Commissioner Lestrade does not like Sherlock.

In addition to the two points mentioned above, there is of course a third, a fourth...... and even the many, many points that follow..

Even though this Mr. Detective once caught the rapist of the director's daughter and skinned the other one alive in front of him......he still hated Sherlock.

Because he could clearly feel that this guy wasn't catching criminals for the sake of justice; he wasn't even doing it for money......Because he habitually made those criminals look indescribable every time; although criminals had no human rights, they couldn't just be left to die in prison, let alone be allowed to appear on the execution ground in that kind of miserable posture that was enough to 'disturb the hearts of the people'.

And dealing with such things would cost a lot of money, which left Sherlock with a very small bounty each time.

But!

He happily continues to do so......Bureau Lestrade seriously suspected that he was catching criminals just to vent, relieve boredom, or for some other unseemly reason.

"If it weren't for the fact that my daughter's soul might harbor a small amount of gratitude towards you, I would have already classified you as the most vicious of criminals!" the director scolded as he suppressed his fire.

Sherlock smiled in disbelief, "Come on, how many troublesome criminals have I taken care of for you over the years, you know it psychologically, and there's no way you can put me in the ranks of criminals, I've never violated Imperial law...................................................................................."

Lestrade held his breath!

It was true that there was no evidence that Sherlock had committed a crime..........But he was psychologically clear that this guy was definitely the most horrible, the most evil criminal, and what he had done was definitely more heartless than all the death row inmates in the underground prison put together.

However, no one knew what he was up to.

No one knew where he came from, how old he was, what his past experiences were, or even if the name [Sherlock.Sherlock Holmes] is real.

All anyone knows is that he calls himself a detective and lives in a small rented room on Baker Street.

Every once in a while, he would show up at the police station with this big, blood-soaked suitcase and exchange it for a bounty on a certain criminal who had the misfortune to be in that suitcase for eight lifetimes.

That's it.

And if you ask him what he does in his spare time, or what his ideals and goals are, and why he wants to be a detective, and so on, he'll just spread his hands in a matter-of-fact way and answer with a smile:

"Life is too simple, I just don't want my brain to rust, and by the way, I want to have some fun again......".

......

A few more minutes passed like that and Lestrade didn't ask any more questions, not that the asshole in front of him would have said much anyway, until the blue cigarette burned out a bit.

"Da~da~da~da~da~"

In the corridor outside the lounge, a series of footsteps suddenly came from a distance.

Director Lestrade and Sherlock looked over in unison......Immediately after, a tall nun and a thin, stooped old man appeared in the doorway of the reception room.

It was none other than Miss Catherine and that priest-sama.

Lestrade rose immediately and yawned slightly in respect.

......And at this point Sherlock ...... remained seated.

This was not because he still wished to display a lofty and disrespectful attitude in front of the clergy of the Holy See, but because his eyes fell most incredibly on the modified bodyshaping nun's uniform!

And finally, very rarely...... show a touch of embarrassment and consternation.

"Come along, Mr. Holmes."Catherine held her head up slightly to meet his gaze."......Time waits for no man.".

......

......

The setting sun streamed through the cracks in the carriage windows, and the dust floating in the air was like eerie, tiny creatures that made you want to hold your breath.

Sherlock sat in the middle of the carriage, a thick woollen blanket covering his buttocks and under his feet;

He did not expect to be hitching a ride on the Holy See's carriage like this, and even less did he expect the nun he had met earlier to have such high and mighty status.

Looking out of the window, the noisy square is still crowded with people, this is the lower city, as far as the eye can see, most of them are porters carrying wooden boxes, as well as barefoot and shouting newsboys, there are a few women in revealing clothes in the alleyway next to the tavern, I think their business is not so good this month, otherwise they wouldn't have come out and solicited customers at this time.

The axles of the wagon were loaded with shock absorbing technology, so it didn't feel bumpy in the slightest, and on the way, after passing through several city barriers and huge lift gates, the noise gradually faded away, and the caravan arrived in the upper city.

The streets became wide and flat, the buildings on either side showed solemnity and regularity, and some delicate metal pipes climbed up the walls like carefully trimmed ivy, shining in the faint sunset.

After another half hour or so, when the sun finally disappeared completely and the gas lights came on, the carriage came to a stop.

Slightly sleepy, Sherlock stepped out of the carriage, the night wind was a bit cold, in front of him was a clean little street, probably because it had been blocked off long ago, there were no pedestrians to be seen in the area, only security guards in steam armor patrolling around, the heavy steel and verdigris pavement collided, masking the sound of the high pressure steam that was sprayed from time to time.

"Sir!"

Seeing the carriage, a magistrate quickly rushed over, his mechanical arm clenched in a fist on his left chest, and half-kneeled in front of Catherine.

This was the customary etiquette of subordinates to their superiors within the Church, except that the steam armor was too thick, and even though he was half-kneeling, he was still quite a bit taller than Catherine.

"Priest-sama."

He saluted respectfully again to the thin old man who had just stepped off the bus, but it was during this pause that his eyes inadvertently wandered over the old priest's shoulder and caught sight of Sherlock behind him.

The gas lamp overhead happened to cast his shadow extremely long, and at that moment Sherlock...... happened to take out a cigarette and light it.

The magistrate's eyes glared out!

Even with the officer standing right in front of him, he couldn't hold back his cry:

"No smoking here!!!"