I am creating a esoteric religion in London

Chapter 379 The Quiet Girl with Glasses

John Watson woke up from a nap as usual. He only felt that it seemed to be a problem with his sleeping position. All his bones were aching.

It was as if someone had smashed it into pieces with brute force and put it back together again. The gaps between the broken bones were still filled with pain and trauma.

But at the same time, he couldn't help but have some kind of fantasy in his heart - since steel will continue to shed impurities and become hard during tempering, can the bones of the human body also become as hard as steel that has been tempered through repeated fragmentation and reorganization? Woolen cloth?

This unrealistic thought was thrown out of his mind in an instant.

It was a rare clear day in London in the afternoon, and the pale gray winter sunlight shone into the apartment he rented temporarily. All the furniture in the room seemed to be covered with a layer of hazy gray that was both cold and warm.

He had already made a trip to the Sherlock Holmes Detective Agency yesterday, but was unable to successfully meet Miss Charlotte Holmes - it was said that she was busy interrogating a group of extremely dangerous cult criminals and was too busy to spare any time.

Even though John Watson has left his temporary address to other employees of the Holmes Detective Agency, he has not received a reply from the other party - it seems that Miss Holmes is still too busy to take time to pay attention to his 'old subordinate' .

"Perhaps Miss Holmes is specifically avoiding me?"

"Does she not want me to go back to the dangerous work of fighting cultists?"

"Dr. George seemed to have revealed this information to me at the beginning... It was said that Miss Holmes hoped that after I recovered from my amnesia, I could be an ordinary mortal, receive a salary that was not life-threatening, and no longer have to stand against madness. The front line with evil.”

"However, such a life seems boring... I have seen the colorful and hidden true face of this world, how can I continue to be an ignorant ordinary person with peace of mind?"

John Watson stretched his shoulders that were a little tired for some reason. When he stood up, he found that his pillow was stained with a lot of hair, as if he had lost a lot of hair during the three-hour nap.

He scratched his head, and sure enough, he grabbed a few more strands of hair. The black hair was tangled between his fingers like a slender, writhing snake.

John Watson shook his head vigorously, trying to expel these strange thoughts from his mind. Since leaving Woolsthorpe Lunatic Asylum, all kinds of absurd and weird reveries have appeared in his mind from time to time.

These daydreams and conjectures seemed to be wild and unreasonable, as if they were the unconscious ravings of a madman, but they actually brought him some kind of enlightenment and inspiration.

This morning alone, he had already used the mottled inspiration that had flashed from time to time in the past two days to write another chapter of a mystery novel that he thought was good. It was the time when he desperately needed to discuss it with like-minded people.

"Would you like to go to the so-called Sunday Mystery Club?" John Watson muttered in his heart:

"I remember Miss Agatha, who had a warm smile, said that although they are called the Sunday Mystery Club, they are not only open on Sundays. Members also chat in the club to discuss reasoning and logic during their free time."

"Perhaps there are other mystery novel writers in the club now, and we can discuss the development of the novel's plot with them!"

As soon as this idea came up, John Watson felt an urgent appeal. It was as if there was an old friend who was most familiar and kind but whose name had been forgotten, whispering in his ear, urging him to set off quickly.

Sometimes he couldn't figure out why he had such a big obsession with mystery novels. Even when he was a child, it was difficult for him to read fluently, but he was incredibly passionate about novel writing... maybe This is my natural talent.

John Watson put on his casual clothes, stopped the taxi, and headed to the address of the club left by Miss Agatha.

The Sunday Mystery Club is located in a small river bend with poor scenery. It is located in a two-story building that has been abandoned for a long time. Most of the houses on both sides have closed doors and windows, and there are advertisements for "housing for rent and sale". It looks deserted. for a long time. The door of the club is ajar, and the light in the porch is dim. Through the gap, you can barely see that the interior is quite spacious. There are several rows of messy bookshelves scattered in the huge space, as well as a large thick round table and some seats.

However, there is no advertising sign in front of the door. If you are just passing by, it would be difficult to find that there is a club hidden in such a remote corner.

John Watson slowly pushed open the door of the Sunday Mystery Club, and the hinges of the door panel, which had not been repaired for a long time, creaked and groaned.

The large club looked very cold at the moment. Hazy and gray light filtered through the dusty windows. Dense spider webs were woven in the empty corners. Broken books were sparsely placed on the two rows of wooden shelves around the round table.

The silver-gray cold winter glow is like sticky blood, slowly seeping through the rough window glass, flowing through the creaking old wooden floor, slowly climbing to the edge of the round table, and spreading to the skirt of a woman with a quiet temperament. Put down.

The lady with a graceful back was sitting on the edge of the round table, holding a book in her hand and studying it intently, seemingly unaware of the arrival of anyone else.

Dust swirled in the silver-dark light beam, but no one dared to approach the lady who was silently turning the book, as if afraid of disturbing her peace and tranquility.

"Hello, is this the Sunday Mystery Club?" John Watson asked tentatively.

Hearing this sound, the lady who was concentrating on the book raised her head. Her complexion was cold white without blood, and she wore a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of her nose. Her fluffy curly hair hung down to cover her forehead, and she wore a dark green and comfortable long blouse. The skirt fell to the floor.

The girl with glasses seemed to be very shy. When she saw a strange man suddenly appear in this deserted club, and a strange man with a hideous scar on his face, she was obviously frightened. She was so shocked that the book fell from her hands. Tumble down.

She stood up timidly, her two small hands helplessly grasping the hem of her skirt, her eyes evasive, as if she was looking for some kind of strength to support her courage, but looking around the club, she was the only one, and she could only muster up the courage. Courage tremblingly said:

"Hello."

"We are a private club here, not open to the public. Please don't come in casually. Your behavior makes me very embarrassed..."

"I know, this is the Sunday Mystery Club, right?" Facing the bespectacled girl who was as panic-stricken as a little rabbit, John Watson forced out a bright smile that he thought was sunny and handsome.

"I'm John Watson. Miss Agatha left me the club address and invited me to come and sit down when I'm free."

Hearing Miss Agatha's name, the girl with glasses let out a sigh of relief and patted her chest with lingering fear, as if she wanted to calm her restless and frightened mind, but in fact, it slowly dissipated. Invisible force.

She picked up the fallen books and said, "So you are Miss Agatha's friend... I thought someone else broke into the club by mistake."

The bespectacled girl first put the books back on the corresponding bookshelf, then held on to the thick glasses frames that almost slipped off, and carefully looked at the gentleman who might be a new member of the club.

With just one glance, she was able to discover the extremely strong soul consciousness, soul perseverance and soul rhythm in the other person's body - this was her innate talent and the main reason why Miss Agatha absorbed her into the club.

The girl with glasses showed a meaningful smile, stretched out a friendly palm, and said:

"Hello, Mr. John Watson, let's get acquainted again."

"I am a new member of the Sunday Mystery Club who was also recommended by Miss Agatha. Before that, I was just an ordinary company employee. I am currently studying... how to write mystery novels."

"Just call me Moran."

(End of this chapter)