The Great Demon Holmes

"Dada" footsteps sounded behind...

Sherlock felt it was not a good idea to stare straight at the thumbtack, so he shifted his gaze to the portrait of Florence Nightingale on the wall.

The next second, the doctor named John Watson entered his field of view. He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and sat on the other side of the desk... but he didn't speak immediately.

He probably didn't want to disturb the person in front of him who was admiring the girl in the portrait.

Sherlock quickly realized this and smiled, retracting his gaze. "It seems that every doctor's office has a portrait of Florence Nightingale."

"Of course, she is an angel and deserves the admiration of all healthcare workers," Watson said, also looking at the painting for about a second or two. "But we both know that people's admiration for her is not only because of her noble character and medical skills, but also... because she is too beautiful."

...

There was no doubt about Florence Nightingale's beauty. In fact, this girl could be considered the most beautiful woman in the entire empire... so beautiful that if one day she were to be romantically involved with a certain man, the next day that man would be met with jealousy and curses from all the men in the empire.

"I appreciate beautiful things, and Florence Nightingale is the most beautiful person I can imagine," Watson spoke with sincere praise in his tone.

Sherlock nodded, acknowledging that everyone has a different definition of beauty, but when it came to the beauty of this girl, the people of the entire empire could reach a unanimous agreement.

But at the same time, he noticed a small detail:

The doctor in front of him spoke and behaved like a gentleman, but he seemed to have a peculiar habit of always keeping the index finger and thumb of his left hand together, as if gently kneading something.

"Nowadays, there are announcements posted all over the streets. In a little over a month, the esteemed Florence Nightingale will pass through London during her tour of the empire. I wonder how excited the citizens of London will be at that time."

"I guarantee that the church on that morning will be empty."

"Hahaha..."

Watson undoubtedly knew how to bridge the gap with others. He joked and then took out a paper filled with writing from the drawer:

"So, Mr. Sherlock, shall we begin the psychological evaluation?"

"Of course."

After receiving permission, Watson took out a pen and prepared to make notes.

Meanwhile, his index finger and thumb of the left hand remained together without parting.

"First question, if you encounter an imperial citizen being attacked by a demon and you have no weapon, what would you do?"

Option one: Run away.

Option two:...

The doctor enunciated clearly and maintained a serious attitude. The two of them went through three or four questions in the process.

But then...

Sherlock hesitated for a moment and murmured aimlessly:

"You're bored, aren't you?"

Watson raised his attractive eyes, startled.

"It may be a bit presumptuous to ask directly, but... do you really want to do these pointless tests?"

The doctor in front of him was handsome, professional, and had a serious work attitude. From any perspective, he was someone who would complete this psychological evaluation seriously.

But the detective suddenly asked such a question, which was quite unexpected.

Bored?

How could a person who takes their work seriously be labeled as "bored"? It seemed disrespectful to think that way.

Watson remained silent, which resulted in the two of them sitting across from each other, staring at each other for over ten seconds.

During this time, Watson's eyes first fixed on Sherlock, then gradually narrowed until they formed a beautiful curve resembling a smile, without revealing the slightest change in his pupils.

After another half-minute, he finally spoke slowly, "Indeed, it's a bit boring."

"Just as I thought." Sherlock lazily leaned back in his chair. "In fact, with a little brain activity, anyone can understand what each option represents. You should be able to see that I belong to the type of person who can use my brain a bit... So, why don't we stop here? I'll go home, and you can busy yourself with something more meaningful. Once you're done, just fill in a score you think will pass as satisfactory, how about it... brother?"

Watson's smiling expression became even more charming. He tilted his head slightly, briefly revealing a moment of cuteness. However, it could be felt that his gaze was observing the detective in front of him through the narrow slit of his narrowed eyes.

"Although it deviates from the procedure, it is indeed a good idea," he said, then hesitated for a moment.

But in the end, he responded to Sherlock's address:

"Brother..."

...

...

In fact, the word "brother" is quite strange.

Based on incomplete statistics, if the two of them did something "upstanding" together, such as planting trees or attending a Holy Light ceremony, or even catching a petty thief, their "brotherly bond" was not particularly strong.

