Chapter 92 Chapter 92 I don’t like the feeling of being found…

Elio calmed down, calculated the dates, and decided to contact John to renew the card closer to its expiration date, extending the deadline as much as possible. This gave him seven extra days to devise a solution. Hopefully, by then, they'd be able to find a way to completely destroy the card.

Finally free, Elio rolled over on his bed, relaxing for a moment, enjoying this rare moment of peace and quiet. But before long, his stomach growled, and he frantically searched for food.

For the first time in his three or four days at the Continental, Elio left his room. The corridor, carpeted with soundproof carpet, was eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the elevator. It was afternoon, and when Elio arrived at the restaurant, lunch had just ended. He settled for two smoked salmon sandwiches, carefully spread raspberry jam on a freshly baked scone, and meticulously devoured a small slice of Victoria sponge cake with whipped cream and strawberry jam. By this point, he was feeling a bit dizzy from eating so much, so he sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, sips of the hotel's special sweet and sour herbal tea, and gazed down at London, bathed in a beautiful, clear, azure sky.

In the melodious dance music of "One Step Away", Elio looked like he was in deep thought, but also like he was thinking about nothing.

Only as Mycroft crossed the dining room and sat down opposite him did the assassin say, "It's all over."

"I'd be happy to come to the same conclusion as you, Elio," Mycroft said, his tone unusually gentle, yet still sharp, "but this will never be over."

The waiter came up silently, offering Mycroft a glass of herbal tea. He stopped him with a wave of his hand, offering him a glass of whiskey with an ice ball floating on it. Elio turned his gaze from the window to the politician, staring silently at him as he was addressed by his Christian name.

"Solomon Lane has been arrested," Elio said, once the waiter was out of earshot. "The Syndicate is finished."

"I regard our agreement as concluded," said Mycroft. "You have done your part, if that is what you are asking."

Elio smiled. "So what you just said was a metaphor?"

"You can understand that," Mycroft took a sip of whiskey and frowned, "If you don't want to know what happens next with the Syndicate, I will respect your wishes."

Elio deadpanned as he took a sip of his herbal tea. "No. Let's get straight to discussing my compensation."

"Of course," Mycroft said, pushing the glass of whiskey away with the back of his hand, "I've already told Scotland Yard to give you a break. Even if you pass by them, they'll just turn their backs on you."

"Are they okay with that?"

"Why would they?" Mycroft shrugged. "This is much easier than simply ordering them to catch you within three days. As long as you stay out of the news, they'll be happy to ignore you."

Elio lowered his head nonchalantly, suddenly concentrating on studying the flowers and plants at the bottom of the beautiful glass. But to his surprise, Mycroft seemed unconcerned about him killing more than a dozen people in the street that night. He just brushed it off lightly and turned to talk about other matters.

"A Bludhaven entrepreneur who has just arrived in London to explore the market, happens to be the one you've been following," Mycroft said. "He seems to have recently encountered some minor financial problems, which almost affected his business."

Elio looked up immediately.

"'Almost,' I said." Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Coincidentally, a new financing support program recently passed by the House of Commons is happy to provide up to 70% loan guarantees for young talents like them, saving him from prematurely cashing out his unexpired accounts receivable."

Something seemed to slip past Elio's ears. The assassin paused for a moment, finally extracting the central message: "Leopold is no longer short of money." Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Mycroft."

"No," Mycroft replied with his usual smile, "he earned the loan himself."

Then, unexpectedly, Mycroft pulled out a black card and shoved it towards Elio with a clear meaning. "And this, you earned it."

Elio looked at the card in confusion, then at Mycroft, "I didn't ask you for money."

"You don't understand the market, but we do," said Mycroft. "Call Mr. Hunter, and you'll find out how gratefully the Americans welcome his return."

Elio was almost amused by his serious expression, as if everyone knew that it was the Americans who had just dissolved the IMF in a fit of paranoia. But after laughing to himself for a while, the assassin pushed the card back.

"No, thank you," Elio said bluntly. "I don't like being found."

"What a shame." Mycroft didn't ask any more questions and put away the black card. He stood up and seemed to be leaving, but then he seemed to remember something and produced two colorful cards and placed them in front of Elio. "Please at least accept this as a token of friendship."

Elio looked closely. It turned out to be a London Attractions Pass and an Underground Oyster Card.

