He couldn't see, and the only eye that was left was so exposed under the exaggerated searchlight that he couldn't even see what was in front of him, and naturally it was impossible to see through the solid walls to see inside the room.

But the smell of the air was clear, the mist of condensed steam, the pungent smell of engine oil, the green and slightly acidic rust of steel, the scorching friction between bearings, and the faint smell of gunpowder emanating from the guns.

Only there is no smell of blood.

The bell struck the third time.

Built for the victory of the Second Demonic Invasion, Big Ben is so precise that at 12 midnight this huge bell will strike 12 times, and at the sixth bell is the time of the junction between today and tomorrow.

So the soldiers knew that today was about to pass, so no matter how restrained they were, they finally couldn't resist the joy in their hearts!

From their point of view, the great Lord Nightingale was not assassinated!

The ripper failed!

Under his own protection, the terrible curse of murder was broken.

How can this not make people cheer, so under the too bright searchlight, people began to smile more and more, they looked at each other, and saw the heartfelt relief and excitement on each other's faces, and the hearts that had been tense finally fell, and even some people couldn't hold it back, and screamed with relief.

Only the old beggar remained motionless, his nose slightly twitching as the only one with intact features, as if trying to catch the smell of blood in the air.

But he didn't smell it.

Moreover, there was no sound of fighting in the apartment number 221B, no panicked cries for help, no cursing, nothing, just so quiet.

It's like the silent depression of two people who are fighting each other for life and death.

The "Knock ————" bell came to the fourth ring.

The old beggar frowned slightly, and he remembered the alley where he once lived, the bed made of newspapers and old clothes, the wine in the night, the divination that was not distracted, and the young man who was supposed to shine with incomparably dazzling brilliance in this world, but his heart had been confused.

He could clearly feel that this young man was very similar to himself, whether it was a confused state or a focus on beauty.

Once upon a time, he put down his paintbrush, picked up his gun, then sealed the gun again, picked up the drunken wine glass, and became an unknown wanderer on the street.

The older a person gets, the more he wants to find a sustenance, and perhaps deep in his heart, he is eager for the survival of his own will, so he will use this way to find a inheritance.

John. Watson

I guess that's the name.

I don't know why, I can't remember his name, but after so many screenings, he is still the young man I admire the most, even more than the one named Stanley. The young people of Hopkins are more suitable to inherit the title of "Ripper".

Although the latter is also very good, the justice that remains in his heart that cannot be rubbed away will become a demon that he cannot ignore in the future.

The old beggar's proudest talent is not actually to kill, but to see into people's hearts, in so many years of wandering, he has seen too many people in the streets and alleys, these people only need to look at themselves, or as long as they show some subconscious behavior, they can reveal the deepest secrets hidden in their hearts.

Otherwise, he would not have been able to use just some letters to poke at the darkest and most sensitive places in the hearts of those people, so as to build a murderous network.

So he knew Watson, they had been together for so many years, so many nights, so much wine, and the old beggar knew very well what choice he would make between that girl's life and a better future.

So, why hasn't he done it yet?

Could it be that he's in trouble?

Thinking of this, the old beggar guessed the only possibility almost instantly.

Shylock. Sherlock Holmes, the guy he has never been able to see through, the guy who obviously smells of sin, but he calls himself a detective, the guy who doesn't care about everything, ignores everything, doesn't care about life, doesn't worship glory, and doesn't even have much human racial consciousness, as if he doesn't actually belong to this world, but for some reason, he came to the world helplessly.

And at this moment, he was also in that room, and only he could stop Watson.

But he had already used a letter to get him away from Watson's body at a distance of one meter, and this distance should be considered safe for Watson.

So his plan has been discovered?

"Knock ————"

The fifth bell struck, and the sound that resounded in the night sky was as familiar to the people of the city as it had been for decades, and no one felt anything wrong with it, except to the ears of the soldiers who were cheering loudly around them, and it was a hymn of victory.

It seems that Watson needs some help.

So, before the fifth bell had yet to dissipate, the old man staggered to his feet.

His broken body swayed, as if he would fall in the next second, some people saw this scene, but they didn't care, no one thought that a disabled beggar could do anything at this moment.

