The Great Demon Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 87: Come Catch Me!

Sherlock stood quietly on the steps, watching the b****y, one-sided s*******r below.

Even for low-level demons like the Corpse Hounds, once they formed a certain number, bullets, weapons that could only cause a limited amount of damage within a certain range, became largely ineffective.

A whole magazine of bullets was less effective than a single fragmentation grenade.

The screams grew fainter. A man, his abdomen ripped open, struggled to stuff his intestines back into his stomach, then used all his remaining strength to climb the stairs… He gripped Sherlock's ankle, his mouth slightly open, but no sound came out.

But he was probably pleading for help.

As the idiom 'a lifeline' suggests, humans on the brink of death often exhibit a kind of blind self-deception. Perhaps the man at her feet felt that Sherlock, compared to those Corpse Hounds, at least resembled a human, at least belonged to the same race, so she subconsciously began to pray for his help.

Sherlock had completely forgotten that she had just been stuffing her kind into wooden crates in batches.

So, naturally, he only received a somewhat puzzled look.

Sherlock lit a blue cigarette to dispel the surrounding smoke and blood. A tentacle slowly emerged from nowhere, wrapping around the ankle of the person crying for help, dragging him little by little into the shadows. During this process, more and more tentacles clung to him. The person emitted a barely audible cry for help, but was wrapped tighter and tighter until he disappeared into a dark corner that couldn't possibly contain his size.

Sherlock didn't care about this scene that clearly defied the laws of physics. In this world, even rationality doesn't necessarily apply to all situations, let alone physics.

Just then…

Suddenly, the small escape door was flung open, and the desperados who had successfully escaped earlier returned!

Moreover, they were even more panicked than before, seemingly hiding from something in the corridor outside.

But as soon as they returned to the basement, the latter group discovered corpses, limbs, and remains scattered everywhere.

A large group of carrion dogs, having just devoured the people to death, were still feeling the pricking of their teeth when they saw several fresh bones return. Each of them stared wide-eyed at the bones, their bloodshot eyes bulging, drool dripping down their faces.

As for the few who had run back… they were truly the unluckiest people imaginable.

The person at the front stared at the other end of the corridor, trembling as he tried to retreat, but the others, terrified by the stench of blood and the demonic presence, just wanted to rush out. They were stuck, unable to run forward or backward.

The group stood there miserably, frozen in place.

Sherlock frowned, watching the group, then glanced towards the back door of the basement…

With a sound of footsteps, a figure finally appeared.

A few drops of blood were splattered on the man's expensive suit, but it was generally clean. A handsome smile graced his good-looking face. However, no one knew what had happened in the corridor. In any case, as soon as the group of desperados saw them, they began screaming and yelling. Several burly men clung to each other desperately, as if trying to squeeze themselves into one another.

Sherlock frowned at Watson. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I looked for you several times, but you weren't there. I just happened to bump into your landlord's door, so I looked up the number and found my way here," Watson replied casually. "So, what have you been up to these past few days?"

"Ah... I found a good book, so I've been reading it a lot."

"You...read?"

"Yes, I quite enjoy reading," Sherlock said earnestly. "I also enjoy music, food, studying history, and many refined sports."

"Refined sports?" Watson glanced meaningfully at the scattered limbs and shrugged. "Whatever, as long as you say it."

And so, the two chatted for a few moments, oblivious to their surroundings, leaving the other survivors bewildered.

For a moment, they even thought that if they ran out the door, these two wouldn't be able to catch them... but thankfully, none of them made that attempt.

"By the way, what brings you here? Did the people at this company upset you?" Watson finally steered the conversation back on track.

"Yes, it's really upsetting, and these guys even kidn*pped my landlady!"

"Oh...that's certainly infuriating." Watson nodded...In London, finding suitable accommodation is difficult, finding a compatible landlord is even harder, so he completely understood Sherlock's feelings.

Then, he glanced at the row of men, women, and children still unconscious against the wall.

He found Mrs. Hudson, her eyes tightly closed.

Having visited Sherlock a few times before, he recognized the young landlady.

"Alright, take this pretty lady away from here. If she wakes up and sees this scene, you might be homeless right now."

Watson always displayed impeccable gentlemanly manners when dealing with women.

Then…

“Also, there must be quite a few people in this building, right? Are you sure you've cleaned it up? With such a commotion, it wouldn't be good if a few escaped.”

This sentence almost made the people next to him wet themselves!

Sherlock said nonchalantly:

“There should be one or two who escaped… but we can kill them.”

…Meanwhile, on a long street a kilometer away.

Two people were running desperately forward… Their expressions were panicked, their bodies covered in blood, and they kept glancing back, as if afraid that something terrifying might leap out from the shadows not illuminated by the streetlights.

Just now, they had experienced a m******e!

But they didn't understand what kind of m******e it was; by the time they came to their senses, almost everyone around them was dead.

“He…he won't catch up, will he?” One of them, unable to run any longer, collapsed to the ground, rolled a long way, hurriedly got up, and scrambled into the nearby bushes, asking.

A burly man beside him, exhausted, used his last ounce of strength to squeeze inside. "I don't know... don't f*****g ask me," he muttered.

He'd deliberately unbuttoned three buttons of his collar in the freezing weather, revealing a scar on his chest, but now, the area around the scar was drenched in cold sweat, losing its original menacing appearance.

Suddenly, he noticed something...

Under a streetlamp not far ahead, there was a phone booth!

The burly man hesitated, glanced around, gritted his teeth, steeled his resolve, and lunged forward, grabbing the receiver and dialing Scotland Yard!

Now, he felt that being locked up in jail was the safest option...

"Hello... how can I help you?" the operator asked quickly.

"Help! I confess! I'm a human trafficker, a loan shark, I've killed people!! Come and arrest me!"

His voice was extremely panicked, constantly looking around; the small phone booth offered him absolutely no sense of security. “Wh…what?” The operator clearly didn’t understand, but still professionally contacted the information department and located the phone number: “Sir, please try to remain calm. The nearest police officers are on their way. If possible, please tell me what happened in the meantime!”

“I’m f*****g…being chased!!!”

“Chased?”

“Yes! I shouldn’t have taken this job! I shouldn’t have kidn*pped that woman! I shouldn’t have left the house all day! I shouldn’t have stepped on that cat…damn it, it must be because of the cat, dead cats bring bad luck!!”

He started ranting into the phone, as if to bolster his courage.

The operator was clearly in a hurry; this was obviously an extremely complicated case: “k********g? Who was kidn*pped?”

“How the hell should I know? A woman who lives at 221B Baker Street!”

“Okay, calm down, the police are on their way…wait…where did you say you kidn*pped her?”

“221B Baker Street,” the man roared! Then, there was a noticeable silence on the other end of the phone.

After about five seconds, the phone finally rang again:

"I need to confirm again. You mean you're a human trafficker, have murder on your hands, someone's chasing you, and today you kidn*pped a woman living at 221B Baker Street and accidentally stepped on a cat, right?"

"Yes! So when are your people coming? I'm right here. Lock me up, and I'll give you a promotion! A raise! Please hurry!!!"

"Click..." The phone was abruptly disconnected.

A cold wind blew past...

Only a bewildering dial tone remained...

The burly man was clearly stunned; he didn't understand why the other end had suddenly hung up.

He looked at the phone, then looked up, his gaze sweeping across the surrounding darkness.

At this moment, he was still waiting for a bunch of police officers to arrive soon, shove him into a police van, and take him to the nearest police station.

He'd already run this far; that guy definitely wouldn't be able to catch up anytime soon...

He thought to himself.

Completely unaware, behind them... a void rift had silently opened...