"It's a beautiful city," Mycroft winked at him. "I hope you'll fall in love with it."

There was really no reason for Elio to refuse this ubiquitous tourist package. Since Mycroft had promised Scotland Yard they would play blind to him, Elio saw no need to hide in the hotel. He changed into a suit and trench coat to suit the season and location, and disguised himself as a tall, handsome English gentleman (not quite). He took a quick tour of most of London's attractions, checking in many places the Frye twins had visited, within the reach of a normal tourist.

During this time, he also ran into young Holmes and Dr. Watson in a Chinese restaurant where Elio happened to be sitting. Sherlock pushed the door open while discussing the shiny metal on the bottom third of the doorknob. After a quick glance around, he sat down across from Elio with a familiar air. "The other tables are full. Do you mind?"

"You're already sitting down, young Mr. Holmes," Elio said. But he didn't really mind. He looked up and smiled at Dr. Watson, who had sat down next to Sherlock. "Long time no see, doctor. I've been following your blog."

"Long time no see," Watson looked at him puzzledly for a few seconds, then glanced at Sherlock, "Mr. Smith?"

"Yes, John," Sherlock interjected from studying the menu, "that's the same face you and I saw on the news just the other day."

Elio coughed and said, "The tomato and egg soup in this restaurant is delicious."

Elio was sound asleep at the Continental Hotel during the broadcast, missing the event without regret. Then, out of nowhere, Scotland Yard announced it was an unregistered theatrical photoshoot, harshly condemning the act of scaring innocent people. The news media quickly withdrew, quickly moving on from the topic. The few Londoners who were present had some vague recollection, but their words were incoherent, making it difficult to articulate the events of that night. Eventually, they began to doubt their memories and fell silent.

But Watson, of course, was not one of them. His girlfriend was there, terrified, and quite certain that she had witnessed the gunfight; when Watson asked Sherlock about it, the truth was obvious.

"You work for Mycroft?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"No," Elio replied curtly.

"Strange," Sherlock put down the menu, revealing his thoughtful eyes, "Then why did he protect you?"

Elio smiled. "Maybe because he's a good man."

Watson, also looking at the menu, remained silent, but raised an eyebrow in a decidedly opinionated manner. The bustling boss finally arrived, asked what they wanted to order, and then wrote down orders for Yangzhou fried rice, Dongpo pork, and tomato and egg soup in the small notebook tied to his apron before hurriedly leaving the round table in the corner.

"Interesting," Sherlock pointed a finger. "You turned him down?"

"I prefer being a freelancer, Mr. Holmes." Elio picked up the last egg from the egg drop soup and prepared to leave. "Good night."

"And I'm a 'freelance' consulting detective, as you already know," Sherlock said. "From time to time, I could use a little freelance help."

When Elio looked at him, Sherlock winked. The assassin thought for a moment, unable to figure out what the consulting detective would need a "freelancer" like him for, so he replied vaguely, "I'm expensive."

Watson, who was scooping fried rice and dividing it into two portions, raised his eyebrows expressively when he heard this.

"Though I probably can't afford the price Mycroft offers you," Sherlock said, "I never treat my allies badly. Consider it. I know where to contact you."

Elio raised his eyebrows, but ultimately didn't refuse. "I'll wait and see."

He nodded politely to the detective and doctor duo at the table as a farewell. And so, Elio paid his bill and left the restaurant, while Watson, who was sharing his dinner, said to his companion, "Is it because he refused Mycroft?"

"What?" Sherlock said, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"I can't understand why you would need a killer to do that for you."

"Oh," Sherlock said grumpily, "So you think I'm competing with Mycroft for recruitment? I'm not that naive."

Watson suppressed a laugh, "Yeah."

"A man like him will always travel the world," Sherlock decided to magnanimously ignore his companion's insincerity and simply picked out a piece of fatty but not greasy Dongpo pork for himself. "Just wait and see. You never know when you might need the help of an assassin."

When Watson looked out the window, he saw Elio with his dark collar turned up in the rain, his face buried in it like a cat. This reminded Watson of Sherlock, and he looked back at Sherlock with amusement (who glanced back at him with a puzzled expression), but when Watson turned around and was about to point out the window...

He was surprised to find that Elio had disappeared in the London rain.