to stand against all mankind?"

"Heh." Sherlock still said in a nonchalant tone: "It's not the first time."

This year's late autumn was extremely cold, and even 30% of the empire's land had freezing temperatures at night. Sherlock left Ms. Milhouse's house after leaving behind a sentence that sounded a little funny, but extremely arrogant. apartment.

On the street, the dazzling street lamps emit extremely bright light. It is because these lights are too bright that they make the dark places around them appear particularly dark. Sherlock is walking in the darkness outside the street lamps, looking at the people arguing and pushing not far away. The pushing citizens and policemen lowered their hat brims slightly and walked quickly through the long street.

The collar of the windbreaker stood up, the head was slightly hung, and the shadow of the brim of the hat covered most of his face. This posture was almost his standard in another world, but he never expected that he had just returned for more than half a year. , in this world, I once again need to use this method to avoid the gaze of pedestrians around me.

After walking through several long streets and deftly passing through some noisy crowds, he walked into an alley that no one cared about in the night, climbed up the old spiral staircase, and jumped overhead at the moment when a group of patrolmen were intersecting. The shadow of the light rail, the rhythmic roar of the carriages passing behind you. Today, as electricity is gradually becoming more popular, many cities still retain the steam light rail mode of transportation. The escaping airflow dyes the air with a touch of heat, far away. The headlights rushed past Sherlock, shrouding him in black and white light and shadow.

He pressed the brim of his hat, and in the gap between black and white for another second, his thin figure disappeared into the alley, and was never traced again.

…

In a church in Lower London, some tables and chairs were moved to the outer lawn, monks and priests were transferred, the church door was tightly closed, and all believers were refused visits.

In the church hall, directly in front of the sunflower sculpture, a huge white wall was built, with countless complex photos posted on it. In the middle was a sideways silhouette of Sherlock, and he radiated a dense The red thread connects many people, newspaper clippings of events, and numerous place names.

In the hall where believers originally used to pray, there are now dozens of huge desks, surrounded by an astonishing number of documents. It seems that they have just been moved here, and some of them have not even been sealed. But even so, there are still many staff busy around these documents. Some of them are wearing the uniforms of the Tribunal, and some are wearing the medals of the Imperial Government Police Agency. It can be seen that these The people are all elites selected from various departments. There are even some people wearing special prison uniforms and shackles on their feet that do not affect their movement but will definitely affect their escape. They look like they should be hanging around in the blood prison. A highly intelligent criminal.

Beside the spiral staircase on the second floor of the church, a man wearing a golden robe of the Tribunal stood quietly, looking at the busy crowd below, constantly sucking on the cigarette in his mouth.

"I thought they wouldn't ask you to come."

Suddenly, a voice sounded from behind. Hopkins turned his head and saw Inspector Redouse, whom he had not seen for more than two years. He threw the cigarette in his hand on the ground and stamped it out, with a look on his face. A wry smile.

Now Hopkins has become the youngest judge in the history of the Inquisition. In terms of qualifications, wisdom, and intuition for various cases, he is a rare genius in a century. If everything goes well, he will also A few years later, he formally took over the position of Chief Justice of the Tribunal.

But such a proud man with a bright future has been depressed for more than a month because of a wanted order.

At this time, the church where he was located had been requisitioned as the headquarters of [Arrest Plan No. 221B].

In fact, as you can tell from the name, this plan has only one ultimate goal, and that is to arrest or directly kill the most dangerous wanted criminal in the empire at this stage - Sherlock Holmes.

To this end, the empire has convened a professional team of nearly two hundred people. The investigative forces and information networks these people have access to are enough to cover the entire empire. It sounds a bit too grand, but for someone like Sherlock, no one would think that this formation is too much of a waste of resources.

"Actually, I didn't expect the teacher to call me in at first. After all, that bastard Sherlock and I were still a little pretentious." Hopkins said helplessly, and the 'teacher' in his mouth was the current Inquisition Court. Chief Justice.

Detective Reidus looked a little solemn: "Actually, we can detect from the beginning that Sherlock's character has nothing to do with obeying the law. It is expected that he will reach this point today, but" said At this point, the burly elite of the government's Royal Bureau of Investigation hesitated: "But do we really have to do our best to catch that kid?"

This feeling is very bad. Although they all feel that Sherlock will cause big trouble sooner or later, they have known each other for a long time after all, from their first encounter at the Academy of Life Sciences, to the subsequent investigation of Emperor Augustine, and finally their return from the Blood Prison Later, they were involved in Nightingale's assassination case. Along the way, even if they were not friends, they had some friendship. Now they actually have to arrest each other personally, which makes no one feel comfortable.

"Perhaps, that guy really offended someone and suffered persecution. Otherwise, Augustine's issue has been suppressed for so many years, so why was it suddenly brought to the forefront?"

Judge Hopkins shook his head: "Don't be selfish in the mission. The person in charge of this mission is my teacher, the supreme judge of the trial court. We cannot hide our little thoughts from him.

Also, if you say, Shylock was persecuted."

Hopkins looked sideways and looked at the middle-aged detective who was half a head taller than him for a moment: "How many people in the entire empire do you think can bring the death of the emperor to the table?

If these people all want him dead, then what can you and I do to help him? "

"Okay." Inspector Leiderus sighed. Although he was only good at the dirty work of tracking or investigating, after working in the police system for so many years, of course he could have guessed some things before. But he was a little unwilling to give up: "By the way, I came over in the confession room just now and found someone playing some real-time effects of Sherlock when he was on the battlefield. There is a team analyzing his danger level and the difficulty of capturing him. .

To be honest, I have never seen Sherlock actually fight. I just glanced at the projection screen and am still a little scared.

That guy is a bit too strong. I think we alone will not be able to catch him even if we find him. "

"." Hopkins fell into an uneasy silence as he listened to the other party's words, looking at a seat in the corner of the hall on the first floor.

Sitting on that seat was a thin officer with a straight body and gold-rimmed glasses.

And leaning against the wall not far away, was an unkempt old man. One of the man's feet seemed to be lame, and he was always holding on to a long, large sniper rifle to stand firm.