Time Waits for No One

After the Gates of Hell opened, humans rarely displayed the attribute of 'unity'. The world was no longer divided into countries, and was united as an empire.

And London… was one of the few cities that still retained its original name.

Of course, it also retained the grayish hue that never went away.

Noon…

There was almost no such thing as a 'bright sun' here.

The underground of the entire city had been hollowed out and used to build those huge steam pipes and furnaces. A group of highly respected mechanical institute lunatics had dug through the Thames and directed the river water into the depths of the earth in a continuous stream. Then, it was boiled and heated day and night. Thousands of tons of steam were released into the sky every day and then turned into acid rain.

In the words of those old men who claimed to be scientists, this was considered recycling, so they never had to worry about the day when they couldn't generate steam.

Of course, they did not mention anything about the dwindling number of trees.

However, the citizens did not care about this. They only knew that this was London, with the world's largest and most advanced steam furnaces in the world. The entire city was wrapped in mechanical pipes, and steam was productivity. This was undoubtedly a form of pride.

It would have been better if the air had been fresher.

Currently, Sherlock was traveling through the mechanical capital. He was riding in an inexpensive carriage that could stop at a moment's notice, costing only five pence per kilometer. Beside his feet was a huge suitcase that was half the height of a person. It made the already small space even more cramped. The people outside the carriage window were noisy. From time to time, there was the roar of the factories in operation and the sound of church bells in the distance.

Actually, sometimes, he really could not understand what people were thinking.

For example, those mechanical creations were clearly getting more and more cumbersome and inefficient, but people still had endless confidence in them, believing that 'boiling water' could ultimately save the world.

For example, even though they knew that no matter how they screamed, this road would never be clear, almost everyone was urging the car in front of them to go faster!

For example, the uncle named Jack clearly knew that as a killer, he would definitely not have a good ending. However, when he was about to arrest him, he still screamed strangely and swung his knife to stab him.

Sherlock was desperately poor. He just wanted to catch a few murderers and make some money. What was wrong with that?

However, Jack Senior was not cooperative at all. He even treated him so roughly. At that time, Sherlock was terrified and subconsciously snatched the knife away. Then, he thrust the blade and the hilt into Jack Senior's abdomen.

Hmm… Fortunately, humans had two kidneys. Even if one of them was ruptured, one could still live…

At least he could live for a while.

In order to save time in getting to the police station, he specially called for a carriage, which also prevented the criminal from losing a lot of blood and going into shock, or dying of pain.

He had always been so considerate, even to murderers.

…

At 2.30 p.m., the carriage drew up at the main gate of Scotland Yard.

Scotland Yard was actually a nickname for the London Police Department. He did not know why it was called that, but he did not care. He carried the huge suitcase and got off the carriage.

As he paid, the coachman's gaze inevitably sized up the suitcase again.

This was because it was really too big. He did not know what was inside. It was bulging and its weight almost broke the wooden handle. However, the customer in front of him did not seem to be struggling at all.

"Sir… Sir?!"

"Oh!" The coachman came back to his senses. "I'm sorry, but it's twenty-five pence."

No matter how cheap the fare was, it became a considerable expense after the journey. Sherlock took out a few coins and handed them over.

"May the Holy Light bless you," the coachman said out of habit as he took the money.

"The Holy Light has no time to protect me."

Sherlock answered feebly. He ignored the coachman's surprised expression and walked straight to the police station. His tall and thin back view, and with the suitcase he was carrying in his hand formed an extremely incongruous scene. The coachman stared at him in a daze. For a moment, he felt that his eyes were playing tricks on him because he seemed to see something wriggled in the box.

…

Upon entering the police station, the clamor and noise here was even louder than on the streets. After the second demon invasion, the law and order in London had not been good. Murders, thefts, robberies, and so on were rampant. Perhaps the citizens felt that even if they stayed safe, they might be bitten to death on the streets by small demons that crawled out of the void rifts one day. They might as well take revenge.

"Bastard, get out of the way!"

