011

The Ripper's Advance Letter

In the apartment above 221b Baker Street, the newspaper that had covered the floor had disappeared. Instead, it was replaced by a wall of newspapers that were connected to each other. The simple world and simple colors made the dust particles in the air clearly visible. Sherlock Holmes was still sitting on his sofa, staring intently at his puzzle.

The Ripper was a cautious man, and the interval between the two cases,,,, was more than two years, was such that the dull-witted officers of Scotland Yard would not have been able to discover the connection; indeed, if he had not received the letter, he would not have noticed the connection.

So, the Ripper's hint to him was either due to overconfidence or underestimation of the enemy.

After all, it had only been two days since he received the Ripper's letter, and he had already found a fatal clue.

The first case.

Five years ago, the body of a middle-aged prostitute was found dumped near Whitechapel. The victim was pregnant, but the murderer had cut open her stomach to take out the baby. The baby had disappeared without a trace and was never found again.

Prostitutes were at the bottom of society. In the cold city, they were a class that no one paid attention to. Furthermore, the place where the bodies were dumped was near Whitechapel, located in East London. It was almost a gray area by default, and very few people paid attention to it. The end of this tragedy was left unsettled.

The second case.

Three years ago, the tragedy happened to another sex worker. The similarity was that the victim's stomach was cut open.

It was not easy for Sherlock to pick this out among all the news. Fortunately, the Ripper's letter gave him a hint.

[Respectable Great Detective:

I am a loyal fan of yours. I have heard of your deeds since five years ago.

After five years of training, I can finally summon the courage to formally challenge you. I will be sending an advance letter to the police later this month. I wonder if you can prevent the tragedy from happening before I commit the crime?

Oh, yes, I beg for your mercy.

Please do not leave 221b Baker Street. Just stop me in that wonderful room.

I love you dearly,

The Ripper]

The words "I love you dearly" were particularly ironic.

But Sherlock didn't care if people loved him or hated him. He was just happy that he had a new case.

"Although I'm not optimistic about this guy, since he dared to send a letter, it means that he's confident," Sherlock murmured. "At the very least, I won't be bored until the end of the month …"

Knock, knock, knock.

There was a knock on the door. Sherlock looked in the direction of the door but did not intend to get up to open it.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he asked from inside the door. "Is that you?"

Mrs. Hudson's voice came in. "Sherlock, two children are looking for you."

Children?

Sherlock frowned. He was a little disappointed. He thought it would be Lestrade.

But … children?

Could it be someone from Whitechapel?

"Sherlock?"

The annoying knocking on the door did not stop. Mrs. Hudson was still leaning on the door, wanting to know Sherlock's thoughts at the moment. But she soon found it ridiculous. Why did she have to listen to Sherlock's arrangements?

Mrs. Hudson immediately became firm. "Sherlock, they're your guests. You can deal with them yourself. Don't think that I'll be soft-hearted just because they're two children. I'm telling you, I won't provide them with anything more than biscuits, hmm … maybe some milk candy, and black tea, hmm, and …"

— — That's not right!

Isn't this already very thoughtful?!

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson!"

Sherlock said from inside the door. "Just treat them like this. They're usually quite pitiful. They're all orphans that no one wants."

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Hudson, frowning with a chagrined expression. "Is that so?

Then I actually … Well, I'll take good care of them, but Sherlock — there won't be a next time! "

Mrs. Hudson was so kind.

Sherlock did not go downstairs. He got up and went to the window, looking at the busy Baker Street.

Lestrade had not arrived yet. Could it be that he had miscalculated the date and the Ripper did not intend to act on this day?

No, it shouldn't be. Let's wait a little longer.

The two people downstairs were a little nervous. Benben's movements became very stiff in front of the kind Mrs. Hudson. He put down the cup and glanced at Libella. Unexpectedly, she was calm and even asked Mrs. Hudson about Sherlock Holmes with concern.

"Libella," Benben exclaimed in a low voice. "Why are you so calm? Isn't this the first time you've met Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

"Who said I'm calm …" Libella picked up the cup from the table and whispered, "I'm nervous …"

Only then did Benben realize that her fingertips were trembling slightly.

"Well," Benben said bitterly, "I thought you weren't afraid. I've never been to Mr. Sherlock Holmes' house before."

Mrs. Hudson immediately smiled and said, "Then come often in the future."

Benben was stunned and immediately replied loudly, "Thank, thank you!"

Never been here before …

Libella was also a little flustered. She had just instigated Benben in her excitement. Did she happen to step on Sherlock's bottom line?

