Chapter 150 Chapter 150 I don’t want money.
Elio turned the Ring.
Of course, he wanted to go straight back to the 21st century Vongola, but honestly, so much time had passed, how could he even remember what year he left? So after several awkward missteps, Elio finally landed in...
In a terrorist hideout in the 21st century.
"Brother, I'm not saying anything," the Ring smacked its lips, "but your luck is really not very good!"
Elio ignored it, quickly rolling and tucked himself into a small corner, peering out cautiously. He had just returned from the battlefield of 1871, penniless, with his throwing knives scattered across the battlefield, his ammunition completely expended, and his broken Hidden Blade. It hadn't been designed for combat, only as a dagger for emergencies, so it was naturally broken and sent flying amidst the hail of artillery fire.
So, he didn't have any weapons on his body now, except for the Sujie Eagle, which would shine when it was taken out.
"And me?!" the Ring protested.
And then there was the ancient ring that kept making noises. Elio didn't intend to use it unless it was absolutely necessary. After all, a fire attack was too conspicuous, contrary to the assassin's creed of quietly killing, quietly clearing the scene, and quietly leaving.
Although this was completely contrary to the terrorists' high-profile creed, they probably knew that what they were doing was also shameful. So Elio looked around and found himself in a dark factory. Some of the people covered in black robes were holding guns, some were holding knives, and they were mumbling in a language he couldn't understand.
If only Elio could speak their gibberish language! He thought expressionlessly. If that didn't work, Elio would have to pray that someone could understand English...
"Hey."
Elio was startled. He turned his head and glared, almost pouncing on the person who was trying to chat him up; but when he looked closely, he saw a human figure with a green logo.
"I've sent you a lot of messages," Sherlock Holmes said, emerging from behind a potted plant in the corner. "Did you read any of them?"
“…My phone’s broken,” Elio said.
"Then how did you know I was here?" Sherlock came closer, looking around in confusion. "Why are you here?"
The assassin, who had just landed awkwardly after a time jump all the way from 1871, was regarded expressionlessly by him. The London detective's brow furrowed, and realizing his deduction had been thwarted, he decisively changed the subject, focusing on the present situation. "Let's cut to the chase. They're a group of terrorists, planning to execute a woman. Five million, and you'll help me rescue her."
"I don't want any money," Elio said.
Sherlock, who had already turned his gaze away and focused on observing the terrorists' movements, answered absentmindedly, "Ten million, no more."
Even Elio, who was used to a life of luxury, couldn't help but be shocked by Sherlock's arrogance. He hesitated, then patted Sherlock's shoulder. The detective turned around in surprise and looked at him again.
"It's not money I need now," Elio told him. "I need weapons and information. Let's get the weapons together, rescue the people, and then you help me get back to modern society from this hellhole. Deal?"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows, as if about to ask something. But when he saw the terrorists escorting a woman out of the car, he quickly changed his tone and said, "Deal."
They quickly shook hands and went through the formalities, almost perfunctorily. Sherlock quickly determined the strength of the two terrorists, all clad in black, and directed his assassins to overthrow them. They each donned their black robes and weapons, arming themselves. By this time, the black-robed woman they were holding had already fallen to her knees. Time was running out.
Fortunately, they were considerate enough to provide her with hospice care, so she could do nothing with her phone.
Sherlock quickly made a final move with Elio, "I'm going to chop off her head..."
Elio was shocked, "You want to chop off her head?"
"I'll pretend to chop her head off!" Sherlock glared at him with his beautiful eyes hidden in the black hood. "When I shout 'Run', you start your work."
The assassin said nonchalantly, "No problem."
"I'll pick you up in the car," Sherlock confirmed. "Is that okay?"
After all, they were facing a factory of terrorists. But Elio smiled at him and said, "You should go over and kill her."
Sherlock walked over anxiously, machete in hand. If he wasn't afraid of being discovered by the terrorists, he would have looked back every few steps. But when he turned his eyes and easily caught the dull sound of the terrorists falling to the ground one by one upstairs, a smile appeared on the detective's lips.
He approached Irene Adra as planned.
"When I say run," Sherlock told her, "you run!"
Even if only a pair of eyes were exposed, no one could mistake her expression. Sherlock also smiled, then pretended to wave the machete in his hand.
He saw the upstairs rooms cleared of terrorists. Elio crouched on the railing and waved at him.
"Run!" the detective yelled.
