Twilight began to fall in London at half past three, the gray sunlight streaming through the mirrors tinted with another vivid scarlet by the accumulation of water vapor in the clouds, and the bells of the distant church gradually faded as the day's service drew to a close.

Inside the office, the old priest sat with his eyes closed, his thinning hair, like the foot limbs of a worm, twisting oddly and imperceptibly.......

Chief Lestrade arched his back slightly and whispered in a quizzical voice, "Miss Catherine, do you know the detective?"

"No."

"But....You seem very unhappy with him."

Catherine remembered the hateful face in the elevator and said icily, "A clergyman's family member has been murdered! What we need now is the toughest, most professional elite who can handle the whole case with just one person, find the murderer, and have the murderer's blood stain the court's bulletin before sundown tomorrow!

And you, on the other hand, get me such a lazy, shameless, all-day confused scumbag who looks like he's on hallucinogens?"

Director Lestrade stared at the other, dumbfounded by his assessment of Sherlock.

"But honorable Miss Catherine, I dare to assure you, with the title of the highest police officer in Scotland Yard, that the only person who can meet your requirements is the only one who has searched all of London."

He replied cautiously, as the supreme head of London's police system he was almost instinctively stubborn and proud in his own field, completely forgetting that just half an hour ago he had been reluctant to even mention the name Sherlock.

......

After Lestrade left, the old priest-sama slowly opened his eyes.

The closed-eye meditation just now seemed to be very pleasant for him, and the scarlet sunset light shone on the side of his robe....Suddenly, right there, a pitch-black crack appeared out of nowhere, and a huge spider covered in downy hair crawled out noiselessly.

It was as big as a wheelbarrow, and its eight eyes were like eight pitch-black beans, glowing with an eerie light under the setting sun.

The old priest reached out and patted its belly fluff, causing it to let out a disgusting hiss:

"Lestrade has been in the police system all his life, and during the second demonic invasion, he alone was in charge of policing the Lower City and reduced the civilian crime rate there to a level that was extremely satisfactory to the Church, so I suppose his vision shouldn't be too bad............................................................................"

"I just think that such a lazy person can't see any outstanding features at all."

The corners of the old priest's lips spread into a more interested smile, "I just went to the underground cell, that detective caught a murderer today for the reward, and he had the criminal......stuffed into the box.".

"Box......Box?"Catherine frowned in confusion.

"Haha, yes, a suitcase."The old priest laughed and pointed to a shape in front of him, "I've never seen a person who was twisted like that to still be alive, even that group of lunatics from the Life Research Institute had to use quite a few instruments to do it.

And the murderer who was caught is not an easy character, the bounty has reached200 pounds, and I heard that it only took two or three days to catch him ......Still, he was caught red-handed in the act of his murder.

For a mortal to be able to do that is quite extraordinary."

Catherine savored the old man's words for a long time: "Even if it's outstanding, he's still just a mortal.

There was a natural note of contempt in her tone.

It wasn't the disdain of the high and mighty for the lowly, but rather a very reasonable and logical disregard that had nothing to do with politics, character, money, or even high or low social status.

It's more like the attitude of an eagle toward a rabbit, which comes from interspecies life.

After all, he's just a mortal.......

Not an indentured servant ......

And in this era where the power of the Abyss influences everything, the Church mastered the method of controlling the power of the Abyss with a human body a century ago...... So it is natural for an ordinary person to have some of his abilities questioned.

It's good that this old man's words have a certain amount of persuasive power, Catherine's face was still icy cold, and finally......still nodded her head.

......

In the lounge, Sherlock leaned back on the couch and fell asleep.

He had a book in his hands.

How to Save Yourself in the Event of a Mini-Devil Encounter in the Wild.

Written by some guy named Bell Grills.

The cover, made of the cheapest cardboard, with the accompanying illustration of a common hellhound vomiting acid-laced liquid on a beautiful lady in a dress, was crudely drawn, and the colors were a bit runny from the printing.

This kind of self-help books in a period of time was very best-selling, after all, who does not know where the empty crack will appear, if you are in the poop, found in front of the space cracked, a disgusting giant fly drilled out to play with the life of want to suck your brain marrow, then read a little more of this kind of book, may be able to make your chances of survival a little bit bigger.

But after more than a decade of market validation, everyone gradually realized that this kind of book is completely useless, because when you encounter the empty life, either you have a Lescott shotgun as well as enough bullets, or you rush to run.

Run as fast as you can to the nearest indentured servant and ask for help, or run to the nearest church, that's all.

If you don't have anything and try to use the knowledge in the book to tangle with the other guy for a while, you will surely burp very happily.There was once an author of a self-help book who sent himself into the freshly cracked chest cavity of a carrion monster with a sliding shovel.

Delivery, one step to the stomach.

"Smoking?" came a voice.

Sherlock drifted off for a moment, lifting his seemingly sleepy eyes only to see Chief Lestrade pinch a cigarette and hand it to him.

"No need, I have it right here," Sherlock yawned with little picture, then pulled a box of [Blues brand] cigarettes out of his pocket.

"I still don't understand why you only smoke Blues, it's obviously such an old brand, not good to buy, and so choking."

Sherlock lit his own cigarette and took a deep drag, not answering the question.

"See, that's what makes you unattractive, there's too much about you that's inscrutable and you never explain anything about it."

Sherlock's eyes blanched noncommittally, "Just tell me what's going on, don't beat around the bush."

"I've got a job for you, Homicide..."The Director said, pausing briefly, "I hate to admit it, but....It's about the Holy See."

While he spoke, he had watched Sherlock's expression, originally thinking that after hearing the word [Holy See], the other party would have at least a tiny bit of surprise, but Sherlock only frowned slightly and resumed that sleepy look.

"Why don't you have any reaction at all?"

"Oh, that....Thank you very much."

This insulting tone annoyed Chief Lestrade so much that he huffed and stubbed out his cigarette:

"That's the second fucking thing I hate about you....You're not at all devout to the church!!!".