Chapter 92: Heavy Snow (Part 1)
1039 Words
The door creaked open, and Mrs. Hudson stood behind it.
The moment she saw Sherlock, she seemed suddenly flustered, but quickly concealed her emotions:
"Oh, it's you. What's wrong?"
This instantaneous change, of course, couldn't escape Sherlock's eyes, but he didn't ask, nor did he try to guess her thoughts from her eyes.
There's a difference between a desire to explore and a voyeur, especially when dealing with someone close to you.
He simply smiled and took out the coat he was holding.
"I heard this winter is particularly cold. On my way back, I happened to see this coat in a shop window. I thought it would suit you well, so..."
He smiled and handed her the coat.
For some reason, Mrs. Hudson suddenly became bewildered and instinctively put her hands behind her back, as if she was hesitant to touch the coat, but at the same time, she looked up and met Sherlock's eyes for a fleeting moment.
In that instant, Sherlock clearly noticed the lingering redness in her eyes.
She had been crying…
He hesitated for a moment:
“I won’t pry into your life, but if you need any help, you can come to me. Um… I’m a detective, I specialize in helping people solve problems. Since you’re my landlord, I can give you a 10% discount on my fees.”
It was just a remark devoid of humor, but Mrs. Hudson suddenly smiled, her nose reddening.
“You’re the best person I’ve ever met…”
“Um…” Sherlock hesitated, looking down at the snow at his feet with a hint of shame, and couldn’t help but doubt his landlord’s judgment of character once again.
Then…
“Forgive me.” The girl inside the door suddenly uttered this seemingly random sentence, then gritted her teeth, as if facing an incredibly difficult choice, and took the coat from Sherlock’s hands.
“Goodbye.”
With that, she closed the door.
Sherlock was left outside, staring at the closed door, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper…
…For the next few days, everything seemed normal.
The only difference was that the landlady stopped cleaning Sherlock's room, stopped preparing food for him, and stopped inviting him to her home for meals.
He could sense that she was beginning to distance herself from him, intentionally or unintentionally.
In the words of his pen pal, this meant she understood his intentions and was no longer pursuing him. But women, after being rejected, would inevitably harbor some resentment, but there was no need to worry; time would heal all wounds.
Theoretically, that was indeed the case…
However, Sherlock could clearly sense that this matter was more complex than he had imagined. Mrs. Hudson's gaze in that instant contained far too many complex emotions, so much so that Sherlock couldn't discern what had happened. He could only be certain that the kind young woman was undergoing an incredibly cruel struggle within her heart.
And, no one could help her.
…
“Due to a strong cold front from the north, London will experience its coldest blizzard in 15 years over the next 72 hours!”
The announcer's voice, as always, was cheerful, as if he were reporting something truly joyous.
Moreover, the wind had been blowing all day, and the swirling snowflakes resembled tiny blades. Everyone knew a blizzard was imminent, making the announcement sound like a fart coming from a loudspeaker.
Sherlock had essentially finished reading *The Divine Comedy*, and during this time, his expansion in Hell had accelerated incredibly.
Last night, while sleeping, he assessed the overall situation.
His territory had expanded to two-thirds of the Lower City and was showing signs of crossing the Thames. He commanded 35 contracted demons, evenly distributed throughout the Lower City.
If he wanted, he could now quickly summon an enslaved demon from over twenty kilometers away to silently attack a target.
And absolutely no one would suspect him; they would only think it was an unfortunate demon attack.
Meanwhile, while wandering around Hell, he discovered another characteristic of contracted demons.
That is… demons, in most cases, will stay by their master's side, even if they exist in different dimensions.
Of course, if the contractor travels thousands of kilometers on a high-speed steam train, the contracted demon certainly can't keep up. But if its master summons it to the real world and then opens a void rift to send it back to Hell, the demon can traverse thousands of kilometers at once, arriving at a nearby Hell dimension.
So… what if a group of tentacles were used to entangle a contracted demon? What would happen when the master summoned it?
Would it be dragged out and unable to escape?
And what if he, without any conscience, randomly picked a demon in Hell and killed it?
Would the contractor suffer a backlash in another dimension?
Or… should he try it next time? Sherlock still had many things to verify, and this exploration of the rules of the unknown was incredibly rewarding.
But… wasn't everything going a little too smoothly?
According to the law of conservation of luck, if everything seems to be going perfectly, it foreshadows some terrible misfortune awaiting you.
So, when Sherlock finally returned to his rented room, braving the increasingly heavy snowstorm,
he looked blankly at his landlady standing outside the door.
From the snow clinging to her clothes and her wind-reddened cheeks, it was clear she had been standing there for quite some time.
"What's wrong? Didn't you bring your keys?"
Sherlock walked over, asking with some confusion, then his gaze fell on the several large suitcases behind her.
Those were his own suitcases…
"I've packed your things. Your clothes, your daily necessities—everything is there. I've put the refunded rent and penalty money in your luggage," Mrs. Hudson said calmly, but she avoided eye contact with Sherlock.
“Um… I don’t quite understand what you mean.”
“What’s there not to understand!” Her tone was firm, and her voice unconsciously rose slightly.
“From today onwards, this is no longer your home!” At this point, Mrs. Hudson’s throat seemed to suddenly tighten; she took a deep breath before finally continuing loudly:
“You!… You’re kicked out!”
- Writer
