Of course, Ms. Millhouse won't dwell on this issue, because she won't expect a fugitive to tell her what happened next.

So, listening to the clashes and curses of the procession and the vigilantes outside the window, she smiled and said, "I really don't know how your supporters will feel when they learn that you confessed to murdering the Emperor." ”

"That's none of my business." Sherlock spread his hands: "I have never denied that I am a criminal, besides, I have never tried to package myself as a hero, the assassination was concealed by the government and the Holy See, and my heroic deeds were also deliberately exaggerated by them, to be honest, these are all in order to allow them to better control the people of the empire and now, my existence threatens the stability of society, then I naturally deserve to die."

More than 99% of the people are mediocre, and they have no access to the truth, and you are the president of the Holy Journal, so you should know this better than I do.

So, now these people who support me are probably shouting in the streets three or five days later with signs that say 'murderers must die.' ”

Ms. Millhouse nodded, and though it was a poignant statement, it was true: "It seems that you are well aware of the current situation, so you should be able to guess that I will not put these things in the newspapers, right?" She shook the disc in her hand.

"It's true that you wouldn't do such a stupid thing, so I'm sorry, I had to make a simple threat to you." Sherlock said lightly.

"Threat?"

"Yes, I'm not here to ask you for an errand, I'm threatening you, so from now on, you keep this disc in good condition, and I'll contact you at a time that I think is appropriate, and ask you to publish the reason for this disc somewhere in a certain journal, and show my recording to the world on the Holy Journal radio station."

"Impossible." Without even thinking about it, Ms. Milhouse refused: "If this kind of thing is published in the newspapers, then I will be invited to the Sheriff's Department for tea that day, and maybe I will be transported to the blood prison the next day!" It's all death anyway, why should I listen to your threats. ”

"Don't worry, I'm not stupid, believe me, if the time comes, even if I don't threaten you, you will take the initiative to announce these things."

"I don't think there will be a day." Milhouse said directly: "You are now a wanted criminal in the whole empire, what qualifications do you have to stand on the opposite side of all mankind?" ”

"Huh." Sherlock still said in a nonchalant tone: "It's not the first time. ”

It was a particularly cold autumn year, and even in 30% of the empire, there was already a phenomenon of freezing at night, and Sherlock left Ms. Milhouse's apartment after leaving a sentence that sounded funny, but extremely arrogant.

On the street, the dazzling street lamps emitted extremely bright light, it was because these lights were too bright, so the dark places around them seemed extraordinarily dark, Sherlock walked in the darkness outside the street lamps, looked at the citizens and police officers who were still arguing and pushing not far away, slightly lowered the brim of his hat, and walked quickly across this long street.

The collar of the trench coat that stood up, the head hanging slightly, and the shadow of the brim of the hat covering most of his face, this posture was almost his standard in another world, but he never expected that he had just returned for more than half a year, and in this world, he would once again need to use this method to avoid the gaze of the pedestrians around him.

Walking through a few long streets, skillfully passing through some noisy crowds, he walked into an alley that no one cared about in the night, climbed over the old spiral staircase, jumped into the shadow of the light rail overhead at the moment when a team of patrol officers staggered, and the cars speeding behind him made a very rhythmic roar, in today's gradual popularization of electricity, there are still many cities that retain the transportation mode of steam light rail, the escaping air flow dyes the air with a trace of dry heat, and the headlights in the distance quickly cross Sherlock's side, He is constantly shrouded in black and white light and shadow.

He pressed the brim of his hat, and between the black-and-white transitions in another second, the emaciated figure disappeared into the alley, never to be found again.

……

In a church in Lower London, tables and chairs were moved to the outer lawn, monks and priests were transferred, and the doors were closed tightly, and all visits from the faithful were not allowed.

In the hall of the church, in front of the sculpture of the sunflower, a large white wall is erected, on which are intricate photographs, and in the center is a silhouette of Sherlock in the middle, and from him there is a dense red thread connecting many people, newspaper clippings of events, and numerous place names.

