Sherlock Holmes

"Buy me a drink?"

"Of course, is there anything else that can enhance the relationship between colleagues than drinking?" Watson said, fiddling with his bangs.

It was probably because he had just come out of a dream, or maybe the guy in front of him knew how to build goodwill in other people's hearts. In short, Sherlock did not refuse directly.

In fact, in the past thirty-two years of his life, he had almost no such relationship as friends.

He must have been considered a freak in his childhood. When he went out to 'work' as an adult, he was used to being alone. People who were familiar with him were basically reluctant to get involved with this guy who had a weird aura about him. .

Naturally, it was impossible for anyone to invite him to drink.

Sherlock looked at Watson...

Then he thought about the puzzles that had filled his mind recently, the dreams that he longed to explore, and the various doubts about his contracted devil that were waiting to be unearthed.

At this moment, he suddenly felt a kind of comfort and satisfaction that only a detective could understand.

"That's right. Drinking is of course the most convenient way to close friendship." He smiled in agreement and directly picked up his old windbreaker from the hanger: "Then what are we waiting for?"

After saying that, he put it on and walked out of the room.

At this moment, a hint of surprise suddenly flashed across Watson's eyes. However, it was instantly covered up by a stronger smile.

Of course, this instant change in expression cannot escape Sherlock's eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asked directly, not bothering to hide it.

Watson was startled: "Huh? Did you see it? I thought I hid it well."

"It is indeed well hidden, but my observation skills are quite keen. I am a detective."

Sherlock said, having already walked to the street with Watson, he lit a cigarette himself, took out another and handed it to the other person.

Watson hesitated for a moment, but still took the cigarette and moved it to the gasoline lighter that Sherlock held out:

"Actually, it's not a big deal. It's just that I smell a strong smell of blood on your clothes. A large proportion of it is human blood."

There was a sudden silence;

The gas street light above his head flickered a few times at an inappropriate time, making a "beep" sound of gas leakage. Just like this, Watson said his discovery in an understatement, not caring at all about the thought-provoking words contained in this sentence. Extremely scary content.

"Really? I wash it often, and I thought I couldn't smell anything anymore." Sherlock actually exhaled a puff of smoke and smelled his collar as if he was just chatting.

"I'm quite sensitive to the smell of blood. I'm a doctor." Seeing the other party's indifferent attitude, Watson's eyes almost smiled, leaving only a gap;

Then I took a puff of cigarette!

moment! His eyes suddenly widened: "Grass! Cough - cough - what kind of cigarette is this? It's so choking!!"

"Blues."

“A brand I’ve never heard of.”

He took another tentative breath with lingering fear, "Fu————" carefully savoring the feeling of the choking spiciness rushing through his lungs, and finally pursed his lips in slight shock: "It seems... not bad."

Midnight, a long street in lower London, away from the Thames

Fifth Avenue.

This street is quite old and has no special name. It seems that it has been called this place since the first steam engine was born. After that, it experienced the opening of the Devil's Gate and the second invasion war. It has been destroyed and rebuilt countless times, but no one wants to change its name, as if it changes the name, the whole street will change.

The buildings on both sides are generally low, and rusty steam valves spread out from the outer walls of the buildings, intertwined with the intricate pipelines of the long street. There are messy gas lamps hanging from the top of some buildings, which will flicker a few times after a long time, making the street look more charming. The whole street had a sense of dilapidation, like a dying struggle.

At the end of the long street, there is a highly recognizable building with a mottled rusted iron door, walls without any layers, and a large area, but a square structure that makes it look like a mouth. coffin.

However, inside the iron gate, there was a different scene.

Blurred music, wildly changing light, dim overall tones, twisting flesh, strong aroma of wine and shouts, all the elements are combined in a contradictory and tough way.

"I'm quite surprised that someone like you actually knows this place." Sherlock looked at the wine shaking in the glass.

"A person like me?"

"Yes, you are a doctor. With such a noble profession, shouldn't you go to those high-end places where someone plays piano music and a glass of wine costs a few pounds? Look, you are sitting here, and you are not in tune with the atmosphere around you. They don't match up, oh, let me remind you, there are a few married women over there who have been staring at you for almost half an hour."

Watson was always smiling, and his crooked eyes were illuminated by the huge gas lamp above his head, exuding a certain charm that could attract any woman. However, he did not respond to any woman's gaze. He just listened to Sherlock's words and pursed his lips happily. Taking a sip of gin:

"I used to go to the places you mentioned often, but as time went by, I got tired of it and started to like it here more and more. But compared to these, aren't you surprised by something else?"

"Something else?"

"Yes, you should be able to tell. The sales of hallucinogens here are more than ten times that of other places. The transmission rate of syphilis is also frighteningly high. It can almost be regarded as a breeding ground for multiple crimes. However, just Isn’t it amazing that just a street away there is a cathedral?”

"What's surprising about this." Sherlock lit a cigarette: "It is precisely because this place is located next to the church that it can survive; I can guarantee that at least 70% of the people in this crowd usually They are all the most devout believers.”

"Oh?" This assertion did not surprise Watson. Instead, he looked at the other party with more interest.

“It is easy to understand that people’s desires are either vented in alcohol, the body, and unrealistic fantasies, or they are poured into riots, dissatisfaction with society, and hatred of life.

In such a comparison, I don’t know how many times the former is better than the latter!

Therefore, this kind of chaotic place where no one cares is more able to appease the people than those churches. "

Sherlock was not in a good mood today, so he said such disrespectful words to the Holy Light without restraint. Fortunately, in a place like this, no one cares about what you say.

After hearing this, Watson smiled even brighter: "You are really an interesting person, at least much more interesting than those guys at White Thorn Security Company. Do you know that every morning in the company, we have to Listen to Reverend Thompson recite prayers for nearly an hour.”

"An hour!! That's really hard." When Sherlock thought of that scene, he subconsciously took a puff of cigarette: "By the way, speaking of which, have you caught that eye-gouging demon?"

"Of course not. That guy is very cunning. He should be the type of demon with intelligence. But recently, the higher-ups have issued an order, saying that a big shot is coming to London. Let us take care of the security in the lower city as soon as possible."

"Big shot? Could it be Miss Nightingale? I heard she is coming next month."

"Definitely not. Your Excellency Nightingale is a public figure. Her coming to London is not a secret that cannot be told, and it is not hidden from the top." Watson said, then squinted his eyes and looked around, seeing only a few A well-dressed young woman was staring at her, and no one else was paying attention. She whispered, "I estimate that the [Day of Holy Love] is probably coming."

Hearing this word, Sherlock couldn't help but be startled. Thinking about this strange but extremely romantic festival and the ancient custom, he couldn't help but smile:

"Then London will be very lively this year."