Operation Red Book

Ivy stood at the window of the second-floor living room with her hands behind her back, watching the people coming and going on Baker Street.

The street lights lit up, emitting a warm yellow light. If you look closely, you can see small flying insects dancing outside the glass.

A few single men, tired from walking, leaned against lamp posts and smoked, then greeted their relatives and friends across the street in the smoke.

Such scenes are no stranger to Ivy, but the most common warm yellow street lights seem extremely precious at this moment.

This was her third month in the 19th century, during which she had experienced a lot and had almost fallen into death traps several times.

Turn misfortune into good fortune, this is how Ivy comforts herself, but it is just comfort.

Death has already issued an ultimatum, the matter is a foregone conclusion, and there is no point in comforting yourself.

"Can misfortune... turn into good fortune?" Thinking of this, Ivy's heart tightened and tears filled her eyes, but in the end, not a single tear fell.

"Where do you want to start?"

There was a calm voice behind her, and Ivy knew the deep and rough voice very well. It was Sherlock Holmes.

Ivy climbed up the window frame with both hands and grasped the faint light on the street in her palms. She opened her mouth and spoke in a hoarse voice:

"The parent phone numbers of Mr. Robert are actually both mine..."

"Who asked you that? I was asking you about demons."

Holmes interrupted her impatiently, the smell of cigarette smoke wafting behind her, and Ivy didn't bother to refute.

She tilted her head slightly, and the tears in her eyes slid out of her eye sockets due to this small movement and evaporated on her cheeks.

"Why don't you ask me about the God of Death?" Ivy said with a hint of accusation and grievance, "I'm going to die tomorrow."

Her eyes finally reached their limit and tears rushed out. Ivy couldn't help but lower her head to prevent her tears from wetting her collar.

"Didn't you say that the purple-haired Grim Reaper had a mental problem? Maybe he just said that to scare you."

Holmes took a puff of his cigarette and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, which in Ivy's eyes showed that he was very nonchalant.

"It doesn't matter. It seems that I won't find anyone who understands me until I die."

Ivy looked up at the hairy moon in the sky, tears still streaming down her face.

"Student Ivy, did the Grim Reaper tell you the exact time and place?"

A cautious voice came from behind. To be honest, if Joshua hadn't spoken, Ivy would not have noticed his presence in the room.

"No, he only mentioned it a week later. He also mentioned the god of death who would take my soul. I am sure he was talking about Grace Coleman."

"Could it be that he made a mistake? Maybe the names are similar, maybe it was another Ivy who died, or the Grim Reaper was another Grace."

Joshua ventured some guesses about what else might have happened.

This sentence made Ivy temporarily forget her sadness and started thinking, but soon Ivy hung her head again.

"How could it be such a coincidence? And why did Raphael suddenly come to visit me and tell me this? It must be because I am going to die, and he told me the time of my death because of the fate between him and me."

"No, I'm asking about the devil!" Holmes interrupted.

"Can we summon it out again and ask it?" Joshua ignored Holmes's question.

"I tried many times and replayed the scene many times, but he just wouldn't come out."

Ivy also ignored Holmes and turned to face Joshua.

"Devil's contract! Soul trading!"

"But Ms. Grace is very kind and gentle. I don't really believe that she is the god of death, and I certainly don't believe that classmate Ivy will die!"

"I have accepted the reality. I am going to make a will. You will inherit my belongings and Mrs. Hudson will inherit my estate... I have never been in love and I have never been to Paris!"

"Student Ivy, don't give up, I will fulfill your last wish!"

"In that case, let's go to the welfare home and ask Grace!"

Holmes crushed his cigarette butt irritably and crossed his legs on the sofa.

"I remember Joshua told me a long time ago that you guys care about that welfare home and suspect that the director embezzled the donations. Is that right?"

Holmes lit another cigarette, and the spark of the cigarette flickered in the silence.