Reverend Thompson looked at the address on the contract with confusion. He seed to not understand the aning behind the words.
Whether it was the tone of the person speaking or the aning of the statent, he couldn't grasp it.
What is this...
A complete novice who doesn't even know the basic classification of Contractors, yet still puts on such an attitude... It's as if he has the qualifications to beco a partner of the White Briar Thorn Security Company.
Well, it's not surprising. All those offspring from powerful families, sheltered under the influence of the Holy See, behave in the sa manner. They believe that having a Pope in their family lineage or a few clergy mbers ans they are blessed by the Holy Light.
Ignorant, arrogant, blind, and laughable, but there's nothing he can do about it.
Truly, there's nothing he can do. Reverend Thompson is just a priest. He isn't responsible for educating fools, and he certainly can't go against a recomndation letter personally written by a High Priest.
He could only silently fold up the contract and casually put it into a drawer.
"Well..." Mrs. Murray, who was at the entrance, naturally heard the conversation and asked tentatively, "Shall we go with his plan?"
"Do as he wishes," Reverend Thompson said. "Go through the process."
"Understood," Mrs. Murray imdiately replied.
She was quite satisfied with this outco.
Because she had read Sherlock's recomndation letter... It stated that his contracted demon was rely a worm.
Although she wasn't a Contractor, as a receptionist, she had so knowledge of demon types. Worms, being low-level demons, were practically useless. If he were to carry out tasks, she would probably have to divert her attention to protect him. In case he stumbled or got his head bitten off by a demon accidentally, she would be held responsible.
So, regardless of whether this so-called detective just wanted to embellish his resu or if he actually had so skills, nobody expected him to go on missions. Even if he wanted to, no one would approve it.
So, if he was unwilling to comply with assignnts, relatively speaking, it was a good thing.
"Mr. Hols, please follow ," Mrs. Murray gestured, motioning him to co along. At this mont, she found Sherlock quite endearinga trouble-free idiot was much cuter than a troubleso one.
...
The subsequent process was straightforward. They familiarized Sherlock with the company's environnt, explained the workflow, went over salary and bonus distributions, and introduced him to his new colleagues.
Most companies followed this routine.
However, since Sherlock didn't want to stay in the company, Mrs. Murray didn't put much effort into the introduction.
"I am the company's accountant and receptionist. I also handle official business inquiries. I'm usually busy and am supposed to have two days off per week, but there's too much work, and sotis I can't even get a single day off." Her tone was filled with complaints.
"Roder is responsible for registering abnormal events and demon invasions. Whenever soone encounters trouble, they usually go to him.
As for Deacon Thompson, Mark, Altolie, and Lampard, they are field agents. They attend missions when there are assignnts, and all four of them are first-stage Contractors.
But today, apart from Deacon Thompson, the other three are out on patrol. There has been an 'Eye Gouger Demon' causing trouble in the London area recently, and it's quite tricky. They haven't returned to the office for nearly a week."
"Eye Gouger Demon?" Sherlock asked in confusion.
"Yes, it appeared about half a month ago. Anyone unfortunate enough to encounter it has their eyes gouged out, and their deaths are grueso. It's unclear why this creature has such a bizarre mindset and only eats eyes."
Sherlock nodded thoughtfully but didn't inquire further. The woman in front of him was just a staff mber, and all her information was hearsay. If he was truly interested in knowing, he would have to ask the field agents.
Before long, Mrs. Murray led Sherlock to the door of the first-floor "dical Office."
"This is our doctor. He usually handles psychological counseling, injury assessnt, and treatnt. Sotis, if there are difficult tasks, he will join the team. Although he is not a Contractor, there's no better solution. After all, so injuries can't be delayed.
Oh, his na is Dr. John Watson. He used to be a military doctor in the St. Verdes Strait."
As she spoke, Mrs. Murray lowered her voice, as if she was about to gossip:
"But I've always felt that he doesn't seem like soone with a military background. There's just... not a trace of military toughness about him."
While saying this, Mrs. Murray adjusted her collar, tidied her hairline, and straightened her posture, making her chest more prominent. "Ahem."
She lightly coughed twice, then knocked on the door. "Dr. Watson, are you there? We need your help with sothing."
For so reason, her voice beca softer.
Soon, a creaking sound could be heard as the door to the dical office opened.
Then, an exquisitely handso face appeared behind the door.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and finally understood why Mrs. Murray had said earlier that there wasn't a trace of military aura about the doctor.
It was because he was... too beautiful. Although his facial features were sharp, they emitted a unique "charming" charm. With his half-closed eyes, it felt as though he was sending flirtatious glances in every mont of eye contact.
Not only that, but his attire was also ticulously put togethera white shirt, a striped jacket, and a tie that perfectly matched the ensemble. The slight cinching at the waist made his figure sharp, and his slightly curled hair hung in front of his forehead, exuding a certain refined aristocratic air.
It was as if Mrs. Murray's presence influenced him, and Dr. John Watson also beca quite polite. He smiled slightly and glanced at the man in front of him. "Ensuring the health of every colleague is my responsibility. Please co in."
He courteously made way, indicating for Sherlock to enter.
Mrs. Murray faced Sherlock. "Once the evaluation is done, you can leave. If there's any 'consultation' you ntioned that we need, we'll contact you... well, that's all."
After she finished speaking, she cast a final glance at Dr. John Watson's face.
She probably didn't understand why the Holy Light would grant such looks to a man. At the sa ti, she thought about her own taste in clothing and her sallow skin, revealing a tinge of regret and decline in her expression. However, she quickly concealed it. "Thank you for your help, Dr. Watson. I have to go back to work, so... goodbye."
"Goodbye," Watson politely bid farewell, his voice like a gentle breeze. Then he closed the door.
At this mont, Sherlock had already taken a seat in the chair opposite the desk. In the short amount of ti he had, he glanced around and already understood Dr. John Watson's usual work deanor.
ticulous, focused, and precise. All the docunts were neatly organized in the filing cabinet, and the desk was spot
less. On the side wall, there hung a portrait of Florence Nightingale, frad with a thin layer of glass, obviously to prevent it from gathering dust.
Everything seed unremarkable...
The only thing worth noting was... in the corner of the desk in front of him, there was a thumbtack.
It was inconspicuous.
However, the tip of the thumbtack had slightly darkened in color.
That was a trace of oxidation caused by long-term contact with blood, sothing that would occur to tal.
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