Hermione, let's start the revolution at Hogwarts

"It seems that Professor Flitwick's favorite student doesn't know either. I'll go back and check..."

"There are many spells that can summon fire, such as the Fire Spell and the Lily of the Valley Fire Spell that can burn underwater. If the body is well preserved, then the Fiery Spell can be ruled out first... If you read a little in advance, you will know!"

Watson shook his head slightly. It seemed that Little McGreg still couldn't keep his composure in the end.

But it's normal, after all, she is so young now... It doesn't mean that she can ignore it in the future, but after a long time, she will get used to the Holmes family's roundabout way of provoking.

Watson continued, "The internal organs were completely carbonized, but the clothes on the outside of the body were better preserved than the skin, so the fire started inside the body."

No one was willing to believe that a fire could suddenly break out inside a person's body. They would rather believe that the clothes were put on after Ambassador Stan Dick was completely burned to death while the temperature on his body was still high.

But the problem is that this is completely unnecessary, and you even have to worry about leaving clues on your clothes.

"There is no crime in this world that is so perfect that it leaves no trace. Since it does not conform to the behavioral code of ordinary people, then I need you two... Do you want to go out and relax during the holidays?" Sherlock suddenly said to Hermione.

"I think she wants to spend some time with her parents. Here we are." Watson parked the car at the edge of the community.

Hermione numbly dragged her luggage past the wooden houses and finally arrived at the land belonging to the Granger family. When she saw her mother standing under the eaves, she immediately put what had just happened behind her.

Hermione's heart almost melted when she saw her mother wearing gloves and standing at the door looking out.

Nietzsche watched quietly as Hermione opened the gate of the courtyard and rushed into her mother's arms. He remained silent until the car stopped at Baker Street, tapping the door handle rhythmically with his index finger.

Everything outside the window appeared in his eyes and then disappeared quickly.

Holmes did not disturb his son's thinking, but just waited quietly for the arrival of Christmas gifts.

"Malfoy, Flint, Greengris and Parkinson... these are the ones for now. Ask Uncle Mycroft to check if the names of these families appear in historical documents. The more detailed the better."

"Are they from the magical world?"

"For families that believe in wizard supremacy and bloodline, if the relationship between the British government and the Ministry of Magic becomes hostile because of these cases, it will only help the interests of these big families. In addition..."

He rubbed his brow wearily.

After Hermione left, all of Nietzsche's negative emotions were revealed.

"You can use your status as a Cambridge University graduate to keep an eye on some people at Oxford University. Some of them can exchange letters with wizards."

The letters with the raw materials of the potion that Sherlock found at the beginning were sent by wizards to some of "them", and the locations and identities of the dead were told to the dark wizard by them.

Sherlock let out a long breath, and his vision suddenly became clear. He finally took out the Nietzsche fan and blew away the fog in front of him.

"By the way, Merry Christmas, I received your gift."

Nietzsche had been preparing for this "great gift" for three months, and just now, it was finally handed to him.

Volume 221: Chapter : Bustling Baker Street B

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hudson~"

"You too, little Nietzsche."

"Let's go upstairs and have something to eat. I'm starving."

Baker Street is a 400-meter-long road in London. It is very expensive to rent a house here, except for Mrs. Hudson, who just wants to have fun and is the only landlord who can tolerate Sherlock.

The first floor is Hudson's own room, and the second floor is a retired captain's house...it is said that he was introduced by Watson.

"Mary and I are engaged," Watson announced the fact at the dinner table.

Their hands were clasped together and placed on the table, as if for Sherlock to see.

Nietzsche had more or less guessed about the Watsons' engagement, and it was within his expectations, so he and Sherlock just nodded slightly without any other expression, which made the atmosphere of this lunch very subtle.

Mary looked at her fiancé awkwardly, then at her adopted son.

"You...don't you have anything to say?"

"If Sherlock doesn't want to end up alone, I can consider staying here after Watson gets married." Nietzsche wiped his mouth and began to taste the cookies made by the landlady, "Although I only come back once every four or five months."

The touch of an engagement ring is not as cold as you might imagine.

Mary placed her palm on the back of Nietzsche's hand. He could feel the wounds on her hand and the calluses from holding the pen. There were also some traces of blue ink between her fingernails. This was an independent and gentle woman.

