Chapter 5: No Smoking Allowed!

Chapter 5: No Smoking Allowed!

Director Lestrade despised Sherlock.

In addition to the two points mentioned earlier, there was also a third point, a fourth point... and many more points thereafter.

Even though this detective had caught the murderer of the director's daughter and skinned the culprit alive right in front of him... Director Lestrade still disliked Sherlock.

Because he could sense clearly that this guy wasn't capturing criminals for the sake of justice, and it wasn't even about money... Sherlock had a habit of turning those criminals into indescribable messes. Although criminals had no human rights, they shouldn't be left to die in prison, and they certainly shouldn't appear in the execution yard in such a disturbingly gruesome manner, capable of "disturbing public sentiment."

Dealing with such matters required a lot of money, which meant Sherlock's bounty was always meager.

But!

He continued doing it tirelessly... Director Lestrade strongly suspected that Sherlock's motives were driven by a need for catharsis, amusement, or some other unspeakable reason.

"If it weren't for the possibility that my daughter's soul might hold some gratitude towards you, I would have long labeled you as the most heinous criminal!" the director vented his anger.

Sherlock chuckled indifferently, "Come on, over the years, I've resolved so many troublesome criminals for you. You know it well, and you can't even classify me as a criminal. I have never violated imperial law... or at least, you haven't caught any evidence..."

Director Lestrade stifled his anger!

Indeed, there was no evidence to prove that Sherlock had committed any crimes... but he knew deep down that this guy was undoubtedly the most terrifying, most evil criminal. The things he did were more depraved and insane than all the death row inmates in the underground prison combined.

But frustratingly, no one knew what he was up to.

No one knew where he came from, his age, his past experiences, or even if the name "Sherlock Holmes" was real.

All anyone knew was that he claimed to be a detective, residing in a small rented house on Baker Street.

Sherlock sat inside the carriage, cushioned by thick woolen blankets beneath him and around his feet.

He never expected that he would find himself boarding the Vatican carriage in this manner, nor did he anticipate that the nun he encountered earlier would possess such a lofty status.

Looking out the window, the bustling square was still teeming with people. This was the lower district, and everywhere he looked, there were porters carrying wooden crates, newsboys shouting at the top of their lungs, and a few scantily dressed women in the alley near the tavern. Their business must not be doing well this month, or else they wouldn't be out soliciting customers at this hour.

The carriage had shock-absorbing technology on its wheel axles, making the ride smooth without feeling any bumps. Along the way, they passed through several city checkpoints and massive gear-operated gates. The clamor gradually faded as they entered the upper district.

The streets became wide and flat, and the buildings on both sides appeared solemn and orderly. Delicate metal pipes clung to the walls, resembling meticulously trimmed ivy, glimmering in the fading sunlight.

After approximately half an hour, when the sun had completely vanished, gas lamps illuminated the surroundings, and only then did the carriage come to a stop.

Sherlock, feeling a bit drowsy, stepped out of the carriage. The night breeze was chilly, and before him was a clean, narrow street. Due to its long-standing closure, there were no pedestrians in sight, only security guards in steam-powered armor patrolling the area. The heavy clash of steel and the sound of high-pressure steam occasionally covered the surroundings.

"Officer!"

Upon seeing the carriage, a constable quickly approached, his mechanical arm clenched to his left chest, half-kneeling before Catherine.

This was the inherent etiquette subordinates in the Church showed to their superiors, though the steam armor made the constable still tower over Catherine.

"Your Eminence."

He then respectfully saluted the frail old priest who had just stepped out of the carriage. However, during this brief moment, his gaze inadvertently passed over the old priest's shoulder and fell upon Sherlock, who had lit a cigarette.

His eyes almost popped out of their sockets!

Even with his superior present before his eyes, he couldn't hold back his shout:

"No smoking allowed here!!!"