"Jonathan Klein?"

"Yes, the things that are in the toy rabbit should be the hallucinogen he uses." Bruce was very obediently holding the butler's milk cup, not daring to say a word.

After all, the elder in front of me belongs to x3.

"I found a clue not long ago." The detective touched the pipe in his pocket. "Falcone seemed to have purchased a batch of supplies. He divided the things into two batches at the port and sent a batch of Arkham to Naihe Island. I think it was the dolls you mentioned."

"Yes, Mr. Paltrow, the batch he took was poisonous and hidden in the bear doll."

"You checked it very clearly." The detective looked at Bruce with admiration. "I went to Naihe Island last night just because I noticed something was wrong with Klein, and I haven't figured out what he was doing yet."

Bruce coughed twice, embarrassed to tell what method he used to know.

——Batman hung Falcone's men in the air for a night.

Of course, I even beat it a few times.

Gently.

Bruce used force to get the truth, of course it was a little faster than reconnaissance and reasoning.

"So the next question is, we need to figure out what the batch of hallucinogens purchased by Arkham is useful, they are far beyond the amount of patients can use." The detective has begun to be interested. "There must be a bizarre, huge conspiracy here."

"I have to check it out." Shi Lu stood up suddenly. He really didn't know what Klein was preparing for. If he wanted to know, he still needed to investigate.

As the housekeeper, Alfred naturally stood up, "I'll go and send Mr. Paltrow, Master Bruce, you can stay and have breakfast first."

"OK."

Bruce, who had already stood up, had to sit down again. He could sense that Alfred seemed to have something to say to the detective alone.

Wayne Manor is built on the high ground, and is separated by a long marble stairs from the main entrance, with trees, green spaces and fountains on both sides.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

The detective's heart was obviously already on the case he had just obtained. He didn't care at all about the scenery of Wayne Manor, and he didn't even notice Alfred who came to send him, but just walked down the steps.

"Well, where the port...oh, what did you say?"

"Can you notify me after you find the clue?"

"Of course." The detective stopped in a hurry. "After joining the police station, I can realize Gotham's problem more deeply. Bruce's choice may not be the most appropriate, but I think this is the most effective one."

"I'm just as proud of him."

Alfred smiled very happy, "I think Master Bruce will be very happy when he knows your evaluation."

"It is great to fight crime," the detective said. "If I get any information or reasoning, I will definitely contact you as soon as possible."

After saying this, the detective didn't even say goodbye to the butler, and the detective opened the gate of the manor and went out in a hurry.

Alfred also turned around and walked back.

Although Mr. Sherlock Holmes did not give any guarantees about Bruce in the conversation just now, Alfred knew very well that his young master had another asylum in the city.

A keen detective with extraordinary wisdom and perseverance and will never give up until he achieves his goal.

The butler can let go of his heart that has been raised.

————————————

"Doctor Hardwick, what are you looking at?" Anthony glanced out of the window and stopped the pen that was used to keep writing medical records.

Under the outpatient department of Gotham City Hospital, in the open space to the right, a man in a black coat stood.

"Oh...is it your friend?"

As an authentic London gentleman, Watson was fully close to all doctors and nurses with his elegant conversation and excessive courtesy that remained on the nineteenth century level.

Perhaps constantly comforting his partner's guests also allowed him to develop this basic skill.

"He seems to come to pick you up often," Anthony said with a smile. "At least three days in five days."

"I think that's because of this city," Watson said. "You know that he and I just came to Gotham for a while, and we haven't learned to get used to it well."

Anthony nodded, and he really couldn't figure out how anyone would be willing to run to Gotham, but this was someone else's choice, "Doctor Hardwick, your work today is done and you can go home."

"But there is no time yet."

"Anyway, there is no job anymore, you can leave earlier, no one cares about this."

"Okay, thank you." Watson put the surgeon book in his hand into his bag, sued Anthony and carried it downstairs.

"Sherlock?"