On the contrary, if they engaged in activities together that revealed their inner depravity, even if it was just a tiny bit, their bond as brothers would become exceptionally solid.

People are such despicable creatures. When they exhibit their sense of justice or morality, their inner selves unreasonably perceive it as a form of pretense. However, once two people reveal even a tiny bit of their inner depravity to each other, it greatly enhances their mutual affinity.

Hence, morality is most likely a false product of intelligence. Human hearts always long for the dirty, lascivious, selfish, and self-interested side.

Thus, Sherlock and Watson smiled at each other, shook hands as if they shared a common understanding, and said their farewells.

"Goodbye."

"No need to escort..."

"Of course."

And so, Sherlock saved himself from a boring half-hour and left White Bramble Security Company.

After Sherlock left the office, John Watson, the doctor, remained seated in his chair. He maintained his smiling expression and kept the index finger and thumb of his left hand together, gently kneading...

"He seems like an interesting person," he murmured to himself. Finally, he stopped his hand movements and slowly separated the two fingers.

On the fingertip of his index finger, a thumbtack was embedded.

Nonchalantly, Watson removed the thumbtack, leaving behind traces of blood. He then placed the tip of the thumbtack in his mouth and licked off the blood.

After completing these actions, he seemed somewhat disappointed, as if unsatisfied. He inserted the thumbtack back into his blood-soaked finger.

Thinking about the detective who had just left and the almost penetrating gaze he had received from him...

"Will life become more interesting?" he murmured.

Sherlock left White Briar Thorn Security Company, but instead of hurrying back to Baker Street, he walked along the banks of the River Thames for quite some time.

The fog in London reached its peak along the river, nearly obscuring the cargo ships along the way. Looking up, the massive clock continued to rotate aimlessly, striking every 15 minutes with a resounding sound that echoed through half of London, while the steam from the underground furnaces billowed into the air.

The clock, known as Big Ben, was erected 35 years ago to commemorate the victory in the Second Demon Invasion War. Sherlock didn't quite understand why this behemoth was named "Big Ben," nor did he understand why it was built next to Westminster Abbey. Wouldn't the people in the church be annoyed by the ringing disturbing their devout prayers?

In any case, these gigantic structures were now hidden in the fog and stood shrouded in the glow of Saint Light. From a distance, they resembled the enormous demons that had torn through the fabric of reality during the Second Demon Invasion, stepping onto the streets of London.

...

Of course, Sherlock had never seen those colossal demons since he was born after the end of the Second Demon Invasion.

However, existing in this world, he undoubtedly possessed an immense understanding of Saint Light and the Second Demon Invasion.

Over two centuries ago, the Gates of Hell opened on the continent of Antarctica, and Saint Light descended upon the Earth...

No one knew exactly what Saint Light looked like or whether it had a physical form. Perhaps the servants of the Holy Light Temple, the most mysterious and revered organization within the Vatican, located atop the highest peak of the world's tallest mountain, beyond the clouds, might know the true appearance of Saint Light.

But the citizens of the empire only knew that Saint Light was not a type of light that descended from the sky in a golden radiance...

In the general concept, Saint Light was imperceptible to the naked eye, devoid of sensation, temperature, or any characteristics. Yet, it existed in every corner of the empire.

People believed in Saint Light... because it was the fundamental existence of humanity in this world!

Under the envelopment of Saint Light, large spatial rifts could not appear within the cities, ensuring that the citizens of the empire only needed to be wary of being devoured by small demons...

In addition, Saint Light had omniscience over everything happening in the world!

It knew where a person was, what they were doing, where a small spatial rift had appeared, and which unfortunate soul would have their head crushed by a newly emerged little monster. Saint Light could kill any citizen in an instant and exterminate every small demon in every corner of the empire within a second!

Saint Light was all-knowing and all-powerful, with insight into both the past and the future!

Although it sounded somewhat mystical and boundless, it was the result that had been validated by countless humans over several centuries. Saint Light was a gift bestowed upon humanity by the gods, a power that transcended all laws of the world!