Mr. Detective would feel that his territory was not to be invaded or something …

In fact, there was no such concern. Mrs. Hudson looked at the two children for a while, and finally her eyes fell on Libella, who looked more reliable, and asked kindly, "Uh … Why are you looking for Sherlock?"

Libella thought and then said, "We're here to deliver a letter to him."

"Oh, deliver a letter?" Mrs. Hudson was still smiling, and nostalgia appeared between the wrinkles on her face. "I didn't expect that people would still write letters …"

Libella smiled and didn't answer.

Actually, they could have asked Mrs. Hudson to deliver the letter to Sherlock, right?

But she felt a little unwilling. After all, she wanted to see Sherlock, even if it was just a glance … If there was no reason to deliver the letter, how could she visit Sherlock openly in the future?

But … It wouldn't be good if the progress of the case was delayed …

Libella thought and came up with an idea. She said to Mrs. Hudson, "Mrs. Hudson, please forgive us. This is a very important letter, and we want to personally deliver it to Mr. Xia — cough, to Mr. Sherlock Holmes … Is that okay?"

Libella indicated the direction of the stairs, and Benben next to her became even more nervous. It was the first time he came to Mr. Sherlock Holmes's house without permission, and now he had to go up Mr. Sherlock Holmes's stairs without permission, and even knock on Mr. Sherlock Holmes's door …

Libella, wake up!

Is that a staircase an ordinary person can go up?

That's Mr. Sherlock Holmes's staircase!

Benben wanted to cry, but Libella had already reached a consensus with Mrs. Hudson. She immediately stood up and looked at Benben expectantly, wanting to go up with Benben.

"Libella, why don't we …"

Libella pretended to be serious and shook her head. "No, we can't delay Mr. Sherlock Holmes's matters, right?"

… You make a lot of sense.

Benben stood up bitterly and let Libella hold his hand. He stepped on Mr. Sherlock Holmes's staircase half-reluctantly. He felt a little guilty with every step he took, and the twenty steps were abnormally slow.

Libella also held her breath.

The handle of the staircase rubbed gently in her palm. The mahogany material was solid, and the stairs creaked under her feet. The sunlight from the broken window at the side fell on her black windbreaker, white dress, and the fabric of her shoes. She seemed to be a living person in this world.

The staircase led to where the greatest detective was. Perhaps he looked no different from an ordinary person, but he was so dazzling that anyone would know that he was not an ordinary person. He was Sherlock Holmes.

Libella could not help but hold her breath as she walked up step by step like she was on a pilgrimage. She wanted to see this great detective. Whether it was out of superficial or exaggerated thoughts, she really wanted to see him with her own eyes. She wanted to see his eyes and his violin with her own eyes.

The stairs were left behind. Sherlock, who was upstairs, obviously did not know that two people who worshipped him were slowly approaching him. He was still sitting on his sofa, his gaze firmly fixed on the wall, following the inextricable scenes of the crime scene played out one after another.

An uninvited guest suddenly appeared.

"Mrs. Hudson, don't stop me —"

Chaotic footsteps came from downstairs. The sound of boots hitting the ground could be heard in big strides. Although Libella did not seem to hear it, the other person in her hand noticed it. Clumsily, he wanted to stop Libella, but he found that Libella was holding his hand tighter and tighter. She raised her other hand and was about to knock on the door.

"Sherlock!"

Suddenly, someone came up the stairs. Seeing two children standing suspiciously in front of Sherlock's door, as if they were going to knock, he simply bypassed them and pushed the door open.

Sherlock wouldn't blame him. After all, Lestrade had brought him the puzzle he wanted.

"Oh, Detective Lestrade, I've been waiting for you for a long time."

The voice came from inside the door.

It was low and deep like a violin, slowly breaking through the silence and crashing straight into Libella's head.

Li Bella was stunned. She raised her head and looked at the man called Lestrade. He was tall and had a serious look on his face, which was what a detective should look like.

"Oh my god …"

How lucky was she to be able to see such a classic scene with her own eyes?

No — she had to see Sherlock with her own eyes again!

Libella raised her foot and was about to enter through the half-open door, but a force suddenly pulled her back. There were stairs under her feet, and she had to pay attention to her back so that she wouldn't fall. But the door gradually disappeared in front of her. Watching the door slowly close, she actually lost her voice for a moment.

When she came back to her senses, she had already left Baker Street and had no idea where she was.

Libella stiffly looked at Benben, who was panting heavily —

"Thank goodness …" The young man patted his chest. "I didn't expect to see the police in Mr. Sherlock Holmes's house … Thank goodness I ran fast enough …"