BANG!!!

In the midst of a blur of consciousness, Sherlock Holmes heard a loud noise followed by screams. Griswald didn't kick him anymore. Something happened. He listened to the sound of several shots being fired. Then, there was a sound of something broke intermingling with the terrifying 'crushed' sound.

When forced to regain consciousness, The sight was a silver-haired man with a different look in his eyes.

"...Watson"

The whisper disappeared into his mouth, filled with the taste of blood. The call of the name did not reach the owner of the name.

Watson, who was wounded all over his body, was squeezing with one hand on the head of the golden-haired man; Holmes remembered throwing darts at him. The force was so strong that Holmes heard the sound of bone breaking.

"Watson…"

Scrunch!!!

Sherlock Holmes widened eyes as Watson left the golden-haired man whose head was crumbly like minced meat. Suddenly, a gunshot scrape Watson's head. A drizzle of blood dyed one side of Watson's face crimson, same as the blood in his hands and clothes, blood from many people.

“Enough Watson!!!”

Holmes shouted at the top of his voice, but Watson walked past him, grabbed Griswald, and slammed him into the ground.

Griswal looked at the silver-haired man straddling him and trembled in fear.

"Ah, please, please… spare my life…"

Holmes gritted his teeth and stood up but stumbled at the exact moment Watson held his fist.

Thrust!!!

Watson's fist pierced through Griswald's left chest. The Armstrong heir's heart was shattered in his grip. Still, Watson raised his fist again and repeatedly punched Griswald's face. The back of his hand was torn, but a few seconds later, the regenerating fiber was woven to restore it to its original state. And every time the fist hit Griswald's body until Watson's fragments were damaged. After that, his body would always restore everything to its original perfect condition. Now Watson has become a humanoid weapon that is even more terrifying than the devil.

The moment of bloodshed had calmed down...

Watson's figure was stunned in a kneeling position on the ground. He had no signs of exhaustion from the past occurrence. But it's like processing something to restore consciousness.

Sherlock Holmes got up and walked over to the blood-soaked back. He forced his trembling arm to reach out to touch Watson's back. Then, Holmes kneeling beside Watson with his hands still resting on his partner's shoulder.

"John H. Watson, do you still remember this name?"

Holmes whispered in a voice that seemed to be pleading. He put his other hand on the back of Watson's blood-soaked hand. Take that hand and slowly pull it back. Watson's bloody face finally turned to look at Holmes.

"The name you gave me, Holmes."

Watson's lips uttered the same emotionless voice as always. Green eyes as cold as a killing machine stared at Holmes' warm, black eyes.

"If I call, will you answer and turn to me?"

Watson didn't answer, he heard Holmes call him three times, but he didn't care. From the moment Holmes' painful cry was heard. At that moment, it was as if his consciousness or restraint had been torn apart. A powerful force exploded. He broke through the iron wall, slashing out, killing everyone in his path. His head was filled with thoughts of killing every human that hurt Holmes. He didn't just want to kill, but he wants these humans to feel ten times of Holmes's pain.

"What's up?"

Sherlock Holmes asked again. He turned to look at the surrounding of the room that could be called terrifying. Originally in this room have Griswald and five other men. There were several guards outside the room. In a matter of minutes, everyone had died in an almost unrecognizable state.

"I will always answer and turn to you."

Watson finally spoke. He wanted to satisfy all of Sherlock Holmes' needs.

"Mm, thanks, Watson."

Holmes buried his face in his hand resting on Watson's shoulder to hide the pain in his chest. That feeling was even more painful than when Griswald kicked him. Watson killed every human here to save Sherlock Holmes. The blood on Watson's hands was the blood on his hands, the intention that Holmes would carry for the rest of his life.

"It's all… over now," Holmes whispered in a low voice, his body suddenly feeling so exhausted that he couldn't open his eyes.

"Holmes, where are you hurt?" Watson asked.

"Heh heh, lately, I… get hurt often hmm." Holmes lifted his head a little. Touching his cheek, the young man's bow knit in pain. In addition to cracked lips, cheeks are bruised. When he raised his hand, his arm hurt. When he tried to move, it hurt all over. And then there was another wound that was stabbed by a dart.

"When go back, I have to go to the hospital to check like you said. Well then..."

In the blink of an eye, Holmes saw Watson's expression change. He moved protectively in front of Holmes, hide him behind himself. Until Holmes heard footsteps. Then appearing, a figure of a person walked in.

"You've always made my job a lot easier. Mister great detective."