A wave of curses came from the crowd. Then, a homeless man reeking of alcohol stumbled out of the crowd. His hands were shackled. He had clearly committed a crime.

At the same time, this man must have drunk too much. Otherwise, he would not have delusionally thought he could rush out of the police station with his fat body. Sure enough, in the next second, a police officer pounced on him and stabbed the drunk man's armpit fiercely with the baton in his hand. Accompanied by the sound of a burst of electric current, the criminal convulsed, and the air was filled with the smell of urine.

This kind of situation was already considered the norm at Scotland Yard. The surrounding police officers were completely unaffected. They even took the opportunity to hit the criminals beside them with the baton in their hands, signaling that they should behave themselves. Otherwise, they would give them a blow too.

"Damn bad luck."

The policeman who had pounced on the drunkard stood up and shook off the urine stains on his uniform. When he saw a well-dressed person standing beside him, he subconsciously complained,

"I'm sorry, sir. The criminals haven't been very obedient lately…"

But halfway through his sentence, he froze violently.

Because he saw that the other party was holding a huge suitcase in his hand… He obviously recognized the suitcase because a trace of fear uncontrollably flashed in his eyes, but he still raised his head with a tinge of hope…

As he looked up, he saw the other party's face and eyes that seemed to have not woken up from sleep.

At this moment, the fierce expression he had on his face when he electrocuted the criminal earlier, instantly became a very well-mannered one.

"Mr… Mr. Sherlock…"

It was not loud, but it was a soft moan from his throat.

However, the moment this name floated out, the surrounding noise suddenly became much quieter. Then, countless gazes were all thrown over, and there were even faint gasps.

Sherlock did not care about the strange expressions of the people around him, or rather, he was already used to it. He looked at the well-behaved police officer in front of him sleepily and passed the large suitcase in his hand forward.

"Here, a murderer. He was caught directly at the murder scene. I think his name is Jack… or Mike. In short, you'll know when you check the criminal record."

He said as if nothing had happened. Seeing that the other party did not dare to take it, he simply let go his hand.

"Poof!"

The suitcase hit the ground heavily, like a lump of fat pork that had been filled with water. Some blood splashed out from the joints of the leather at the bottom of the suitcase, scaring the people nearby into taking a few steps back.

"Is Commissioner Lestrade in the office?" he continued.

The police officer in front of him did not dare to think too much and quickly nodded.

Sherlock, "Thank you."

Since he had caught a criminal, he naturally had to talk to the Commissioner about the bounty.

Logically speaking, if someone else had caught the criminal, they would not have to trouble the Commissioner. They could just register with the police. Sherlock was an exception.

He walked out of the crowd and the people around naturally made way for him. Suddenly, a police officer seemed to have thought of something and hurriedly shouted,

"Mr. Sherlock, please… please wait."

"Yes?" He turned back.

That person mustered up the courage to not avoid his gaze and said seriously, "The Commissioner is currently receiving an important guest. You… better not disturb him first."

"An important guest?" Sherlock said thoughtfully. "Okay, I'll wait for him in the reception room."

He walked through the quiet crowd, crossed an empty corridor, and entered the elevator…

Although there was the word 'ele' in the name, it still relied on steam to operate. It could not be helped. No matter how fashionable electricity was, the scope of its application was still too narrow. It could only be reduced to an accessory of the times, just like the conservative veterans on the battlefield who tried to use guns to resist the demons.

Crack!

The lighter made a soft sound, and the weak flame trembled as it approached the cigarette. It seemed to be afraid, but it did not dare to dodge.

At this moment…

"Wait a minute."

A soft cry came from the corridor. A woman quickened her pace and walked towards the elevator. She looked to be about 25 years old and was dressed in a strange nun's attire. There was no cumbersome long dress or headscarf. On the contrary, it had all been converted to a style that was suitable for activities.

Sherlock let out a long exhale of smoke that enveloped his entire face in the haze.

He did not bother to press the elevator button… allowing the elevator door to slowly close.

"Time waits for no man, fair lady…"