Sherlock watched silently as Gregerson left his sight, calm until he was out of sight completely. Watson jumped up with excitement when he saw him, and said loudly to himself.

"There have been four serial suicides, and there are still last words, it must be the Holy Sword Angel who favored me today!"

"Honey." Mrs. Hudson said softly, "I don't think you should be so happy that someone is dead. ”

"I'm sorry." "But it's not one dead, it's four dead, and anyone gets excited." ”

He said it for granted.

He quickly picked up one side of his coat and prepared to leave.

But soon, he stopped and looked at Watson, "I remember, you're a military doctor?" ”

Watson reacted and nodded.

"How's it going?"

"Very good."

"Then you must have seen a lot of wounded and violent colonists?"

Watson shrugged his shoulders undeniably.

Sherlock's eyes brightened, "That should be hard to bear, right?" ”

"Okay, I've seen too many."

"Mind seeing you again?"

The moment he heard this, Watson finally determined what Sherlock meant, and an adrenaline rush that seemed to have appeared on the battlefield gradually spread to his body.

Without any hesitation, he replied directly.

"Of course!"

The two of them walked down the stairs from the room quickly and quickly stopped a taxi.

As the car gradually drove towards its destination, Watson finally asked the question, "You're a detective, right?" ”

After a pause, he said suspiciously, "But the police won't look for laymen." ”

Sherlock turned his head to look at him, "I mentioned Barema and Harinia the first time I met you. ”

"Yes." Watson nodded, "I've always wanted to ask, how do you know?" ”

"The way you stand and your hairstyle when you enter the door is very standard military temperament, your face is dark, but it is not your original skin color, because your wrists are very white, which means that you have just returned from the tropics.

You've been through life and death, you've been seriously ill, and it's all obviously written on your withered face. You have injured your left leg and are still holding a cane, but instead of finding a chair to sit on, you choose to stand, indicating that you have forgotten about your disability.

This shows that your lameness is not born, but the result of trauma, and where is the tropical place where a Britannian warrior can be wounded?

It seems that there are only Barema and Harinia.

Of course, if you didn't look for a chair, it also means that your lameness has long been cured, and now it's more of a psychological problem. ”

"You say I have a physical therapist."

"You have physical and mental ailments, and of course you need a physiotherapist."

He looked at Watson, "And your brother, pagers are not cheap in this era, but you have to find someone to share the apartment, which means that you did not buy it, but a gift." There are scratches on the pager, not just one, but many, definitely with keys and coins in a pocket, you don't treat yourself like this luxury, so there must be an owner before that.

The next point is very simple, with another name engraved on the back of the pager, Harry Watson.

The pager is for young people, so it won't be your father, maybe a cousin, but you're a battle hero and you're homeless, so it's not like there's a big family either.

Therefore, it is more likely to be a close relative, that is, a brother.

There is also a name called Carat on the back of the pager, which is obviously a girl, and such an expensive pager may have been given by his wife, not his girlfriend.

There is a factory date on the pager, this thing will not be used for more than six months, and he will give it away after six months, it may be that there is a problem with the relationship, if she leaves him, it is common sense that he will keep it as a souvenir.

But he threw it away, so it was he who left her. He gives you the pager to show that he wants to keep in touch with you. The fact that you are homeless and unwilling to turn to your brother for help is a sign that your relationship is not good.

Maybe you like his wife, or maybe he's an alcoholic. ”

His words were fast, and Watson was concentrating to keep up with him, but although the speed of his speech was fast, the logic was clear.

Hearing him tell the difference, Watson thought that it was not unusual for him to guess these things.

But Watson knew that in order to observe this, he must also need a kind of observation ability beyond ordinary people.

After saying this, Sherlock turned his head, "I'm a consultant detective, unique in this world, and the police will come to me to solve when they can't find clues." ”

While talking, taxis also stopped at their destinations.

When the door opened, they could see several parked mechs and a multi-legged police car, which was pulling the fence.

They stepped out of the car, and Watson spoke slowly.

"I've always had a bad relationship with Harry, he had a relationship with Kra three months ago, they're getting divorced now, he's been drinking for a long time."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Did you get it all right?" ”

It was a foggy evening, and the sky was overcast. All the roofs were covered in a dark brown veil of fog that looked like the reflection of the earthy yellow streets.

