Apartment 23 South Baker Street.

The cool and humid wind blew into the open floor-to-ceiling windows.

The dark blue curtains slapped on the wall, making a faint sound of banging.

Sherlock sat on a brown wooden chair, crossing his hands and staring at the bathroom with the door opposite.

On the powder-white walls of the bathroom, there was originally a mirror with classical patterns hanging on it. At this moment, it was broken and the mirrors were all over the floor.

There was blood on the lenses and blood splashed on the ground.

Sherlock's white shirt was covered with blood.

"I came from time to time and occupied this body."

"But why did you come back to life?"

"Hysterically, he broke the mirror and stabbed the fragments into his heart. He was not dead yet? Could it be that he was resurrected by the influence of time traveling through the dead?"

"A young intellectual who graduated from Bojinhan University has just started his career and his life is full of vitality. Why can't he think about self-abuse and commit suicide?"

Sherlock repeatedly pondered the reasons in the memory he received.

However, it seemed as if this memory was erased and could not be remembered.

Sherlock frowned as his eyes fell on the scattered fragments of the ground.

Too messy...

He immediately got up from the chair, walked into the bathroom, picked up the broom and started cleaning.

Carefully pick up the lenses and slags and wipe off all blood.

Sherlock once again used a towel stained with soap foam to carefully wipe the countertop and floor of the bathroom spotlessly before breathing a sigh of relief.

Looking at the tidy bathroom, Sherlock nodded with satisfaction.

Then start cleaning yourself.

He took off his clothes and threw them into a bucket to soak. Then he wiped the blood on his body with a wet wipe at the water in the washbasin.

In the middle of his chest and heart, the lens that had originally pierced into him had disappeared. Instead, it was replaced by gray and white marks visible to the naked eye. They were squirming and closing, and they might heal in a short time, as if nothing had ever happened.

The water light reflects Sherlock's appearance, her slightly curly black hair is a little messy, her facial features are deep, her eyebrows are very thick, and there is a small black mole on the upper end of the straight nose.

His body is not strong, his skin is pale. He is about 1.75 meters tall, and there are arc scars left when he was young on his left arm, making him look a little thin.

After cleaning the blood, Sherlock brushed his teeth and washed his face, then changed into dry trousers and linen shirt, and walked to the large copper-edged desk in the living room.

He cleaned the desk again and his eyes fell on a box of business cards.

White paper with:

"Sherlock-Secret Search and Special Event Investigation Firm";

“23 Baker South Street, Botzingham, England”;

"Sherlock Kidd";

Sherlock stared at the so-called "secret and special" with a middle-second style naming, which felt very consistent with the original owner's personality.

The original owner Sherlock Kidd grew up in an orphanage. He was withdrawn and arrogant since childhood. He studied smart and hardworking, and graduated from church school to municipal university.

The major I chose is also unpopular, including the Department of History and Archaeology. I am good at languages ​​from various countries, like classical monuments, and are motivated but not sociable.

When Sherlock turned nineteen, the 300 pounds left by his parents officially took effect. He used the money to rent an apartment at 23 South Baker Street and set up a firm.

But unfortunately, in the field of private detectives, there is a celebrity effect. The more famous the business, the better the business, the contrary, the business is bleak.

For a whole year, Sherlock's firm was unable to make ends meet.

The withdrawn and arrogant Sherlock Kidd was deeply hit and entered a vicious circle of self-doubt and everything went wrong. If you don’t take on small things, you can’t take on big things, and the worse you do, the worse you do.

The apartment rent is 9 gold pounds per month, plus the expenses of food, clothing, housing and transportation. One year is enough to exhaust the original owner's savings and life begins to fall into difficulties.

"After graduation, I hurried into a strange industry, and I was not beaten by society. I wanted to make a smooth sailing with my own knowledge, but I lost everything..."

Sherlock commented on the original owner, shook his head, and opened the desk drawer.

