Sherlock found himself in a very strange room, small, but clean.

The overall area is about 5 square meters, with only one bed and a strange shape. Toilet, nothing else.

But even such a simple room still made Sherlock frown slightly, because he clearly felt that this room was different from any room he had ever been in, not in terms of structure, but in terms of 'atmosphere'.

Take the toilet in the corner, for example, it has a funnel-shaped white base, and a water tank hangs from the back near the wall, which looks cleaner and more convenient than all the toilets I've ever seen.

Sherlock walked over and touched the surface of the toilet tank with his hand, and was surprised to find that it was made of ceramic.

Ceramics???

If you want to fire ceramics with such a color and such a smooth texture, it will undoubtedly require a very high-end process, and it is difficult for Sherlock to imagine which factory has such technology.

What made him feel even more strange was that he had never seen a toilet like this, and this thing had been covered with a lid similar to a plastic texture, which looked like a large shell.

But the first time I saw it, I was pretty sure what it was.

This strange sense of déjà vu made Sherlock's brows furrow even tighter, and then he looked back at the bed he had just woken up, the wooden bed, the edges and corners were polished bright and smooth, the futon was very soft, and the texture of the surface felt similar to that between silk and cotton, very comfortable.

The wall is also white, and under the illumination of the embedded light source overhead, it looks extraordinarily bright, and it can be seen that the wall should be painted with lime, but to the touch, it is very smooth, and I can't feel the graininess at all.

At this point, Sherlock finally found out what that weird 'vibe' was.

That is. Everything in this room is so high-end, even if it is the most luxurious hotel in London, it is impossible to have such facilities, but on the contrary, this room is so cramped, the toilet and the bed are not separated, the bedding on the bed is obviously extremely comfortable, but it is just thrown to the foot of the bed at random, the lime on the wall is extremely fine, and even the church in Jerusalem has not painted such a good high-end goods, but in the corner, you can see some dust accumulation that will be formed if it is not cleaned for a long time.

Well, Sherlock put away his previous comments about this place, the room was not clean at all, it was even a bit like a prison cell, and what he considered to be the 'luxurious' facilities seemed to be the most ordinary products in the eyes of some people.

With that in his thoughts, he finally walked to the door of the room.

The texture of this door feels like steel, but it is more resilient than normal steel, and under the door, there is a small loose-leaf door about 20 centimeters long and wide, which looks like a small window used to deliver food to prisoners in a cell, and at this moment, a lunch box is lying quietly on the ground.

Sherlock picked up the lunch box, and was once again slightly surprised by the touch of his fingertips.

This soft material resembles foam, but is a bit like plastic, which he has never seen before.

In this way, he sat back on the bed with all kinds of problems, and when he opened the lunch box, he found that the food inside tasted very ordinary, the rice grains were not fully cooked, and some vegetable leaves exuded a choking flavor of essence, but it didn't matter, Sherlock just ate like this, thinking about where he was now, what had happened during the time he was in a coma.

Little by little, thoughts flowed back into his mind, and in the last memory, he fought his last bit of strength to break out of the demon group and enter the gates of hell.

Although the process is extremely difficult, it seems that he should have succeeded, after all, he is still alive.

But when I think about it, am I in hell at the moment?

Look around again

Even if he didn't have the ability to reason, he could actually see that this place was not like hell at all, and he lowered his head and looked at his body again, making sure that the broken arms, the fangs that ran through his body, and the flesh that had been swept over by the claws had all healed, and there was not even a single scar.

According to the usual thinking logic, this should be the self-healing ability brought by the demons controlled by the tentacles, and the injuries in the body are repaired.

But what's the deal with this overly pale skin texture, it looks like it hasn't seen sunlight in years, and on the side of my ribs, there seems to be a bruise, and there is some faint pain when I touch it.

So how long have you been in a coma?

If you have been in a coma for a long time, how can you explain the lack of serious hunger in your abdomen, as if you had just eaten food not long ago, and you can also feel from the context of the person who brought you food just now, you should not be a person in a long-term coma.

What's going on with this bruise, it feels like it's been caused recently.

More doubts began to rush to Sherlock, but he still chewed the unpalatable food in his mouth very seriously, and did not panic because of his strange situation, and did not kick open the steel door in front of him, rushed out and grabbed the first person he encountered, and yelled to ask where the hell was this?

Anyway, staying calm should be more appropriate for your situation at the moment than going crazy and irritable.

As he ate, suddenly, Sherlock noticed that the pillow on the bed had a slight protrusion in the place where it should have sunken.

There's something under the pillow.

He reached under the pillow and found a book, so he took it out.

But when his gaze fell on the surface of the book!!

He was suddenly stunned, and looked at the cover of the book with an extremely rare dazed expression.

Because on that book, the words "Sherlock Holmes" are written.

“？？？”

Wrong.

This is not simply a logical error, and it is not a case or puzzle that can be found out through some kind of reasoning or investigation of clues.

Sherlock seems to have found himself in some kind of cognitive confusion.

Sherlock Holmes ???

For a moment, Sherlock thought that he had died honorably at the gates of hell for saving Nightingale, so his actions were published as some kind of glorious deed.

Without even thinking about it, he immediately opened the book.

Judging by the tactile feel between the pages, and the yellowing of the cover and sides of the book, it is clear that the book has been read many, many times.

