Sherlock Holmes

Half an hour later, Sherlock returned to his apartment on Baker Street.

He didn't waste time to stuff the young man named Andrew into his suitcase, because he didn't bring a suitcase today.

He didn't tie it up and drag it to Scotland Yard, because it was too far.

He just told the other party that when it was time to go to work tomorrow morning, he would pick the nearest police station, find a policeman who seemed smarter, and explain all the crimes committed during this period.

Then just adopt the attitude of "Kill or behead you, no mercy" and wait for a group of people to pin you to the ground, that's it!

Oh, you'd better be good during this period and don't make any trouble.

Otherwise, he will talk to you personally

It has to be said that Sherlock is quite easy to talk to under certain circumstances. After saying this, he separated from Andrew. He believed that Andrew was a good boy and would not cause any trouble to him.

And Andrew will indeed not cause any trouble. As I said before, he would rather face decades in prison or even the death penalty than face his contracted devil again, let alone that one. A guy who calls himself a detective.

Oh, by the way, that guy said something very strange before;

Why would it be easier if the devil escaped back to hell?

Opening the door to the apartment, Sherlock took off his coat and lay down comfortably on the sofa.

Some tentacles slowly entangled themselves from the shadows of the room, like twisted snakes, and climbed along the armrest of the sofa to Sherlock's shoulders, gently licking behind his ears.

He closed his eyes, smiled and stroked them, feeling the strange intimacy.

After the last time in the dream, the small tentacles melted into his body, he discovered that those tentacles in the dream began to appear in the real world.

But it was not summoned through the cracks in the void, but in an inexplicable state.

They will crawl out slowly from some shadows, or vaguely appear in a corner. Maybe a beam of light flashes by, and you glance at the edge of your sight in horror, but if you turn your head to look for it, you will find it. Nowhere to be found.

In short, these little guys are like their own domain, beginning to overlap with the real world, but they also maintain a strange sense of mystery very arrogantly. They like to huddle out of sight, or wander and entrench themselves in the shadows. squirming, waiting

Sherlock slowly raised his head. A tentacle had rolled up a pillow and stuffed it into the gap between his neck and the sofa. The position was just right.

He twisted his body again and found the most comfortable position. With the tentacles entwining him, he entered the dreamland with a faint smile on his lips.

The wind and sand were as hot as ever, but perhaps because he was in the field, Sherlock didn't feel too uncomfortable.

He stood up, stepped into the wind, and then looked up into the distance amid the almost boiling scene around him.

That's where the steam train passed just now in the real world.

Some tentacles crawled around him, and five carrion dogs stood not far away with their heads held high as if on guard, waiting to receive orders.

Obviously, during the time he was away, these little tentacles parasitized a few more demons on him.

In the past, they should only be able to carry the upper limit of two, so in the process of constant hatching and division, these little guys are also growing slowly, but they seem to have a cuteness towards the corpse dogs. I don’t know when I will get tired of my obsession and try to parasitize other kinds of demons.

The demon corpses on the ground had been completely devoured by the tentacles at this time, making the whole street look less chaotic, but there were still a lot of tentacles crawling around, like steam pipes that came alive.

Sherlock stretched his muscles lazily, and then prepared to set off and walk towards the train.

But he just took a few steps.

"Um?"

He was stunned for a moment, because in his thoughts, he still seemed to be able to feel something extra.

Following this feeling, he slowly turned his head and looked at the corner of a collapsed building, and then he was a little surprised to see a horse!

A completely black horse.

This kind of pitch black does not describe the color of the hair, but it is a bit like it has been roasted in the fire for several years and has been completely carbonized, but it still weirdly maintains the shape it should have.

The eyes and four hooves are always glowing with faint sparks after the wood is ignited. From time to time, some cracks can be seen on the body, with traces of flames emerging inside, and the tail is like a thread of ash gathered together. It swayed gently, scattering fine dust, and then was swept away by the wind.

At this time, the horse stood alone, pawing the ground with its front legs, occasionally snoring and blowing out a burst of smoke.

What surprised Sherlock even more was that the horse was actually pulling a carriage behind it.

Um. This turned out to be a carriage, the kind that can be seen everywhere in the streets of London. However, the carriage has been infected by the blood of hell, and the whole carriage has a feeling of corruption and rust.

Sherlock was very pleased.

After the tentacles merged with him last time, all the tentacles in the entire field have established some kind of weird connection with him. At least they are no longer just guys who crawl around based on instinct, but can sense his own thoughts. and needs.

Whether it's lighting up a cigarette for yourself or getting this carriage, it shows.

After all, when the territory becomes large, you can't still use your legs to walk every day, right?

What a group of caring little guys.

So Sherlock walked to the carriage and sat on it. Although most of the decorations in the carriage were weathered, they showed extremely strong attributes. In this way, without a driver, he was like the legend in the market. Like a ghost carriage, it started running forward.

While running, the tentacles on both sides of the road began to emerge from the gaps or shadows of the buildings. They clustered together, becoming more and more dense, like black with some devouring properties. The tide surged around the vehicle in the direction Sherlock had just looked at.

And at this time, in a long dilapidated street in hell, the gouged-out demon finally climbed down from the weathered train viaduct.

It's not very powerful. Several of its limbs were broken by Sherlock in the real world. It's not fast either. After losing the support of fear, it looks even more pitiful. It's almost exhausted after climbing this section. All the strength.

So, it found a relatively safe small pile of gravel and prepared to hide in it and rest for a while.

But just about to drill in

"Boom—boom—boom—"

In the distance, there was a dense roar!