"Warson." The detective retracted his eyes staring at a passerby, "You got off work very early today."

"That's because Anthony saw you."

"Then I should consider this. Do you hope to stay longer? Maybe I should wait for you in a place he can't see."

"No, I mean you don't have to wait for me anymore," Watson said. "Aren't you very busy at the police station? I don't seem to see any gangsters trading today."

"What are you talking about, Watson, ensuring your safety is of course more important." The detective looked at Watson with the look he caught a seal in the river. "Of course, their trading location will change temporarily. What if you happen to hit it?"

The detective walked forward by himself as he spoke. Sometimes he would ignore the doctor's opinions and speak on his own, and no one would pay attention to it.

A pair of bloody hands suddenly grabbed Watson's white coat.

Watson was shocked and touched the gun in his arms like a conditioned reflex - thanks to Gotham, Watson is already very familiar with this emergency response process.

"Don't take a gun, help me, please." The blood-stained man said in horror, "I have no malice, save me, doctor."

When Watson heard the name of doctor, he calmed down suddenly. He had never lacked the belief in helping others.

"What's wrong with you? Are you shot or injured?"

"I was stabbed in the stomach."

The man with his belly curled up and struggled to raise his head after confirming that the doctor would save him.

His face was covered with bruises and blood, and he seemed to have been beaten hard, but his facial features could still be seen clearly - he had a slightly pointed nose, his hair was pressed against his forehead like a bird's feather, his eyebrows were thick, his mouth was tightly pursed, and he seemed to be enduring pain.

The man who asked Watson for help was wearing a black suit, his abdomen was stained with blood and darker black. What was strange was that his feet stood like a penguin, separated from both sides, perhaps because of some flaws.

"Save me, don't go to the operating room, you are the only one, save me! Otherwise they will find me!"

A traitor to the gang?

Watson holds Oswald Coppert, "Sherlock!"

The detective who had been staring at the man finally reacted. With outsiders there, he changed his name, "John, let's take him to deal with it. I remember there was an operating room that was vacant at this time."

"But that device has not been installed yet."

"He's just taking a bullet, John, we don't need such a strict environment."

Of course, the detective had already inspected Dr. Watson's work location, and he was familiar with it and took the two people to the room, and then hung the signs in use outside.

"Do you want anesthesia?"

"No, thank you, that's it, I don't need it."

"Are you sure? That will hurt a lot."

"I'm sure."

Watson then started wearing gloves, then took the scissors and cut open Oswald Coppert's suit. The part of the clothes had been stuck in blood and firmly stuck to the skin.

The detective looked around and picked a bed and sat on it.

Seaweed is stained with trousers.

The hair is wet.

The bruises on the face were made of stick-like objects, and should be crowbars commonly used by gangsters.

The blood was drying to this extent...

"Sherlock, help me get some tweezers." Watson began to instruct the detective, and he was much more professional in this regard.

The detective had to jump out of the bed and search for something in the box.

Of course, even if the detective was being ordered, his mouth refused to stop and his head was thinking.

"You came to John on purpose."

Oswald Coppert's expression of patience and pain stiffened for a moment.

"You have been shot and injured for a long time. There are many dark clinics from where you are injured. "The detective pointed out the problem calmly. You don't have thick calluses on your fingers, and you haven't been using a gun for a while. You are not strong. In the gang, you are the kind of person who lives on your brain."

"Tweezers, Sherlock."

Watson automatically blocked his partner's reasoning.

"...", the detective obediently handed the tweezers in his hand to the doctor, and then pretended that nothing had happened and continued to reason, "If a person like you is taught a lesson by the gang boss, it must be because of planned betrayal."

"You've been guarding John's off-duty time all the way."

The detective's dark gray eyes seemed to see through people's hearts, "I don't think there is anything John can do to you, risk being infected and being discovered, and also come here?"

Pick.

A blood-stained bullet was taken out by Watson.
To be continued...