So, this Mr. Ripper, why did he kill Nightingale?

This is what Sherlock cares about the most at this time, but unfortunately, he doesn't have any entry point, because this real ripper has never appeared.

With just one letter after another, he created countless helpless murderers.

So what kind of person is this, why can he know the dark thoughts in the hearts of so many people, why does he have such a terrible criminal talent, and can easily build an incredibly large criminal group, if it weren't for the outlier Hopkins, who is constantly reducing this group, then now, the Ripper is likely to have spread his minions to all levels of the empire.

[You can kill a person without any responsibility]

What a terrible temptation this is.

There will be a dark side in everyone's heart, and even the most well-behaved children have once fantasized in the dead of night:

'It would be nice if that guy died'

You can kill the hostess who beats and scolds you every day, you can kill the boss who deducts wages for various reasons, you can kill the classmate who bullies you, you can kill any richer than you, you can kill any bear child who you don't like to look at, you can kill your parents, your friends, your wife, your children, and those who live happily and happily.

But don't take it, don't take any responsibility!

There is an old saying in the Empire: Never test the darkness of human form.

So when these wishes can really come true, then how many people will be willing to desperately open the envelope and release the [ripper] in their hearts.

This is no ordinary criminal, this is an opponent who can really get Sherlock interested.

So, he was now extremely excited to lick every gap between his teeth to relieve the itch that came from deep in his gums.

Today is the last day of the announcement date.

His mission was to protect Nightingale.

And now, this mission makes him extremely excited, and he wants to see what kind of tricks that guy can use in front of him.

The hands of the clock were constantly squirming forward, and no matter how much time passed, time would eventually pass, so that the day gradually dawned, and everyone seemed relieved when the first rays of sunlight filled Baker Street again.

Of course, the day has not yet passed, so no one dares to really rest.

It's noon. Nothing happened.

It was evening again, and still nothing happened.

It wasn't until 8 o'clock in the evening that some soldiers even wondered if the Ripper had given up on the murder, after all, no matter who they were, they could only be deterred by such a battle.

At 11 p.m., the lights were shining in front of the apartment at 221 Baker Street, and instead of taking advantage of the daytime to change places, these people decided to stay here.

It may be odd to say why, because this is where Sherlock lived, so it was more reassuring than those more heavily guarded and complicated fortresses.

Hopkins and Gregerson had seen Sherlock before, so in their hearts, it seemed that no criminal would be willing to approach this simple apartment building.

In the room, a group of people stayed together just like last night, making this small rental house a little crowded.

Gregson's mental power has been exhausted to the extreme in the tense atmosphere of the past few days, but he understands that the closer he gets to the end, the more dangerous and abnormal, because the predator often gives the fatal blow when the prey is most relaxed.

But he came to the clock, looked at the hands carefully, and found that there was less than one hour left until the end of the day.

Wait until after midnight, then the date of the Ripper's murder is over.

"I said. Your clock won't be adjusted by anyone, for example, it's actually 10 o'clock, and then let us relax our guard an hour in advance. ”

Gregerson asked.

"There shouldn't be such a possibility, unless someone can quietly change the time of our pocket watches, all the soldiers outside, the chronograph devices in the armored vehicles, and the Big Ben clock on the banks of the Thames, otherwise, there is nothing he can do to make the time error."

Hopkins explained calmly.

"But. . . It's 11 o'clock, and there's still no movement at all. Captain Gregerson turned the revolver in his hand and muttered in confusion, he didn't expect the Ripper to actually do it, but he really couldn't think of what kind of posture he would take to murder Miss Nightingale with such a short time left.

"I don't think that guy dares to come." Nopa tossed a metal orb back and forth between her two hands, if others knew that this orb could burst out in an instant to scorch the entire apartment, it was estimated that she would not be allowed to play like this again.

And in order to make the people present relax a little, Nightingale smiled and said: "Otherwise, let's announce in advance that the protection plan for me has been successful, how about it." ”

This simple joke came out of the girl's mouth, but it could really make the people present feel a little relaxed.

Of course, it's just mental, and as for mentally, everyone is maintaining the highest degree of focus.

11:30 a.m. It's business as usual.

11:55 a.m. With only five minutes to go until the end of the day, Hopkins stood up, ready for the final battle, Watson slowly got up and approached Nightingale's side, Nopa reached into his huge satchel, and Captain Gregerson glanced at the clock again, and found that it was 11:56, and the second hand was constantly turning rapidly in one direction.

