Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 862 The Alternative: Mr. Holmes (Second Update)

"I'm glad you recommended some good candidates, Ms. Palmer. I hope to hear good news next time I come; better doctors in the hospital should have higher status." Salomon opened the door and came out with Christina Palmer. "Ola, reserve a table at Per Se restaurant tonight. Don't forget to choose what you like to eat; I don't want you standing there while we eat."

Upon receiving the order, Aura turned and left without hesitation; her high heels did nothing to slow her almost flying pace.

She couldn't bear the thought of not being able to wear power armor and put down her heavy explosives while on a security mission. Now that she had received orders and confirmed the nearby security situation, she didn't want to wait a moment longer. However, she would keep the suit and high heels, because this entire outfit, from head to toe, even the black stockings, was Salomon's work attire, and her wardrobe was filled with Salomon's favorite uniforms. Homunculi are tools created to satisfy their creators—this was the doctrine Dinah had taught all homunculus. Aura believed this wholeheartedly and carried it out meticulously, without questioning whether there was anything unreasonable about this instruction.

The nurse, an expert in anatomy, immediately noticed the unusually young, white-haired girl's muscular physique beneath her black suit—a physique far beyond what an ordinary person could possess. She instantly understood that this girl was neither an office worker nor a driver, but a bodyguard with a special function. However, she wasn't too surprised, as a wealthy individual capable of acquiring a hospital in such a short time would undoubtedly prioritize their security.

The only thing that piqued her curiosity was the small metal ring she found on Salomon's arm when her blood pressure was taken. She didn't know why Salomon would implant such an electronic device in himself, but out of respect for her future boss, she didn't ask too many questions.

Tomorrow, Christina Palmer will officially become a member of the management team, and she has recommended a neurosurgeon to Salomon. Although the doctor's surgical skills are not as good as Stephen Strange's, and he is often criticized by that arrogant and conceited guy for his surgical techniques, he is extremely patient with his patients and very conscientious and responsible. Therefore, Christina Palmer believes that the doctor can be a good helper for her.

Salomon readily agreed to the proposal.

Nothing is more unbearable than having someone less skilled than yourself, someone you've humiliated, as your boss. Christina Palmer may have intended to urge Stephen Strange to become a better person, but Salomon believed this situation was nothing short of a direct insult to the proud and arrogant Strange.

He had no grounds for objection. With the day he was to bring Strange into Kamar-Taj drawing ever closer, he had to complete this task as soon as possible, destroying all of Strange's confidence in the shortest amount of time and making him understand the lesson that "those who are unworthy of their position will surely suffer misfortune." Otherwise, he really would have to contact that private detective in London; at least that detective possessed something called "responsibility." Tony Stark also had a sense of responsibility, which was why Salomon spoke and made deals with him instead of kicking him out.

"Mr. Damonette?" Salomon smelled the aroma of black tea.

He opened his eyes. A plain-looking man with graying hair was holding two cups of black tea, handing him one of them. Aura was protecting his alchemical avatar. The homunculus knew Salomon would send an alchemical avatar on another mission, but didn't know which one. Salomon's attitude implicitly suggested the avatar didn't need protection. Salomon only hoped Aura wouldn't be angry about this when he returned; even homunculus had tempers and were difficult to appease.

The living room, covered in dark red wallpaper, was small yet warm, but didn't feel cramped. To the left of the living room was a small room filled with chemical laboratory equipment and apparatus, along with a refrigerator and cookware; it was clearly a kitchen, but had been repurposed.

"Sorry, the cup is a bit small, but that's how Mrs. Hudson serves guests. I added sugar, no milk, just as you wanted." After handing over the tea, the man turned and walked to one of the two armchairs on the carpet. "My friend isn't back yet, you know, off on a case or something. Anyway, you could tell me about your situation first, so we can save some time when he gets back, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, actually, I'd like to entrust you with a case..." Salomon slowly sipped his coffee, recounting a recent vampire murder case in London from an observer's perspective. The vampire who committed the crime was young and possessed legitimate status in human society. Salomon felt this was perfect for allowing potential candidates to gradually understand the magical world, and he could also observe their qualities during the investigation. He left behind many inconspicuous clues, intending to guide the candidates towards his intended final destination. Salomon needed to observe the candidates' qualities to decide whether the alternative plan could be implemented if the first plan failed.

Privately commissioned murder investigations are indeed uncommon, but Salomon also had a good false identity to cover it up.

"The victim lost a lot of blood, but there wasn't much blood found at the scene." Sherlock Holmes burst through the door, hanging his scarf and coat on the coat rack beside it. His first words were about the suspicious points in the case he'd just been dealing with, seemingly oblivious to Watson's frantic winking. "Lestrade believes that wasn't the primary crime scene, but I found signs of a struggle there. The bloodstains on the victim's knuckles match the friction marks on the wall, so that should be the primary crime scene. So where did the blood go? Even if the killer was a polio patient… Oh, who are you?"

"Sherlock, I was just talking about this." Watson stood up awkwardly and introduced his roommate and client to each other. "This is the victim's distant cousin. He came to London to handle the aftermath... I'm sorry you heard this; it must be upsetting for you. That's just his personality. I hope you don't mind..."

Sherlock Holmes did not choose to shake Salomon's outstretched hand.

He scrutinized Salomon's entire body expressionlessly, then blurted out his conclusion. "I don't believe you're a cousin of the victim, Eleanor, Mr. Salomon Damonette," he said. "Leaving aside the differences in your physical characteristics. The victim was destitute and worked as a nightclub dancer, while you were clearly extremely wealthy and owned a grey shorthair cat. And if anyone were to handle the victim's aftermath, it certainly wouldn't be you. Besides, it's raining outside, the drain is clogged a block away, and your shoes are clean. Your umbrella is only wet at the front, the back is quite dry, making you look like you're standing under an eaves with your hand out in the rain, not like a traveler carrying luggage from an airport, more like a local resident. More importantly—"

He coughed a few times and continued, "—You lingered at the café near the entrance for at least an hour before making the commission, and you were reading the newspaper the whole time, according to the owner. I saw bread crumbs on your cuffs and smelled your coffee, which was strong enough to overpower your perfume. Do you think I wouldn't recognize a scent I can smell every day when I open the window?"

"But you rarely open the windows."

"This is not the time to talk about this, Watson."

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(End of this chapter)