The sound of cheering downstairs woke up Nopa on the second floor.

As a genius with an absolute talent for machinery, on the eve of the popularization of electricity, she naturally began to supplement all the knowledge about electricity, and her brain was running at high intensity all the time during this time. And her own lady because of the Ripper case, she hasn't really slept well for several days, although I don't want to admit it, but after Sherlock came yesterday, she seems to have a sense of security for a long time, and she actually slept on the workbench.

Now I heard the sound downstairs, woke up, wiped the saliva from my mouth, and walked quickly to the window to look down.

She frowned when she saw the large number of people blocking Sherlock at the door, and then suddenly thought of something, the eyes that had not yet fully awakened from the drowsiness suddenly cleared up a lot, and became more and more startled, and the staring became wider and wider, and finally quickly turned around and rushed downstairs.

Nightingale was sitting in the hall, staring at the empty plates in a daze.

Nopa swallowed.

"That guy, just went out?"

Nightingale looked at Nopa's expression and nodded.

"What did you two do last night?" Nopa actually knew very well in his heart that his young lady would not do anything, but he still asked extremely cautiously.

"Chat."

"Just chatting?"

"Or else?"

"Amount"

yes, or not?

In fact, the security guards outside the door also wanted to know, what else were they doing besides chatting? But they certainly don't ask, ask, and don't believe any answer.

They only believe in their own eyes, this group of professionals with extremely strong investigation, evidence collection, infiltration, anti-tracking, and other skills and means, since Sherlock entered the villa last night, they have taken the initiative to work overtime, automatic shifts, sacrifice their rest time, endure sleep, and stare at the whole villa They only know that this guy in front of him has been in it for a whole night.

Therefore, even under Captain Gregson's shout, the group did not immediately disperse, but continued to stare at Sherlock's unremarkable face, observing his expression, his collar, the folds of his cuffs, desperately trying to deduce something.

After a few seconds, suddenly, someone whistled very abruptly.

One stone startled a thousand waves, at this moment, the whole courtyard was fried, it is hard to imagine, what can make the abuse and applause appear at the same time, someone behind the crowd seems to be extremely angry, want to rush over to punch the guy in front of the door, but it makes the people around scream excitedly and stop, there is a middle-aged search team member in his 40s around crying, but there is warm applause constantly ringing, in short, chaos!

Sherlock looked at this strange scene with a stiff body, he didn't understand, this group of people were all extremely outstanding elites in the Inquisition and the Imperial Bureau of Investigation, could it be that they would also have these bloody and vulgar idiot dramas in their heads?

The serials in the third-rate tabloids have long been scolded to death, and now this group of imperial elites actually took the initiative to make up for it?

"We're just talking." Sherlock explained.

But the voice was almost instantly drowned out by the clamour, and even if some people in the front row heard it, no one paid attention to him.

Sherlock frowned, simply ignoring this group of guys with brain problems, walked down the steps in front of the villa, and the crowd in front of him gave way without any command, and made a way with a very tacit 'brush', and even looked at some people on both sides who had been on the battlefield, with a serious face, standing in the most standard military posture, with a solemn posture, but the hands were clapping, as if welcoming a powerful warrior who galloped on the battlefield to return to his homeland.

Of course, this is the scene in the front row, and those who are shouting insults in the back row have already been pressed to the ground by the companions around them with the most professional grappling techniques, and from time to time some heart-rending wails and persuasive voices sound.

Sherlock lowered his head slightly, quickened his pace, and walked out of the crowd with great effort, and then saw that on a chair in front of him, Hopkins was sitting on a chair, with his legs crossed, looking like he was 'sitting and watching the world strife', and Judge Natasha standing next to him was already staring at Sherlock like a monster.

"Don't get me wrong!" Sherlock explained.

"I didn't say a word, how do you know I'm misunderstanding something?" Hopkins said with a smile in the same rhetorical language as he asked the criminals under scrutiny.

Suddenly, an angry soldier on the side shouted: "Even if it is a misunderstanding! Neither forgive! ”

Before the words fell, a few people around them covered their mouths roughly and dragged them into the crowd.

……

It lasted about 15 minutes before Gregson roared again.

Sherlock returned to the barracks, and during this time he saw Watson, who smiled and said, 'I wouldn't be surprised if you were murdered these days.' ’

He didn't pay attention to this guy, and he didn't even think that the night he rushed into the ancient Roman city was so embarrassed.

In the days that followed, every time he walked through the courtyard, he could feel countless eyes staring at him, some with strange admiration, some with obvious anger, and some as soon as he saw him coming, he immediately stood in a military posture and solemnly saluted.

In some cases, people only believe what they want to believe, so all Sherlock's explanations seem so weak, in short, four days were spent in this way, during which Shylock spent most of his time wandering around the villa, and from time to time he went to observe the church where the Pope was, and found that the guards were not lax, and everything was as usual, and the banker had no way to contact him since the door of the vault was closed, and the actress of the stage play was nowhere to be found. Everything seems to be going according to plan.

No one could have imagined how the ripper could have killed in such a situation.

And on the fifth day, the sun was about to sink into the horizon, and the thin night poured into the long street, and the fog and street lamps reflected everything like a dream.

A phone call from the barracks of Nightingale Villa rang suddenly.

Hopkins picked up the phone and put it to his ear, he didn't speak, just listened quietly, but his face became more and more gloomy, and finally, with a deep breath, hung up the phone.

Raising his head, he looked at Sherlock, who was sitting on the sofa in his office and smoking, calmed down and said:

"Pope Nadine Beru, it should be. Dead"

(End of chapter)