Chapter 363 Sunday Reasoning Club

The young man sitting next to him trembled as if he was startled when he heard the sudden question from the sleeping passenger. He turned around and showed a shy smile unique to young people.

"Mr. John, are you awake? Are you asking how long it will take to reach the city?"

He thought about it for about three seconds, and seemed to have gone through precise calculations in his head before he answered seriously: "It's going to be very soon, we'll be in the city in about an hour or so. "

"Is there another hour..."

John Watson looked out the window and saw that the sky had completely darkened.

Through the faint yellow light of the two oil lamps hanging in front of the carriage, one could vaguely see the open fields on both sides of the road and the stars in the sky.

'The distance between Woolsthorpe and London is nearly 100 miles (160 kilometers), and the carriage's traveling speed is only about 12 miles (20 kilometers) per hour, which means that I have been asleep for six or seven hours. Yet? ’

Just when John Watson was wondering how he fell asleep for so long, a new memory suddenly popped up in his head.

It turns out that he didn't just fall asleep as soon as he got in the car. He also woke up halfway through the car and looked at the monotonous and boring scenery by the window in boredom.

Seeing that he was bored, the young man sitting next to him took out some books from the package and asked him if he wanted to kill time by reading.

John Watson readily agreed. He was worried that all the books in the sanatorium library had been read by him. It had been a while since he had learned unknown knowledge, and now his head seemed to be itching.

But in fact, he also knew that there was a very high probability that the books taken out by the young man he met by chance were knowledge that he had already browsed. After all, although printing technology is advanced in this era and the streets are full of readily available texts, in fact they are truly rare. Knowledge still circulates only in a small area - and John Watson carries such a small library in his mind.

It should be impossible for the boy sitting next to him to pull out words he has never seen before.

But John Watson obviously underestimated the teenager. The teenager, also named John, took out a mystery novel called "Three Coffins".

The book is full of three major factors: impossible crimes, terrifying and weird atmosphere, and whimsical conspiracies. Among them, the secret room conspiracies part amazed John Watson. He had never thought that a mystery novel could be like this. It’s whimsical, but behind the seemingly absurd and irrational nature is a layer of careful logic!

At that time, after John Watson carefully browsed the entire book, he closed the page with satisfaction, like a gourmet who had tasted a rare delicacy, and took a long breath, and sincerely praised:

"Suspenseful, thrilling, exciting, full of whimsical ideas but following basic logic... It's like a glass of strong single malt whiskey. After one sip, you feel hot and trembling at first, but then the tip of your tongue starts to ripple with lightness again. The return is sweet!”

"This is simply an epoch-making mystery novel!!!"

"Compared to this work, the previous works I wrote are as tasteless as a glass of thinned low-alcohol beer..."

John Watson was deeply affected. When Dr. George spoke highly of "A Study in Scarlet" before, he complacently believed it to be true, but at this moment it was just

But what shocked him even more was what the boy said next.

"Oh! So Mr. Watson, are you also writing mystery novels?" Young John suddenly scratched the back of his head shyly and said shyly, "I'm actually a little embarrassed to say it."

"Mr. Watson, the book "Three Coffins" you are holding is actually my work... I went to London this time just to bring my work to the publisher to see if it can be published and sold directly. ”

This sentence completely destroyed John Watson's inner confidence as a literary man.

He looked up and down in disbelief at the young man sitting next to him who not only had the same name as himself, John, but also had a similar appearance to himself when he was young, as if he had seen another version of himself.

A self that is more proficient in literature.

A self who has never been involved in the hidden world and whose hands have been stained with blood.

Perhaps it was because of the same name and similar face, or perhaps seeing that the boy was already one-eyed at such a young age, which gave rise to a rare sympathy in the heart of this normal person who had just left the lunatic asylum.

John Watson has a good impression of the young man sitting next to him. It seems that as long as he can help the young man, he can also help himself who was once impoverished.

So he specifically asked for the other party's contact information and temporary address, and said he could meet for afternoon tea in the city tomorrow to discuss writing methods and inspiration for mystery novels.

At this time, the smiling girl in the front row seemed to have heard the key point of afternoon tea. She turned back and looked at John Watson with a smile, and said in a soft and melodious tone like an oriole: "This Mr. Watson seems to be very If you are keen on mystery novels, why not join our Sunday Mystery Club?”

"We get together every Sunday to discuss the content of mystery novels, and also discuss the details of recent domestic and international cases."

"Little John has always been a long-distance believer of our club. I believe you, Mr. Watson, have already seen his talent for mystery novels. There are also several members of publishing houses in our Sunday mystery club. They all think that with his talent, he will definitely be able to create more wonderful works in London."

"So this time I came here specially to accompany the two brothers and sisters into the city."

"By the way, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Agatha, Agatha Christie, and I am also a mystery novelist."

The smiling girl named Agatha stretched out her hand. Her arm looked like a top-grade ivory carving, white, transparent and delicate. You could vaguely see the veins under the skin that were as green as jade, and the five nails cut into almond shapes were pink and tender.

The little girl with a newsboy cap sitting with Agatha turned her head and looked at John Watson with a strange scrutinizing look. There seemed to be a trace of doubt and disgust in her beautiful light silver eyes?

"Elizabeth." The little girl said coldly, with a disgusted tone in her words.

"Elizabeth, don't be so rude!" Young John seemed to dislike his sister's cold attitude and scolded her softly.

But this scolding was exchanged for the little girl Elizabeth's speechless eye roll, and she even muttered complaints that were difficult to hear.

"...Damn Seba...If it weren't for my father...I would break you...so broken."

The smiling girl Agatha immediately reached out to cover the dirty words that the little girl was about to blurt out, her long and curly eyelashes blinked gently, and her charming eyes flashed with some irresistible expectations.

