Chapter 23, Episode 15: Looking forward to seeing you...
Episode 15 is finally here! We've been looking forward to seeing you for so long.
This text message is clearly a trap.
However, when I looked at this "221B Baker Street", I couldn't help but feel restless and eager to try it out.
This isn't because I've finally realized that to save my life and avoid the threat of death, I need to cultivate goodwill with those who want me dead. Then, I can rely on their likes and dislikes to fight for my chance to survive.
Indeed, I cherish my little life.
However, I genuinely feel that doing such a thing is shameful.
If I'm going to become friends with someone, it's definitely because I respect that person, and that person respects me in return.
This goodwill certainly didn't come from me kneeling low enough.
This posture includes not only the external but also the subconscious.
That's why I can honestly say that even though I realize I'm Milverton in the world of Sherlock Holmes, my rebellious nature makes me grit my teeth and refuse to secretly read Sherlock Holmes.
I will wait and see the outcome of military battles; fate will decide.
I can win, and I can also lose.
But 221B Baker Street is like cheese in a mousetrap. Even if it's a trap, the freshness and deliciousness of the cheese are undeniable.
Its luster is golden.
Its milk flavor is delicious.
I knew instinctively that this would be delicious.
Even if it's a trap, why not take a chance?
Frankly, I don't believe that everyone who falls into a trap does so because they don't realize it's a trap.
I believe more that some people wanted to outwit and outmaneuver those who set the trap, so they plunged right in.
London: "221B Baker Street is probably where Sherlock Holmes, the detective Lestrade mentioned, lives."
While everyone was busy using large, specialized equipment to determine which bank had been robbed, Sherlock Holmes, the detective, only heard one sentence and immediately identified the bank's name.
These startling words left an indelible impression on everyone present.
Not to mention, his prediction was indeed proven correct.
Later, I heard that because he couldn't catch the robbers at Lloyd's Bank, Lestrade even went to consult that detective, only to be refused by Holmes.
The reason for the refusal was given in just one word.
"boring".
He's so handsome.
This is a real man.
If Albert said something like that, I'd just think he was pretentious. He clearly cares a lot, but he definitely wouldn't admit it. My personal intuition tells me that even if he appears outwardly upright and virtuous, he's probably wicked at heart.
He seemed to be under immense pressure.
All the actions seemed to be meticulously calculated.
His posture was always upright, his movements always crisp and clean, and his words were always carefully chosen to avoid revealing too much emotion. Even when expressing his attitude, he would simply say "not bad," as if saying one more word would be a transgression or a loss of tact.
However, the more he acted this way, the more twisted I felt he was.
You know, I've offended him a lot.
Without even thinking about it, if I were to fall from grace one day, I would definitely be bullied terribly by Albert.
But Holmes was different; he was true to his word and not the kind of person who said one thing and meant another.
He must have been genuinely bored to avoid dealing with it.
Because the D notice came from higher authorities and blocked all related information about bank thefts, I could tell that someone at the national level was protecting those kidnappers.
In the future, it will either be left unresolved, or a scapegoat will be found to take the blame. Even I can see the ending clearly.
After all, they certainly couldn't possibly expose the whole thing.
This is because it involves a scandal involving Princess Margare, which affects the dignity and image of the royal family.
But I think Princess Margaret's scandals are nothing more than that she was with several lovers at the same time, one of whom was 17 years younger than her. They spent some passionate days together on a deserted island.
In fact, from the perspective of modern society, people are much more tolerant of such private life, and it is not considered a shocking or scandalous matter.
However, this can be considered a case of keeping family scandals private.
Good news doesn't travel far, but bad news travels fast.
The British royal family has its own deeper concerns. Even though I think it's impossible for a royal family to exist without any flaws, they just need to be responsible for their own actions.
Now, let's get back to the main topic, which is the final fate of those robbers.
I know that the story ends with these people running away.
They changed their names and identities using the identities prepared for them by the secret agents, and lived their carefree and happy lives.
Originally, I planned to use my resources to find their mastermind before they escaped, and then take that person under my control, keeping them close at hand so that they could be used as evidence against me later.
I can even offer relevant work to the planner "Terry".
After all, I could tell from his actions that he was both brave and resourceful, and quite a talented person.
But the thought only flashed through my mind.
Because you have to understand that the reason this person robbed the bank was because he couldn't make ends meet in his normal life, so he took the risk. This is completely different from those who rob banks to prove their abilities or to rob the rich to help the poor.
His personal abilities are certainly limited, or he has personality flaws; he's not entirely good, nor is he particularly bad, which is why his life is neither good nor bad.
Besides, his success was entirely due to the protection of the state. Without MI6 backing him up, he would definitely have failed.
Recruiting this person would only create a hot potato, wasting my time and energy. If I entrust important tasks to them, I'd have to worry about whether they'd cause trouble or hold me back—that would be too exhausting!
So, I just thought about it and moved on.
If someone like me can think of so much, then Holmes, being so intelligent, must have seen even more.
...