However, with great power comes great drawbacks... Manipulating Saint Light was extremely difficult.

Even the servants who abandoned all human desires and devoutly worshipped Saint Light, in order to establish even the simplest communication with it, had to pay a terrifying price.

Moreover, apart from these sacrifices, the mere use of this power itself could potentially cause tremendous upheaval in human society.

Imagine if people knew that there was a power capable of probing anyone, anywhere, indiscriminately, and invincibly, killing anyone and knowing their past and future. How could they not panic or be filled with fear?

No, only the panic of a few could be considered as panic. If hundreds of millions or even billions were to panic, it would be the collapse of the social framework!

Fortunately, due to the existence of demons, humanity had the protection of Saint Light...

Over the course of more than two centuries, the Vatican had used various means to appease and establish a vast network of followers throughout the empire. They spread the gospel, induced devoutness, and employed numerous overt and covert methods to gradually make humanity selectively forget the terror of Saint Light and instead venerate it as the most sublime power of mankind!

They had truly achieved the perfect social structure postulated by the theory that "all mortals must die, and all mortals must serve."

As for why the "Second Demon Invasion" occurred, that was quite apparent and mentioned in every modern history book.

It was because, on the other side of the Gates of Hell, there existed a... "fallen god."

At least that's how the Vatican referred to it.

In order to prevent the fallen god from stepping through the Gates of Hell and entering the real world, Saint Light had to pour all its power into opposing it. Consequently, the protective cover that engulfed the entire empire disappeared, and large rifts could freely open anywhere, allowing large demons to emerge and tread upon the imperial territory... just like in the early years when the Gates of Hell were first opened.

Indeed, although Saint Light was all-knowing and all-powerful, it still had a target that required the full extent of its power to resist.

The Vatican never denied this fact!

Moreover, the confrontation between Saint Light and the fallen god, the battle between the Vatican and the demons... seemed to perfectly embody the struggle between different powers from two worlds.

The Second Demon Invasion lasted for five years, during which humanity barely survived under the onslaught of the demons. In those dark times, humanity had almost lost all hope for life.

It was only when Sir Dante Alighieri appeared as a savior!

This knight of the Holy Church Army, hailing from the lower districts, wearing the most archaic steam-powered armor, and accompanied by his ever-evolving contract demon, tore open an incredible rift among countless demons on the battlefield in Antarctica, like an unstoppable beam of light, and charged through the Gates of Hell!!

Yes, a human had charged into Hell!

In that otherworldly realm where no one had set foot before, this godlike warrior stood alone, drinking the bubbling sulfuric water of Hell when thirsty, and devouring the flesh and blood of demons when hungry. He survived alone for one year and seven months before finally, with the power of a human, successfully killed the fallen god.

And he fought his way back to the mortal realm!

Thus, the nearly catastrophic war that almost brought about the annihilation of humanity finally came to an end.

Time gradually reached 5 PM, and the wind on the river surface began to feel chilly. Sherlock had been pondering his dreams and the haunting gaze of the figure at the window for some time.

After a few hours, he wondered how his little worm sweetheart was doing at work.

People are always practical. When someone is useless, they call them worthless, but when they become useful, they start calling them sweetheart...

Anyway, he finally hailed a carriage and headed towards Baker Street.

As evening approached and the sunlight was completely diluted by the water vapor, Sherlock finally returned to his new home.

He paid the fare and got off the carriage... Just as he was about to look up at his own window...

His line of sight was captivated by two people standing in front of the apartment entrance.

One of them was dressed decently, with a trench coat open to reveal a suit jacket and paired with pinstripe trousers. He looked like those successful individuals in banks who were proficient in calculations... or perhaps the lackeys of capitalists.

As for the other person, it was easy to recognize their occupation. With a rough appearance, missing teeth, and a sunken eye, probably lost in a street fight, they wore a coarse cloth garment with three buttons undone, deliberately exposing a hideously scarred chest with poorly stitched wounds, even in such cold weather.

Sherlock instantly knew why they were there.

Debt collection...

The well-dressed individual was an accountant responsible for using more refined methods in law, finance, contracts, and more to demand funds and interest from debtors.

