Time dilutes everything, and this statement holds true at all times.

But the essence of it is that people always have to put life first.

If you want to think about other things, you have to get your own one-third of an acre of land done first. So, in the face of heavy work, family income, dwindling wages, and increasingly demanding corporate demands and messy taxes, people have little energy to think about current political news.

And those nobles who were born with a golden spoon in their mouths, most of them are indulged in an illusory and beautiful world, and they can't figure out in what direction the world is developing, and some of the smarter ones will definitely not be any moths, they only want to make their aristocratic status more stable, after all, the beneficiaries can't shout about fairness every day.

Only those fools who eat the welfare of the aristocracy, but who pretend to be high-minded, worry about the country and the people, will be in their own huts, pondering the distribution of society, looking forward to fairness that can never be achieved, and not dancing with the noble ladies every day, and thinking about some strange things.

Very good, this kind of person will be swallowed up by the class he is in sooner or later, and the most persistent ones are to splash some water, but who cares In short, this world will always be in the hands of those who already control the world.

The disaster that fell from the sky more than half a month ago has not been forgotten, but no one is angry about it anymore, the families of the victims have all received due compensation, and gradually there will be no trouble In fact, when people adapt to the oppression, as long as they are no longer squeezed, then they will feel very happy, there is no need for any substantive compensation, and even some people still feel that something is wrong, and when they want to ask for an explanation, the people around them will spontaneously persuade them, after all, the word "law-abiding citizen", In their eyes, it has always been a compliment.

As it was said at the beginning, time will always dilute everything.

Early that morning, Sherlock returned to his little room on Baker Street, from which he had not been since the plane crash, and now he was once again lying on the familiar couch, and he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

As for Watson, he didn't come with him, and of course, it was impossible to go back to his expensive apartment.

A few days earlier, he and Sherlock had invited a Pope to an abandoned factory on the outskirts of London, and Watson had a long conversation with him that lasted more than an hour.

It was really a long talk, because when Sherlock was smoking outside the factory, the two dug out kneecaps were thrown directly out of the second-floor window, and when they landed, they happened to buckle together.

After that, Watson knew that the order to hunt down him was issued by the great Pope Theodore himself.

Moreover, the purge order of the White Thorn Security Company also came from His Excellency the Fat Pope.

Watson was very relieved, because a person with a lot of fat must be more resistant than a thin person, so he decided to have a friendly, cordial, and heart-to-heart communication with the Pope.

During this time, Sherlock must have been too lazy to accompany him, so he left the Pope to Watson, and he returned to Baker Street, believing that after such a long time together, the Pope and Watson would get along very well, whether they wanted to tell or what they didn't want to tell, they would say it all.

I just have to wait for Watson to come back, and then listen directly to the ready-made

Over the next few days, Sherlock focused on 'adapting to the extra abilities in his head', but he couldn't get used to the loneliness of this ability.

Usually, he still has Mrs. Hudson by his side, although she only lives downstairs and does not have much intersection with herself, but there is always such a person, and now, the downstairs room is empty.

Sherlock, who has always been accustomed to being alone, inexplicably felt a trace of loneliness, and then suddenly realized that he didn't know when, there seemed to be a lot of people around him.

He wanted to call Mrs. Hudson, but he didn't know where to call, and the landlady was supposed to be on the steam train to the Holy City, presumably she would not contact him again until she reached Jerusalem.

So he wanted to call Moriarty again, but Moriarty no longer lived in the small villa behind the church, and he had been saying that he was busy before he was shipwrecked, but he didn't know what he was busy with, and how was Moran doing now?

Eventually, he finally thought that he still had Miss Nightingale to contact, but when he picked up the phone, he suddenly felt ridiculous. Do you want to contact Miss Nightingale?

The most beautiful woman in the entire empire, the girl who cured the sick all over the world?

Thinking of the previous encounter with her, getting along, and the figure by the window that although he didn't care much about it, it was also extremely difficult to forget, he seemed to feel that his life had changed something abnormal, but he didn't know whether this change was good or bad.