After London finished speaking, he noticed I was about to call the driver to take me out, and then asked, "Is it necessary to keep the appointment?"
I tossed my phone aside and casually said, "Of course I'll keep the appointment. Whether this text message is from a dog or some supernatural being, I definitely need to take a look."
After saying that, London said nothing more.
After waiting for several seconds, I couldn't help but ask, "Aren't you going to try to persuade me?"
London's voice remained calm and even: "Lazy."
I'm not happy that it's so lazy.
You should try to persuade me.
Just like doctors on the operating table, no matter how skilled they are at the operation, they still need a first assistant, second assistant, anesthesiologist, and nurse to provide different perspectives and help the attending physician make the best judgment at any time.
I said sternly and earnestly, "Even the strongest people need teamwork; you can't be foolproof if you act alone."
London opened his mouth, then said with obvious annoyance, "Then you won't go."
"No, I'm going." I firmly refused London's attempt to persuade me to stay. "Don't try to stop me."
London: "...You're so annoying."
I think London really can't understand, "If I didn't always initiate conversations with you, you'd have no one to keep you company. How lonely, how isolated, how boring that would be! Your life would be a complete disaster."
London said coldly, "My life has become absolutely terrible since I met you."
hey-hey.
The agreed time was to meet at 8:30 pm.
But I was waiting outside the apartment at 7:30.
The driver in the car was a retired soldier who had known Albert before.
He came back as if nothing had happened and became my driver, and even told me that his real name was "Molan".
However, he said he only does part-time work and still needs social insurance and housing fund benefits.
I think he's being a bit too demanding.
Moran snapped his fingers and said, "I can also be your bodyguard."
When he said that, I thought it was quite a good deal.
Because Moran is almost 2 meters tall, just standing to the side is enough to scare away some people who come looking for trouble.
After Moran parked the car on the side of the road, he asked me if I could smoke.
I didn't care, so he lit a cigarette in the car.
He smokes JPS Black, the kind that comes in a box of 20.
“It seems you make a lot of money.” I started chatting with him.
Cigarettes are very expensive in Britain; a pack of 20 regular cigarettes can cost as much as £20, equivalent to more than 140 Chinese yuan. And this price is increasing year by year.
The government hopes that raising prices will achieve the effect of tobacco control.
However, the high cost of tobacco has also led to the rampant proliferation of black market tobacco sales teams.
Moran flipped through his cigarette brands, glanced at me in the rearview mirror, and asked, "Do you usually smoke Partagas or Cohiba?"
Both are cigar brands.
The wine cabinet in my room is next to the cigar cabinet.
Several of the Cohiba boxes had been randomly opened and were not even used up.
I replied, "I don't smoke. Smoking makes people less intelligent."
Studies have shown that nicotine in tobacco can damage the brain, reducing memory, comprehension, and reaction time.
I continued, "If you feel like you can't keep up with the thinking and logic of the people you know, I advise you to quit smoking. After all, if you get older and your cognitive abilities completely decline, it's not just a medical condition; you lose your dignity and freedom along with it. You'll regret it then."
Moran paused, glancing at me. "...Are you concerned about me, or are you being sarcastic?"
"Obviously, I am the latter."
I never care about people. I like to show off how great I am by criticizing others.
Moran probably had never met someone as unpretentious as me before, and she actually smiled and said, "But I don't necessarily think you're that smart either."
He said calmly, "A person claiming to be the murderer asked to meet you alone under the pretext of revealing his methods of killing. You arrived early without any preparation. Aren't you afraid of encountering danger?"
"Or do you think this is high-risk, high-reward?"
I replied, "Superficial."
"If it really is that serial killer who wants to meet me, will we meet at the apartment?"
"In all three cases, the victims died in remote places with few people. If the killer really wanted to kill me, why didn't he arrange it at the beach or in the mountains, but instead chose this street?"
"It's obvious that the person who texted me wasn't the murderer, but a clever person who had insight into these three cases."
Upon hearing the word "smart person," Moran subconsciously raised an eyebrow. "So what's the reason this smart person living here would use leaked information as bait to arrange a meeting with you?"
He looked up at the Georgian-style townhouses outside the window. "Are you short of money?"
"It's definitely not someone living there who asked me to meet."
This text message style is not Sherlock Holmes' style.
Regardless of the era or version, Sherlock Holmes is a typical "socially awkward" character. He has absolutely no interest in anything outside of cases, let alone the social energy to spend time sending me these few text messages.
Not to mention, he absolutely hates Milvolton.
Moran asked skeptically, "Do you know so much about this?"
I nodded: "Of course."
"So who exactly will come looking for you?"
"We'll see the outcome by 8:30."
At 8:25, another black car stopped behind us. A woman in a black suit knocked on my window, and smiled when I rolled it down.
“Mr. Milverton, you’re early.”
I laughed and said, "It's not early. The one who takes the initiative to make an appointment is often the one who waits the longest."
The female secretary maintained her polite smile, "According to the rules, you can only go alone."
I instinctively looked at Moran.