Today is coming to an end.

It seems that everything is foreshadowing that the Ripper's murder prediction has completely failed.

And at that moment, on the corner of Baker Street, an old beggar in rags staggered into the light of a searchlight.

He walked slowly, limped and seemed to struggle with even the most basic movements.

A security guard spotted the man at the first moment, and immediately raised his gun to meet him, at such a time, even if the other party was a poor scavenger with a broken body and no weapons in his hands, no one could have let up the slightest bit about him.

"Get out of here!"

The soldier shouted the order, his gun already in a position of aim, and it was certain that if the poor beggar took one step further, he would pull the trigger without mercy.

The life of a beggar is just that, compared to Miss Nightingale's safety, it is really not even a fart, so at this time, no one will care whether the other party does not have any fighting ability at first glance, let alone whether the old beggar is innocent or not.

Fortunately, although the old beggar's ears were gone, his hearing was still alive, so he obediently stopped.

But he put his hand into his tattered clothes.

"What are you doing?!"

The soldier in front of him noticed the beggar's movements and immediately shouted, and in an instant, countless muzzles were already aimed at the other party, and only heard "Bang!" Bang! Bang! Several bullets had sunk into the other party's shoulders, and a large clear blood mark appeared on the abdomen, and the already broken leg was pierced by a bullet, causing it to fall directly to the ground in misery.

And it was only then that everyone finally saw that what he took out of his clothes was actually a letter.

Thirty seconds later, a soldier knocked on the door of 221B.

After Gregerson cautiously pointed his gun at the door, and then opened the door, the soldier hurriedly handed over a letter.

"Report, we captured an old beggar."

said that it was captured, but in fact, according to the gunshot wound of the old beggar, the other party was basically about to breathe, but the soldier obviously didn't care much about this, and continued:

He said. There's a letter for Sherlock. Mr. Holmes. ”

"A letter?" Captain Gregerson frowned, he obviously felt that something was wrong, at this time, there were only three minutes left before midnight, and suddenly a letter was delivered, it must be very abnormal to think no matter what.

But this letter looked so ordinary, and it certainly wouldn't contain any flammable or explosive materials or anything like that, so in the first place, Captain Gregerson didn't drive out the soldiers in front of him.

At this moment, Sherlock's eyes were already on the letter in the soldier's hand.

His eyes widened slightly.

In the depths of those pupils, there seemed to be a glimmer of excitement, but he was still reluctant to restrain himself, and asked Hopkins beside him:

"Is that what kind of faith you have?"

Hopkins' breathing was a little short, because he could be sure that the envelope in the soldier's hand was the same material he had received.

To put it more plainly, that is. The real [Ripper], who had never shown his face, actually sent a letter to Sherlock at this juncture!

"Don't."

Hopkins looked at Sherlock, his eyes showed obvious panic, he shook his head with great anxiety, although he didn't know what would happen to Sherlock when he received this letter, but he felt that it would definitely not be a good thing!

However, it was already too late.

Sherlock at this time! Received a letter from a real ripper!

How could he not open it and read it!

So, he had already taken a step and walked towards the door.

It's 11:57:39.

He took two more steps.

The people in the room saw Hopkins' expression, but they didn't know what the letter meant, they didn't understand where the other's frightened expression came from, and they didn't rush forward to stop Sherlock.

In fact, even if you stop it, it's useless.

The clock was 11:57:40.

Sherlock was about to take the third step, and he would be able to take the letter with just one stretch of his hand.

But at this time.

Suddenly, he stopped, then frowned, as if thinking of something, tilted his head, and asked the soldier with the envelope at the door.

"You say. Who sent this letter? ”

"An old beggar." The soldier didn't feel the slightest amount of panic and mixed emotions in the first three seconds, and just reported to the detective with great respect.

Sherlock was silent for a few seconds

"Is this old beggar seriously injured, and all of his body is broken?"

He asked.

"Yes!" The soldier nodded in reply, though it was clear that he was a little curious as to why Mr. Detective in front of him would know such a thing.

But he didn't ask.

Because the moment he nodded, Sherlock had already turned around and looked in the direction of Nightingale.

Now, he is less than a meter away from Nightingale.

The latter could see Sherlock's eyes very clearly, and then she realized with some confusion that the other party did not seem to be looking at her.

Rather, John was standing behind him. Watson

(End of chapter)