The hall, where it was once used for worshippers to pray, is now home to dozens of huge desks, surrounded by a staggering number of papers, seemingly freshly moved here, some of which have not even been sealed. But even so, there are still a large number of staff members busy around these documents, some of them wearing the uniforms of the Inquisition, some of them wearing the medals of the Imperial Government Police Agency, it can be seen that these people are the elite selected from various departments, and there are even some people wearing special prison uniforms, and they still have shackles on their feet that do not affect their movements, but will definitely affect their escape, and they look like high-IQ criminals who have been mixed in blood prisons.

Beside the spiral staircase on the second floor of the church, a man in the golden robes of the Inquisition stood quietly, watching the busy crowd below, constantly smoking the cigarette in his mouth.

"I didn't think they would call you."

Suddenly, a voice sounded from behind, and Hopkins turned his head to see Inspector Reddeus, who he hadn't seen for more than two years, and threw the cigarette in his hand on the ground and stepped on it, with a wry smile on his face.

Now Hopkins is the youngest judge in the history of the court, and he is a rare genius in a century in terms of seniority, intelligence, and intuition for a variety of cases, and if it goes well, he will officially take over as a trial judge in a few years.

But such a promising son of heaven has been depressed for more than a month because of a wanted warrant.

At this time, the church where he was located had been requisitioned and used as the headquarters of [Arrest Plan 221B].

In fact, as you know from the name, the ultimate goal of this plan is only one, that is, to arrest or directly kill one of the most dangerous wanted criminals in the empire at this stage——— Sherlock. Sherlock holmes.

To this end, the empire has assembled a professional team of nearly two hundred people, and these people have access to reconnaissance forces and information networks that are enough to spread throughout the empire. It sounds a bit too loud, but for someone like Sherlock, no one would find it a bit too wasteful.

"Actually, I didn't expect the teacher to call me at first, after all, I'm still a bit hypocritical with that bastard Sherlock." Hopkins said helplessly, and the 'teacher' in his mouth is the current chief justice of the trial court.

Detective Redeus's expression was a little solemn: "Actually, we can detect from the beginning that Sherlock's character and law-abiding are not at all related, and it is not surprising that he has come to this point, but" Speaking of this, the burly government Royal Bureau of Investigation elite hesitated for a moment: "But do we really have to do our best to catch that kid?" ”

This feeling is very bad, although they both think that Sherlock will get into big trouble sooner or later, but they have known each other for a long time after all, from the first encounter in the Academy of Life Sciences, to the later investigation of Augustine the Great, and finally after returning from the blood prison, they participated in the assassination of Nightingale, along the way, even if they are not friends, they have some friendship, and now they want to arrest each other with their own hands, which is uncomfortable in anyone's heart.

"Maybe, that guy really offended someone, and maybe he was persecuted, otherwise Augustine's file has been suppressed for so many years, why was it suddenly moved to the table?"

Inquisitor Hopkins shook his head: "Don't be selfish in the mission, the person in charge of this mission is my teacher, the Supreme Justice of the Inquisition, and our careful thinking can't hide it from him."

And, if you say, Sherlock was persecuted."

Hopkins looked sideways and looked at the middle-aged detective who was half a head taller than him for a moment: "Do you think that there are many people in the entire empire who can bring the death of the emperor to the table?"

If all these people want him dead. So what can you and I do to help him? ”

"Okay." Inspector Redace sighed, although he is only good at tracking or investigating this kind of dirty work, but after working in the police system for so many years, of course he can guess some things a long time ago, but he is just a little unwilling: "By the way, I came over to the confessional just now, and I found someone playing some real-time effects of Sherlock on the battlefield, and there is a team analyzing his danger and the difficulty of arresting."

To be honest, I've never seen Sherlock actually get into a fight, and I'm still a little scared when I glanced at the projection screen just now.

That guy is a little too strong, I think with us alone, even if we find him, we won't be able to catch him at all. ”

“.” Hopkins listened to the other man's words, falling into a kind of uneasy silence, and his eyes looked at a seat in the corner of the hall on the first floor.

In that seat sat an emaciated officer with a burly figure and gold-rimmed glasses.

And by the wall not far away, there was an unkempt old man, who seemed to be lame on one foot, and he was always holding a long, long sniper rifle to stand firmly.

(End of chapter)