The Great Demon Holmes

In London, carriages were the most common form of transportation.

Although the Mechanical Institute had already developed steam cars, their difficult maintenance and care prevented them from becoming the main mode of urban transportation. Some nobles who purchased steam cars could only treat them as decorations in their own courtyards and still relied on carriages for their daily transportation.

On the other hand, the trams that could only travel on fixed tracks were slightly more popular. The fare was 1 penny for short distances, 5 pence for mid-distance, and 15 pence for long distances or crossing the River Thames.

It wasn't too expensive, but one had to endure the crowded carriage, the smell of sweat, and the remnants of vomit that hadn't been cleaned up overnight.

At this moment, Sherlock was riding on a tram from the outskirts into the city center of London.

Due to the limited number of seats, and many of them being broken, most people in the carriage were standing. Several drunks were arguing loudly by the carriage door, a young girl carrying bags filled with food stood in a corner, an elderly man in his 70s stared intently at the buttocks of the woman in front of him, and the woman, completely unaware, was having an argument with her husband.

The argument was about their child calling the handsome waiter at the neighboring pub "Dad."

This made the woman's husband feel that the child was not his own.

The woman's explanation was that the child was only 8 months old and could call anyone "Dad," even a dog!

Usually, in such situations, Sherlock would be curious and observe and deduce, trying to figure out whose offspring the child really was. It might actually be a dog's child. Anything could happen these days.

However, today, he wasn't as interested.

Because he was still thinking about his contract demon...

A... worm?

Not the kind of worm with a hard exoskeleton and razor-sharp mouthparts, but a soft, wriggling caterpillar?!

No, that waste of space didn't even dare to wriggle. It could only pretend to be dead, lying still...

Sherlock wasn't someone who cared about the strength of a contract creature, but... but this was too weak! A person always needed an anchor for self-perception. Just because he had become a lifelong celibate monk didn't mean he could accept having only a half-thumb-sized creature.

Useless and unable to be used were two completely different concepts.

Moreover, Sherlock was quite narcissistic. Letting the lowest-tier caterpillar become his contract creature... it was really hard for him to feel happy. Adding to that the fact that he hadn't slept well since last night, his apartment had been demolished, and he was about to be homeless.

With all these things piling up, he was getting more and more frustrated.

He turned around and softly said to the drunks who had been shouting, "Sorry, please quiet down."

Whether it was due to his politeness that made the drunks feel ashamed or something in his eyes, they quieted down.

A few more stops passed, and the tram finally arrived at Baker Street station. It was already afternoon, and the city was surprisingly clean after the rain.

Sherlock got off the tram...

And the drunks got off too, following him closely but not too closely.

As mentioned before, the safety in the lower district had never been good. Demons, murders, revenge, debt problems, and more. The flames of the crematorium were almost never extinguished.

Under the protection of such a huge amount of evil, smaller crimes became more rampant, as an accidental encounter on the way home could lead to baseless grudges. It was a very common situation.

Furthermore, although Sherlock was dressed somewhat shabbily, he still wore decent clothing. This caused the drunken eyes to continuously stare at his coat, leather shoes, top hat, and they started calculating, perhaps he had a pocket watch or something valuable.

In any case, they didn't bother hiding their desires and violent intentions...

And at that moment, they suddenly saw their target leisurely entering a small alley.

The drunks exchanged glances, smirked in a sinister manner, and followed him.

They completely failed to notice the faint trace of disdain and helplessness emanating from the back of their target.

Even more so, they didn't notice the young girl who had been holding a bag of bread and vegetables in the corner of the train, anxiously watching this scene unfold.

...

One minute later...

The alley had little sunlight, and the garbage bins, left unattended for several weeks, emitted a sour odor of decaying meat.

One person lay on the ground, their eyes rolling back, foaming at the mouth.

Another person slumped beside the pile of trash, completely unconscious, allowing the foul water from the decomposing garbage to flow into their mouth.

Only the last drunkard remained, his legs trembling, leaning against the wall to prevent himself from falling. He seemed to be trying hard to understand what had happened in that split second.

Of course, Sherlock had no intention of giving him time to think because he was annoyed. Right now, he just wanted to quickly resolve this ridiculous situation and figure out how to spend the night.

He lit a cigarette and walked towards the drunkard in front of him, his voice devoid of energy, "I know people like you hold grudges and often use despicable methods against helpless citizens like me. So, I beat you all up to prevent you from harassing me. It's reasonable, isn't it?"

The drunkard's mind was buzzing. How was this considered "reasonable"?

He knew he had to run fast...

But his legs were too weak, and he couldn't even stand up. He could only watch helplessly as the terrifying man slowly approached him.

"Help... help me!!!!"

In this critical moment, he finally managed to cry out for help.

However, as soon as he opened his mouth, a hand forcefully pressed against his face.

Then, clang! Clang! Clang! The back of his head was repeatedly slammed against the wall.

While bashing him, Sherlock looked at the entrance of the alley with a doubtful expression.

"You... What are you doing?"

The girl, startled by the sound, turned around and saw Sherlock. She had a momentary expression of relief and determination. The next second, she hurriedly rushed over, grabbed Sherlock's hand, and started running.

"Run, run! I scared them. There's no constable!