Sherlock Holmes

No matter how you hear this, it sounds like you are trying to hide it.

and

‘I have killed some~’

This answer is also very awkward.

It's not that a detective can't kill people, but when it comes from Sherlock's mouth, and what he has done before, it always feels like there are countless weird and curious stories behind this sentence.

Catherine narrowed her eyes and stared at the other person and was silent for a while; she actually wanted to continue asking, but as a clergyman of the Holy See, it was impossible to really put down her identity and ask about a civilian's past.

Fortunately, at this time, Sherlock took the initiative to change the subject: "Um, did you mention rewards just now?"

"How can something given by the Holy See be called a reward! It should be called a gift!" Catherine corrected sternly.

"Of course, my dear lady, it is what you say it is."

In her opinion, Sherlock's smile was always full of hypocrisy. It even took a lot of effort to barely combine the guy in front of him with the figure who turned the tide just now.

But then, she raised her head slightly,

"So what do you want?" she asked, her tone naturally revealing a condescending tone.

There is no way, behind her is the Holy See, and giving rewards to the Holy See is enough to make anyone feel superior, because the Holy See will not tell you what you can get, but let you say whatever you want. After all, the Holy See can basically do whatever you want. Realize, as long as you have the qualifications.

But it was such a question that carried the supreme honor that suddenly stopped Sherlock.

Do you still have to think of rewards yourself?

Seeing the confused look of the detective in front of her, Catherine thought he was shocked by the grace of the Holy See, and finally smiled from the bottom of her heart:

"I know this is a bit difficult to answer, but money, power, honor, everything is fine. Even if you want to better serve the Holy Light, I can apply for a church of your own in the suburbs of London for you!"

Sherlock didn't speak, but his eyebrows furrowed more and more tightly, and raindrops flowed down his cheeks into the stubble that had not been taken care of for a long time.

He had not been so embarrassed when he killed a deacon of the Judgment Department just now.

Because he feels that money, power and other things are not very attractive to him. In fact, he just likes to catch murderers and solve a few cases so that his mind is not always idle, that's all.

So ten seconds, thirty seconds, one minute passed

"Give me some time, I have to think about it."

He finally answered.

The cumulonimbus cloud in the sky was like a bladder that had been blocked at the urethral opening. It was finally released and frantically splashed the liquid that had been stored inside for an unknown amount of time.

Under the rain, the battle that almost destroyed half of the street was actually not very long, probably only five minutes.

The post-war staff had already set up a simple tent. The gas stove was lit in the tent, and hot water and food to satisfy their hunger were even thoughtfully provided; because the wounded, heavy steam armor, and clergy could not It was hoisted away by the airship, and it would take more than an hour for the backup transport team to arrive, so it could only be repaired on the spot temporarily.

Sherlock was sitting in a tent at the moment. The detective, who was abandoned in the battlefield at the beginning and no one cared about his life or death, seemed to have suddenly been promoted from cannon fodder to a position of great importance.

At least for the time being, only Catherine and the old priest had tents to shelter from the rain.

And from time to time, some nuns would come in with the most professional battlefield medical equipment to examine Sherlock and treat his injuries.

In the job planning of the Holy See, nuns are generally responsible for daily prayers and reception work in urban churches. Only a few people with professional medical training can go to war zones. Compared with ordinary medical staff, these field nuns are also proficient in almost all baptismal rituals and prayer oaths, so they can comfort soldiers whose faith has collapsed due to killing or fear. They are considered to be a very high-level position among nuns.

Of course, [Sisters of Judgment] like Catherine are not included. She is a second-level contractor and is no longer a low-level member of the Holy See.

Anyway, this kind of treatment is definitely not something that a civilian can enjoy.

Some extremely fine needles and threads were threaded through the wounds on Sherlock's back. Although he had only played for more than ten seconds just now, in order to better observe the battle situation from the edge of the battlefield, he inevitably suffered some injuries. But it wasn't serious, and it wouldn't even cause paralysis or amputation, which made him feel that the nun behind him was a little too careful.

Several times he wanted to remind the other party that he could be more rude, and he didn't get hit with many bullets in total. So don't use tweezers when digging out bullets. It would be more convenient to just use your hands.

But seeing the fine sweat on the other person's forehead and the fearful gaze that never dared to look at him, he felt embarrassed to disturb the other person.

After a few more minutes, the wounds on her body were basically treated, and the nun performed a [obeisance ceremony] to Sherlock in the most humble manner, as piously as if she were facing a Vatican clergy.

It must be that the old priest and the others gave special instructions to this nun.

In short, Sherlock felt very embarrassed, and he responded awkwardly with unskilled etiquette: "I'm really troubling you."

These words made the other person tremble. He subconsciously looked at the other person with panic eyes, then quickly lowered his head humbly, silently recited a prayer, and exited the tent.

Shortly after the nun went out, the tent was quickly opened again.

This time the person who came in was a Holy See guard who was not equipped with steam armor.

After entering the door, the man first glanced at the detective in front of him. There was curiosity and gratitude in his eyes, and more of it was fear, but he hid it very well. He just said in a respectful tone:

"Master Priest, please come over."

Opening the curtain of a tent not far away, Sherlock shook off the rainwater from his body.

There are some medical equipment piled up in the tent, some of which even require electricity to be driven. I don’t know where the Vatican guys got the portable energy source.

In the middle of the tent, there is a bed, which looks a bit nondescript. The old priest is lying on the bed at the moment. Although there is no serious injury at first glance, there is a hanging bottle hanging above his arm, some kind of bright red. The fluid was flowing down the tube and into his body.

"A nutrient solution that is said to relieve mental stress, relieve pain, etc." Seeing Sherlock's gaze, the old priest explained helplessly: "Those medical staff always thought that I would suffer from various strange reasons. Die."

"Your age is indeed not suitable for fighting." Sherlock replied with a smile, as if he came to visit an old friend who was bedridden: "So why did you call me here?"

The old priest moved back, letting himself half-rely on the bed, and looked at the other person up and down again:

"Do you want to become a contractor?"

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