So, he picked up the newspaper he had just brought in at the door.

I haven't been home for a long time, and there are a lot of newspapers stacked at the door, so I casually spread out a copy and start reading, and then I found that in the most conspicuous place on the cover, there was a man he had never seen.

The man looked to be nearly fifty years old, with a high hairline, perhaps due to long-term fatigue, but he was extremely stubborn in keeping the hair on the back of his head long.

And next to the avatar, his name is marked: Dr. Franklin.

And the headline on the front page above this photo reads:

The ——— and the Man Who Will Change the World

Sherlock thought it strange because he was holding a holy newspaper, and this kind of newspaper, which had a circulation all over the country and had a strong papal background, was not usually so sudden and high-profile to put a picture of someone on the front page.

Mistress Dante had such treatment, Miss Nightingale, and General Patton, who was guarding the gates of hell on the front line, and no one seemed to have enjoyed such treatment.

Moreover, this Dr. Franklin seems to be just a figure who is not very visible to the public, why did he suddenly receive such an honor.

Sherlock read the front page with curiosity, and this report also introduced Dr. Franklin's life and family situation, his dedication to electric power research, and not long ago, his experiments suddenly received a terrifying amount of sponsorship funds, which could make his experimental results usher in a huge leap, if successful, maybe electricity can really be resurrected, and once again become a large-scale universal energy source that can be equal to steam, or even surpass steam power!

After a short period of speculation in the early stage, if that time really comes, it seems that the productive forces can also get a leap forward, and then people's lives, taxes, and the income of many groups of workers will usher in better changes.

Of course, the common people did not understand what electricity was, let alone how it worked, but they knew the word 'money', so this report almost suddenly became the best issue of the newspaper in recent years, and the name Franklin also became the talk of the poor class after dinner.

Not many people even noticed that in a not-so-conspicuous line of the report, there was a sentence like this:

[Dr. Franklin is of distant relative descent from Felty, and has decided to participate in next year's Transposition Ceremony for the Imperial Throne.] 】

At this moment, bell ~ bell ~ bell ~

A series of bells rang.

Sherlock picked up the phone, and on the other end of the line, a familiar, but not heard voice in a long time:

"I just wanted to try to contact you, but I didn't expect you to be really home."

Moriarty's voice sounded even more tired than it had been on the last call.

Sherlock smiled, "Didn't you say you've been busy?" ”

"Yes, I just finished being busy, I always have some time to rest, and my health is also very important."

Sherlock was slightly stunned, he didn't expect that Moriarty, who usually can't even sleep, could say such a thing: "Haha, it seems that being hit on the head by an airship is not all a bad thing, by the way, what about Moran. What is the injury? ”

"Miss Nightingale was here once the day before yesterday, so. Not bad. The voice on the phone had a satisfied smile, but it was very faint, like a sweet taste that was trying to taste in the bitterness: "I will go to you later, I want to ask you for something." ”

"Okay, I'll wait for you at home."

Sherlock said, hanging up.

Three hours later, the light of dusk began to fill the streets, and then there was a knock on the door.

When Sherlock opens the door, he finds that it is not Moriarty, but Watson.

I haven't seen him for two days, but he is still wearing that dress, and his blonde hair is slightly messy, looking dusty.

But there was a big smile on his face.

"Well, you can see that you had a good conversation with His Excellency the Pope."

"Of course." Watson squinted his eyes, his face full of spring: "Fat has brought him tenacious vitality, and the arrogance of being the Pope has also made him have some very cute little stubbornness We talked for two whole days, and we didn't even rest for a second." ”

Sherlock didn't want to hear Watson describe how many little games he had played with the Pope, he just wanted to hear what clues he had about the crash.

And just as he was about to ask.

On the street, a horse-drawn carriage seemed slow, but it approached quickly and steadily, and stopped on the opposite side of No. 221B.

The door opened, and Moriarty stepped out of the carriage.

Coming down was Moran

(End of chapter)