Night falls slowly.

The sky of Bojinhan begins to cover dark clouds again, and the rainy season is about to usher in.

Click!

The gate of the apartment at 23 South Baker Street was closed by Sherlock's backhand.

He stood outside the door and looked up at the night.

"Are you really going?"

Brooke's unique and soft voice came from Sherlock's ears.

"Mrs. Madson said that Malfoy's private life, financial deposits, etc. were all normal. He had no reason to sell the apartment, which was a very strange idea."

"Also, in my image, although Malfoy is a proud man, he respects Mrs. Madson. He cannot drive his adoptive mother to the countryside, which is very immoral."

"The most important thing is that he said I knew the address of the club, and I did know it. But strangely, I didn't know anything about that place and had a memory missing."

Sherlock whispered and explained, while taking out the gold rose pocket watch and looked at the time. It was exactly 19:05 in the evening, so he could set off.

"I think he is very dangerous. If you approach him, there will be greater danger." Brooke said with a warning.

"I can hear his hint, he wants me to go there." Sherlock said, turning back and asking:

"Do you think he is extraordinary?"

The sharp-eared black cat squatted in the corner of the shadow, thought for a while, and said to each other's heart:

"I can't draw a conclusion unless I let me spy on him up close. I can only tell you that there is a dangerous breath on him."

"But Malfoy, whom I am familiar with, is just a bank employee, not a weird person with extraordinary abilities. So..."

Sherlock stared at Brooke and smiled:

"Can you go with me? My safety is also important to you."

Brooke's green eyes stared at Sherlock, and after a while, he said stiffly:

"Give me a drop of the blood of the sleeping person."

Sherlock was ready, so he took out a pin from his bottom sleeve, opened it and tugged his fingers lightly. Then he gritted his teeth and frowned and squeezed out a trace of blood, and handed it to Brooke.

Brooke still raised her head and licked her tongue on the blood.

Sherlock felt the electric trembling of his fingertips again.

Fortunately, after Brooke successfully obtained the blood, the trauma on his fingers would heal quickly. Otherwise, Sherlock would have to worry about whether there would be any problems with his fingers every time he tickled his fingers...

"Okay, let's go." Boogie said without any emotion, moving forward with agile steps.

When a man and a cat came to the street, Sherlock attracted a hired carriage. After explaining the location, the coachman pulled the reins and daddled... The carriage ran away.

...

The destination is located in Iron Cross Street ten kilometers away.

It was almost 20 o'clock in the evening, and the carriage finally stopped slowly.

Sherlock took out 40 kroner and paid the fare, then put on his hat and lantern, and walked out towards the target building. Brooke followed behind him, like a black ghost.

In the remote place on the corner of the street, next to a few lush trees is a three-story building with a high-walled courtyard.

The yard is pitch black and winding in circles, with outdoor gas lights installed at the top. The hazy light spreads, casting huge shadows on the three-story building.

There are not many windows outside the building, and this kind of building method is very alternative. Overall, it looks like a stone-wood fortress. The only few windows are covered with dim light and shadow, and are covered by curtains.

There are several large chimneys behind the building standing firmly in the dark, like monster fangs, looking down at the entire range.

Outside the yard, there were several private carriages parked. Judging from the decoration and materials, they were either rich or noble. There were several other men dressed in servants, huddled in the corner and smoked and chatted.

In front of the sharp iron railing gate, there was a burly and tall man with dark skin, thick turban, big beard, and guards in guard uniforms.

Sherlock stood at the far end, looking at this strange place.

There is no sign in the yard or the building, so I can't tell what place it is.

Except for the address in memory, Sherlock has no image.

"I came back to life in the bathroom on the second floor of the apartment and lost my memory for more than three months. What is the reason?"

Sherlock muttered in his heart and walked towards the gate of the courtyard.

"Stop, sir! Are there any appointments?"

One of the big bearded doormen stretched out his thick arms early to block Sherlock.

"I am a friend of Mr. Malfoy and I was invited to come."

Sherlock took out the piece of cardboard and handed it over.

The big bearded guard looked at her, looked at Sherlock again, and finally his eyes fell on the sharp-eared black cat.

"Pets are not allowed, sir!"

"It's not a pet, it's my partner. I have to bring it in!"

Sherlock replied in a stiff tone.

The big bearded doorman used the baton in his hand to knock on the sign behind him that was blocked by him, and said heavily:

"According to the rules, sir!"

Sherlock looked up and the sign read:

"Pets and evil spirits are not allowed to enter."

"Is this useful?" Sherlock looked at the doorman speechlessly.

"If you insist on bringing it in, please pay 1 gold pound, which is the rule." The big bearded doorman continued.

After all, she still needs money... Sherlock took out a 1-pound note from his inner bag, and handed it to the doorman with heartache.

The big bearded doorman seemed to pinch the banknotes skillfully, looked at the anti-counterfeiting pattern at the gas light, and then put it in his arms with satisfaction and made a gesture of inviting them.

The pointed iron railing door was opened, and along the brick path, there were a layer of steps.

On the steps, there is another thick iron-covered gate, but there is no guard.

Sherlock continued to move upwards and pushed open the door with force.

Suddenly, a smoky smell mixed with the smell of sweat and wine, and the heat came to my face.

"It's actually a bar?"

There is another step behind the door, but it is downward.

Below is a not very bright space, with an old wooden bar located in the inner direction. Then there are some distances where the wine table and the passage blocked by the baffle.

At this moment, there were a few people in different clothes at the bar, drinking and chatting. At the other tables, there were guests playing cards and gambling, and they made loud shouts from time to time.

"Is there anything that can help you? Sir!"

A middle-aged man with two black beards and a smart appearance, wearing a waiter's costume, quickly met him.

"I am Mr. Malfoy's friend, and I should come." Sherlock continued to hand over the cardboard piece.

The black beard waiter glanced and nodded:

"Sir, what do you call you?"

"Sherlock."

"Okay, Mr. Sherlock, please wait a moment. If you have any needs, please tell the people at the bar that all the food here is free."

After the black beard waiter finished speaking, he immediately turned around and hurriedly left, entering the passage behind the baffle.

Sherlock pretended to be careless and patrolled the people in the bar. Judging from his clothes and temperament, he should not be ordinary people.

"They are all extraordinary in the 9th level. What kind of source and quality are not distinguishable for the time being. You have to be careful, this place is even more dangerous than I thought!"

The sound of Brooke's heart-to-heart talk came to Sherlock's ears.

Sherlock nodded as if nothing had happened, standing calmly in the shadows where the lights were not shining directly, waiting for the echo.

About ten minutes, the black-bearded waiter hurried back.

"Please come with me, Mr. Sherlock!"

The blackbeard waiter led the way, and Sherlock quickly followed.

Turn into the baffle passage and face it is a dark corridor entrance.

The corridor was not illuminated. Although it was not that I could not see my five fingers, it was difficult to see clearly what was inside.

The black bearded waiter led the way silently, and Sherlock had to bite the bullet and follow.

After walking in the dark for about a few minutes, the waiter suddenly reached out and pushed.

Finally, a light sprinkled out, and another thick wooden door was pushed open silently.

It is a place that looks like a small living room, decorated with a British aristocratic style. The low-key luxury, soft light, carpets, wallpapers, decorations, chandeliers, tables, chairs, sofas, etc., all show the traces of time being settled.

"Sherlock, here."
To be continued...