To be honest, Watson really needed a haven to rest. His first half of life had been thrilling enough.

"You can live with us." Mary took this very seriously.

But Nietzsche first glanced at Sherlock, who was looking down and not saying anything, and thought for a moment before answering: "He is investigating a wizard's case right now. I'm worried that there might be a dark wizard... If anything happens, at least I can still see him off to the end."

Mary's smile gradually froze.

"Wait a minute, isn't the detective usually protected in this situation?" Sherlock complained expressionlessly.

"The other party is a dark wizard who comes and goes without a trace, and I'm just a student." Nietzsche rolled his eyes and imitated Snape's expression, "So in this matter, the best I can do is keep your body intact."

The topic was naturally changed by the two of them.

There are some things that only Sherlock can understand...It's not that he can empathize with Nietzsche, but that only he knows Nietzsche's psychology.

Mary was a little disappointed. Nietzsche's answer was beyond her expectations. Logically, Nietzsche should have been very excited, because for an adopted child, it was a happy thing to be able to truly live with his parents.

"Why..."

"Oh my God, what shall I do after Watson leaves?" Mrs. Hudson interrupted her.

The landlord's face was full of worry. When she thought about having to deal with Sherlock Holmes alone in the future, she felt that the future was bleak. She sat opposite Mary and shook her head slightly, indicating that she should not continue asking questions.

Well, there is someone more unexpected than Shylock who understands Nietzsche.

"Well..." Watson didn't know what to say, so he could only smile awkwardly, "I believe you can get used to it."

In fact, he was not worried at all, because if Mrs. Hudson didn't like the tenant, she could find a reason to kick Sherlock out, but she didn't, because Watson knew that Hudson also liked those detective stories.

Sherlock and Nietzsche in Holmes's house always break the boring daily life of the landlord.

She couldn't stand the kind of life where tomorrow was no different from today, as if it was no different from being dead. Sherlock didn't treat the landlord as an outsider at all and asked him to do everything.

In this room, everyone is sick except Mary...

"It's getting late, Mrs. Hudson. Could you please get the wine glasses ready in the kitchen...two extra glasses."

"I'm not your servant!" Despite saying so, the landlord still got up and left. "Mary, please help me. I don't know where you hid the brandy."

Mary dragged her lost body to the kitchen.

Who else is coming today? A third Sherlock Holmes?

She tried to guess these things and make herself forget Nietzsche's answer. Mary used the key to open the storage room in the kitchen, lifted the oil paper covering the dust, took out a bottle with "Formalin" written on it and smelled it.

The preservatives in it had long been replaced with alcohol as a prank by Sherlock Holmes.

"You can't treat little Nietzsche as an ordinary child." Hudson leaned against the door of the storage room, blocking the way.

"That's my child. I watched him grow up," Mary said listlessly, as if all her strength had been drained away. "And he's my first child... I... I don't think he was adopted."

She had a husband before she met Watson.

But it's not a divorce, it's the death of a husband.

"He has always been very sensible, Mary. You should know that he is far beyond his peers, but Nietzsche is too sensible... He doesn't have any grudge against you. Strictly speaking, he loves you far more than you love him."

"What...what do you mean?"

"You and Watson will form a new family and have your own children."

Mrs. Hudson said so much, then stepped aside, fetched seven glasses from the cupboard, placed them on a plate, and carried them to the dining table.

She is a landlord. As an old woman with one foot almost in the ground, Hudson has seen all kinds of tenants, including too many couples who remarried or remarried with children.

As Nietzsche said, nothing remains unchanged.

Even if Mary could assure him again and again, the moment her own child was born, her attention would definitely be diverted, which was very painful for Nietzsche.

"What took you so long?" Watson took the bottle impatiently after seeing his fiancée come out. "You didn't confuse the real preservative with the bottle... Sherlock! Didn't I tell you not to play tricks like this? You're childish!"

"It's just your unusual way of storing wine." Mary forced a smile.

Nietzsche was underage, so there was only juice in the glass.

Watson, whose dosage was restricted, took advantage of Christmas to drink half a bottle with Holmes. Watson was the one talking most of the time, including about the woman.

That mysterious, charming and adaptable woman.