If the debtor didn't cooperate, they would switch to the other person.

This kind of debt collection was quite popular in the lower districts...

So Sherlock approached them and said, "Hello, may I ask what you two are doing at my doorstep?"

"My doorstep?" The accountant frowned, giving Sherlock a once-over. "As far as I know, this place belongs to a woman named 'Jeanne Redicia Hudson.'"

"Oh, she's my landlady," Sherlock replied.

The person in front nodded in understanding. "I see... Well, we've been knocking on the door for quite some time, but no one answered, so... have you seen Miss Hudson recently?"

"I haven't seen her for about a week," Sherlock replied.

"... " A moment of silence filled with a hint of frustration followed. The debtor shrugged and pulled out an envelope from the lining of his coat. "Sir, since you live here, could you please pass this debt statement to Miss Hudson if you happen to see her?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, taking the envelope.

The accountant exchanged a glance with the enforcer beside him, then turned to leave.

"Wait a moment," Sherlock suddenly said.

"Hmm?" Both individuals turned back. "Is there anything else?"

"Oh... I just wanted to ask, if the two of you were to suddenly die, would this debt still be valid?" Sherlock asked politely, his tone carrying a hint of threat or provocation.

..."

This question was met with about five seconds of silence. The fierce-looking enforcer seemed to sense a hint of threat or provocation in Sherlock's words and instinctively wanted to go over and slap the skinny guy to teach him a lesson on how to speak.

But the other person was so polite and amiable that he couldn't quite figure out if the guy was really trying to pick a fight.

"Haha, sir, we are a legitimate debt collection company, not some backstreet private loan shark. We operate under the guarantee of banks," the accountant explained with a smile, thinking that Sherlock truly didn't understand. He even took out a business card and handed it over. "If you ever need financial support, you can reach out to us."

The business card read "Crawford Capital Turnover Company."

Sherlock nodded. "Alright, I will make sure to pass this to Mrs. Hudson."

With that, he watched the two individuals leave...

Neither of them felt the need for self-congratulation. If they were operating independently instead of working for a debt collection company, there might have been two bodies floating in the Thames tonight.

Once the two were out of sight, Sherlock turned around and knocked on the landlady's door on the ground floor.

This time, the door opened quickly.

Mrs. Hudson yawned, looking as if she had just woken up, and upon seeing Sherlock outside, she seemed a bit surprised. "Oh, it's you... Haha... You must have knocked on the door for a long time. Well, I'm a heavy sleeper and sometimes I can't hear..."

She put on an apologetic expression but finally sighed weakly when she saw the envelope in Sherlock's hand and the debt collection company's business card:

"Alright... but these days, anyone can run into difficulties, right?"

"Of course, I actually dislike these debt collection companies. They may solve your immediate problems, but they will make it worse for you in the future."

After hearing Sherlock's words, Mrs. Hudson laughed sincerely. "You seem more likable than the previous tenants."

"Really? Then... the rent..."

"Not a penny less." Mrs. Hudson took the envelope but hesitated for a moment. "But if I ever cook too much for lunch, I wouldn't mind sharing it with you."

"I would be honored."

Sherlock didn't continue the conversation with Mrs. Hudson and exchanged just a few polite greetings before heading upstairs.

He was eager to get some sleep as there were many mysteries in his dreams that intrigued him.

Oh, speaking of the landlady.

When he opened the door earlier, Sherlock could clearly smell the scent of disinfectant emanating from her.

This kind of smell couldn't be acquired in a short time.

So, his landlady worked at a hospital...

Regardless, he didn't care.

...

Opening the door to the apartment, he turned on the gas lamp.

The light here was brighter than where Sherlock used to live, so he could clearly see that the small room had remained unchanged throughout the day.

Sherlock tidied up his only "formal" attire, brushed off the damp stains on his round hat, and hung it on the coat rack. Then he settled down on the sofa.

He felt a bit excited now, although he tried his best to suppress this innate desire to explore the unknown. Still, it took him a full 15 minutes to fall asleep this time.

Finally, with familiar drowsiness and a sense of falling...

He opened his eyes in that white room.

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