No one will associate it with that feared ripper.

However, no one noticed that the ropes tied around him had fallen off at this moment, or had noticed, but at the moment when the picture came into their minds from their pupils, they didn't have time to react, only saw the light from the searchlight leave a strange afterimage on the bloody and broken face.

It's an afterimage.

Because at this moment, the old man has disappeared!

And where he was standing just now, a huge cyclone suddenly appeared out of thin air at an instant, that is, something was too fast, pushing away the air, and the surrounding air waves were filled by the air pressure that was short to an instant, and a vortex that was almost like a vacuum gushed out.

Bang bang!

The friction between the air unexpectedly steam out an incredible heat wave, and the vacuum sucked in the surrounding air currents rapidly, and then collided and pushed each other, and exploded at about the same time, making a deafening roar, but before the sound could lift the dust off the ground, a path that ran from here to the apartment on the side of Baker Street, the blood line formed by the incredible speed was like a sharp sword drawn from the void, piercing directly into the wall.

The old beggar no longer had an arm, one of his legs was lame, three bullets had been embedded in his shoulder, the bones of his leg had been shattered from the gunshot, and there was a shrapnel in his liver, which was constantly bleeding out.

These new and old injuries hurt him, slowed him down, made him unable to concentrate, and made him weak.

But it's also enough.

Therefore, the only arm he had left had pierced the brick wall in front of him, and the cracks spread out to the outside, but before it could be blown away, the old beggar's body had already broken through the barrier between the wind pressure and the wall.

At this point, he saw the scene in the room, saw that a knife in Watson's hand had been placed on Nightingale's shoulder, saw people confronting him nervously, and saw the man named Sherlock standing delicately at a point less than a meter away from Watson, it seemed that he was indeed the first to perceive the full set he had set.

Of course, none of that matters

Because, at this moment, he had already approached the girl in the room, and at the moment when everyone didn't react, the fingertips stretched straight forward had already pierced Nightingale's throat!

In every era, there will be a few people who are extremely gifted in something, and ordinary people envy this talent and desire to be able to easily do things that others can't.

But what they don't know is that it is painful and terrible for a person to have a talent that no one else can match.

Because you can do it, you have a responsibility, and it is precisely because ordinary people can't do it, so they don't have to take this responsibility, they just need to wait and see, and then stand on the moral high ground and make a big deal about it.

Of course, the old beggar doesn't care what other people say, he just wants to make the world a better place, that's all.

At this point, he was in close proximity to John. Watson was perfectly agreed.

Therefore, he dragged his broken body, and after living for so many years, he finally wanted to do the last thing for the world when the empire entered a new era.

Half a year ago, Augustine the Great died.

Half a year ago, a new emperor ascended the throne.

Half a year ago, the young Son officially succeeded to the Pope.

Half a year ago, the horn of mankind's counterattack on hell sounded.

If this state of affairs continues, the closure of the gates of hell should no longer be an unrealistic extravagance.

So!

I just need to kill the only variable, and kill the most beautiful girl in the world. That's it.

Although it is a little unreasonable, because everyone knows that the girl is the kindest person, that girl deserves to be respected and loved by all, and that girl must not die.

However, when that picture was presented in front of his eyes, he had to admit that this girl did not seem to be just the hope of the human world.

It was because of that photo that the old beggar finally understood why the girl had never summoned her contract creature at any time.

The melodious sound of the bell still did not dissipate, but the explosion that broke through the air finally drowned out all the sounds around them at this moment, and shook everyone on the street with their bodies and ears buzzing.

The blood trail pulled out of the air was free from the pull of speed, and finally collapsed in all directions, and the wall of apartment 221B finally shattered at this moment, turning into countless flying rubble, and slapping wildly on the bodies of everyone in the room.

People seem to have finally had some reactions, but they weren't enough for the brains to receive accurate information and pass it on to their limbs to behave as they should.

Hopkins was very close to Nightingale, but he only had time to open his eyes in shock, and Gregerson didn't have time to pull the trigger, in fact, he didn't have time to make an aiming move, and the electric detonator that Nopa was holding tightly on her elaborate development didn't have time to press.

Human nerves are like this, all actions need time to react.