Moran had no regard for the deep bond between boss and employee, and asked directly, "Do I still need to pick you up? I'm off work."
have a look.
outrageous.
I'm going to deduct his salary.
The female secretary said to Moran, "You can go home now. We will take care of Mr. Milverton."
After I got out of the car, Moran left without looking back.
Next time we chat, I'll definitely make fun of him.
London, seeing Moran leave, even seemed envious, saying, "It's great that you can leave whenever you want."
I warned it sternly, "Don't leave me." If it weren't incorporeal, I would definitely have pried it apart.
Without waiting for London's reply, I got into the female secretary's black car.
The car was dimly lit, and as I got in, I only caught a glimpse of the person in the other's well-tailored gray suit, their shoulders impeccably straight. Before I could even make out the person's features, the car smoothly glided into the night and headed towards the suburbs. The low hum of the engine became the perfect background noise.
“You don’t seem surprised.” A voice sounded beside me, as calm as if it were stating the weather.
“As far as I know Sherlock Holmes is concerned,” I adjusted my posture, sinking deeper into the soft leather seat, “he wouldn’t use such a simplistic and mundane excuse as ‘revealing the murderer,’ much less contact me proactively. The bait is tempting, but the way he throws it in is too old-fashioned, unlike him.”
A very faint laugh, almost like an illusion, came from the darkness.
"You know so much about Sherlock Holmes?"
“Of course, I probably know Sherlock Holmes better than you think.” I smiled slightly at him. “And you, Mr. Mycroft Holmes, thank you for extending the invitation. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a long time.”
As soon as I finished speaking, a few familiar lines of introduction reappeared at the edge of my vision.
"Mycroft Holmes"
"Position: Senior official in the British government, responsible for intelligence and national security matters."
"Relatives: Sherlock Holmes's older brother; parents are alive."
Background: Born into a wealthy family, proficient in law, intelligence, and diplomacy, and formerly the director of MI6.
Financial situation: The family is wealthy, the individual is financially independent, and has no financial worries.
"Status: Important"
"The pressure point: Sherlock Holmes"
Clearly, this is a signal that benefits me.
The other party believed that I was Milwald himself.
But that doesn't mean anything. To the outside world, I am still "Millwallton".
Almost simultaneously with its appearance, Mycroft's voice once again broke the silence.
“Expectations?” He repeated the word, slowing his pace, each word seeming carefully chosen. “Someone whose behavioral patterns, risk preferences, and even micro-expression habits have changed statistically significantly in the past month compared to their previous records, is telling me they have ‘expectations’?”
These words made me nod slightly.
Sure enough, some people noticed that I was not the same as Milford Town before.
I couldn't help but chuckle softly.
This is really enjoyable.
In fact, when I received unfamiliar fragments of memory in front of the bank vault, I suddenly realized that I had already gotten there first and obtained the corrupt police ledger. For a moment, I was in a daze, wondering if I was just Milverton with amnesia.
However, Mycroft Holmes, the crown jewel of the entire series, accurately pointed out the differences between me and "Milverton," which made me feel truly safe and relaxed.
I met his gaze and said, "If you doubted that I wasn't Milvolton himself, you wouldn't have come all the way to find me, would you?"
"Counterfeit products are inferior products and cannot replace genuine products."
I paused, letting my smile become meaningful, "I remember Mr. Mycroft must hate stupid people, so you'll definitely enjoy chatting with me."
“Mr. Milverton, that doesn’t sound like a particularly pleasant statement.”
"You'll get used to it," I said nonchalantly. "If you like me the moment you meet me, my public image will be ruined."
I laughed heartily a few times as well.
London said coolly, "It's not funny."
I:"……"
This guy was getting a little annoyed at this point.
In the silence, only the sound of the car engine and the wheels rolling over the road could be heard.
Finally, Mycroft's voice rang out again, and that cold laugh was clearly mixed with something else, something more complex.
"...Interesting. Indeed, you're less 'boring' than dealing with my brother's troubles."
London whispered in my mind, "Don't go too far."
I thought to myself, "What else can you do? When playing games with geniuses, you have to be the one who makes the stakes."
I paused for a moment, then continued, "And I'm so outstanding that even geniuses find me interesting."
London: Stop patting yourself on the back.
NoNoNoNo!
I can say without any shame, "I'm quite smart."
London: "You really love to brag about yourself."
That's for sure.
Anyone who can survive severe paraplegia and facial disfigurement and still want to keep living must feel that "I am the best in the world, and no one is better than me."
If you don't think this way, you won't know how a completely useless disabled person can survive.
Outside the car window, the London night was in full bloom.
The distant lights and the nearby darkness flashed by, streaking past the car window like a silent but vast meteor shower.
And I sat in the center of it all, feeling a clarity I had never felt before.
My stakes have never been just this body or this name.
It is every single second that I have survived.
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Author's Note: See you tomorrow! Wow! Thank you for so many comments!! [Hugs][Hugs][Hugs]
Thanks to the friend who saved that post, I'm so happy!! I feel like I've come up with a great idea! [Keep it up!]
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