The government's wanted man's call is an ultimatum for the vast imperial apparatus to kill someone.

There have been countless people who have said that it is impossible for one person to stand against an entire empire.

However, if you suddenly reconcile with that person at this juncture, wouldn't it show that the empire is defeated and cannot hold on?

What a terrible thing it is.

And the frightening thing is that no one knows where that person is, and naturally it is impossible to talk to him about a settlement agreement.

Is it going to be an empire-wide announcement asking that person to come out quickly?

In this case, the empire will not be like waste in the hearts of the people!

This is going to cause a riot!!

Well, the problem is that now, if there is no reconciliation, the march does not know when it will end, and if it is reconciled, there may be riots.

Oh no, the current Imperial officials are still struggling with how to find Sherlock quietly, and how to minimize the damage after reconciliation.

What a presumptuous idea.

They have been in high positions for so long that they have forgotten to think about one of the most critical questions, that is, whether they are willing to reconcile ————— other party.

On the streets of London, the figure in a long trench coat sat on a bench, and in the small gap between the collar and the hat, a pair of narrow glasses stared at the church across the street with great interest.

He looked at the time, stood up, and walked towards the church.

"According to my personality test of the target, he doesn't like money, he doesn't care about glory, he doesn't like beautiful women, he doesn't like power,!" The psychology professor in Wanted Squad 221B has been staring at Sherlock's personality collection report for a week, trying to find a gap in his mind.

People should always have some material needs.

But Sherlock seems to be really indifferent to material things, and even doesn't care much about honor and social status.

People with strong abilities often have huge ambitions, after all, skills and demands must always match.

But the target doesn't seem to care at all about staying in the lower London city forever as a little detective who doesn't even have a serious license!

"Maybe for him, these things are readily available, so he doesn't care about them as a matter of course." A member of the psychology research group on the side whispered an explanation.

With a snap, the professor slapped the document in his hand on the table, and he couldn't control his emotions at this moment, having been studying psychology:

"I don't care why, you don't understand what I'm worried about, according to my reasoning, the Empire can't come up with anything to get the target to agree to a reconciliation right now.

Do you understand?

The goal will not reconcile! And what is even more terrifying is that the target is a cautious eye, he is an absolute megalomaniac who only does things according to his heart's likes and dislikes, and he has now abdicated because he is not satisfied with the fact that Augustine the Great has not been judged, and he himself rushed into the imperial capital to assassinate the emperor! ”

Speaking of this, the psychology professor took a deep breath, glared at him, and said:

"And for the past few months, we've been thinking about how to kill each other every day, you say, will the target be happy?"

The voice did not fall

Bang.

A large splash of blood suddenly splashed on the psychology professor's face, and before he could close his mouth, the warm and sticky brain pulp rushed into his mouth and stuck to his throat, tasting like a mixture of lime and fat, mixed with some gunsmoke.

Right in front of his eyes, the head of the group member who had just spoken to him had been half shattered by a single shot, the skull shattering and the gums half exposed to the air were shaking from the shock, and blood was gushing out of the arteries on both sides of the neck.

The people were dumbfounded, and instinctively turned towards the place where the gunshot had come from, and then saw an emaciated figure standing under the stained glass, still holding a smoking gun in his hand.

That's Sherlock.

No one knew where this guy had snuck in, and the soldiers patrolling in the hallway of the church heard the gunshots and immediately rushed in, but a few tentacles appeared out of thin air and accurately poked into the eye sockets of several guards, and the soldiers who slammed the door did not have time to raise their guns, and there were a few crisp gunshots, and a few puffs of blood exploded, and the corpse fell down with a muffled grunt.

Such a method as a slip door and pick a lock is a necessary skill for a detective, and the ability to track and conceal is naturally a compulsory course, under the strict militarized defense of the ancient Roman French city, Sherlock can touch the emperor's official residence, let alone London, a city where he has stayed for decades.

Someone is trying to kill me, so naturally be prepared to be killed.

Killing people pays for life, this is the last word, you can't kill others, that's not good at what you can't do, and you still have to pay for your life.

So a few minutes later, the smoke rose from the church, and then it became more and more intense, the flames spread over the wooden tables and chairs, ignited the white curtain embroidered with sunflowers on the dome, swept the dead grass in the courtyard, the heat baked the stained glass into pitch black, and the people on the street watched the raging flames rush out of the top of the church, screaming in panic, alarming, and chaotic.

'Suzu ~ Suzu ~ Suzu ~'

In a special train belonging to the Holy See that was moving, the communication phone rang.

The judge of the trial court slowly picked up the phone.

Since the prisoner kidnapping in Victory Square in London, the whole atmosphere of the empire has deteriorated day by day, and as the highest official in the judiciary, he has had to wander through all kinds of scorching events, and the phone call, which has been known to the whole empire, has made it almost impossible for him to appear in front of the people.

"It's not bad, the church was burned, the fire was very big, I don't know what happened to the people inside!"

The voice on the other end of the phone was extremely anxious, and the judge exhaled deeply, not annoyed or shocked.

This is a war between the empire and that man, as he once said, there are no dead in war, so a long time ago, he guessed that one day, the wanted team would suffer the most brutal revenge.

In fact, there is no need to think about it, the people in that church must have all died, and Sherlock is not a person who will compromise, since he will not compromise, then there is no reason to stay alive.

I just don't know when I'm going to pick myself.

"Okay, I got it." The judge said calmly, and hung up.

Looking out the window at the night, the old man, who had been exposed to countless complex cases in his life, seemed to have some special perception of death, and he knew that somewhere he couldn't see, that person was staring at him.

Sherlock was indeed looking at the Judge, his gaze following the speeding train from the sky.

A void crack appeared in a remote city somewhere, on the roof of a building, but there was no cute and ignorant little devil in the crack, but a patent red sofa chair fell out with a bang, smashing on the top of the building with an extremely terrifying speed, raising violent dust, but it did not make any sound strangely.

Sherlock slowly stood up, then leapt down from the top of the building.

On the verge of the chaos of young people congregating in abandoned buildings and carrying crates of beer from their cars, all looted at convenience stores down the street, the police simply have no energy to care about such petty things as burglary and robbery.

Some are unleashing the anger of learning the truth in the procession, others are unleashing the absurd pleasure, men and women in revealing clothes, ignoring the cold of the night wind, enjoying the excitement of alcohol and hallucinogens, hugging, excited, screaming.

Sherlock stepped over the white headlights, knocked a man with his tattoo exposed, broke the safety lock on the door, and headed off towards the road.

He drove across the road, broke the guardrails beside the road, bumped through the rocks, and drove into the fields, weaving through dense patches of dry crops.

Only he knows where he is going.

After 20 minutes, the car finally drove out of the field, and a line of railroads appeared in front of him, no one knew how Sherlock calculated, anyway, he was like an unpredictable prophet, just in time for the speeding train to arrive.

The quiet rails began to tremble, and in the distance, huge trains pushed away the howling wind, emitting a characteristic roar, and huge searchlights appeared in the night, crushing the darkness and illuminating everything into black and white pictures. Sherlock began to run wildly towards the train, the intersection between a pitch-black figure and a huge galloping beast, the small figure jumped up, facing the high-speed flow of the carriage, clicked, the fingers were strongly embedded in the iron sheet of the carriage, and completely ignored the huge hedge force generated by the relative speed, and in an instant climbed up, and fell lightly above the carriage of the train.

"————"

The door between the carriages was opened.

A thin man walked in, then walked slowly across from the judge's seat and sat down unhurriedly.

"Hello, Judge, I'm Sherlock. Sherlock holmes. ”

(End of chapter)