The Great Demon Holmes

Sherlock remained motionless, standing like a statue at the entrance.

Inside the door, there was nothing strange, just a relatively clean and tidy rental apartment. The setting sun cast a warm glow through the window, making the room feel even cozier than usual.

It was an ordinary scene.

So, the real estate agent couldn't understand what was going on with their customer, and it was hard to imagine the extent of the shock this scene had brought to Sherlock.

Even Sherlock himself couldn't have imagined that the most shocking moment of his life, from birth until now, would be presented to him in this way.

He forcefully suppressed the trembling of his body and stepped into the room. His gaze fell on the window opposite the door, which provided a view of most of Baker Street. Then he turned his head slightly and scanned the familiar carpet, the simple tea table, the sparsely decorated walls, and the cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling...

Baker Street - 221B.

Sherlock was certain that he had never been in this room before, but everything here felt so familiar. He could even pick up a cup from the kitchen without looking, as if he had been trapped in this room in his dreams since childhood.

It had been almost thirty years...

He finally realized that the patterns on the cup were a faint golden color.

And the pale green carpet, the slightly uneven walls, the wooden tea table, and the light yellow tablecloth on the table.

Everything finally had color!!!

Yes, this room was the same room that Sherlock had been trapped in since childhood in his dreams!

How was this possible?

The space from his dreams actually existed in the real world?

But wait, if he had been having this strange dream since he was a child, then this room couldn't have looked like this decades ago. Moreover, this apartment shouldn't have even been built during his childhood...

Or could it be that the room from his dreams had been frozen in time and was now appearing exactly as it did the moment he opened the door?

But what did that mean?

Countless questions flooded Sherlock's mind, but in the nearly thirty years he had been pondering about this room, he had never found any answers. So now, he knew that his questions would remain unanswered.

"Sir, how do you find this room?" the agent asked tentatively.

"I am satisfied. I can pay the deposit now," Sherlock said without hesitation.

Although he didn't know the connection between this room and himself, he was certain that he had to live here. In fact, he had already planned to catch a few murderers in the coming days and save some money to buy this room.

The agent was overjoyed to hear that and quickly prepared the contract for Sherlock to sign.

For rental apartments like this, the landlord couldn't sit at home waiting for tenants to show up every day. Generally, they handed over the management to real estate agents. As long as the rent was collected and a certain commission deducted, everything was settled.

The rest of the process went smoothly. Sherlock paid the full rent that day, and the staff from the assistance agency helped him move his luggage for free.

As the night fell, everything was settled.

Sherlock looked at his new home and the red leather sofa that appeared in the living room. He didn't know what expression to put on his face.

He surveyed the familiar surroundings, then opened the doors on either side of the living room—the two doors that had always been immovable in his dreams. Behind the doors were two bedrooms furnished with beds and wardrobes. He inspected and explored them, but found nothing unusual. He reluctantly returned to the sofa and sank into a contemplation, his fingers interlaced under his chin.

So, I've moved into the room from my dreams?

So abruptly and effortlessly?

He didn't spend too much time contemplating this thought because he knew he wouldn't find any answers. After all, the facilities in this room were completely immovable, and none of the doors could be opened. He couldn't possibly go outside.

So, it didn't matter what kind of world lay beyond the door. It seemed to have no connection to him.

As he pondered...

Suddenly!

Sherlock's gaze fell on a corner of the room.

And then, he saw it with utter bewilderment... his familiar contract demon, the insignificant little creature, was squirming along the wall.

It seemed... very happy.

"How did this fellow end up here??" Sherlock tilted his head, perplexed. "I didn't summon it!"