Chapter 143

"Why do I feel like I'm talking about him?"

"Because he has entered the grave of marriage!"

"Oh, I thought your heart was dead." Nietzsche said bluntly, "It doesn't matter, I've always been open-minded, anyway, I do have 'two fathers'."

This invitation was Watson's invitation, but it was quickly forgotten by Nietzsche and Sherlock at the same time.

It's just a marriage, no big deal, maybe they will get divorced in the future...If Hermione is here, she will accuse them of their fantasies, but the fact is that what is possible will definitely happen.

Nietzsche told Sherlock about the Irish Purgers and wanted him to give some advice.

"Well...if you say that the origin of the Purgers is the immigrated British black wizards, that is to say, the black wizards fled to the United States with the Puritans." Sherlock said, "Then in order to survive, they started the local flesh trade?"

The flesh trade he mentioned is not the current synonym for some illegal industries.

At that time, James I put pressure on the Puritans, so more than a hundred Puritans fled from the Netherlands to the British colonies in North America and settled there. They called the locals "savages".

Ah yes, just as Nietzsche thought---Thanksgiving is for them to thank God for his blessings.

And the group of people who came to the New World suddenly forgot everything they had suffered in Britain. Coupled with objective differences such as culture, the native Americans were dubbed "servants of the devil".

Therefore, the flesh trade is the real "flesh trade".

"Yes, there was no magical government in the New World at that time, and the dark wizards participated in the "bounty competition." Nietzsche was reminded, and his thoughts immediately became much clearer, connecting many things together.

Although the International Federation of Wizards later stopped and drove away the group, they still left a considerable impact on the Muggle world.

"But why did they come here?"

If it was simply revenge on the magic world, they could have been in their native land and carried out the American Magical Congress to cause trouble.

"Give me some inspiration." Sherlock looked away from the invitation and stretched out a hand, as if asking for something.

But Nietzsche handed over the headscarf.

He twisted it with his hands first, then stood up and unfolded the headscarf, and put it on the TV screen, letting the light pass through the rough cloth. Then he found the letter 'B' in an inconspicuous corner.

"What do you mean?"

"I suddenly thought of something." But Sherlock did not answer directly, but suddenly jumped to the other side, "John is going to have a wedding, why don't we help him choose a good place?"

But this did not bother Nietzsche, his thinking was also surprisingly jumping.

In other words, 'B' refers to the place name, and the only one related to Catholicism is 'Bath', among which Bath Cathedral is famous for the 56 stories depicted on the stained glass.

And the pattern of this headscarf should come from one of them.

"I have no objection." When Nietzsche said this, he had already started dialing the phone.

When he got through to John Watson, he immediately changed his tone and became hesitant, which really piqued the other party's curiosity.

"Yes, I just received your invitation... Didn't reply? That's Sherlock's problem, he saw it first..." He saw Sherlock staring at him and pointed at the microphone, "Well... I have something to discuss with you."

"What is it?" Watson didn't know what the two people on the other end of the phone were plotting.

Sherlock pointed at himself and waved his hands repeatedly, meaning that he asked Nietzsche not to give him up.

"It's... wedding... What are your plans for the wedding?" Nietzsche stuttered.

"Not yet, Mary and I are planning a honeymoon trip... Oh, it doesn't include you, tell Sherlock by the way." Watson lowered his voice and growled into the microphone, "It doesn't include him either!"

"I'll take good care of him, Dad... Just plan the trip well, and I'll help you plan the rest."

Is Nietzsche so kind?

No matter what others think, John Watson is skeptical.

"Really?"

"Of course, just take it as my blessing to you and Mary." Nietzsche said with a beaming face, "So you come over in a few days, and we go to choose a site together? By the way, Sherlock is dying here."

"Humph! It's good that he died, at least I don't have to worry about him scaring away Mary's relatives."

Sherlock turned his head and looked at the microphone. His resentful eyes seemed to see the person on the other side through the microphone and the wire.

"Not dead yet, but..." Nietzsche glanced at the bottle of wine on the table and continued, "It's just a matter of time. Besides, I heard that there is a bachelor party before getting married now, so you can take him out for a walk."

