Chapter 22, Episode 14: 221 Baker Street...
Episode 14 "Come see me at 221B Baker Street"
As public opinion grew, more details of the bank robbery were forced to be revealed, including police misconduct, which led to the resignation of the Scotland Yard commissioner.
During this time, the Scotland Yard Commissioner contacted me several times through the police and lawyers, hoping I could offer him some opportunities for cooperation.
I refused.
First, I don't know him.
Secondly, after failing to harm me the first time, the other party tried to adopt a conciliatory approach and play games with me. I would have been incredibly stupid to eagerly cooperate with them.
Third, I'm too lazy to go to prison.
Because of my refusal, I heard that he was spreading rumors about me while I was in prison; the news came to me from my lawyer.
The legal team means they will handle the whole matter from beginning to end and won't let irrelevant people affect my life.
I replied "okay" and put the matter aside.
Back to "London," it's no longer like it was after I woke up from the car accident, bombarding my brain with alarms every few hours.
My feelings were naturally mixed.
On the one hand, I don't want to spend 24 hours a day in a highly stressful life. After all, every incident means new troubles and new interpersonal entanglements.
On the other hand, that bank robbery did indeed add a new rhythm to my otherwise dull life.
I actually quite enjoyed it.
In particular, the days following the conclusion of the case felt like a commercial break inserted between two episodes of a TV series—bland, empty, and making you want to fast-forward.
Sometimes, I even feel like an RPG player forced to wait for the main storyline to refresh, stuck in front of a save point, just staring blankly.
Normally, I can only find amusement in the insults in the comments section.
While I had my complaints about this boring period, Jenny was practically ecstatic.
According to Jenny, the success of the new show made the whole company feel like it was on holiday. Especially those employees who held company stock; some started buying new cars, some bought new clothes, and even Jenny bought a new Van Cleef & Arpels necklace.
She spoke with great enthusiasm, as if she weren't working, but rather unwrapping a newly won year-end prize.
I genuinely don't understand what they're so happy about.
How could the result be bad if the entire company's publicity resources were poured into one program?
Is this what you call strength?
This is called piling up.
They have never praised my cat.
Tasteless.
That's really tasteless.
I have basically nothing in common with them.
I couldn't get a word in edgewise about the show, the stock price, or the business expansion.
Bored to the extreme, I actually started examining the snacks and lunch that Jenny had brought.
The opportunity arose one day when she brought a bottle of coffee-flavored coconut water into the office and introduced it to me as if she had discovered a new product: "This is a fresh coconut iced Americano, you must try it."
After she finished speaking, she poured me a small half-cup to taste.
I originally thought it would have a smooth, creamy texture like coconut milk, with several layers of aroma when spread across the tongue. Surprisingly, it had a refreshing taste.
It did taste like raw coconut coffee, even better than I expected.
From then on, I paid extra attention to everything she brought each day.
Of course, most of them are not foods that normal humans would willingly eat: fitness protein bars, functional cereal balls, quinoa salad. One of them, an Italian cauliflower dumpling, was so awful I almost died on the spot.
Because I clearly showed interest and curiosity about what she brought.
Jenny even gave me a yoga ball, saying that when I'm bored I can sit and swing like her.
I was standing in the middle of the office holding that yoga ball when I suddenly felt like a corporate slave forced to join the company's health program.
So, I returned the yoga ball to Jenny before she got off work.
It's not because I can't sit on it.
When I got home, I bought a yoga ball for Herbs. After taking the ball, Herbs immediately handed it to my cat.
“This is what I bought for you,” I said calmly to Herbers after I saw the cat jump onto the ball.
Herbers paused for a moment, "I'll lend it to the young master for a bit."
My cat's name is Milverton Junior, or Milverton II for short.
When I was about to take it home, London said I could die at any moment. If I died, wouldn't the cat be back on the streets?
So I made a will for Michael II that very day, saying that he could inherit my estate.
If something really happens to me, my Mi-2 will surpass the Italian cat "Tommashino" and become the richest animal in the world.
That's why Herbers would call my cat "Young Master".
Seeing Herbers's nervousness, I felt a surge of amusement, but without looking at him, I said, "Okay."
However, such days seem too boring.
Just as I was about to start probing London, my phone screen lit up and an anonymous text message popped up.
"Mr. Milverton, you seem to have a knack for finding sensational headlines. I've just killed someone; would you be interested in meeting me?"
I paused for a moment, my finger instinctively hovering over the screen.
Immediately afterwards, a barrage of messages came like raindrops.
"On October 12 last year, Sir Jeffery Patterson committed suicide on his way to his office."
"On November 26, Gary Jenkins, an 18-year-old boy, died by suicide during a sports event."
"On January 27 this year, Deputy Transport Minister Beth Davenport was found dead at a construction site, and her death was also ruled a suicide."
"Do you want to know how I did it?"
Every line of text seemed to be both a provocation and an invitation.
London's voice rang out at just the right moment: "Don't go out unnecessarily lately."
I burst out laughing: "Why don't you go out? I need to take a taxi."
Of course, I'm just going against London's usual practice.
In particular, I knew perfectly well that this was a prelude to the first case in the Sherlock series, "A Study in Pink."
The murderer was a taxi driver suffering from a terminal illness.
He took advantage of the victims' lack of awareness, leading them to a secluded and deserted place, where he forced them at gunpoint to play a death game with him, where they had to choose between two options.
I have absolutely no interest in this way of playing.
However, just as I was about to block the text message, the address at the end of the message made me raise an eyebrow.
"Come see me at 221B Baker Street alone."
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A note from the author:
Thank you for your support, see you all tomorrow! [hugs][hugs][hugs]
I recently had a new idea: a modern fantasy BL novel titled "I'm a Part-Time Manga NPC from the Yingqu District" (feel free to bookmark if you're interested, thanks!!).
The copy will be revised again.
He Yi is an ordinary international student in the UK. Because student dormitories are too expensive, he chose to share a four-person apartment, which is about two blocks away from the school.
The rent is half of what it used to be, and the roommates are quiet, which reduces the trouble of arguments.
He originally thought his time studying abroad would end uneventfully.
Until one day—
Roommate A has gone missing.
My roommate B died tragically.
My roommate C is a murderer.
That day, the police came to the door, sealed off the crime scene, and carried guns on their waists and walkie-talkies in their hands.
At that time, He Yi knew nothing, and the smile on her face as she came out of the room to pour water had not yet faded. The smile was particularly jarring at the crime scene, making one's heart tighten.
The police officer asked seriously, "What are you laughing at?"
What does it mean? ...Because...because I finished writing the assignment that was given out today.
At that moment, a comment floated past He Yi's head: "[Shen Jin, you made me laugh out loud]".
What does this mean?
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