The Great Demon Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 32: First Encounter with a Certain Doctor

Priest Thompson looked at the address on the contract with a puzzled expression, seemingly not understanding what the other party was saying.

He didn't understand either the tone of the other party's voice or the meaning of the words.

What was this...? A complete novice who didn't even know the basic classifications of contractors was putting on this act... acting as if he were qualified to be a partner of White Thorn Security Company.

Fine, anyway, all the descendants of some powerful families under the protection of the Holy See were like this, thinking that just because their family tree once had a pope or a few clergy members, their bloodline was blessed by the Holy Light.

Ignorant, arrogant, blind, ridiculous, but there was nothing he could do.

Truly, there was nothing he could do. Thompson was just a priest; he wasn't responsible for educating idiots, and he certainly couldn't disobey a recommendation letter personally written by a high priest.

He could only silently fold the contract and casually stuff it into a drawer.

“Well…” Mrs. Mary, who was at the door, had naturally overheard the conversation and asked tentatively.

“Do as he wishes,” Thompson said. “As for the procedures, go through them all.”

“Okay,” Mrs. Mary replied immediately.

She was quite satisfied with this outcome.

Because she had read Sherlock’s letter of introduction…it stated that his contracted demon was just a worm.

Although she wasn’t a contractor, as a host, she had some understanding of different types of demons; a low-level demon like a worm was practically nonexistent; sending him on a mission would likely require her to protect him, and if he got hurt or his head was bitten off by the demon, she would be held responsible.

So whether this so-called detective just wanted to add something to his resume or actually had some skill, no one expected him to go on missions, and even if he wanted to, no one would agree to let him go.

Therefore, his unwillingness to follow orders was, relatively speaking, a good thing.

“Mr. Holmes, please come with me.” Ms. Mary stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. Actually, she found Sherlock quite agreeable now; after all, a simpleton who didn't cause trouble was much more endearing than one who did.

…The rest of the process was quite simple: introducing the company environment, explaining the work processes, clarifying salary and bonus details, and getting to know the new colleagues.

Most companies follow this procedure.

However, since Sherlock didn't want to stay at the company, Ms. Mary wasn't particularly attentive during her introductions.

“I’m the company’s accountant, receptionist, and also handle official business inquiries. I’m usually quite busy. They say I get two days off a week, but there’s so much work that sometimes I don’t even get one.” Her tone was full of complaints.

“Rodel is in charge of registering abnormal events and demonic intrusions. People usually go to him when they’re in trouble.

And Deacon Thompson, Mark, Eltolly, and Lampard—these four are field personnel. They’re on duty whenever there’s a mission, and they’re all first-stage contractors.

But today, except for Deacon Thompson, the other three are on patrol. Recently, a ‘gouging-out demon’ has appeared in London, and it’s quite troublesome. The three of them haven’t been back to the company for almost a week.”

“A gouging-out demon?” Sherlock asked, puzzled.

"Hmm, it must have started about two weeks ago. Anyway, all the unfortunate citizens who encountered it had their eyes gouged out; they died horribly. I don't know what's wrong with this beast's brain; why does it only eat eyes?" Sherlock nodded thoughtfully, but didn't ask further. The woman in front of him, Ms. Mary, was just an office worker; all the information she knew was hearsay. Even if he were interested in asking, he should ask the field agents.

Shortly afterward, Mary led Sherlock to the door of the [medical room] on the first floor.

“This is our doctor. He usually handles psychological counseling, injury assessment and treatment. Sometimes, if there are difficult missions, he'll go on duty with us. Although he's not a contractor, he doesn't have many good solutions, since some injuries can't be delayed.

Oh, his name is John Watson. He used to be a medic for the Crusader Army around the Red Creek Strait.”

At this point, Mary suddenly lowered her voice, whispering like any gossipy woman:

“But I've always felt he doesn't seem like someone with a military rank, because he… I just can't find a trace of the ruggedness a soldier should have.”

As she spoke, Ms. Mary adjusted her collar, smoothed a strand of hair from her forehead, and straightened her back to accentuate her curves: “Ahem…”

She coughed lightly twice before knocking on the door: “Dr. John, are you there? I need your help with something.”

For some reason, her voice had become noticeably softer.

Soon, with a creak, the infirmary door opened.

Then, an exquisitely handsome face appeared behind the door. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, finally understanding why Ms. Mary had said the doctor lacked any military bearing.

Because he was… simply too beautiful. His facial features, though sharply defined, possessed a unique 'allure,' and his slightly narrowed gaze swept across the room, as if every glance exchanged was a subtle flirtation.

Furthermore, his attire was impeccable: a white shirt, a striped jacket, and a perfectly matched tie. His waist was slightly cinched, his posture upright, and his slightly wavy hair fell across his forehead, even exuding a refined aristocratic air.

As if influenced by the doctor before her, Ms. Mary became exceptionally polite, smiling and giving a slight bow:

"Dr. John, this is Sherlock Holmes, a newcomer… According to procedure, you need to conduct a psychological evaluation for him."

"Yes, Miss Mary," Watson replied with a smile, his voice as gentle as a spring breeze. He then slightly raised his captivating eyes, enough to charm countless young women and wives, and sized up the man before him: "Ensuring the health of every colleague is my duty. Please come in."

He politely stepped aside, gesturing for Sherlock to enter.

Mary turned to Sherlock: "Once the assessment is finished, you can go back. As for that 'consultation' you mentioned, we'll contact you if needed... um... that's all." She finished speaking, then glanced one last time at John Watson's face;

She probably didn't understand why the Holy Light would bestow such beauty upon a man, and at the same time, thinking of her own poor taste in clothing and sallow skin, a hint of regret and dejection appeared in her expression, but she quickly concealed it: "Thank you for your hard work, Dr. John. I have to go back to work, so... goodbye."

"Goodbye." Watson watched his female colleague go upstairs with gentlemanly manners before closing the door.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was already sitting in the chair opposite the desk. In that very short time, he had glanced around and already knew Dr. John's usual work attitude.

Meticulous, focused, and focused—all the documents were neatly arranged in the filing cabinet, and the desk was spotless. On the side wall hung a portrait of Florence Nightingale, framed with a thin layer of glass, clearly to prevent dust from settling on it.

Everything seemed unremarkable…

The only thing worth noting was… a thumbtack in the corner of the desk.

Very inconspicuous;

But at the tip, the color was slightly dark.

That was a mark left by oxidation of the metal after prolonged contact with blood…