The voice on the other end of the phone suddenly disappeared, with only some mumbling, as if Watson and Mary were talking.

After five or six minutes, he heard Watson say again: "Then he has to invite my friends, they are all retired now."

The voice revealed excitement, and the fish had been hooked.

"Yeah... OK... No problem..." Nietzsche replied perfunctorily, "That's it, see you tomorrow."

As soon as he hung up the phone, he and Sherlock had already thought of excuses, such as they were busy and it was too far away. Anyway, he had never considered inviting friends for Watson, so they could just make do with the bathhouse and memorial hall over there.

Anyway... they didn't go to Bath just for fun.

Chapter 209 Watson: I have two lifelong enemies

The next day, Watson drove the two people from Baker Street to southwest England in excitement.

Those buildings left over from the ancient Roman period looked so elegant. The entire street and the Royal Crescent were arranged in an arc. He never thought that his bachelor party would be held in the Roman Baths.

They stood at the door of the Royal Crescent Restaurant, but they were looking at each other:

Watson's attention was focused on the busy restaurant; Sherlock was observing every passerby; Nietzsche was looking at the Bath Church, which is also in the old town of Bath, just one street away.

"I want to have a good time and I won't come home until I'm drunk!" Watson stretched after stepping in the door.

In the middle of the restaurant is a stage, with two young and beautiful women hanging on a swing swinging back and forth. Their slender and flexible figures made the British gentlemen on the first and second floors whistle and wave the bills in their hands.

And every few tables, you can see a group of people playing cards together.

In this Royal Crescent Restaurant built in ancient Rome, people are far away from intrigues and wars, leaving only indulged desires.

Sherlock sat at a round table near the window and said to the attendant, "Let's start with champagne. This gentleman who is about to step into the grave needs alcohol to control himself."

"Add a few more chairs by the way." Watson did not refuse.

But Sherlock snapped his fingers, stopped and went to prepare the attendants.

"Bring me another good cigar, and I don't need the chair."

"Wait a minute...you said you would invite my friends."

"They can't come."

While the two of them were bickering, Nietzsche took the bottle and secretly poured some into a glass filled with ice-cold soda.

Things still happened... What should I say to you? At least within Watson's expectation, he knew that the Holmes family's senior and junior children would not be so kind. Even though he was prepared, he still couldn't help but feel speechless.

"Everyone? Where are my friends from medical school?" Watson asked deliberately with a smile in his eyes.

"I called, but they didn't come." Sherlock held up the cup as if he was toasting, but his head was turning around, like a clever owl observing the environment.

"So no one I know is here?"

"Why are you so excited? You know me and Nietzsche. Don't be such a sissy, Watson." Sherlock became a little impatient after being questioned, so he clinked a drink with him and pretended not to know anything.

Watson leaned back in frustration. At this point, he could only accept the fact: he had been fooled.

There is no such thing as a bachelor party! !

"Why are we here?" He was disappointed, but also a little bit curious like a cat.

Nietzsche was sipping the combination of fine champagne and sparkling water. Suddenly, he noticed Sherlock kicking himself under the table. This action was a bit familiar and always gave him a sense of déjà vu as if he was still in school.

So, when did Hermione learn from Sherlock?

"I wish you a happy wedding!" Nietzsche raised his cup and pretended to comfort him with pity, "It's a pity that none of your friends are free..."

Perhaps it was too naughty, Sherlock couldn't help but snicker, but when he smiled, Watson also laughed...but he laughed angrily.

The three of them sat together, and the atmosphere gradually turned funny.

Halfway through the ridiculousness, Watson stopped suddenly, his face fell almost in the next second. He stood up and glared at the two of them coldly: "I'm going to have some fun. I can't accept my party." It was ruined by you."

He first snatched back the money stored in Shylock's pocket, then grabbed Nietzsche's sparkling wine, smelled it, and took the cup to the table used for playing cards.

Nietzsche sighed sadly, that was the sparkling wine he prepared using magic potion technology.

"Put the ring here first." Sherlock's hands were not idle either. The two of them just rubbed their shoulders and bumped lightly before getting what they wanted. "Lest you lose the ring later."