The Lauriston Gardens look very eerie. Not far from the street sat four houses, two of which were inhabited and the other two were empty and uninhabited, and Building No. 3 was one of the empty ones. On one side of the street facing the empty house, there were three rows of windows, and the gloomy, empty, dusty glass was plastered with "rent" notes, as if it had cataracts.

Each house has a small garden in front of it, separating the house from the street. The garden is dotted with crooked flowers. A slender yellow path runs through the garden, which at first glance is paved with gravel and clay.

It rained all night last night, and it was muddy everywhere. The garden is surrounded by a two-metre-high brick wall with a wooden fence at the top of the wall. Leaning against the wall stood a tall, burly policeman.

There was a crowd of people who liked to watch the excitement all around, and they stretched their necks to look inside, wanting to see what was going on inside.

However, the mecha stood in front of them, and the burly body of the storm mecha blocked their vision, and they couldn't see the situation inside clearly.

Watson had expected Sherlock to go in and study the case, but he didn't do it right away, but instead looked careless.

He walked slowly up and down the sidewalk, looking at the ground with a blank face, at the sky, at the house across from him and at the row of fences. After looking at it, he walked slowly down the path of the garden.

To be precise, walk along the trail near the grassy side, keeping your eyes on the ground. Sometimes he stopped, and sometimes he let out a knowing exclamation. There were many footprints on the damp dirt floor. However, the police had walked back and forth on it so many times that he really couldn't see what he could find on it deductively.

When they arrived at the door, Gregson, whom they had met before, greeted him, "I'm glad you came, the people are inside, and they haven't moved." ”

Sherlock looked up at them, then continued, "Did you come here on a scarab?" ”

"Nope." "You see mechs and police cars parked outside, too. ”

"Then let's go see that room." Sherlock changed his mind and walked in slowly.

It was a short hallway leading to the kitchen and the lower room, uncarpeted and dusty. There is a door on the left and right sides of the aisle. One of them was clearly closed and hadn't been opened for a long time.

Walk up the stairs to the bedroom on the second floor, where this mysterious case takes place.

He walked in slowly, and Watson followed, and a familiar smell filled the air, the smell of corpses.

It was a large square room, with no furniture in it, and it was more spacious. The walls were covered with very simple wallpaper, and in some places there were large patches of mold.

In many places, large swaths of the wallpaper have peeled off, revealing the yellowed stucco inside.

The only window was dirty, and the interior was dimly lit, giving the room a dull and gloomy color.

However, the most striking thing is the male corpse on the ground. The corpse lay stiff on the floor, staring at the floor with a pair of hollow eyes.

Medium build, broad shoulders, black curly hair, and a very messy stubble. He wears a thick pile coat with a waistcoat underneath, and oil stains on the collar and cuffs, as well as oil stains on the nail covers.

His hands were clenched, his arms outstretched, his legs intertwined, and his stiff face with a look of horror. It was an expression of resentment, an expression Watson had never seen before on a human face, vicious and terrifying.

His face was extremely distorted, with a low forehead and protruding chin, as well as an extremely unnaturally distorted body, which made him look weird.

Watson had seen a lot of corpses on the battlefield, but he had to admit that this corpse was the weirdest one he had ever seen.

"The identity of the deceased has been identified." Gregerson said, "It's a mecha engineer hired by the government, and according to the arrangement given to him by the Imperial City Government, he should stay at the St. Mary's Hotel, I don't know why he is here."

"Alright." Sherlock raised his hand to stop Gregerson from continuing, "The rest of the information is useless. ”

"What haven't I said yet?" Gregerson said confusedly.

"It's going to be a bit noisy if you go on any more." Sherlock said, "The corpse will tell me everything. ”

"He's dead, sir." Gregerson said.

"Corpses are much more honest than real people." Sherlock crouched down and picked up a magnifying glass to observe the corpse, and he walked lightly around the room, sometimes stopping, sometimes kneeling, and even lying on the ground to observe.

He was so engrossed that he seemed to have completely forgotten that they existed, and even talked to himself.

(End of chapter)