Whitechapel Serial Homicides

Zhang Heng tossed a half-pound gold coin to Holmes, the money for the bet they'd made before.

Sherlock took the coin and slipped it into his pocket, a rare contented smile appearing across his face. "Don't be discouraged, my friend from the far-east; you have progressed greatly compared to a few months ago. As I said, you only lack understanding of this city, but these things cannot be rushed. Live in London for three to five years and I'm sure you'll know most of its crooks and nannies."

"But if one wants to surpass the great dectective, I am afraid he will need more than three to five years." Zhang Heng said.

"This is something that has always intrigued me." Holmes tore up the remainder of his sandwich and threw tiny bits of it to a flock of feral pigeons nearby. "You seem to be very obsessed, trying to outdo me at every corner. Why is it so important to you?"

"Climbing the highest peak has always been a climber's ultimate dream."