Fortunately, the two of them were at least detectives and not professional thieves.

Watson adapted to the new environment very quickly. He stood next to the card table, laughed and cursed in a London accent, then pushed away one of the losers and blended into the group of gamblers.

I really won't be idle...

He gently opened the curtains with his hands, and when night fell, he saw someone from Bath Abbey across the street coming out and lighting the long lamp at the door.

Bath is a remote small city, so the streets are very empty at night. Occasionally, you can see a few Catholic monks wrapped in black robes walking in and out, bathed in the light that shines through the glazed drawings.

But when Nietzsche and Shylock walked over, they were stopped.

But does it work?

For the Holmes family, there is only a way to open the door, not whether it can be entered.

"I want... to make this child repent." Sherlock pushed his adopted son out without blinking, "He committed a lot of stupid things in school, so I hope he can be taught a lesson. "

Nietzsche clenched his fists and fiercely shook off his arm on his shoulders.

Retribution comes too soon.

But in the eyes of others, he looked more like a child who had fallen into adolescence and was fighting with his parents. Then he crossed his arms and turned his head expressionlessly, not even looking at the nun who opened the door.

"What did he do? Sorry, please forgive my curiosity... After all, few parents in this era will let their children come here to confess."

"Nothing, just beat a classmate into the hospital at the beginning of the school year, and almost sent someone's parents to jail..." Sherlock counted on his fingers.

"That's what he deserves!" Nietzsche growled.

As it turned out, they succeeded, because the nun opened the door again immediately after hearing half of it, and dragged Nietzsche to the confessional in the church, and made the sign of the cross every time she heard the word "crime".

She only said a few words to an old man, who looked over here and walked into the small dark room.

"You know the shit about Catholicism, right?" Nietzsche said suddenly.

"Don't worry, I'll be standing outside." Sherlock pushed him in without saying anything and closed the door of the confessional.

In this small wooden house for confession, there was only a fragrant oil lamp and a chair. The two rooms were covered by a thick curtain, and there was a small iron box in the middle for throwing money.

Nietzsche sat there, not knowing how to start for a long time.

"If you are ready, just shout..." the old man said in a low voice behind the curtain.

"Does this 'preparation' require me to buy a ticket?" Nietzsche knocked on the small iron box.

The other side was silent for a while, as if considering whether to lift the curtain and hit him with a stick.

Then, the old priest said: "I mean you can recite your sins in your heart. It doesn't matter. I have seen many children like you. It doesn't matter if you do something wrong. The important thing is to turn back."

"I am already reciting it silently." Nietzsche stuffed the headscarf with folded banknotes into the box, and changed the subject, "But to be honest, I actually want to talk about... the sins of the Puritans."

Chapter 210 All the money won is gone

Nietzsche spent money to buy indulgences for the priest.

He swore that this was the thing he should be most proud of.

After the headscarf with the change was thrown in, there was a sparse sound from the other end of the room, and the small iron box fixed on the table was opened. After a long time, Nietzsche heard a slight sigh.

"You self-righteous fool..." said the priest who performed the sacrament of confession.

"Got it!" Nietzsche thought of a reason for him, "Someone went astray and got deeply involved in something he didn't understand. Let me think... A young ascetic who is experiencing hardships?"

"No one has gone astray here. Asceticism is to temper his will."

Nietzsche lowered his head and saw the slightly trembling and wrinkled hands through the gap between the curtain and the table.

The situation changed a little bit. Nietzsche, who was supposed to confess, became a "priest". He pulled down the curtain and looked at the old priest in front of him.

"Tell me about this Irish ascetic." Nietzsche raised his left hand, felt the change of magic by intuition, and squeezed it hard.

The other party seemed to be trapped in a sticky swamp and could not move.

"Devil..." The priest's eyes showed a look of fear, holding the cross on his chest and silently reciting the Bible.

Ironically, the picture shown by the headscarf that fell on the table was very similar to the current one. The old priest held the cross in both hands, lowered his head and trembled, and his posture was exactly the same as the sinner in the picture.

Nietzsche asked: "What is your relationship with him?"