Did you turn it yourself?

But why don't I remember it at all?

Look at what's in the book

Chapter 1

Page 1.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes

[In 1878, after receiving my M.D. from the University of London, I went to Netri to study compulsory courses as a military doctor, and during the Second Battle of Afghanistan, I was hit in the shoulder by a Zezer bullet that shattered my shoulder bone and grazed the artery below my collarbone. 】

Sherlock found that his reading speed was not as fast as before, he used to only need a second or two to read through such a page, and not a single punctuation mark would be left behind, but now, it seemed that he could only read word by word.

What's going on?

And the content of this book is also very weird.

'In 1878? ’

Isn't that how the year was recorded before the Sacred Calendar?

And the book is written in the first person, but the [I] in the book seems to be John. Watson, that guy.

Where is Afghanistan?

Isn't the front line of war supposed to be in the Redk Strait, and why is it in an area that has never been heard of? The enemy does not seem to be a demon, but a human being from another 'kingdom'.

Just as more and more question marks kept popping up in his mind.

There was a sound of footsteps outside the door gradually approaching, and soon, click. Click

There was a sound of the key, and then the door opened.

A swarthy man who was more than half a head tall and a shoulder wide walked in, and it could be seen from between his eyebrows that this guy had a very irritable temper, wearing a white nurse suit, and on his left chest, the words "City of London Institute of Psychiatry" were written.

"This is a mental hospital?" Sherlock muttered to himself.

At the same time, the sturdy nurse in front of him also spoke:

"Looks like our great detective has finished his lunch, so let's hurry."

As he spoke, he spread out a set of restraints in his hand and walked over to Sherlock, and then patted a baton on his waist unkindly, signaling Sherlock to be honest.

Sherlock hesitated for a second:

"You mean, let me obediently put on this straitjacket or you'll beat me up with that baton, don't you?"

"Not so."

The nurse seemed to be in a much better mood when he saw Sherlock so acquainted, and from this change, it was not difficult for Sherlock to perceive that this kind of [wearing a restraint cloak] had appeared more than once, and the previous times had not gone well, so that the person in front of him had to take some violent measures.

But the question is, what is the use of this restraint garment, and the baton, which is no thicker than the thickness of the wrist, in front of oneself? Even if you drive a war rush car, you can't pose any threat to yourself.

However, after thinking of the bruise on the side of his ribs, Sherlock had a very unacceptable thought in his heart, but he had to accept it, he clenched his fist hard, felt the power between his muscles, and then after some thought, he decided to quietly obey the other party's arrangement.

So after about 5 minutes, he was sturdyly tied to the characteristic garment, his hands folded around his chest, and he was tied back and forth three times by the restraint belt attached to it.

After doing this, the nurse was obviously relieved and said with satisfaction:

"Look, isn't our cooperation very good, if you are so honest every time, you don't need to get hurt every time."

By now, Sherlock was sure of where the bruise came from, and after trying to break free of his restraints and finding that nothing worked, he was sure that his abilities had completely vanished.

No, it shouldn't be said that it has disappeared, because no matter from this thin body or muscular state, it is as if I have never had that kind of power beyond ordinary people.

Moreover, just now, he also tried to tear open the void rift and summon a small demon or a tentacle or something, but of course he failed.

"How long have I been locked up here?" Sherlock asked.

"How would I know." The caregiver in front of him didn't seem to be too lazy to answer.

"Actually, you just need to talk to me and answer a few simple questions, then I can stay quiet all the time, which should be a good proposition for you, after all, you don't want me to scream and roll all over the ground from now on, right?"

The nurse in front of him frowned, he tasted a little threat from the other party's words, but he definitely wouldn't be as familiar as a psychopath, and the other party spoke very well today, if it was really just by answering a few questions and quieting the other party, it would be really good.

Therefore, the caregiver was persuaded simply and directly.

"I've been working here for two and a half years, and you've been living here for a long time before I came here."

"You just called me the Great Detective?"

"yes, you didn't think of yourself as Sherlock all the time. Sherlock Holmes. As he spoke, he pointed to the book on the bed: "I don't know exactly what's going on, in short, you seem to be in a daze because you read and read, thinking that you are the character in it, and you have been unable to extricate yourself, so you were locked up here." ”

In fact, the nurse felt that this conversation at this time was very strange, and he was actually discussing the other person's illness with a mentally ill person

Whatever, just be honest with the other party anyway.

"Do you mean to say [Sherlock. The name Sherlock Holmes] is not my real name, but my imagination? ”

"That's right. Not only do you fantasize about being a detective, but you're always yelling about demons, hell's gates, and sometimes screaming in vain trying to summon contract creatures or something. ”

The nurse said as he placed Sherlock on an upright cart and tied his arms and legs so that he wouldn't fall off.

Sherlock didn't resist, but thought silently for a while: "Then do you know what my real name is?" ”

"I don't know, you seem to be older than the doctors in this hospital, and the original medical records have long been missing, so we just call you Sherlock, although the doctor said that it is not good to call you like this, but you only react to such a name, and you call something else as if you can't hear it."

"So what are we going to do now?"

"Oh, go to the doctor's office, today is the day of your routine check-up"

As he said this, Sherlock saw the nurse in front of him subconsciously wiping his hair, as if he wanted to make himself look more neat.

(End of chapter)