However. At this moment, a hand suddenly appeared on the old beggar's wrist, and in an extremely strange posture, it grasped the withered bone, as if it had been waiting there for a long time

Moreover, the force that was ingenious to the extreme in an instant unexpectedly stopped the sudden fingertips, and did not probe any closer.

The old beggar turned his head a little puzzled, and then he saw Sherlock's seemingly godless eyes, very close to him.

He was staring at himself, extremely serious, extremely curious, extremely excited, this moment was not enough time for him to blink, but even if he was given a longer time, it seemed that he would not blink, but would be so curious to the extreme.

That's right, it's this kind of eyes that you can't see through

Maybe it's because his thoughts are pure to the extreme, so some of them are out of the thoughts that a normal person should have, or maybe his thoughts are too chaotic and complicated, so that the old beggar can't distinguish those thousands of thoughts.

But it doesn't matter anymore.

Because he had already made a move, Miss Nightingale was in front of him, and in this case, in the entire empire, there was only one person who could stop him.

But that person is not here.

In fact, even if he was here, he wouldn't stop it, because that old guy was also one of the people who had seen Nightingale's contract creatures.

So, in the half second that had just passed, the old beggar's withered arm trembled violently, and the terrifying speed and the instantaneous tremor in the extremely subtle space made the bones and muscles rub once or dozens or hundreds of times, and even surpassed a human physiological structure to burst out with a scorching force, along the surface of the skin, like thousands of exploding bullets, violent and strong to the extreme, Sherlock's hand roared, and it was forcefully opened!

Sherlock's glasses lit up, and that curiosity almost bloomed under his eyes, and he didn't blink, and continued to look intently at the old beggar with whom he had a relationship, completely ignoring the terrible force that had shocked into his body, and traveled up along every muscle between his arms, densely and bloody, tearing apart all the flesh that penetrated, bringing unbearable pain to ordinary people.

Not only that, but Sherlock actually wanted to continue to stop the other party at this moment, so when one of his arms was really shaken open, shattered, and his skin was broken inch by inch, and then a large amount of blood was spurted, he stretched out his other hand with a little excitement and grabbed the other party's face, as if he wanted to poke his finger into the other party's eyes.

This kind of inferior trick that can only be used when fighting in the streets and alleys actually presents a creepy feeling at this moment.

At this point, the people in the room finally came to their senses, and felt a gust of wind rolling around them for no reason, and there was a momentary muffled sound, and several afterimages swept by, as if a trickle of water swept through their hair, and then instantly turned into a monstrous flood, and fell down.

In the cold shock from beginning to end, there was a burst of explosions that were extremely dense for a moment, it was the hum of the rapid collision between the flesh and blood of two people, and no one saw what the old beggar had done in this half second, maybe it was him and Sherlock who were fighting each other beyond their vision, or maybe he unilaterally broke all the defenses towards each other like a cruel blow.

In short, when people were finally able to make their limbs follow their thoughts and make the most subconscious reactions, Sherlock had already poofed, spurted out a mouthful of blood, and his whole body roared backwards, and the force escaping along the way directly caused the airflow in the room to vibrate with it, accompanied by the still flying rubble and wood chips, easily shattering a table into pieces, and the sheets and torn clothes were swept up by the strong wind, forming an extremely messy scene in the air.

In less than half a second, Sherlock's blood was flying and his bones were broken. No one could understand what kind of force this was, but it was clear that Sherlock had lost all combat ability at this moment.

But for some reason, at the moment when he flew out upside down, the old beggar seemed to see his face, and finally showed the brightest and most satisfied smile.

meanwhile

"Bang!"

A gunshot rang out.

The old beggar looked at his left rib with some blankness, a bullet sloped out, and then, another gunshot rang out, and his lung lobe was pierced, and a bullet exploded the bones in his chest, followed by arms, shoulders, knees, elbows, countless bullets at this moment almost simultaneously hit his body, and then exploded between the already aging organs.

Ahem

The old beggar frowned, coughed, and then turned his head in great confusion to look at John, who was holding a gun behind him. Watson.

The clock rang again, and at midnight, it arrived as scheduled.

Synthesize a chapter, otherwise there will be a "Again".

(End of chapter)