The Great Demon Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 62: Of course…

“I can tell you two get along very well,” Watson said with a smile, then naturally followed Sherlock toward the corpse.

The London police officers were all on high alert, but they couldn't just abandon the crime scene and run away. They could only instinctively step back to keep their distance from the approaching man.

As for Mark, who was still standing by the police line, he seemed not to understand what was happening. He just stared blankly as Sherlock walked toward the bright lights. Everyone made way for him as if in worship. The crimson corpse, against the pale white backdrop, strangely exuded a sense of holiness, as if it were reverently welcoming something.

Sherlock was actually used to this scene.

At crime scenes, he would naturally exude an aura of absolute control. Even if the Pope or the Emperor were standing next to him, he wouldn't flinch in the slightest.

In fact, Sherlock had always hoped that one day he could stand before the corpse of the Emperor as a detective… the case that led to the Emperor's death—just thinking about it sent shivers down his spine.

Taking a few steps forward, Sherlock stepped into the bright white light of the intensified gas lamp.

A bloodied corpse lay before him… All ten fingers were broken, nails torn upwards, revealing the tender flesh beneath. The limbs were twisted at chilling angles. The shirt was completely soaked in blood. The jaw was dislocated, apparently ripped open from the joint by a scream. The eyes were missing, replaced by two dark, gaping holes, the dried pus clearly visible in the light.

“What do you think?” Sherlock asked.

He was, of course, asking Watson… for some reason, Sherlock was actually asking another person's opinion at a crime scene.

This had never happened in the past few decades.

Watson showed no sign of being flattered. He slowly bent down, gently pinching the drooping eyelids, and peered into the eerie eye socket.

“Not killed by a human,” he stated directly.

“Tell me the reason.”

“The orbicularis oculi muscle was undamaged. The eye-closing reflex is one of the most instinctive human behaviors. Currently, no medical instrument can remove the eyeball without damaging the surrounding muscles, whether it's crushed or removed whole, whether the person is conscious or anesthetized.

Therefore, it can only be some kind of demon with special abilities, or a contractor.

But I lean more towards the former, because a contractor capable of such delicate manipulation would at least be at the second stage.”

As Watson spoke, he stood up, took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and carefully wiped his fingertips.

“See? You heard that? That’s what the autopsy report says,” Sherlock said to the surrounding staff.

The surrounding officers were stunned, as they didn't quite understand. In this era, anatomy wasn't widespread enough for any officer to know the term "orbicularis oculi muscle."

The coroner, on the other hand, was even more dumbfounded.

"Is there a problem?" Sherlock asked softly, looking in the coroner's direction.

This single glance almost made the officer scream.

"Mr...Mr. Sherlock, from our perspective as coroners, the eye muscles cannot be used as autopsy evidence because they are too complex. We can't just accept something your friend casually mentioned..."

Before he could finish speaking, Sherlock squinted and walked over.

Despite being a detective, those few steps exuded a more oppressive aura than that of a murderer.

The coroner, who had just spoken, broke out in a cold sweat.

Fortunately, Sherlock approached him and simply patted him on the shoulder in a friendly manner:

“A meticulous work ethic is commendable, but trust between people is also important, right? I trust Dr. Watson, and you should trust him too.” The coroner didn't react at all, his mind buzzing with fear, and he hadn't heard a word.

“Haha, don't be so tense. If you didn't understand, let me explain it to you in an easier way…” Sherlock said casually, “Just write whatever you want on the autopsy report, even song lyrics will do, then go get Chief Lestrade's signature and tell him that this case is now being handled by Sherlock Holmes. How about that?” The coroner swallowed hard: “Of… of course, Mr. Sherlock, I'll go right now.”

With that, he grabbed a box of autopsy equipment and left the crime scene at almost a jog.

“Hey… hey… where are you going?” Mark watched the coroner leave, somewhat bewildered.

"Looks like we're not needed here anymore, so we won't bother you any longer." The detective in the top hat forced a smile, then waved to the group of officers, signaling 'Retreat!' The officers in uniforms ran towards the police wagons nearby without looking back, as if prison doors had opened.

Some tools were dropped along the way, clattering and clanging, but no one picked them up.

"Wait...wait a minute." Mark stopped the detective. "Is that all?"

"Yes, our mission is complete."

"But the autopsy..."

"Complete."

"The crime scene investigation, deducing the demon's habits from the body, its size, any unusual attack methods, and the common characteristics of the attackers..." Mark clearly possessed professional expertise in demon extermination, and seemed to have worked with the police before, knowing the kind of help a detective could provide.

However, the other party simply smiled politely: "It's all done, all done. From now on, all matters here will be handled by Mr. Sherlock. With him around, the rest of us will only be a hindrance."

"??????" Mark blinked, as if he had misheard. After a long while, he finally turned around and looked at the 'new colleague' squatting beside the corpse, speechless for a long time.

As for Sherlock and Watson…

These two were like two children digging an anthill, squatting beside the bloodied corpse, poking and prodding it.

A few breaths later…

"Have you figured out enough?"

"Of course." Sherlock lit a cigarette.