"Seriously, maybe Irene Adler doesn't like your type."

"It's none of my business!" Sherlock pretended to be calm and turned his head away. "John, you are drunk, sober up."

"Come on, that woman who played a trick on Sherlock Holmes." Watson laughed, completely losing his gentlemanly demeanor outside. "If she was interested in you, why didn't she come to visit you at Christmas?"

"First, I was not fooled, and second, the blame should be placed on Nietzsche."

At this time, footsteps were heard in the corridor, and Inspector Lestrade, wearing a black windbreaker, walked in from the open door. He hung his hat on the hanger and greeted the people on the sofa one by one.

He had a brown moustache under his nose and was about the same height as Watson.

Suddenly, the inspector heard an incomprehensible murmur, and then a glass that had been filled with brandy floated in front of him, which scared the inspector.

"Thank...thank you, you knew I would come?"

"In the morning, I spoke to the police at King's Cross Station and told them not to be scared, I already knew about the American ambassador," he said.

"Afraid? I'm not afraid." Inspector Lestrade drank the last drop of wine in the glass, and then immediately said, "What kind of trick are you playing? Do you know something?"

He immediately put the empty glass down and didn't take his eyes off it until he sat down.

"That's not a trick, that's... magic." Nietzsche waved the magic wand in his hand. "The incompetence of Scotland Yard cannot be blamed for this case. Fear is not shameful. It is wisdom to face danger."

"Long time no see...Thank you."

Inspector Lestrade rubbed his eyes. He saw that the wine bottle came alive and began to pour wine for the people present. Mrs. Hudson also widened her eyes and quickly made the sign of the cross on her chest.

Magic is almost a joke or magic to ordinary people, but it is exactly what happened in the eyes of the detective.

"What's going on now?"

"Panic, collective panic." The inspector said nervously, "Last time it was the British Chief Justice who died in his bathtub, and this time it was the American ambassador. The higher-ups have classified this as a 'terrorist attack'."

Terrorist attacks mean counter-terrorism, which is absolutely hostile in stance.

Sherlock held his chin with his hand and immediately understood what Nietzsche said in the car - in the wizarding world, there is a group of people who do not want wizards and the British government to maintain a relatively peaceful balance without interfering with each other.

Think about it carefully, if the British government knew that this was done by a wizard, its attitude towards the Ministry of Magic would be completely different.

"What do you know about the Four Orders?"

"What's that?" Lestrade was confused.

"Forget it, don't let these things out later, don't let them out at all." Sherlock said, "For now, the terrorist attacks will be enough. If you hear someone talking about 'magic', remember to pretend that you know nothing."

"What would happen if someone heard it?"

“Your memory will be wiped.” Nietzsche felt unsure and added, “If you are unlucky, you may even become an idiot who can’t remember anything.”

The inspector suddenly wanted to leave. Why was he so stupid? Why did he have to come to Holmes's house today? Never mind. Thinking of the honor Sherlock left for them, he endured it.

As expected of Lestrade! There is no ordinary person who can be compared with Sherlock Holmes, so this little danger is nothing to worry about!

Following closely behind Inspector Lestrade was Mycroft, who at five o'clock in the evening slowly climbed up the stairs, carrying his cane.

He threw the documents under his arm onto the table, nodded at several people as if he was the master of the house, then looked at Mrs. Hudson and coughed hard from his dry throat.

"Do you need a glass of water?" Hudson finally recovered from the "trick" just now.

"Excuse me."

"The kettle is right in front of you, pour it yourself."

"......" Mycroft sighed.

The landlord here is as mean as Sherlock Holmes. He is busy all the time and even has to pour his own saliva.

Volume 1: Chapter 54: British Warehouse Keeper

Why does Sherlock refer to his brother as "the warehouseman"?

That's not wrong, except that this warehouse is Britain, and the houses, various organizations... everything that belongs to Britain is considered "warehouse storage", and Mycroft is responsible for taking care of these things.

By looking up a person's genealogy, if he is willing, he can trace back to the target ancestor's origins in the UK.

"That's all the information MI6 can find, and only Malfoy's information is the most complete." Mycroft smiled politely at Mary, "Your son's sense of smell is much stronger than his father's."

No one doesn't like others praising their son, especially Mary.