Baker Street

Passage between uptown and downtown required a bridge across the Thames River. THere were heavy gear gates on both sides of the bridge. They were almost never opened at will after the curfew at night.

Of course, this kind of rules written in London's law would never bind the Vatican.

Listening to the roar of the mechanical gears turning outside the carriage window, Sherlock slowly cast his gaze into the night. A huge portrait of Nightingale hung on the steel cables by the bridge. Legend had it that this empire-traveling, angelic girl would be coming to London in a few months. There was no telling how many people she would bring healing and blessings to this time.

Sherlock looked at the beautiful face on the canvas. Sherlock did not show the human obsession and yearning of humans for beauty like all the citizens of the empire. He sat in silence. A few stars appeared in the sky above London, which meant that a few huge stars were being reborn or destroyed in the distant deep space.

However, he knew very well that if there were still some people worthy of admiration in this awful world, this young girl would definitely be one of them.

Half an hour later, the carriage finally arrived at Baker Street after passing through a few small lanes that were shrouded in steam from the manhole covers.

This was a very inconspicuous street. Compared to the main roads in the city, this place was really clean… At least, other than the garbage bins that had never been cleaned, the gas street lamps that had never been repaired, and the wandering orphans who stole things everywhere, there was almost no congestion here, and there was no hissing of ventilation pipes.

Even those killers would not dump the corpse here… They might feel that it was degrading.

Of course, from time to time, some corpses that had been bitten to pieces by demons would appear on the streets. This was something that could not be helped. Low-level small demons generally did not have any intelligence. When they encountered something that could move, they would subconsciously bite it a few times and try to swallow it.

Anyway, for Sherlock, this was a rare and quiet place for him to live.

…

When he walked into Building 314A, a musty smell assaulted his nose.

The building was obviously very old. As he walked up the steps, the wooden boards under his feet made an unbearable groaning sound. And his home was on the second floor.

Sherlock walked up and pushed open the door. He reached out and twisted a knob on the wall, gas drifted into a glass enclosure from a pipe in the wall. The light lit up slowly. The dim yellow light passed through the faded carvings on the lamp shade. It did not bring much warmth to the small room. Instead, it reflected a hint of messiness and loneliness.

The first to come to one's view was a living room, which was not big. One did not have to look sideways to catch a glimpse of everything, a randomly arranged sofa, a carpet the original color of which could not be seen, and an unpolished wooden cabinet. The window was very small, and it faced the bald red brick wall of the building opposite.

A standard cheap apartment.

Other than that, the room was full of books…

'Memoirs of A Servant of a Covenant Person', 'Encyclopedia of Abyssal Creatures', 'A Conjectures on the Abilities of High-Level Covenant People', and many newspaper clippings about commoners working together to defeat and even kill demons.

These books were scattered in every corner of the room. Almost every one of them was tattered. It was obvious that they had been read countless times.

As mentioned previously, Sherlock was an ordinary person. He was not a devout believer and had not attended the Vatican's canonization ceremony of covenant people. However, he did not yearn for it. He usually flipped through books and read brief reports about the Abyssal Demons, which was a good way to amuse his idle mind.

"Phew~"

After hanging up his coat and hat, he walked to a sofa and sat down. He let out a comfortable groan.

The sofa was old, and its red leather was all cracked. The partition in the middle had collapsed, allowing the person on it to lie semi-reclined. Sherlock liked this position.

He was exhausted today…

First, he had gone to catch a killer. Then, he encountered the clergy of the Vatican. He went to the uptown area and offended a nun.

Speaking of the judgment nun Catherine, Sherlock's evaluation of her was… ..rather interesting.

Because after some casual observation, he could tell that she actually had a sweet tooth. She liked to laze in bed and did not like to fold the blanket! She lived alone, drank heavily, and slept at night with a big cuddly pillow. It was probably a fluffy rabbit with long ears.

Tsk tsk, it was a little different from her usual aloof image.

But it did not matter. Who would not have a bit of contradiction these days… Even old-school cops like Lestrade liked to wear T-shaped underwear that could cut into their butt crack. Sherlock had never thought there was anything wrong with it, so he had never exposed it.

Back to Deacon Baldell, whose wife died…

Sherlock was more concerned about him. After all, he was close to the deceased and belonged to the violent organization of the Church that controlled the empire from within, so he deserved a little more attention.

What surprised him was that he could not get any information from this person at all… Whether it was his personality, routine, food preferences, physical state, or habits, it was all a blank sheet.

If not for the man's slight reaction to his wife's death, Sherlock would have suspected that he was really an emotionless machine as rumored.

After randomly thinking for a while, he turned his gaze to the clock on the wall…

It was two o'clock in the morning. Sherlock needed to rest.

At this moment, there was no light outside the window. The night enveloped the entire apartment. There were no hawkers or any traffic. Only the bell in the distance echoed as usual. He closed his eyes… and prepared to fall asleep on the sofa.

And after going into a deep sleep, he could also think about the few puzzles related to the murder case.

Uh… That's right, deduction… has to be after I fall asleep.

Therefore, he relaxed his body and poured all his fatigue into the old sofa under him.

In less than 10 minutes.

Light snoring could be heard.

The rhythm was slow and drawn-out, like the bells and prayers in those churches…

…

At the same time.

In a white world, Sherlock slowly opened his eyes.

He twisted his neck and stood up… He was not surprised by the strange environment around him. He just yawned as if he was used to it.