Mr. Inspector

Sherlock and Watson were sitting in the back of a black taxi speeding along Woodford Avenue.

They stopped the taxi as soon as they came out of Scotland Yard - to be precise, it was Sherlock who rushed out desperately to stop it.

Both the driver and Watson were taken aback. Fortunately, the taxi stopped in time.

Thank God... Watson breathed a sigh of relief, thinking this in his heart, fortunately this is an old driver...

He was sitting beside Sherlock right now, watching him press his fingers on his brows on both sides, muttering softly to himself... It seems that his depression and impatience have reached a new level.

Watson couldn't understand the reason for Sherlock's impatience, so he propped his chin on his hands and looked at the speeding scenery outside the car window, with a serious expression and no words.

He tried to keep up with Sherlock, but it seemed futile.

Sherlock suddenly said at this moment: "This is an organization that has been established for a long time, and the members have no contact with each other."

Watson froze for a moment, then turned his head to look over, "...Uh, sorry?"

Sherlock continued to say to himself: "But there have been terrible changes this year, and now the organization is in turmoil."

Watson frowned and nodded, remaining silent.

Of course, I don't know what to say when I open my mouth.

The atmosphere in the carriage froze for a moment, and time passed quietly.

Then Sherlock was finally willing to explain, "The diary I took from Lestrade earlier was left by his dead assistant Ellie, and a lot of information was revealed in it."

"I also looked through it, but I didn't find any useful information. However, some of the articles she wrote were quite weird, with strange words and intonations...but they didn't form reasonable sentences."

"Look carefully and use your brain."

Hearing this, Watson clenched his fist by his side, and then slowly let go of his palm, "...I swear, I can't look more carefully."

"And did you find the Greek numerals hidden at the footer of the diary?"

"What?" Watson was stunned for a moment.

"Those numbers are artificially marked, and they are not arranged in order. Corresponding to the number is the number of lines on the page number, which often consists of only one or two words, but if you connect all the words together, you will get a huge information."

"But why would she do that?"

"It's just leaving secret evidence, the evidence that exposed the organization... It's a pity that she was killed before that. With a quick touch, it can be seen that the personnel in the organization are distributed widely, and the information they have is first-hand—— —”

"Wait, you mean she was murdered...... Shouldn't she commit suicide?"

"OhGod... this result is just a self-deception by the Scotland Yard agents - murder, of course murder! Under the threat of gunpoint, the poor assistant lady had no choice but to swallow the deadly poison. " Sherlock murmured, looking out the window.

Watson hurriedly asked: "Then why did you choose to be in the Dungeon Wax Museum?"

"Comeon, use your head—this is certainly not the place that the assistant lady chose, she was deceived by someone she trusted. The person who thought she was dead suddenly came back to life, and walked up to her and told her that everything was a lie, and that she was Being hunted down by an organization and needing her help... This warm-hearted lady hurried to the appointment, but she didn't know that it was actually the summoning of the god of death."

Watson fell silent, confused by all this information.After finally sorting out the messy information in his head, he remembered to ask the purpose of this trip——

I looked out the window to identify the direction of the taxi, "Go back to the apartment you went to in the morning?"

Sherlock nodded, crossed his hands into a triangle and placed them under his chin, and kept silently saying: "Hurry up, hurry up..."

Watson looked at him sideways, but couldn't help asking: "...why?"

"If we go late, maybe we will be greeted by a dead body."

"What do you mean?"

"It's that we might see Fitch's body."

"OhGod...Of course I know you're talking about the corpse—wait, wait a minute, Fitch? But isn't he already dead?" Watson had a bewildered expression on his face, and he wondered where he heard it. wrong.

"He didn't die, it was his brother Brian who died."

"...You should explain it clearly at once." Watson leaned a little tiredly on the back seat of the car, rubbed his temples and said.

Sherlock glanced at him, and then analyzed quickly: "After Fitch's death, I went to his apartment, and from the arrangement of daily necessities and the position of furniture, I can see that Fitch He was right-handed. According to reports from the death scene, the body was lying on the right side, facing the glass in the north-south direction, and the bullet hole was at the right temple. Now assuming that the victim did not see the murderer, then according to He couldn't have fallen towards the south side due to the force, so the assumption is not valid. So the victim saw the murderer and his muzzle, and turned his head in panic to avoid it—but unfortunately, he was slow to react." He shrugged , continued: "If he is right-handed, the head must be dodging to the right, and the gun hole will appear on the left temple... But now it is the right temple, it can only show that he is left-handed. After being shot Turning around again, I wanted to see who was the one who harmed him, and my body involuntarily fell forward."

After thinking for a long time, Watson asked, "Is this what you inferred?"

Sherlock shook his head lightly, and the corners of his mouth unconsciously pulled upwards, "Of course, the main reason why I can tell at a glance that the deceased is not Fitch is because I know him - we used to smoke together in a dilapidated warehouse. Poison, I remember a tiny scar on his chin."

Hearing this, Watson tried his best not to punch him in the face.

Sherlock continued, "So it was Bryan who died before, and Fitch survived instead of him. He was also the one Lestrade saw in the church last time."

Watson was puzzled, "Then what does he go to church for?"

"Obviously there are people who want to meet."

"Who?"

"...the one who killed him."

Sherlock clasped his hands together in front of his face, unable to see his expression at this time.

If all his inferences were correct, that person should still be lurking in Scotland Yard.