"Then Mr. Watson, would you like to join our Sunday Reasoning Club?"

………………

It was late at night, and the restless city of London was dormant like a tired beast.

But it was not too late at night, the theaters, clubs, casinos, and pubs were still brightly lit, and the rich were still singing and dancing all night long, squandering money and desires.

Unloading docks, toil factories, and squeezing enterprises are also working around the clock, and workers are still struggling for life despite the recent fear of the Whitechapel bloodbath and the monster in the House of Lords.

John Watson strolled on the streets of London, looking at the familiar yet unfamiliar city in front of him, and for the first time he felt so clearly the sequelae of losing more than two years of memory.

"The world is developing so fast!" he said with emotion.

John Watson finally did not agree to the girl Agatha's request, and did not directly join the Sunday Reasoning Club that the other party mentioned.

But in fact, he was still very interested in this club full of mystery novelists.

Especially after reading another mystery masterpiece "The Tragedy on the Nile" by the girl Agatha, he admired the young John and Agatha, two young people who had created works that were enough to shock the entire mystery literature world at a young age-although he was very good at killing and fighting, it was obvious that his literary accomplishment was still not as good as these two young people.

He was also proud of himself, thinking that he had not yet created an outstanding work, and was not qualified to join the Sunday Reasoning Club, which gathered many talented novelists.

So he politely rejected Miss Agatha's invitation and only asked for the address of the club. He said frankly that when he created better works, he would definitely take his new works to participate in the activities of the Sunday Reasoning Club.

After leaving the long-distance carriage, John Watson did not rush to the Sherlock Holmes Detective Agency at 221B Baker Street, but found a clean hotel on Riverside Street to stay in. When he was discharged from the hospital, Dr. George had already very "considerately" told him the address of Miss Holmes and gave him some cash.

John Watson walked to the place where he grew up unknowingly

After John Watson got off the car, he walked all the way to the George Mueller Church Orphanage where he had stayed in the past.

He looked at the metal fence in front of him, which he had struggled to flip through when he was a child, but now it was covered with green embroidery, and he could easily bend and break the iron bar with a little force.

He also passed by the bridge hole and ruins where he used to live. A group of hungry and cold orphans looked at him with vigilance, as if they were worried that this skinny man who suddenly appeared was the murderer Jack the Ripper who had been discussed on the streets recently. Because he was tired of disemboweling prostitutes, he was now so crazy that he wanted to attack these fatherless and motherless little brats!

John Watson faced the fearful eyes of these skinny and trembling little brats, and seemed to see his former self. He just smiled, left two baguettes and left silently.

"Well, I have seen the cowardly life in the past. It's time to accept the missing memory and embrace another self."

That night, the George Mueller Church Orphanage was invaded by thieves.

The evidence that the director abused orphans and embezzled charity funds was left in the mailbox of the London Daily News. He was soon dismissed by a group of pseudo-philanthropists who claimed to be kind and benevolent, and replaced by another new director with a good reputation.

The orphans thought they could finally get rid of their hungry and cold lives. They even stopped thanking God at dinner time and thanked the unknown thief instead!

Little did they know that the kind-hearted man's momentary kindness pushed the orphans who had just had hope into a new abyss of terror - the newly appointed Dean Epstein loved playing with children the most!

………………

The next day, the dawn of the morning came.

John Watson also walked to Baker Street.

Although it was not yet the normal working hours, there were already many passers-by coming and going on Baker Street Avenue. It was obvious that this was an extremely hardworking community.

But these passers-by who looked like they were in a hurry to go to work had another explanation in John Watson's eyes.

He walked very slowly on the street, and from time to time he would stop and look up and look around. He immediately found prying eyes coming from the roofs of two tall buildings on Baker Street.

And at first glance, there were endless pedestrians on the street, but in fact, the careful John Watson had clearly remembered the faces of every passer-by in his mind.

He naturally found that some passers-by seemed to be in a hurry to go somewhere, but in fact they were always wandering on Baker Street.

Every time they crossed the street, they would change their clothes a little, or take off their windbreakers or change their hats.

But this could not change the faces on their faces at all. One of the long-haired ladies alone had appeared back and forth in front of John Watson five times! And every time he was dressed differently!

When John Watson walked to the middle of Baker Street, a genuine resident finally pushed the door open. The other party looked at the familiar figure standing in front of the door and shouted with a little surprise: "Mr. Watson?!"

"Mr. Watson, you are finally back?!"

But John Watson had no impression of the middle-aged fat uncle in front of him.

He could only smile awkwardly and reply along with the other party's words.

"Long time no see, I just returned to London yesterday, and I rushed back early this morning."

"Rush back?" The middle-aged fat uncle asked in confusion: "What are you rushing back for? Did Miss Holmes continue to hire you back as a detective assistant??"

The nosy uncle shook his head in disbelief the next second, "It's impossible... Now the Sherlock Holmes Detective Agency has expanded so much, Miss Holmes should not be short of manpower, why would she choose to continue to re-employ you, Mr. Watson?"

"Hey, it's only been a few months since we last met, Mr. Watson, why are you injured again, this scar on your face It looks really scary! "

"Rehire?" John Watson murmured this word, thinking in his heart:

"According to what this uncle who has never met before said, I have actually been fired by Miss Holmes a long time ago?"

"Then why did Miss Holmes send me to a mental hospital and give me that extremely precious artificial eye?"

"Maybe...what this uncle heard was just false news?"

"Anyway, I still have to thank Miss Holmes in person for the artificial eye she gave me... Let's go to the detective agency first."

Knock knock knock, John Watson knocked on the door of the detective agency.

However, the person who opened the door was a strange face that he had never remembered before.

The other party looked at John Watson with a scar on his face and asked in a vigilant tone: "Who are you?"