The Great Demon Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 37: My Domain (Part 1)

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, two days had passed.

His head throbbed, a lingering, drunken stupor, and his body felt like it was falling apart. The last image in his memory was of himself facing the enormous, star-like eyeball in the sky.

After that… that was it.

He had passed out, and the humble voice had naturally become a dark area in his memory, leaving not a trace.

He shook his head, judging from the churning hunger in his stomach, he hadn't eaten for at least 48 hours. He got up and went to the window. It was midday, and the sunlight, unusually, pierced through the fog, casting dappled shadows on Baker Street.

Good, at least this confirmed he wasn't dreaming.

He brought his head close to the tap and gulped down water for a while, which made him feel a little better. He then opened the cupboard to check if the leftovers from a few days ago had spoiled.

But just as his hand reached for the cupboard…

“Huh?” Sherlock paused, startled.

Because he saw around the cupboard… a trail of shimmering light, like gasoline dissolving in water, a fleeting, iridescent glow.

Though he couldn't explain it, the instant he saw this strange, iridescent light, he knew it was the trail his contracted worm had left in his dream!

“What’s going on? The area it crawled through in the dream is now reflected in reality?!”

He quickly looked around the room. Sure enough, all the places erased in the dream were now emitting a faint glow. And while he was unconscious, the worm had clearly been busy, completely erasing the seals on the entire room.

This naturally included the door…

Sherlock swallowed hard. Although his expression remained calm, every muscle in his body tensed unconsciously.

The seal on the door had been broken.

In other words… if he could enter the dream now, he could push open this door and leave the room that had imprisoned him for thirty years.

Not a forced entry through a broken window, nor a barbaric act of smashing down a wall.

But through a door that could be opened, openly and honestly…

An unknown world was beckoning him!!!

Sherlock's body began to tremble slightly, every fold of his cerebral cortex screaming with excitement.

But at this crucial moment, the detective… took a deep breath.

Then, calmly, he opened the cupboard, took out a leftover cornbread from a few days ago, smelled it to make sure it wasn't spoiled, and then turned on the rarely used stove, preparing to heat it up.

"Don't rush, please don't rush…"

He carefully calmed his almost boiling thirst for knowledge.

Opening that door was simple, but what would happen after opening it?

Facing the demons of the street?

Clearly, as a human, if he were seen, those demons would pounce on him and devour him completely, leaving not even a bone fragment.

Sherlock wasn't stupid. Although the old priest had diagnosed his dream as some kind of neurasthenia or other ailment, he knew for certain that this was an 'awakening dream.'

It was just that the dream's form was somewhat peculiar.

For now… he didn't know whether this 'peculiarity' was good or bad.

He also didn't know what would happen after dying in the dream.

Would he wake up in reality?

Or would he die, his real body becoming a corpse as well?

He only knew that he absolutely couldn't resist this temptation; he would eventually open that door. This desire to explore the unknown was like the most cruel addiction, constantly eroding him. No matter how much he struggled, no matter how much he deceived himself, it was all in vain.

Therefore, he needed to formulate a plan of action.

He slowly picked up the piping hot tortilla and began to eat, silently and carefully crushing it with his teeth, swallowing it, and then gulping down plenty of water.

During this time, his mind replayed the scene he had witnessed from the window earlier: what kind of demons were roaming around, the surrounding streets, which shadows might conceal danger, which facilities he could use for escape, and so on.

After a full fifteen minutes, he finally devised the safest possible route for himself, though not 100% secure.

Only then did he return to the sofa, find a comfortable position, and slowly…close his eyes.

…Perhaps his brain was also anticipating the moment he pushed open the door, because this time he fell asleep very quickly.

In his dream, Sherlock woke up, and immediately turned his gaze to the door of the room.

Sure enough, the white paint on the door had completely faded…

So he stood up, strolled to the door, placed his hand on the doorknob, and gently turned it.

The next second, his surging desire to explore finally broke free of its shackles. Before he could even exhale, he yanked the door open!

Instantly, a scorching wind, carrying sand that had permeated the air for countless years, swept over Sherlock, the heavy stench of sulfur and blood enveloping the surroundings.

Thirty years… Sherlock could finally step out of this cage.

He lifted his foot and stepped into the sandstorm… Outside, just like in the real world, was a staircase leading to the first floor, and the layout was the same. However, the room where Mrs. Hudson had once lived had an entire wall eroded by the sandstorm, clearly indicating that it was empty.

In truth, in this entire world, besides countless demons, Sherlock was probably the only one left.

He descended step by step, listening to the creaking of the stairs beneath his feet, which seemed about to crumble...

Slowly, he stepped into the bustling Baker Street.

And just as his vision was finally unobstructed, allowing him to freely survey this strange world...

A thought that had long since taken root in his heart surged uncontrollably into his mind.

"This... this f*****g isn't hell, is it...?"