122 Deduction After Dinner

In a remote tavern in downtown, a bedraggled man drank wine with large gulps under the dim yellow light. His eyes were dazed and his hair was messy. His clothing was originally clean, but had become dirty with its owner’s "care." Failures like him could be seen everywhere in downtown, getting drunk and escaping from reality. But he seemed to be rich, and could afford the expensive wines.

"F*ck, a bunch of bullsh*t!" Lestrade spat. He downed the wine and snapped his fingers, calling the bartender for another bottle.

The bartender seemed not to have heard and did not reply. Angry, Lestrade moved to flip the table over, but a bottle was placed before him. He was already wasted, but he could still see that it was black market whiskey from Burgundy. Thirty bottles were produced annually. It was a rare luxury.

A figure sat before him. One could see from the contours that the man was dressed well and was full of grace. Voice gentle, he asked, "Hey, friend, mind if I sit here? I’ve had a good harvest recently, and I want to celebrate. I need a friend to share with."

Lestrade opened his eyes, but he was drunk and could not see clearly. The newcomer took off his hat, and placed it on the table. Then he opened the bottle smoothly and poured two glasses, "Cheers to the mighty Avalon."

The gentlemanly figure raised his glass. Lestrade hesitated. Pursing his lips, he raised his as well. "F*ck Avalon."

Downing the glass in one shot, the sweet liquor rolled down his throat, waking his drowsy senses. Pursing his lips, he tossed the glass and stuck up his middle finger, "Okay, you can scram now."

"So uncivilized," the newcomer sighed. He finished the glass and set it down. "Friend, why must you drink by yourself? Life is short. You need a friend to talk about your worries with. You need a good listener."

"You f*cking lunatic…" Rolling his eyes, Lestrade slammed his hand onto the table and stood up, ready to leave.

"Sit," the elegant voice said behind him.

For some reason, Lestrade’s vision blurred, his knees buckled, and he sat in the chair again.

"Very good. This is the basis of a conversation. You must be polite and open your heart." As Lestrade’s eyes widened in shock, the newcomer laughed quietly. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Inspector Lestrade. I’ve heard much about you…"

Lestrade was awake instantly. He opened his eyes, finally seeing the man clearly. A chill ran down his spine.

The man who called himself Holmes sat in the shadow under the swaying light. Dim light illuminated his robe, but the robe was beastly—menacing and terrifying. The candlelight danced across his face but could not illuminate his features. It was all a blur. And in the blurriness, two dark orbs reflected the light like burning flames.

The rest of the bar seemed to fade with the man’s appearance. They seemed to be in a different world. People passed by, but no one spared them a glance.

Holmes laughed, his voice hoarse. "Seems that you’re still drunk. Why don’t we play a game?" He pulled a marble from his pocket and tossed it into the glass before him. Then he flipped the two glasses over and moved them around at a dizzying speed. When the short but fast movements ended, Sherlock let go and pointed at the two glasses. "Guess where the marble is."

Lestrade studied him cautiously, but the man just smiled, waiting patiently. Lestrade wanted to leave but the chill in his body made him hesitate. After a long time, he pointed to the glass on the right.

"Beep! Beep! Wrong!" The man flipped the glass, revealing the emptiness. "There’s a punishment for choosing wrong."

Crack!

Before Lestrade could react, his face started burning in pain. It was a slap. A slap that was full of disdain and mockery, taunting him.

"F*ck…" Lestrade slammed his fist down in anger, ready to punch the man hard, but he saw the man look up and order, "I told you, sit down!"

Thud!

Lestrade fell into his seat, unable to control his own body. Biting coldness shot from his feet to the back of his skull. A chill known as fear pierced his mind, jolting him from his drunken haze, but he would have rather been drunk.

"Okay, let’s continue our game." The two glasses started moving again. Quickly, they stopped. The man chuckled, "It’s time to choose again."

"What do you want?!" Lestrade glared at the figure before him. "Behave yourself, *sshole, or else you’ll be in jail getting ‘loved’ by all of the men!"

"Ha, are you finally awake?" The ghostly man chuckled, "How unfortunate. I wanted to play some more, but now it seems that we can start conversing happily."

"Converse? In your dreams!" Lestrade spat. He had seen through this guy’s nature. Sneering, he said, "Wait until tomorrow morning and we’ll have a nice conversation in prison. Then you’ll know what regret means." He jabbed the man’s chest, his expression dark. "Best if you find out who I am!"

"So unfriendly," The man sighed, gripping Lestrade’s finger. "Just so unfriendly."

Lestrade flinched. He tried yanking his hand back, but the man’s grip was like a clamp around his finger! He could not budge at all.

"I know who you are. But you don’t know," there was hoarse laughter, "...who I am."

Crack! There was a crisp noise. It was the sound of bone shattering.

Lestrade’s face twisted and he opened his mouth to scream, but his voice was stuck in his throat. Pain attacked his nerves in waves, pushing him to the brink of sanity. He shook, holding his broken finger and screaming silently. His body twisted and trembled in pain. His eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.

"You can calm down now, right? Mr. Lestrade, I came to find you so we could have a friendly conversation. Why must you be so rude?" The man smiled. He lowered his eyes, looking at Lestrade. "Or has your argument with that rich lady made you lose all reason?"

In extreme pain and fury, Lestrade finally understood one thing: the man before him was…a complete lunatic!

Glaring, he forced out, "You stalked me!"

"Stalk? You?" The man who called himself Holmes was taken aback, as if he had heard a joke. He gazed at Lestrade’s face and shook his head seriously. His nonchalant reply was full of scorn and coldness.

Lestrade’s humiliation multiplied. He panted heavily, his face red and his eyes murderous. "I don’t care how you found out, *sshole, but I will get rid of you. Understood? Get rid of you! You and everything you inquired about will be thrown into the sewer!"

"Inquire? Haha, look at yourself, sir. Everything’s written on your face." The d*mned fellow laughed. He suddenly rose, stepping onto the table to look down. He used is cane to lift Lestrade’s chin, gazing at his pale face. "Do you know the method of deduction? Should I demonstrate it for you?" He paused and let out a hearty laugh, "Now, it’s time for reasoning."