Late at night, in the lower city, in a remote bar.
Under the dim light on the table, a slovenly man was pouring strong wine into his mouth with drunken eyes. His hair is disheveled. His clothes were originally decent and neat, but now they became dirty under the merciless abuse of his master.
It's like the garbage that can be found everywhere in downtown, soaked in alcohol and escaping from reality. It's just that he looks rich and can afford the most expensive liquor.
"Damn, what a bunch of bullshit!" Lestrade spat, raised his head and drank the liquor in the bottle, then snapped his fingers and asked the bartender to bring another bottle.
The bartender didn't seem to notice, and didn't respond for a long time. He was furious, and just when he was about to overturn the table, he saw a new bottle of wine placed in front of him.
Even though he was extremely drunk, he could vaguely tell that this was fine whiskey smuggled from Burgundy, produced for thirty years, and a rare good product.
Immediately afterwards, a figure sat opposite him. The silhouette looked well-dressed, full of elegance, and had a gentle tone:
"Hey, friend, do you mind if I sit here? I have gained a lot recently. I want to open a bottle of good wine to celebrate. I need a friend to share it with me."
Lestrade raised his eyes and glanced at him, but his eyes were too drunk to see clearly. The visitor took off his hat, placed it on the table, opened the wine bottle gracefully and smoothly, and filled a glass for him and himself.
"Come and drink to the great Avalon."
The gentleman-looking man raised his glass. Lestrade hesitated for a moment, curled his lips, and said, "Fuck Avalon."
After drinking it all, the sweet wine flowed down the throat, and it seemed that even the drowsy reason was awakened. He curled his lips, threw away the wine glass, and gestured with his middle finger to the visitor:
"Okay, you can get out."
"It's so barbaric."
The visitor shook his head and sighed, raised his head, drank the wine, and put down the glass: "Why drink alone, my friend. Life is short, you must find a friend to express your inner depression. You lack a good listener."
"Fuck, crazy..."
Lestrade rolled his eyes at the guy, slapped the table and stood up, preparing to leave.
"sit down."
Behind him, the elegant voice said.
For some reason, his eyes blurred, his knees softened, and he sat back on the chair.
"Good, that's the basis of the conversation, be polite and open."
Just when he was stunned, the visitor laughed softly: "Let me introduce myself, my name is Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes. First time we meet, Inspector Lestrade, I have known your name for a long time..."
In an instant, Lestrade was more than half drunk. He opened his eyes and finally saw clearly the visitor's attire, but he couldn't help but feel a chill in his heart.
Under the light of the flickering oil lamp, the man who called himself Sherlock Holmes sat in the shadows. The faint light illuminated his dress, but the dress had an animalistic ferocity to it, making it scary to look at.
The candlelight danced on his face, but the mottled light and shadow could not illuminate his face, only a blur. In that blur, there was a pair of dark eyes that reflected the light of the candle, as if they were burning.
The hustle and bustle in the tavern seemed to have faded away. With the appearance of this man, he and he were isolated in an unnoticed corner by some force.
People come and go, but no one looks here.
The man laughed, his voice hoarse: "It looks like you are still drunk. How about we play a game to sober up?"
As he spoke, he took out a marble from his pocket and threw it into the wine glass in front of him. Immediately afterwards, the two wine glasses were turned upside down on the table and spun in his hands at a dizzying speed.
When the brief and swift movement was over, Sherlock let go of his hand and pointed to the two wine glasses in front of him: "Guess which wine glass it is in?"
Lestrade looked at him warily, but the man seemed to be smiling, just spreading his hands, waiting for his decision, looking very patient.
He wanted to turn around and leave, but the unyielding chill made him hesitate.
After a long time, he stretched out his hand and pointed to the cup on the right.
"Beep! Beep! Wrong choice!"
The man opened the cup, but there was nothing in it: "If you choose the wrong one, there will be punishment."
Snapped!
Before Lestrade could react, his face started to hurt. It was a slap.
A slap that contains disdain, ridicule and ridicule.
"What the hell..."
Lestrade was furious, slapped the table and stood up. Just as he was about to raise his fist and hit this guy in the face hard, he saw the guy raised his eyelids and glanced at him, his voice as cold as ice.
"I told you, sit down!"
Bang!
Lestrade sat back in the chair involuntarily, as if his body was no longer under his control.
A biting coldness ran from his heels to the back of his head. The coldness called fear pierced his mind and he barely woke up from his drunkenness. But he would rather be drunk to the point of unconsciousness.
"Okay, let's get on with the game."
On the table, the two cups started moving again, and soon stopped again. The man chuckled: "It's time to choose again."
"What on earth do you want to do?!"
Lestrade glared at the figure in front of him: "You'd better be more clear-minded, bastard, otherwise you'll be thrown into jail and be caressed by a group of men!"
"Haha, are you finally sober?"
The ghostly man chuckled softly, "What a pity, I still want to play two more rounds. But now it seems that we can start a pleasant conversation."
"Talk? You're dreaming!"
Lestrade spat, feeling that he had seen through the ruthless nature of this guy, and sneered: "When it gets up tomorrow, I will have a good talk with you in the detention room of the prison! Then you will know what regret is. "
He stretched out his finger and pointed at the guy's chest, with a gloomy expression: "You'd better understand who I am!"
"So unkind."
The man shook his head and sighed, reaching out and holding his finger: "It's really, really unfriendly."
Lestrade was stunned and wanted to pull out his hand, but he felt that the hand was like an iron pliers, tightly clamping his fingers!
Unable to move.
"I already know who you are, but you haven't figured it out..."
He heard the hoarse laughter:
"—Who am I?"
Snap!
A crisp sound suddenly sounded, which was the sound of broken bones.
Lestrade's expression changed, and he immediately opened his mouth to scream. But he couldn't make a sound, as if his throat was blocked. Waves of pain stimulated his nerves and brain, almost going crazy.
He twitched, holding his severed fingers, screaming silently, his body twisted and trembled hard, and his eyeballs almost protruded from their sockets.
"Now, can you calm down a little? Mr. Lestrade, I came to you just to have a friendly communication with you. Why are you so rude?"
The man smiled, lowered his eyes, and looked at his face: "Or is it that the emotional dispute between you and your noble wife made you lose control of your mind?"
In the midst of severe pain and rage, Lestrade finally understood one thing. The guy in front of him... was a complete madman!
He glared at the bastard and asked with difficulty:
"You investigate me!"
"Investigation? You?"
The man who called himself Sherlock was stunned, as if he had heard a joke, glanced at Lestrade's face, and shook his head seriously.
It was a disdainful response, full of contempt and indifference, which made Lestrade feel even more humiliated.
His face turned red, he was breathing heavily, and his eyes were full of killing intent: "No matter how you know it, bastard, I will kill you, understand?! I will kill you! You and the things you found out Everything will be thrown into the stinking ditch with you!"
"Prying? Hahaha, look at your face, sir. Everything is clearly written on your face."
The damn guy laughed, suddenly stood up, stepped on the table, and looked down at him. The man lifted Lestrade's chin with his cane and stared at his pale face:
"Do you know something called deduction? Why not let me give you a demonstration?"
He paused and laughed meaningfully:
"Next, it's time for reasoning."