big devil holmes

Chapter 60 Who died?
Alcohol peeled off layers of tenderness from the landlady's sense of danger, and she began to like to talk.

Maybe she has always liked to talk, it's just that this era naturally wraps people in a shell.

Survival can change many things.

Fortunately, the optimism in Mrs. Hudson's bones has not been smoothed out, although she has to work hard every day to pay for debts and medical expenses, although she expects to receive a letter from her brother or Although I was looking forward to the phone call, I was also worried that a familiar name would appear on the obituary on the battlefield.

Well, she worked hard.

But recently she is in a good mood.

Because Lord Nightingale is coming to London, as long as he can get her attention, then his father's illness will definitely be cured.

"Do you have any dreams?"

The landlady was startled: "A dream?"

"Yeah, apart from your family, you should always have your own, selfish dream about your debts."

Talking about dreams was almost a sure topic over the course of dinner, but Mrs. Hudson froze.

She thought about it for a long time.
"Maybe it's to find someone you like." She shrugged slightly drunk, and even felt that what she said was a bit like an ignorant child.

"You mean the Holy Son?"

This is a very traditional joke, because all women in the empire will imagine that they can become the protagonist of the day of holy love.

When the story of Cinderella and the glass slipper is reflected in reality, no one can avoid delusions.

But the landlady laughed: "I don't have the saintess syndrome. In fact, I don't understand the feeling of becoming a saint. I can fall in love with a man I have never met for the first time?

I don't believe it.

And after becoming a saint, it seems that she will be very busy. She has to go to various places every day, and she has to put on makeup all night, so that the photos in the holy magazine tomorrow will look better. At that time, her appearance does not even belong to her, but It represents the face of the Holy See.

Working on these things all day will be exhausting. "

Sherlock smiled and agreed. In fact, he didn't quite understand why all women yearn to be a sacred vase.

The meal was very good.

Whether it is the taste of the dishes or the bottle of wine that is not cheap.

At the end of the dinner, he looked at the drunken landlord, waited for a long time, saw that the other party seemed to have forgotten the purpose of the meal, and finally said: "Mrs. Hudson"

"Oh, now that I hear this name, I always feel like you're making fun of me."

"It's a bit strange, but I'm used to it." Sherlock smiled and said, "Then may I live here?"

After hearing this question, Mrs. Hudson made a somewhat embarrassed expression, but soon smiled:
"Of course, Mr. Holmes, you are a little more elegant than those workers on the docks, so... you can stay until you can't afford the rent."

After finishing speaking, he added in a quirky way through drunkenness:

"Even, if you suddenly can't pay the rent, I will probably show mercy to you for a few days, as I said. These days, everyone may encounter difficulties."

Hearing this, Sherlock was finally relieved, it seemed that the bottle of wine was not in vain.

"Oh, by the way, my birthday is coming soon, next month." Mrs. Hudson said, "Could you come and cut a cake with me, I can't eat it alone."

"Of course, my lord landlord."

Dinner and wine can give people great warmth and satisfaction. Sherlock opened the door, and the night wind after the snow was not as cold as expected.

The little three flowers with a nest should also be very warm.

This put him in a good mood, so he walked up the stairs slowly, deciding to fall into a dream for a while, and randomly select a few lucky devils to play with their brains.

However, just as he was lying on the sofa, there was a sudden sound of footsteps, followed by a knock on the door, interrupting all his plans.

Open the door. I saw that too beautiful and feminine face.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked puzzled.

Watson kept smiling and rarely showed a trace of helplessness.

"Kyadir is dead."

"Who?"

"Lampard Kyadir is our colleague, one of the three operators in the field team." Watson said: "You haven't seen him, but you were recommended to the company after all, the thought of Priest Thompson Very old-fashioned, he thinks you have to be notified about this kind of thing."

"How did he die?" Sherlock frowned.

"The two eyeballs are missing. The death is very miserable. It should be a gouging demon."

Half an hour later, at the end of Kerber Street, a carriage stopped slowly.

Sherlock and Watson got out of the carriage.

The snow melted on the ground during the day, and hoarfrost formed all over the ground at night, making a crisp sound when stepped on.

Looking at the street ahead, the red and black cordon has been pulled up, four high-brightness gas lamps are placed on the ground, the white lights intersect each other, and in the middle of the light beams is a blood-stained corpse. Any sheltered generously lay on the pavement.

And around the cordon, there are some people who keep walking back and forth. They carefully sprinkle white lime on the edge of the corpse, and a few people hold heavy cameras and keep pressing the shutter on the corpse. The exposure lamp of the phosphor fire kept making a muffled bang bang bang.

Sherlock walked over.
A dark-skinned man in a brown jacket saw him and held out his hand annoyedly: "Hey, don't go any further."

Just as he was talking, he saw Watson walking over.

This person obviously knew Watson, so he was taken aback for a moment, his gaze swept across the face of the strange man in front of him and Watson one after another.

"This guy is...?" he asked.

"Sherlock Mary should have mentioned to you that you weren't there the day he came to the company." Watson took the responsibility of introducing each other very well, then looked at Sherlock, and motioned to the dark-skinned man in front of him: "This This is Mark, from the field team."

Immediately afterwards, he looked not far away.

"Priest Thompson and Ms. Mary are over there, and Artolli needs to stay at the company, so he didn't come.

As for him."

Watson turned his head and looked at the delicate and charming corpse on the ground that was soaked in blood and illuminated by the pale light.

"Obviously he's Lampard"

(End of this chapter)