He had paid an exorbitant consulting fee, more than enough for Sherlock Holmes to travel around the world three times and still have plenty left over.
The detective did not care about the consulting fee. All he wanted was a mystery. The Arcanist understood him perfectly, so he had left behind enough clues to lead him here. The road toward the final mystery was littered with monsters—literal monsters. Salomon had not completely exterminated all the Vampire populations living in London's sewers; those creatures were too deeply hidden. The monsters were not indifferent to the decline of their population, so Sherlock Holmes's investigation would be as twisted and terrifying as a horror novel. And in Salomon's estimation, there would be no happy ending.
Stephen Strange and Sherlock Holmes each had their flaws. Through this case, Salomon wanted him to understand that unchecked curiosity would eventually become the source of disaster. Salomon's clues would lead them into the sewers. He only hoped the two of them had brought enough bullets.
Now, with Scotland Yard's permission, the detective was rummaging through trash cans, his wool coat reeking of garbage. John Watson lacked the fanatical mindset that could dull his sense of smell, so he could only awkwardly poke through the rubbish now and then with his old, worn-out cane. The people living here were either addicts or the poor, and their living conditions were dreadful. Combined with London's damp, frigid weather, even the constables stationed to seal off the scene did not want to linger. They had long since run off to one side in their fluorescent green jackets with reflective stripes to drink hot tea. Even the nearby residents paid little attention to it—thanks to Inspector Lestrade's efforts at keeping the matter secret, along with a little help from Mycroft Holmes, not