big devil holmes

Chapter 42 Alcohol
"Take me a drink?"

"Of course, is there anything better than drinking to enhance the relationship between colleagues?" Watson said, flicking his bangs.

Probably because he just got out of a dream, or because the guy in front of him naturally knows how to build a good impression in other people's hearts. In short, Sherlock didn't directly refuse.

In fact, in the past 32 years of his life, there were almost no such relationships as friends.

He must have been considered a freak in childhood, and when he went out to 'work' as an adult, he was used to being alone, and people who knew him were basically reluctant to get involved with this guy with a weird atmosphere all over his body .

Naturally, it is impossible for someone to invite him to drink.

Sherlock looked at Watson...

Then he thought of the puzzles that had filled his mind recently, the dreams that he yearned to explore, and the various doubts about his contracted demons that were waiting to be unearthed.

At this moment, he suddenly felt a kind of comfort and satisfaction that can only be understood as a detective.
"That's right. Drinking is of course the most convenient way to get closer to friendship." He smiled approvingly, and directly picked up his old windbreaker from the hanger: "Then what are we waiting for?"

With that said, he put it on and walked out of the room.

And at this moment, a trace of surprise flashed in Watson's eyes, but it was covered by a more intense smile in an instant.

Of course, this instant change of expression certainly couldn't escape Sherlock's eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asked directly, lazily hiding.

Watson was taken aback: "Huh? Did you see it? I thought I was hiding it well."

"It's really well hidden, but my observation skills are quite keen, and I'm a detective."

As Sherlock said, he and Watson had already walked to the side of the street. He lit a cigarette himself, and handed another one out to the other party.

Watson hesitated for a moment, but he still took the cigarette and leaned in front of the gasoline lighter that Sherlock stretched out:
"Actually, it's not a big deal, but I can smell blood on your clothes. A large proportion of it is human blood."

a sudden silence;

The gas street lamp above his head flickered a few times inappropriately, and made a sound of "呲味" leaking gas. Just like that, Watson stated his discovery lightly, without paying any attention to the thought-provoking words contained in this sentence. Terrible content.

"Is there? I wash it often, and I thought I couldn't smell anything anymore." Sherlock also took a puff of cigarette like chatting and sniffing the collar.

"I'm quite sensitive to the smell of blood. I'm a doctor." Seeing the other party's indifferent attitude, Watson's eyes almost smiled, leaving only a gap;
Then take a puff!

moment!His eyeballs suddenly widened: "Grass! Cough—cough—what kind of smoke is this, it's so choking!!"

"Blues."

"A brand I've never heard of."

With lingering fear in his heart, he tentatively took a breath of "fur——" carefully savoring the feeling of the pungent pungentness rushing around in his lungs, and finally pursed his lower lips in a little surprise: "It seems. Not bad."

A long street in Lower London at midnight, looking away from the River Thames
Fifth Avenue.

This street has been around for quite a long time, and there is no special name. It seems that it has been called this place since the first steam engine was born. After that, it experienced the opening of the Devil's Gate and the second invasion war. Here It has been destroyed and rebuilt many times, but no one wants to change its name, as if the whole street will change if it is changed.

The buildings on both sides are generally low, and the rusty steam valves spread out from the outer walls of the buildings, intertwined with the intricate pipes of the long street, and some messy gas lamps are hung on the top of the buildings, which flicker a few times after a long time, making people The whole street presents a sense of dilapidation like a dying struggle.

At the end of the long street, there is a highly recognizable building with mottled rusted iron gates, walls without any layers, and a large but square structure that makes it look like a coffin.

However, inside the iron gate, it was a different scene.

Confused music, crazily changing light, dim overall tone, writhing flesh, strong aroma of wine and shouting, all kinds of elements are contradictory and forceful combination.

"It's quite surprising that someone like you knows this place." Sherlock looked at the wine shaking in the glass.

"My kind?"

"Yes, you are a doctor. With such a noble profession, shouldn't you go to those high-end places where someone plays piano music and a glass of wine costs a few pounds. You see, you sit here and get a little more in tune with the surrounding atmosphere It doesn't match, oh, remind you, there are a few married women over there who have been staring at you for almost half an hour."

Watson was always smiling, his crooked eyes were illuminated by the huge gas lamp above his head, exuding a kind of coquettishness that could attract any woman, but he didn't respond to any woman's gaze, just listened to Sherlock's words, and smiled happily. A sip of gin in a glass:

"I used to go to the place you mentioned often, but after a long time, I got tired of it, and I started to like it more and more. But compared to these, aren't you surprised by something else?"

"Other?"

"Yes, you should be able to see that the sales of hallucinogens here are more than ten times that of other places, and the spread rate of syphilis is also frighteningly high. It can almost be regarded as a breeding ground for multiple crimes. However, Isn't it surprising that a cathedral stands a street away?"

"It's no surprise." Sherlock lit a cigarette: "It is because this place is next to the church that it can survive; I can assure you that at least 70% of this crowd usually They are the most devout believers."

"Oh?" This kind of assertion did not surprise Hua Sheng, but looked at him with more interest.

"It is easy to understand that people's desires are either vented in alcohol, flesh, and unrealistic fantasies, or they are poured into riots, dissatisfaction with society, and hatred for life.

Such a comparison, the former does not know how many times better than the latter!
So this kind of chaotic place with no care is more soothing to the people than those churches. "

Sherlock was not in a good mood today, so he uttered such disrespectful words to the Holy Light without any scruple. Fortunately, in this kind of place, no one cares what you say.

After listening to this passage, Watson smiled even brighter: "You are really an interesting person, at least much more interesting than those guys from the White Briar Security Company. Do you know that every morning in the company, we have to Listen to Reverend Thompson's prayers for nearly an hour."

"One hour!! That's really tough." When Sherlock thought of that scene, he took a puff of cigarette subconsciously: "By the way, speaking of it, did you catch that gouging-eyed demon?"

"Of course not. That guy is very cunning. He should be the type of demon with wisdom. However, recently, the higher-ups have issued an order, saying that a big man is coming to London. Let us deal with the law and order in the lower city as soon as possible."

"Big shot? Could it be that Miss Nightingale, I heard that she will come next month."

"Certainly not. Your Excellency Nightingale is a public figure. It is not a secret that she is coming to London. It will not be hidden." Watson said, then squinted his eyes and looked around. A well-dressed young woman was staring at her, and no one else was paying attention, so she whispered: "I guess, it is very likely that [Day of Sacred Love] is coming."

Hearing this word, Sherlock couldn't help but startled. Thinking of this strange but extremely romantic festival and that ancient custom, he couldn't help but smile:

"Then this year's London must be very lively."

(End of this chapter)