Chapter 59 Allegory of Salt and Fire Noble

people, Moriarty certainly knows the status of this kind of soul in mysticism. They are the best nutrients and the most powerful accelerants.

So sugar is nutrients, and salt is accelerants.

He believes that for his incomparable grand dimension upgrade this time, of course, he must add the purest accelerant that can bring the most beautiful reaction.

That summer, no one had foreseen the fame of Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock." He called the limping and jumping young man, who raised his head and tried to climb the steps of the castle.

"Do you need help?" He showed an extremely friendly smile and tucked the lesson plan under his armpit. "What's wrong?"

The young man blinked and didn't intend to show any impoliteness to the professor. In Holmes' eyes, he was just a professor with a relatively weird hobby at this time, and this was in the school, in the tower of Cambridge.

"Bitten by a dog." He said calmly.

"Is there such a vicious dog in the old house of Lord Hoylen?" Moriarty laughed.

"Don't look at me like that," he patted the young man's shoulder, "The news that you helped their family solve the so-called castle ghost has spread throughout Cambridge."

"Then Professor Moriarty, do you believe that there are ghosts in the world?" The young man was still looking at him, his light-colored eyes looked translucent and indifferent. The young man was too thin, so when he was stared at, he felt as if he was locked by some kind of raptor.

Moriarty suddenly felt that he didn't need his answer, because the moment he was asked, the young man knew what he knew and knew that he had been obsessed with mysticism for a long time.

Moriarty still had a smile on his face, but the next second he acted unexpectedly.

He swung the cane in his hand calmly and hit the young man's wound mercilessly. This was undoubtedly an emergency for the young man. He staggered and grabbed the handrail, but the cane in his hand flew out and fell heavily on the next platform.

There was a rare moment of confusion in the young man's eyes, and his overly useful brain told him that he was about to face a disaster for no apparent reason, but the middle-aged man was obviously faster than him.

Moriarty grabbed the collar of the young man's white shirt, and then he pulled him up with force.

He was too thin, Moriarty couldn't help thinking, it felt like a piece of paper, he lifted the young man's body, and then looked at the bottomless spiral staircase on the side, which was probably between the fifth and sixth floors. Anyone thrown down from the gap in this staircase would be dead.

The young man obviously had not recovered from the shock and pain. When he reacted, most of his body had been pushed out of the stairs. He desperately grabbed the other's hand with a black leather glove. He struggled hard and looked weak and pitiful, no different from those he had killed before.

There was no point in erasing him now, Moriarty suddenly thought, he had not grown up yet, he was just a slightly eccentric college student, he was not enough to be his rival, nor dramatic enough.

He shuddered suddenly, as if he had accidentally chosen the ending of the two of them.

Falling from a height.

If he let the young man go today, they would meet again like this after so many years.

He had to execute him in this way.

This was not an easy way to kill someone. It would take some effort to find such an occasion again, or just kill this hidden danger here.

However, Moriarty hesitated.

He had never seen such crystal clear and sharp salt.

He always felt that he deserved all the good things in the world.

Including Sherlock Holmes' life and soul.

The young man grabbed his arm hard and tried to regain his balance and climb up. He obeyed his will and pulled him back. When the young man was thrown back to the steps, he pressed on the wound again, which made his pale face even paler. Moriarty suddenly had an idea in his mind.

Anyway, summer vacation was about to start, and it seemed that the young man's family didn't care whether he went home on time every day. So, Moriarty stepped hard on the young man's broken leg. The young man groaned and stopped moving.

Maybe I can use some time, half a month, or a month, to plant a wound in this young man.

A wound that will make him make mistakes in the final showdown.

In the basement of the house, Moriarty removed the plaster on the young man's leg. He keenly discovered that his speculation was correct. This young man was indeed a person who had an intersection with the world studied by mysticism.

Because this wound obviously came from a creature in the other world.

The bite force was so great that it was definitely not something that any canine of this size could do.

But what surprised him even more was the healing of the wound.

The old man Frey only had some skills in cutting meat and healing wounds. This was definitely not his work.

Moriarty carefully picked up a piece of broken bone he had just made and observed the state of other bones. This was a new life, an absolute new life. He straightened the bone back and rebandaged it. Was it the power from the new king? He thought thoughtfully, it seemed that there were more people interested in this young man than just himself.

Or, this was the inevitability of fate. They were all chosen by heaven.

They were pushed by fate, like two magnets, and finally collided violently.

Two weeks later, Mycroft Holmes received a message that his brother was sent to the London Hospital by kind people, but he didn't remember anything about his disappearance.

"He was feverish when he was sent here," the doctor briefly introduced the situation to Mycroft, "although there was no obvious external injury except for the broken leg before he disappeared, but he was severely malnourished and suffered a certain degree of mental trauma." "

It's like a person trapped in a very dangerous place for a very difficult time." The doctor said, "Maybe it's an abandoned tower. After he climbed up, the ladder that had been in disrepair for a long time broke, so he was trapped there?" "

I don't think my brother is the kind of mental patient who drags a broken leg to climb an abandoned tower by himself." Mycroft said, he looked at Sherlock through the glass, the young man fell asleep, his brother was obviously thinner, and his black hair looked messy and dull.

He will lose him, this thought suddenly arose in Mycroft's mind. He had thought about this possibility before. Sherlock Holmes was different from others since he was a child. He was more likely to die than others.

But when he looked directly at this possibility, he felt cold and creepy.

Sherlock tilted his head, he woke up, and his gray eyes looked at his face.

He walked into the ward, "I heard that you had a lot of bad luck?" He said lightly, making his tone sound like an ordinary teasing.

Sherlock did not refute him.

"Probably." He said in a breath, he was weaker than he looked.

"Do you really not remember anything?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock nodded.

He didn't know what had happened to him. He only knew that whenever he was at the edge of a high place, he would become dizzy and feel inexplicably overly nervous.

"Did you fall off a cliff?" Mycroft teased, "and then got stuck in a ravine."

"Who brought me back?" Sherlock asked.

"Good question." Mycroft raised his hand and touched his chin. He was indeed investigating, but the kind man said that he found Sherlock on a country road, and when Mycroft went to investigate, a rain had destroyed all traces of the time. "Maybe

you saved yourself successfully." Mycroft said. Sherlock shook his head. He turned over his hands and let Mycroft look at his fingertips. Neither his fingertips nor his nails were injured. He didn't look like he was struggling to survive after taking a risk.

He might have fallen into a huge conspiracy, Sherlock Holmes thought.

However, he was not afraid of it.

He knew that he couldn't stay away from heights from now on. On the contrary, he had to overcome this. Moreover, he looked at his healing leg.

"By the way, do you know some martial arts masters or something like that?" Sherlock asked, "Recommend a few to me."

"Why, are you still planning to challenge someone to a duel?" Mycroft said, "The government is going to ban duels completely."

"That's not the case, I just feel that someone will challenge me to a duel," Sherlock said, "It's always better to be prepared."

"It seems that you don't plan to give up such a dangerous life." Mycroft looked at him, "You may disappear for a while at any time, and then lose your memory for unknown reasons, or almost die."

"I still remember that I transported you back from Egypt." Mycroft raised a finger, "You didn't remember anything at that time."

"Yeah." Sherlock said, "Do you think this is a coincidence?"

"Of course it can still be a coincidence." Mycroft said, "I believe that as long as you give up something, these strange things will naturally leave you."

Mycroft Holmes really has an extremely sharp and prophetic intuition, Sherlock Holmes thought, and now he can remember what happened during that period of amnesia.

The man who took him away and imprisoned him in an abandoned tower for two weeks was none other than James Moriarty.