Soon, Baker Street was controlled by this group of guards with live guns and nuclear bombs, and in almost every corner of those street lights, there were people watching, and four huge armored vehicles were staggered and parked in front of apartment 221B, with searchlights constantly on, constantly scanning the surroundings with the rotating machine guns at the top.

This kind of scene, for a resident of Lower London, is undoubtedly a lifetime of life; But for the people who live on Baker Street, uh. It doesn't seem that hard to accept.

I don't know since when, it always seems that there will be some big battles on this street.

For example, the residents of the entire street were forced to evacuate, and then several clergy demolished the building here; For example, a large number of extremely distinguished members of the Holy See suddenly appeared in front of a certain apartment building and knelt down collectively; For example, an airship landed directly in the middle of the road

So this time, the arrival of several armored vehicles didn't seem to cause much panic, as if as long as it wasn't for a third-order great demon suddenly appearing on this street, then everyone could barely accept it.

The second floor was Sherlock's room, but his room was really not suitable for Miss Nightingale, although Sherlock repeatedly emphasized that his room was normal, but who knows if he would have a human head in his closet.

In short, surrounded by everyone, Miss Nightingale took up residence in Watson's room, which was as tidy as the best hotel in London, and that the paintings, the flowers by the window, and even the simplest tablecloth had an inexplicable beauty.

Everyone who walked into this room couldn't help but sigh how someone could clean up a single apartment like this.

Except for Watson

As Nightingale walked into the room, he seemed to be nervous in a rare way.

In particular, when Gregerson signaled that if she was too tired, she could take a nap in bed, Watson was like a great enemy.

"Lord Nightingale, I have slept with the sheets and blankets on this bed, and if you can wait a little longer, I will buy you a brand new sheet that suits your identity as soon as possible."

Watson said worriedly.

But the girl in front of her just smiled, and then sat down on Watson's bed without paying attention, and the hands that seemed to glow golden under the gas and so on gently patted the clean bed.

"I'll tell you the truth, it's the cleanest bed I've ever slept in." She looked at Watson and said, "Over the years, I have traveled to various cities in the empire, and I have slept in all kinds of places, and even I have really slept in the bridge cave, so I am very satisfied with this room."

Of course, it's not that I'm low-sighted, I don't think even the most picky aristocratic lady can find the slightest fault in this room.

Mr. Watson, you are the man I know most about life, and I am a little worried that I will crumple the sheets. ”

When she said these words, she looked at each other with great sincerity.

"So, don't tire me out anymore, I'm not a porcelain doll."

Watson looked at the girl in front of him blankly, the voice was like the will of the supreme god, he only felt that he wanted to bow down and bow to the ground, but since he had never had such respect for the holy light, if he really knelt in front of Nightingale now, it would definitely make the other party a little embarrassed.

Therefore, he could only bow, like those knights who guarded the princess in those ancient legends:

"Follow your wishes, beautiful Lord Nightingale."

There were Watson in the room and they were staring, and Sherlock was relieved.

So, outside Gate 221B of Baker Street, he and Hopkins sat on the steps facing the street, watching the soldiers patrolling in front of them, and the craving for cigarettes was finally released by the soft sound of the lighter, and at the same time, he handed one to the judge of the trial and lit it.

The hazy smoke looks dreamlike for a long time under the occasional light.

"Aren't you going to announce my arrest?" Hopkins asked, carefully enduring the deadly pungency in his chest.

"Why are you being arrested?"

"I'm a ripper, and you have a good reason to arrest me."

"Come on." Sherlock waved his hand indifferently: "I did take the case, but it is my right, not my obligation, to arrest the ripper."

How many times do I have to stress that I am only responsible for Miss Nightingale's safety, and for the rest, I just want to solve these puzzles. ”

“.” Hopkins was silent again.

It's this feeling, this obviously extremely irresponsible statement, that comes from Sherlock. In the mouth of Sherlock Holmes, this absolute selfishness and conceit of putting one's interests above everything else, but it has changed one's perception of the law by force.

This completely contradictory, but such an unforgettable attitude, made the genius of the court smile helplessly, but he was helpless.

"You're really a monster, and if one day, the Pope upsets you, then aren't you going to tear down the entire Holy See?"

He asked exaggeratedly, of course, it was just a joke:

"So, you called me out just to ask me for a cigarette?"

"Of course not, but there are some things that I can't figure out."

"Oh?" Hopkins was stunned: "In this world, there is anything you don't understand?" ”

"Yes, actually, at first, I thought I could figure it out, but gradually I realized that I really couldn't find the slightest clue.

It's hard to imagine that in this world, there is a group operation model that leaves no trace? ”

Sherlock looked at the scarlet point of light between his fingertips with a wry smile:

"Can you tell me what kind of collective you rippers are?

It is

Why are there so many rippers all of a sudden.

How did you come to accept your identity as a ripper?

In my impression, you are a person who regards the law as more important than life, although people like you who are a little paranoid about certain things are the easiest to blacken, but you also changed too quickly, I stayed in the blood prison for half a year, and as soon as I came out, how could you become a murderer. ”

Hopkins listened to these questions, his whole eyes were empty, and he thought, I became the way I am now, it's not all because of you!

However, when he thought of the identity of [Ripper], he also had to admit that if there was no Ripper to explain to others, it would be impossible for anyone to believe that such a strange group was operating on something.

So he took a heavy puff of cigarette and exhaled all the air in his lungs in one breath, and then slowly spoke:

"Actually. It all started with a letter. ”

(End of chapter)