The passage between the Upper and Lower Towns is via a bridge over the Thames, flanked by heavy cog-wheel gates that are rarely opened at will after curfew.

Of course, such a regulation, written into the London Policing Act, would never bind the Order.

Listening to the rumble of mechanical gears turning outside the car window, Sherlock slowly cast his eyes into the night, the bridge side of the steel cables hanging on the huge portrait of Nightingale, rumor has it, this traveled the Empire, angelic girl will come to London in a few months, I do not know this time will bring healing and blessing to how many people.

Looking at the stunning face presented on the screen, Sherlock did not, like all citizens of the empire, show the human obsession and longing for beauty, but just sat in silence, a rare appearance of a few stars in the sky over London, representing the distant deep space, a few giant stars in the newborn, or destroyed.

But he knew well enough that if there were any people to admire in this terrible world, the young girl must be one of them.

Half an hour later, after passing through a few more side streets that were shrouded in steam from manhole covers, the carriage finally arrived at Baker Street.

It was a very inconspicuous street, and compared to the main streets of the city, it was actually considered clean....... At least, aside from the garbage cans that no one ever cleans out, the gas streetlights that no one ever fixes, and the stray orphans that run around stealing things, it's hardly ever crowded, and there's no hissing of leaky pipes.

Even the murderers don't dump their bodies here...... might feel like dumping them.

Of course, from time to time, there will still be some corpses bitten to pieces by demons appearing on the street, this is something that can't be helped, low-level mini-demons generally have little intelligence, and when they come across something that can move, they subconsciously want to gnaw on it twice and then try to see if they can swallow it.

Anyway, this is a rare and quiet place for Sherlock to live.

......

Walking intoBuilding 314A, a slightly musty smell hit me.

The building was obviously very old, and as he walked up the stairs, the wooden planks under his feet made an unbearable groaning sound. and on the second floor was his home.

Climbing up and pushing open the door, Sherlock reached out and turned a knob on the wall, gas flowed from a pipe in the wall into a glass cover, and the light came on lazily, and the dim light through the mismatched carvings on the cover didn't bring much coziness to this small room, but instead reflected a hint of untidiness and loneliness.

In the eyes is a living room, not big, do not need to look sideways can be a glance, randomly arranged sofas, can not see the original color of the carpet, unpolished wooden cabinets, the window is very small, directly in front of the face of the building bald red brick wall.

A standard cheap apartment.

And beyond that, a room full of books......

Memoirs of an Indentured Servant, A Complete Illustrated Guide to Abyssal Creatures, Speculations on the Abilities of Higher Ranked Indentured Servants, and many newspaper clippings about civilians combining their efforts to repel or even slay demons.

These books were simply scattered in piles in various corners of the room, and almost every one of them was tattered and torn, obviously having been flipped through countless times.

As mentioned before, Sherlock was an ordinary person, he wasn't a devout believer, and of course he hadn't participated in the church's enthronement ceremony, but he didn't aspire to it that much, so he usually just leafed through the books and read the information about the Abyssal Demons, and it just happened to amuse his mind that had nothing better to do.

"Phew~~~~~"

He hung up his coat and hat and walked over to one of the couches and sat down, letting out a groan as he got comfortable.

The couch was old too, the red patent leather was all torn up and the middle section had collapsed a bit, just enough for the person on it to half recline, a position Sherlock loved.

He was exhausted today.......

First he went to catch a murderer, then he came into contact with the clergy of the Church, took a trip to the Uptown area and insulted a Sister Superior in the process.

Oh, and as soon as he talked about the trial nun named Catherine, Sherlock commented on her......It's kinda interesting..

Because after some off-the-wall observation, I was able to learn that she's surprisingly a sweet tooth, loves to lounge in bed and doesn't like to fold the covers! She lives alone, drinks heavily, and sleeps at night with a big cuddly pillow, presumably a big fluffy bunny with long ears or something.

Gee, a little different from the usual high-strung image in front of people.

But it doesn't matter, who doesn't have a bit of contrast these days......Even old-school cops like Lestrade liked to wear thong panties that tucked into their ass cracks behind their backs, and Sherlock never saw anything wrong with that, so he never poked at it.

And back to this Deacon Bardell with the dead woman.......

For him, Sherlock is still relatively concerned; after all, it is a person who is close to the dead and also belongs to the violent institutions of the Holy See for the control of the interior of the Empire, he deserves a little more attention.

But to Sherlock's surprise, he couldn't get a single piece of information about this person......Whether it's personality, work and rest, dietary preferences, physical condition, habits, all of it is a blank slate.

If not for this man for the death of his wife there is so little reaction, Sherlock even suspect that he really is, as rumored, is a machine without feelings.

After just a moment of random rambling, he cast his eyes back to the clock on the wall.......

It was already two in the morning and Sherlock needed to rest.

There was no light outside the window at the moment, the night was wrapped around the whole apartment, and there were no shouts or traffic, only the sound of the bell in the distance, echoing as always; so he closed his eyes......ready to fall asleep right there on the couch..

And after falling into a deep sleep, by the way, you can think about those few mysteries about the murders.

Err......Yes, he thought ......after falling asleep.

So he relaxed his body and poured all his exhaustion into the old couch beneath him.

Less than10 minutes.

The sound of light snoring rang out.

The rhythm is soft and long, like the bells and prayers in those churches.......

......

And at the same time.

In a white world, Sherlock slowly opened his eyes.

He craned his neck for a moment, then stood up......Not surprised by the bizarre surroundings, just mundane and generic, he yawned.