Sherlock pressed his eyebrows, trying to regain consciousness.

But this action made his body begin to become erratic.

It was still the same scene when he entered the "world in the mirror", and Sherlock felt like he was beginning to descend in the infinite space.

In the blink of an eye, Sherlock was back at his desk.

And he still kept the action of opening the pocket watch, which seemed to be only a short moment.

"Huh?"

Sherlock stared hesitantly at the dial of his pocket watch.

A tiny time hand pointing to 15:01 p.m.

"So I was in that unknown space for only 1 minute?"

This is obviously impossible!

Sherlock recalls that from entering the "world of mirrors" to exploring doubts, to sitting on a bronze chair, to observing all the mirrors, and then seeing the woman appear, and finally making a deal, the other party disappears and leaves.

At this time, there is at least half an hour.

"There's no way to go wrong with your pocket watch, and I had it serviced last month."

"So that is to say, it is only 1 minute in the outside world, but there is an hour in the mirror world? Or, to exaggerate a little more, no matter how long you are in the mirror world, the outside world is less than 1 minute short? ”

Sherlock pondered his reasoning, but it wasn't enough to make another trip to the "world in the mirror". Because his spirit was very tired and needed to take a break.

"The fog on the inner mirror of the pocket watch is still there, and the ancient text is still there, so it is still possible for me to enter again. Don't be in a hurry, take your time to study this strange phenomenon. ”

"I can understand the crossing. Then no matter how weird this world is, it's not that it can't be understood......"

Sherlock gave himself a comforting encouragement.

With a click, close the pocket watch studded with gold roses.

His gaze fell on the other hand, and the small antique book, the so-called "psychic ritual", was still held in the palm of his hand, and was brought to reality.

Sherlock began to take a closer look at the book.

In terms of texture and material, it is not printed paper, but resembles a cover and pages made of animal skin. It should be very old, old but well-preserved.

Sherlock turned the first page with a keen interest in archaeology.

Click, hiss...... When the page was opened, there was a strange sound like tearing the membrane.

The first page is full of obscure and strange strange patterns, as if it is a page where thousands of blood vessels are intertwined.

There was an invisible aura of decay, as if enveloped in it.

Even every word is twisted and wriggling, giving people the illusion of a trance.

The first page just reads:

"Praise the nature of silence and decay and death, praise all the realm of darkness and twilight—the Doomsday Shadow Council. Blighter. Guldan".

Sherlock stared at the name of the ending.

"The Blightburner. Gul'dan? Is this the author of the book? ”

He was about to continue looking back to see what the book was.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings downstairs.

Immediately, the sound of the landlord, Mrs. Madson, opening the door and talking to the visitor.

Mrs. Madson was a former colleague of Sherlock's mother and a retired military nurse. This kind old woman gave Sherlock great love when she was growing up.

Boom, boom, boom, heavy footsteps, stepping on the wooden staircase, towards the second floor.

Sherlock rubbed his hands together, faintly excited in anticipation.

Generally speaking, it is the customers who visit.

"Business comes to the door, and life after crossing begins a new day!"

He put down the antique book in his hand and got up to straighten his seat. Then he quickly rushed to the hanger, picked up the taupe button-down trench coat and draped it on.

As soon as he finished tidying up, there was a knock on the door.

"Please come in!"

"Sherlock, this is Mr. Rooney, and he wants to see you."

Mrs. Madson unscrewed the door and reached out in a friendly way to usher in the guests.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Madson!"

Sherlock nodded politely, his gaze falling on the visitor.

It was a man of about thirty years of age, with a burly build, and his appearance was typical of the British North. His hairline receded a little, and he had a pale yellow beard.

The man wears a well-tailored black coat, thick dark trousers, and high leather boots. He was carrying a tucked umbrella in his hand and mud on his shoes, and it was clear that the weather outside was not good.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Sherlock."

"Let me introduce myself, I am a commissioner from the Investigation Committee on the Dissemination of Social Life Safety, and this is my business card."

Rooney handed over the business card, his appearance was a little rough, but his attitude and tone were very friendly.

It is also a secondary two full of institution names...... Sherlock politely took the card and glanced at it quickly.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Rooney. Have a seat! ”

Sherlock closed the door and sat across from Rooney.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Rooney didn't answer, but glanced at the entire second-floor office environment with a carefully observant gaze.

Sherlock felt something strange.

For since the door was closed, the friendliness of Mr. Rooney had subsided. It becomes serious and serious, and even exudes a hint of suspicion.

"As far as I know, your business isn't very good." Rooney looked at Sherlock earnestly.

"It's on track, and there are several cases being handled. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Rooney. Sherlock maintained a polite smile.

"I've been downstairs here, observing, for a while." Rooney pointed out the window, "I heard the sound of breaking glass and the sound of heavy objects falling to the ground, so come up and take a look." ”

"Could it be that rubbing soap and missing your hand, slipping off the frame of the mirror, such a trivial family matter, also belongs to the research scope of your 'Social Survey Society'?"

Sherlock remained polite and said without a smile.

"I smelled blood, it was strong. Like in that bucket! Can you explain? Rooney pointed to the bathroom, the shirt bucket.

This is a dognose specialist......

No, a dog's nose doesn't necessarily smell blood downstairs......

What the hell does he do? Have a finger in the pie? Or is it for another purpose?

Sherlock was secretly vigilant in his heart, and said in a flat tone:

"As you know, the mirror was shattered, and I was punctured when I cleaned it up. The shirt has blood stains, and it is normal that it is easy to wash when soaked. ”

"Can you see the wound?" Rooney stared at Sherlock.

"I think you can leave if you don't have anything to do, Mr. Rooney!"

Still polite, without a smile, Sherlock stood up and said:

"My office is still very busy, so I'm afraid I don't have time to entertain the research questionnaire of the Social Survey Committee."

Rooney also stood up and said in a solemn tone:

"Mr. Sherlock, I suspect that you are involved in the mysterious event and need your cooperation with our investigation."

"If you refuse, something bad may happen!"

Sherlock frowned slightly: "Are you a threat?" ”

Rooney's attitude also began to be tough, and he said in a blunt tone:

"I've been watching you and the second floor of this apartment for a long time. I am sure that in this house, strange and dangerous events have recently taken place! I need your cooperation if ......"

His voice came to an abrupt end.

Because from his point of view, he happened to see the antique "psychic ritual" book on the desk.

A strong aura of darkness and mystery filled Rooney's sight.

In his eyes, a wriggling, intense and malicious shadow bloomed on the desk. The smell of death and decay that is surging like a tide is spreading.

Rooney's whole body is creepy!