Chapter 69: Thoughtful
1109 Words
Half an hour later, Sherlock returned to his apartment on Baker Street.
He didn't waste time stuffing the young man named Andrew into his suitcase, as he hadn't brought one today.
He didn't tie him up and drag him to Scotland Yard either, because the journey was too far.
He simply told the young man that tomorrow morning, once he was at work, he should go to the nearest police station, find a seemingly clever officer, and explain all his crimes over the past few days in detail.
Then he would adopt a "do whatever you want" attitude and wait for a group of people to pin him to the ground!
Oh, and he'd better behave himself and not cause any trouble.
Otherwise, he would come and talk to him personally…
It must be said that Sherlock was quite reasonable in some situations. After saying all this, he parted ways with Andrew, trusting that Andrew was a good kid and wouldn't cause him any trouble.
And Andrew certainly wouldn't cause any trouble… just like he said before, he'd rather face decades in prison, even the death penalty, than face his contracted demon again, and even less that self-proclaimed detective.
Oh right, that guy said something strange before;
Why wouldn't it be easier if the demon escaped back to Hell…?
…Opening the apartment door, Sherlock took off his coat and comfortably lay down on the sofa.
Some tentacles slowly emerged from the shadows of the room, like writhing venomous snakes, climbing up the sofa armrests to Sherlock's shoulders, gently l*****g behind his ears.
He closed his eyes, smiling slightly as he stroked them, feeling that eerie intimacy…
Last time in the dream, after the small tentacles melted into his body, he discovered that those tentacles from the dream had begun to appear in the real world.
However, not summoned through a void rift, but rather… in an indescribable state.
They would slowly crawl out of the shadows, or their hazy outlines would faintly emerge from some corner. A flash of light might catch a glimpse of them at the edge of one's vision, but turning to search would reveal them nowhere.
In short, these little creatures, like their own domain, began to overlap with the real world, yet proudly maintained an eerie sense of mystery, preferring to cower outside sight, or wander, linger, wriggle, and wait in the shadows…
Sherlock slowly raised his head. A tentacle had already rolled up a pillow and tucked it into the gap between his neck and the sofa, the position perfect.
He shifted his body, finding the most comfortable position. Amidst the coiled tentacles, a faint smile played on his lips as he drifted into sleep.
…The wind and sand, and the scorching heat, remained unchanged, but perhaps because he was within the domain, Sherlock didn't feel overly uncomfortable.
He rose, stepped into the wind, and amidst the almost boiling scene around him, looked up into the distance.
That was the spot where the steam train had just passed in the real world.
Tentacles crawled around him, and five corpse dogs stood guard a short distance away, heads held high, awaiting commands.
Clearly, while he was away, these little tentacles had parasitized a few more demons.
Previously, they should have been limited to two demons at a time, so these little guys were slowly growing through the constant hatching and splitting… except they seemed to have a cute obsession with the corpse dogs, and who knows when they'd get tired of them and try parasitizing other kinds of demons.
The demon corpses on the ground had now been completely devoured by the tentacles, making the street less chaotic, although many tentacles were still crawling, like living steam pipes.
Sherlock lazily stretched his limbs, then prepared to walk towards the train.
But he had only taken a few steps…
“Hmm?”
He paused, because in his thoughts, he seemed to sense something extra.
Following this feeling, he slowly turned his head, looking towards the corner of a collapsed building, and then, somewhat surprised… saw a horse!
A horse entirely black.
This blackness wasn't describing the color of its coat, but rather something as if it had been roasted in a fire for years, completely carbonized, yet strangely retaining its original shape.
Its eyes and hooves constantly glowed with the faint embers of burning wood, and occasionally, cracks could be seen in its body, from which wisps of flame flickered. Its tail, like threads of ash rising and falling, swayed gently, scattering fine dust that was then swept away by the wind.
At this moment, the horse stood alone, pawing the ground with its forelegs, occasionally snorting and exhaling a puff of dust.
What surprised Sherlock even more was that behind the horse… there was actually a carriage.
Um… it was a carriage, the kind you see everywhere on the streets of London, only the carriage was tainted by the blood of hell, giving it a decaying and rusty appearance.
Sherlock was quite pleased.
After the tentacles merged with him last time, all the tentacles in the entire domain established some strange connection with him. At least they were no longer just crawling around on instinct; they could sense his thoughts and needs.
Whether it was lighting his cigarette or bringing him this carriage, it all demonstrated this.
After all, with a larger territory, you can't always walk on foot, right?
What a thoughtful bunch of little guys.
So Sherlock walked towards the carriage and sat down. Although most of the interior decorations were weathered, they still showed a very sturdy nature. And so, without a driver, like a ghost carriage from a street legend, it began to run forward.
As it ran, tentacles began to emerge from the cracks in buildings and the shadows on both sides of the road. They clustered together, growing more numerous and denser, like a black tide with a devouring power, surging around the vehicles and heading in the direction Sherlock had just been gazing.
Just then, in a dilapidated street in Hell, the Gouged-Out Demon finally climbed down from the weathered elevated train bridge.
It wasn't very strong; Sherlock had broken several of its limbs in the real world, and it wasn't fast either. Without the support of fear, it looked even more pitiful; climbing this stretch had almost exhausted all its strength.
So, it found a relatively safe small pile of rubble, intending to hide inside and rest for a while.
But just as it was about to crawl in…
“Boom—Boom—Boom—” A series of rapid booms echoed in the distance!
- Writer