Irene immediately climbed up using both hands and feet, darting out as nimbly as a cat. The terrorist froze for a moment, then raised his gun to fire. Quick-witted and quick-handed, Sherlock hurled his knife first, stabbing the nearest terrorist to the ground. Just as the terrorists throughout the factory were alerted by the hostages' escape and were about to attack them—
The assassin jumped down from the second floor!
Irene slammed the factory door open. Suddenly, a strong wind blew, lightning flashed, and thunder roared. A piercing green light illuminated the entire factory. In just a few seconds, the black-robed terrorist, shocked by the gun in his hand, rolled his eyes, his legs trembled, and he fell to the ground.
Sherlock, who had just climbed into the car and was about to embark on a life-or-death race, glanced in astonishment at the empty space ahead, then glanced at the rearview mirror. "What's going on?" the detective asked blankly.
The car door opened and closed. Elio also got into the back seat, his face serious. "Let's go! What are you standing there for?"
Sherlock flicked his hand and turned on the headlights. The ground was a mess of charred charcoal. The detective silently turned his head to look at the culprit, who was sitting in the back seat, wearing what looked like vintage 19th-century clothing. Elio also gave him a puzzled look, as if he didn't understand what was happening either.
"You did it?" said Sherlock.
"Does it matter?" Elio asked.
This...is really not important.
Seeing the terrorists who hadn't been shocked trying to get up, holding their heads, Sherlock immediately stepped on the accelerator and rammed into them. The door trembled like two fallen autumn leaves as he rushed through it; Irene, who was also trembling, quickly seized the opportunity and jumped into the passenger seat.
"Mr. Holmes!" she said.
"Now is not the time," Sherlock said immediately. He seemed to have predicted this, but Elio didn't know what he had predicted, because the next moment, Irene tore off the damn hood and turned around to greet him with a smile, "Mr. Smith!"
Now it was Sherlock's turn to frown.
"What a coincidence," Elio said. He pretended to remember the lady's name. But when Irene casually peeled off the black robe and put on the change of clothes Sherlock had prepared for her, Elio, who had hastily looked away, suddenly remembered her name. "Whip Hand! Why are you here?"
Sherlock frowned even harder. He saw his pursuers emerging from behind the factory in the rearview mirror.
"Oh my God, you didn't know I was here?" Irene glanced at Sherlock, who was driving the car, with a smile, "I thought you came here to save me too!"
"I was hired," Elio said.
"Do you know each other?" Sherlock interrupted.
"I bought your lead from her, Sherlock," Elio said, rolling down the window and putting his hand on it. "I needed to find someone like you."
"I bought some other things too," said Irene.
Elio didn't deny it. He waved his hand, and lightning struck the pursuers behind him again. Sherlock hesitated, but quickly dug up the memory palace and recalled his first encounter with the assassin. "You learned about me from Irene? What a waste! I was searching for clues about you at the time."
"If I had known, I would have earned two salaries." Irene said regretfully.
"Why are you looking for me?" Elio wondered.
The pursuers were already thrown from their cars and were vulnerable. Their speed had slowed down, and the dust kicked up by their tires was no longer as violent.
"Because you killed Colonel Moran." Sherlock said expressionlessly.
"Who?" Elio wondered.
Irene laughed out loud. At her suggestion, they drove to a neutral tavern and had a drink together. "Finally, we get a chance to sit down and have dinner, Mr. Holmes," she said to Sherlock. Sherlock, holding his glass, clinked his with Elio in dissatisfaction, trying to get him to recall Colonel Moran. "A lackey of the criminal mastermind Moriarty, a member of the terrorist organization Syndicate. I heard you went undercover in the Syndicate shortly after that..."
Elio also suddenly realized, "Oh!"
Elio didn't mention the fact that Colonel Moran was also a Templar. They chatted about the past few years, and Sherlock was surprised to find that Elio seemed to be completely isolated from the world. Not only did he have no money, no cell phone, or any other means of communication. But as they had agreed, Sherlock bought Elio a complete set of equipment and identification documents, and even bought him a plane ticket.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.
"Sicily," Elio said.
The assassin opened his phone and tried to enter the numbers of a few acquaintances, but found himself unable to remember them. So, he searched for the Vongola X's contact information—of course, it wasn't on Wikipedia, but Elio, after searching through relevant links, finally found the recruitment email address of the Fengji Foundation on social networks. He then managed to contact the Vongola and inform them of his survival and return.
At this time, just over a month had passed since his "mysterious disappearance."
Hoping that "maybe no one would notice I was missing", Elio calmly turned off his phone before boarding the plane and successfully missed the series of calls from Alvin.
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The author has something to say: Alvin:.
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