big devil holmes

Chapter 320 The Real Ripper
Soon, Baker Street was controlled by this group of guards with live weapons and nuclear weapons. There were people watching almost every corner that was not illuminated by the street lights. Four huge armored vehicles were staggered and parked in Apartment 221B. At the door, the searchlight continued to turn on, and the rotating machine gun at the top continued to scan the surroundings.

For a resident of lower London, this kind of scene is undoubtedly a once-in-a-lifetime experience; but for people living on Baker Street, it doesn't seem that hard to accept.

I don’t know since when, there always seems to be some big battles on this street.

For example, the residents of the entire street were forced to evacuate, and then a few clergymen demolished the buildings here; for example, a large group of extremely distinguished members of the Holy See suddenly appeared in front of a certain apartment building and knelt down collectively; for example, a The airship landed directly in the middle of the road
So this time, the arrival of several armored vehicles did not seem to cause too much panic. It seemed that as long as a third-level demon suddenly appeared on this street, everyone could barely accept it.

The second floor is Sherlock's room, but his room is really not suitable for Miss Nightingale to live in. Although Sherlock repeatedly emphasized that his room is normal, who knows whether there will be a lot of stuff in his closet. A human head.

In short, surrounded by everyone, Miss Nightingale moved into the room where Watson was. After all, the cleanliness there was absolutely comparable to the best hotels in London, and the paintings, flowers by the window, even the most beautiful The simple tablecloths all reveal an indescribable sense of beauty.

Everyone who walked into this room couldn't help but wonder how someone could tidy up a single apartment like this.

except watson
After Nightingale entered the room, he seemed to become nervous in a rare way.

Especially when Gregson suggested that she could take a nap on the bed if she was too tired, Watson was at a loss.

"Your Excellency Nightingale, I have slept on the sheets and blankets on this bed. If you can wait a moment, I will buy you a brand new sheet that best suits your status as soon as possible."

Watson said anxiously.

But the girl in front of him just smiled, and then sat on Watson's bed without caring. Her hands that seemed to be glowing golden under the gas gently patted the clean bed.

"To tell you the truth, this is the cleanest bed I have ever slept on." She looked at Watson and said, "I have traveled around the empire over the years and have slept in all kinds of places. Even I really I have slept under a bridge, so I am extremely satisfied with this room.

Of course, this does not mean that I have low vision. I feel that even the pickiest aristocratic lady cannot find the slightest fault with this room.

Mr. Watson, you are truly the most knowledgeable man I have ever met. I am a little worried that I will wrinkle the sheets. "

When she said these words, she looked at the other party with utmost sincerity.

"So, don't bother me any more. I'm not a porcelain doll."

Watson stared blankly at the girl in front of him. The voice was like the will of the supreme god. He just felt that he wanted to bow his head and bow to the ground, but because he had never had such respect for the Holy Light, if it was true Kneeling in front of Nightingale now would definitely embarrass the other party.

Therefore, he could only bow, just like the knights who guarded the princess in ancient legends:
"As you wish, my beautiful Lord Nightingale."

With Watson and the others watching in the room, Sherlock felt relieved.

So, outside 221B Baker Street, he and Hopkins sat on the steps facing the street, looking at the soldiers patrolling in front of them. The craving for cigarettes that he had been holding back for a long time was finally released by the soft sound of the lighter. At the same time, he A stick is also offered to the judge who judges and lit.

The hazy smoke looked like a dream for a long time under the occasional light passing by.
"Aren't you going to announce my arrest?" Hopkins asked, carefully bearing the fatal bitterness in his chest.

"Why are you being arrested?" "I am the Ripper, and you have every reason to arrest me."

"Come on." Sherlock waved his hand nonchalantly: "I did take over the case, but arresting the Ripper is my right, not my obligation.

How many times do I have to emphasize that I am only responsible for Miss Nightingale's safety. For the rest, I just want to solve these mysteries. "

"." Hopkins was silent again.

It's this feeling, this obviously extremely irresponsible statement, but it comes from Sherlock Holmes. This kind of absolute selfishness and arrogance that puts his own interests above everything else has abruptly changed his view of the world. Legal awareness.

This completely contradictory yet unforgettable attitude made the genius of the Tribunal smile helplessly, but he was helpless.

"You are really a monster. If one day, the Pope makes you unhappy, wouldn't you want to overthrow the entire Holy See?"

He asked exaggeratedly, of course, this was just a joke:
"So, you called me out just to buy me a cigarette?"

"Of course not, but there are some things that I can't figure out."

"Oh?" Hopkins was stunned: "Is there anything in this world that you can't understand?"

"Yeah, actually at first, I thought I could figure it out, but gradually I discovered that I really couldn't find any clues.

It is hard to imagine that in this world, there is a group operation model that leaves no trace at all? "

Sherlock looked at the scarlet light spot between his fingertips with a wry smile:
“Can you tell me what kind of collective you Rippers are?

Just
Why do so many Rippers suddenly appear?

How did you come to terms with your identity as the Ripper?

In my impression, you are a person who regards the law as more important than life. Although people like you who are a little paranoid about certain things are the most likely to become black, but you changed too quickly. I stayed in the blood prison for half a year. As soon as I came out, you became a murderer. "

Hopkins listened to these questions, his eyes widened, and he thought to himself, it's not all because of you that I am what I am now!
But when he thought about the identity of [Ripper], he had to admit that if there was no Ripper to personally explain it to others, it would be impossible for anyone to believe what such a weird group relied on. It's working.

So he took a heavy drag on the cigarette, exhaled all the air in his lungs, and then slowly said:

"Actually, it all started with a letter."

(End of this chapter)