Ten minutes later, he stood up from the ground.

"You can put away the body, the deceased is forty-three years old, single, without a girlfriend and without a wife, German."

"How do you see that?" Gregerson wondered.

"There are no traces of a wedding ring on his fingers, his beard is not bold, there is a perennial accumulation of oil in his fingernails, his life is very sloppy, and obviously no girl will want to be his girlfriend."

Gregerson nodded, and he looked at the blood letters on the wall on one side, which were a series of letters.

【Rachel】

"You think he's German because of the letters, right, if it's German, he means "revenge". ”

"I just said that he was a mecha master invited from outside, and in the imperial capital, there are only two mecha masters worthy of being invited by Britannia, one is Beichen, and the other is Germany, but obviously, he is not from Beichen."

Sherlock said as he looked at the corpse on the ground.

"However, the string of letters was not written by the deceased, and a little attention will show that the letter A is clearly modeled after the German script, and the real Germans invariably write it in the Latin script."

He looked up at Watson, "Watson, what do you see?" ”

Watson was stunned, "What?" ”

"You're a doctor, aren't you?" Sherlock asked, "I said what do you see?" ”

"I have a group of professional doctors out there." Gregerson said helplessly.

"So what, that's not my assistant." Sherlock said.

"I spent so much energy to invite, I didn't let you be willful."

"If I were you, go out and close the door, and by the way, find a way to remove the smell of perfume from your body, otherwise there may be a lot of family strife when you go back at night."

Sherlock stared at the corpse and said without looking back.

Gregson was stunned, "What? ”

"You didn't go back last night, did you? The eyes are sunken, the dark circles are thick, and the complexion is sallow, but there is a strong smell of perfume on the body, which I smelled when I was looking for someone before, and I remember that it was. Red-light district. ”

"Peng!"

The sound of the door closing, and the room fell silent.

Sherlock shrugged, and he looked at Watson, "Check it out." ”

Watson came to his senses, and he half-knelt down and began to examine the body carefully.

"It should have died of suffocation, probably vomit blocking the throat, but the deceased had no alcohol on his body, looking at the struggle, he should have been conscious when he died."

"Clever." Sherlock praised, "There is no doubt that he was poisoned. ”

Watson observed again, then nodded, "But the specifics will have to go to the forensic doctor to dissect it." ”

"They couldn't find it, this poison should be newly developed, and two of the first three suicides were dissected, but none of them could find out the cause."

Sherlock slowly got up, pushed open the door and walked out, and said to Gregson, who was squeezing orange juice for his clothes with oranges.

"Tell you one thing, it may be useful to solve the case, the deceased was undoubtedly murdered, the cause of death was poisoning, you can go to the forensic medical examiner to prove this. Secondly, the murderer was male, over 1.8 tall, in the prime of life, judging from his body comparison, the murderer had smaller feet, wore rough square scalp boots, and smoked a Ritter cigar.

He and the victim came in a scarab eight-legged taxi, and three of the taxi's legs were repaired. The killer may have a red face and long nails on his right hand, which may be useful in solving your case. ”

"Are you talking nonsense?" Gregerson felt ridiculous, he couldn't figure out how a corpse could see so many things.

"Would you like to believe that it's your business, you invited me anyway, and now, tell me where his suitcase is?"

Sherlock continued.

Gregson was stunned, "What? ”

"Suitcase." Sherlock said, "He hasn't changed his clothes in over a week, and he's not a very decent person, so his suitcase probably has more of some important mech files." Where did you put him? ”

"How do you know he has a suitcase?"

"He has mud spots on his right leg and hind leg on his stomach, but not on his left, and from the location of the mud marks, it can be seen that he is pulling a suitcase with wheels on his left side, which is a small box based on the distribution of mud spots." Sherlock looked at Gregson, "Now you can tell me where the box is, right?" ”

"There are no boxes." "At least there weren't any boxes here when we came." ”

Sherlock's expression froze suddenly, "What? ”

He reacted suddenly, pushed the door and prepared to leave, but Gregerson stopped him.

"What are you going to do?"

"Chest!" Sherlock exclaimed, "He must have a box, but now he's gone, so someone must have taken him." ”

He seemed to have thought of something, "They came by car, so maybe they landed on the car." ”

His eyes were filled with excitement.

"Serial killers are always tough to deal with, they're generally smart, and you always have to wait for them to make a mistake on their own."

He walked away quickly, Watson's legs were inconvenient, and by the time he went out, Sherlock was out of sight.

At this moment, the sky has darkened, and the mist surrounds it, making the neighborhood even more gloomy.

"How long have you known him?" Gregerson walked out.

"A few weeks." Watson said.

"That's what he is." Gregson, "Neurotic, do you want me to send you back, it's not easy to get a taxi at this time." ”

"No, you don't." Watson said.

He walked away with his cane, and Gregerson shrugged his shoulders and turned around and began directing the police to clean up the scene.

