Access between the upper and lower towns is via a bridge across the River Thames, flanked by heavy geared gates that are hardly opened at night after curfew.

Of course, this kind of discipline written in the London law of peace will never be binding on the Holy See.

Listening to the roar of mechanical gears turning outside the car window, Sherlock slowly cast his eyes into the night, and a huge portrait of Nightingale hung on the steel cable next to the bridge, according to legend, this angelic girl who traveled through the empire will arrive in London in a month, and it is unknown how many people will be healed and blessed this time.

Looking at the stunning beauty presented on the canvas, Sherlock did not show the obsession and yearning for beauty of human beings like all citizens of the empire, but just sat silently, and a few stars appeared in the sky over London, which represented that in the distant deep sky, several huge stars were being born or destroyed.

But he knew very well that if there were any admirable people in this rotten world, this girl must be one of them.

Half an hour later, after crossing several more paths covered in steam from manhole covers, the carriage finally reached Baker Street.

It's a nondescript street, but it's really clean compared to the main roads in the city...... At least apart from the garbage bins that have never been cleaned, the gas street lamps that have never been repaired, and the homeless orphans who steal everywhere, there is almost no congestion and no neighing of leaky pipes.

Even the murderers don't dump their bodies here...... It may feel like a price drop.

Of course, from time to time, there will still be some corpses bitten by demons on the side of the street, this is a helpless thing, low-level small demons generally have no wisdom, when they encounter something that moves, they subconsciously want to gnaw twice, and then try to swallow it.

Anyway, for Sherlock, it's a rare place to live.

......

Walking into Building 314A, a smell of mold came to my face.

The building was clearly very old, and as you walked up the steps, the planks beneath your feet made an unbearable moan. And the second floor is his home.

Walking up and pushing the door open, Sherlock reached out and twisted a knob on the wall, and the gas drifted through the pipe in the wall into a glass cover, the light turned on slowly, and the dim light through the faded carvings on the lampshade did not bring much warmth to the small room, but reflected a trace of messiness and loneliness.

The eye catches the eye is a living room, small enough to be unobstructed without a side glance, with sofas placed at random, no original color carpets, unpolished wooden cabinets, and small windows facing the bald red brick walls of the building.

A standard budget apartment.

And beyond that, it's a room full of books......

"Memoirs of a Contractor's Servant", "Abyss Creatures Illustrated Book", "Speculations on the Ability of High-level Contractors", and many newspaper clippings about civilians working together to repel and even kill demons.

The books were scattered around the room, almost every one of them in tatters, apparently having been read countless times.

As I said before, Sherlock is an ordinary man, he is not a devout believer, and naturally he has not participated in the canonization ceremony of the contractors of the Holy See; However, he was not so yearning, so he usually flipped through the books and read the briefings about the abyssal demons, just in time to entertain his idle head.

"Hoo ~~~~~"

Hanging up his coat and hat, he walked over to a couch and sat down, and he let out a comfortable moan.

The sofa was also very old, the red patent leather was all cracked, and the partition in the middle had collapsed into a piece, just enough for the person on top to half lie in it, a position that Sherlock liked very much.

Today he was exhausted......

First he went to catch a murderer, then he came into contact with the clergy of the Holy See, went to the upper town, and by the way, offended a nun.

Oh, and when it comes to the nun of Judgment named Catherine, Sherlock says of her...... It's kind of interesting.

Because after some careless observations, I can learn that she is a sweet-toothed controller, loves lazy beds, and doesn't like to fold quilts! Living alone, drinking heavily, and sleeping at night with a big pillow in his arms, presumably a big stuffed rabbit with long ears or something.

Tsk, it's a little different from the usual cold image in front of people.

But it doesn't matter, who hasn't had a little contrast these days...... Even the old-school cops like Lestrade like they like to wear T-shaped panties that fit into the butt slit, and Sherlock never thinks there's anything wrong with that, so he never pokes them through.

Let's go back to Deacon Badr, who lost his wife......

For him, Sherlock still cares more; After all, he was a person close to the deceased, and he was also affiliated with the violent institutions that the Holy See exercised control over the empire, and he deserved more attention.

However, to Sherlock's surprise, he was unable to get even the slightest bit of information about this person...... Whether it is personality, work and rest, diet and hobbies, physical state, habits, all of them are a blank slate.

If it weren't for the slightest reaction to his wife's death, Sherlock would have suspected that he was really an emotionless machine, as rumored to be.

After thinking about it for a while, he turned his gaze to the clock on the wall......

It was already three o'clock in the morning, and Sherlock needed a break.

At this time, there was no light outside the window, and the night enveloped the whole apartment, and there was no clamouring or traffic, only the distant bell echoed as always; He closed his eyes...... Get ready to fall asleep on the couch.

And after falling asleep, you can also think about the riddles about homicide.

Forehead...... That's right, reasoning...... To be after falling asleep.

So, he relaxed his body and poured all his fatigue into the old sofa beneath him.

Less than 10 minutes.

A soft snoring sounded.

The rhythm is gentle and long, like the bells and prayers in those churches......

......

And at the same time.

In the midst of a white world, Sherlock slowly opened his eyes.

He twisted his neck, then stood up...... I wasn't surprised by the weird surroundings, I just got used to it and yawned.