In the drawer, there is a light gray old wallet with woven leather.

Inside the wallet is all Sherlock’s savings now.

After counting, it was 27 gold pounds and 28 kroners...

"In other words, the monthly rent plus living expenses, my 27 gold pounds are only enough for two months of expenses and it will bottom out..."

Sherlock sighed, counted the money carefully again, reluctantly put it back into his wallet, closed the drawer and locked it.

It is understandable to travel through time.

But what should I do after traveling through time?

"My graduation grades are indeed excellent, but they are not enough to open a business independently. Should I turn it off? Then I will find an archaeological assistant to do the job first?"

"Or apply for an administrator of a certain library to maintain your life first..."

While thinking, Sherlock picked up the pocket watch on the table with gold-clad rose petals. He opened it with a click to check the time.

This exquisitely made pocket watch is a precious relic left by parents.

Sherlock's father was a second lieutenant of the Army Expedition Brigade and his mother was a military doctor. The two parents died outside the border due to war when Sherlock was three years old.

The thin hour hand on the pocket watch dial pointed to 15 pm.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly froze.

He stared at the inside of the cover and frowned.

There are bright lenses inlaid on the inside of the cover, because the original owner is a person who loves neatness and has mild obsessive-compulsive disorder. The lenses are inlaid on the inside, and you can observe and organize your appearance.

At this moment, the mirror was covered with dark gray fog.

And the thick fog evaporates, forming an obscure and unspeakable text.

"This is the ancient Ibiya Celtic language, the Western Mainland language when the British Kingdom was not yet established a thousand years ago... Why did it appear on the mirror?"

Sherlock tried to read out this passage:

"The Creator of the Old Day was here, and the Creator of the Old Day is here, and the Creator of the Old Day will be there forever. It is not in the space we know, it cannot see traces, it cannot know appearance, it has the most real fantasy of the world, it has invisible and intangible shapes. It must rule the world that can be known and will eventually dominate all great roots..."

With the syllable of the last word ending.

Sherlock's eyes were already shrouded in darkness.

His thoughts became solidified, lost consciousness, unable to speak or act, only endless and eternal darkness.

The air becomes viscous, cold, deep, and far...

The murmur that was overwhelmingly swelled, like thousands of thorns, tearing apart a slight darkness, piercing out thousands of radiant lights, pouring down the boundless darkness.

Sherlock felt like he was becoming erratic, as if he was rising in an endless space.

“Where is this?”

“What’s the situation?”

When he regained consciousness and stood firm, he was shocked by what he saw in front of him.

This is a vast and magnificent boundless land.

In the middle, there is only a huge bronze seat standing like a royal throne. It is covered with strange patterns, making it look quiet and distant and untouchable.

And around this bronze seat, countless "mirrors" are surrounded.

Every "mirror" is filled with thick mist, just like what Sherlock saw on the pocket watch cover before.

Sherlock was shocked to see it, but also dazzled.

The distribution of these mirrors is too messy...

A strange scene appeared!

With Sherlock's idea, hundreds of "mirrors" seemed to be ordered to start arranging in a neat and orderly manner.

But in the blink of an eye, all the "mirror" layers are clearly suspended around the bronze seats.

Sherlock: "..."

When he came to his senses, he realized that he was already sitting on the bronze seat. It was like a monarch descending, examining the neatly arranged "subjects" worshiping.

"Where am I?"

"How to leave?"

Sherlock tried hard to calm himself down and began to carefully observe all the "mirrors". Only then did he realize that when he stared at which mirror, the other party was expanding and appeared in front of him like a holographic projection.

"Um?"

There was a mirror in it, and the thick fog on it began to fade. Then there was a blurred figure that gradually became clearer and became closer to Sherlock.

The figure seemed to be a woman, as if she was praying devoutly.

Sherlock stretched out his hand with a little confusion, trying to push away the mirror image that was getting closer.
To be continued...