Britannia, which had just rained, had a large temperature difference between day and night, so Watson's body was a little cold and tense. He walked a few hundred meters, looked at the scattered pedestrians and vehicles along the way, and began to regret why he didn't let the policemen take him for a ride.

However, he always felt that it was unlucky to go back in a police car.

Soon, however, a taxi drove up and stopped near him.

The windows were slowly rolled down, and a young-looking man in a suit in the driver's seat asked.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Baker Street." Watson said.

"This gentleman also happened to be on the way, and he said, if you don't mind, you can carpool with him." The driver gestured to the man in the passenger seat.

Due to the dim light, he could not see the man's appearance clearly, and could only vaguely see that he was wearing a very decent suit.

"Thank you." Watson nodded without doubting anything.

It is undeniable that these days in the imperial capital have indeed seen the higher moral standards of the people of the capital compared to the people in the rest of the region. Because of his disability, he encountered a lot of kindness.

So it wasn't surprising that someone was willing to give him a ride, and he got into the back seat and put away his crutches.

The car drove slowly forward, and after a few minutes or so, Watson soon realized that the car was not on the way to Baker Street.

"Where are you going?" Watson asked.

At this time, the person in the passenger seat said, "Don't worry, we will eventually send you back, we just want to talk to you." ”

Watson stared silently at the man's back, then silently put his hand on his waist.

It seemed that something in his waist gave him confidence, and he took a deep breath and said.

"Of course." Watson shrugged, "What do you want to talk about?" ”

"You don't look scared." The man teased.

His voice was mature, but the pace of his speech was somewhat opposite to that of Sherlock, with a kind of absolute control in his slow manner.

"You don't look too scary." Watson said.

"The bravery of a soldier." He applauded.

After a pause, he continued, "I'm sorry to meet you this way. You know, that guy is smart, and I can only see you when he's distracted. ”

"Who?" Watson frowned.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Who are you?"

"Someone who is interested in this."

"Interested in Sherlock Holmes?" Watson looked at the passenger in the passenger seat suspiciously, "I don't think he's a person who will have friends." ”

"You've known him for a few days, but you know him well." The man continued.

After a pause, he said, "I'm the most like friend to him." Of course, if you ask him, he will probably say that I am his mortal enemy. ”

"Mortal enemy?"

"He's a guy who likes to dramatize things." He said.

"It's good that you're not like that."

The man in the passenger seat let out a chuckle, and after a brief silence, he said, "I can pay you a handsome sum." ”

"Why?"

"Because you're not rich, you're poor, you're homeless."

Watson was silent for a moment, "And what about the price?" ”

"You just have to tell me what that person is doing." The man said, "Simple, right? ”

"I'm sorry, I'm not interested." Watson replied without any hesitation.

The man was obviously a little surprised, but he continued, "It's not a secret piece of information, it won't embarrass you, it's just that you need to keep it secret." ”

"What do you want this information for?"

"Sometimes." The man was silent for a moment and said, "I'm going to worry about him, I've been told to take good care of him." However, our relationship is not very good. ”

"Not interested." Watson said.

"I haven't said the amount yet."

"Still not interested."

The man smiled, "You've only known each other for a few days, is that good?" ”

"I'm just not interested."

"Your psychiatrist doesn't think you're someone who trusts people easily."

Watson's brow furrowed even deeper, "How do you know?" ”

The man was speechless, and the car stopped on the side of the street.

"It's a short walk from here to Baker Street. I won't drive the car over, he will notice it. If you can, I would like you to keep today's meeting confidential. ”

Watson tried to open the door, which he opened easily.

He raised an eyebrow, but walked out anyway.

It was late at the moment, perhaps because it was not a shopping street per se, the streets were empty, not even taverns, and silent.

The reflection of the streetlights swayed in the fog, adding to the already hazy street.

"If I were you, I'd fire that physiotherapist."

Watson turned his head slowly, and the man sitting in the passenger seat stepped out of the car at some point.

He is very tall, looks like he is in his thirties, and has a relatively high hairline, but he still combs his back hair, wears a neat suit, and is meticulously groomed, very standard of high society.

"Why?" Watson said.

"Your left hand." He said.

"My left hand?"

His eyelids twitched slightly, revealing an inexplicable smile.

"Your left hand is shaking intermittently, and your physical therapist thinks it's because of post-traumatic stress disorder, also known as PTSD.

He thinks you're suffering from a military career. ”

"I should have fired him, but not because of my left hand." Watson said, "How do you know this?" ”

"There's very little I don't know about Britannia." He said with a little meaning.

He lowered his eyes and looked at his left hand, "You're under pressure right now, but your hand is rock-solid." ”

He raised his eyes, and his deep brown eyes were like candlelight swaying in the wind, as if he could penetrate people's hearts.

"Dr. Watson, you're not bothered by war."

The corners of his mouth curled slowly.

"You are hungry for war."

"Good luck, John Watson"

He sat back in his seat, the door slowly closing.

With the roar of the engine, he gradually disappeared from Watson's sight.

(End of chapter)