The Reichenbach Waterfall was located in the mountains of Meiningen, Switzerland.
On both sides of the waterfall, there were black, coal-like rocks. At the mouth of the valley, there was a huge gap where the river flowed into.
The gap below gradually narrowed, and the milky white, boiling water flowed into the bottomless ravine, splashing a torrent of water down the gap. The continuous green waves were like thunder, and the thick, swaying curtain of water made a sound for a long time.
The torrent poured into the bottomless abyss, and the water splashed high, like smoke rising from a house on fire. The turbulence and noise made people dizzy. The waves that slapped against the black rocks also let out rumbling sounds that sounded like angry roars.
Feng Bujue always felt that this was a very ominous place. In the real world, it was here that Conan Doyle had the idea of killing Holmes. And in the virtual world, a criminal tycoon and the God of Detectives had perished together.
Of course, Sherlock Holmes came back from the dead under the author's pen, but Professor Moriarty was buried here forever.
"What is this for me to see …" Feng Bujue stared at the water of the waterfall, overlooking the dark abyss, as if he was about to be sucked in.
The match burned for a much longer time than he had imagined. If the little match girl really had a box of matches like this, she probably wouldn't have frozen to death, and would have been able to hold on for the night.
"Oh, they're coming …" In Feng Bujue's sight, two figures walked up the narrow path.
One of them was the famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. He was nearly 1.9 meters tall, and his body was slightly thin. His face was blurred, and it was difficult to see his specific appearance, but Feng Bujue was still very sure that this was Holmes, because the man next to him was obviously over 50 years old. (Holmes was set to be born in 1854, and in the last case, he was around 40 years old.)
And the man in his fifties was naturally Professor Moriarty.
The two of them talked on the narrow path, and the content of the conversation was completely covered by the sound of the waterfall. Judging from the way the two of them talked, they seemed to be very polite.
Feng Bujue truly admired the magnanimity of these two men. After all, Holmes was well aware of Moriarty's intentions, and he also understood that he would soon be facing a battle of life and death. Moriarty, on the other hand, was able to maintain his composure in the face of an opponent who had destroyed everything he had. This was also admirable.
The conversation went on for a few minutes. Then, with Moriarty's consent, Holmes took out a piece of paper from his pocket and began to write on it. This was his last words to Watson. It was not long before Holmes had finished his note, and he left the letter, the case, and the cane on the narrow path.
Then, the two continued to walk forward.
When Feng Bujue was reading this when he was young, he could read between the lines that the professor was armed. (When the original article described Moriarty's attack on Holmes, it said, "He did not pull out a weapon, but he suddenly charged at me.") He definitely had a pistol in his pocket. Otherwise, Holmes would not have walked toward the waterfall.
But Mr. Conan Doyle did not write that Moriarty drew his gun. From this, it was clear that he had a good grasp of the character's personality.
If this scene was in an American detective movie in the 1980s, it would basically be a foul-mouthed villain pointing a gun at a tough-guy protagonist walking down a narrow path. The villain had already drawn his gun, but he still had to push and kick the protagonist to walk forward obediently.
But the two characters in this book would never have lost their composure like this.
As two wise and cultured gentlemen, there was no need for them to say anything, and there was no need for them to be at daggers drawn. Since I know you have a gun in your pocket, and you know you have a gun in your pocket, let's talk calmly and politely, and then let's do what needs to be done.
"So far, it's no different from what was described in the book..." Feng Bujue muttered as he watched the CG-like scene. "But according to the style of this script, there are bound to be situations that contradict the original."
His deduction was accurate...
Not long after, Holmes and Moriarty came to the end of the narrow path, and the latter suddenly launched an attack.
Moriarty's eyes were burning with hatred and anger. The criminal empire he had run for years was destroyed by Scotland Yard, and the detective in front of him was responsible for all of it.
Holmes had already expected this development, and he immediately used his skillful fighting skills to contend with his opponent.
This fight was not very interesting to watch. There were no beautiful punches and kicks like in wuxia movies, nor were there bullet times and dazzling special effects like in post-modern movies. Most of the time, these two were just wrestling with their strength.
But this kind of fight was the most realistic. This was how it was in real life. When people fought, knowing how to wrestle was more practical than anything else.
"Ugh —"
With a low roar, Professor Moriarty fell into the waterfall.
And Sherlock Holmes fell down with him …
"What the f * ck …" Feng Bujue could not help but curse.
At the same time, the flame on the match finally burned Feng Bujue's finger. The slight burning pain brought him back to reality, and the illusion in front of him disappeared.
In the dark living room, a wisp of white smoke rose, announcing that the match had lost its effect.
Feng Bujue threw the small piece of remaining match on the coffee table and got up to turn on the light.
"He's dead..." Feng Bujue sat back on the sofa and frowned. "Yes, he's dead!"
Realization dawned on Brother Jue. "When he was writing The Last Case, Conan Doyle did intend to end Sherlock Holmes' story, and the ending was a mutual destruction." The information in his mind quickly gathered like a whirlpool. "In that virtual world, before 'The Return of Sherlock' was written, Holmes was a dead man, a dead man buried in the waterfall with Moriarty..."
[Unreasonable things may not always be obvious.]
The fourth sentence flashed across his mind.
"The narration on pages 599 to 602 was written by the author a few years later to bring the detective back from the dead." Feng Bujue looked at the book again. "There was no climbing up the cliff, no attackers, no 'three people.' Not a single person." As he spoke, he tore the two pieces of paper from the book. "This is what you want to tell me, right? Moriarty. "
"No, what I want to tell you is much more than that." A deep, mysterious voice replied.
The voice was like a spell.
In the next second, the scenery in front of Feng Bujue changed abruptly. He seemed to wake up from a dream and was in another place.
"Oh... am I the first one?" Feng Bujue took a closer look and realized that he was inside a room that was white on all six sides, and the walls shone with a suitable amount of white light.
In front of him was a wooden round table about four meters in diameter. There were six chairs around it. He was sitting on one of the chairs. Moriarty was sitting on the opposite side of the table.
"You might be the last one," Moriarty replied. His appearance was similar to the one in the illusion earlier. At that moment, his face was clearly displayed before Feng Bujue's eyes.
The professor looked to be in his fifties. There were many wrinkles on his face. Between his brows, other than the aura of a scholar, there was something else. It was a cold, evil, and cruel quality.
"You mean... they will die in their own memories?" Feng Bujue asked.
"Not necessarily, I am only saying it is possible," Moriarty replied. Moriarty replied. His tone was calm and reserved. "They are all smart people, but you … stand out from the rest."
"Ha... I believe you have asked the magic mirror before who is the most handsome person in the world," Feng Bujue replied with a smile. "Sigh... I am not worthy of it."
"See, this is one of the interesting things about you." Moriarty smiled, but there was no mirth in his eyes. The pair of gray eyes was like a beast staring at its prey. They stared directly into Feng Bujue's eyes, and it felt like they could pierce through one's soul. "You are very good at using this unique sense of humor to test others. At the same time, it is also a form of protection for yourself. It can hide your true thoughts. "
"Oh? Is that your judgment? "Feng Bujue asked." Hmph... have you considered the other two hypotheses? " He raised two fingers and said, "First, I am just a talker. Second, I am a madman."
Moriarty sneered. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. He crossed his fingers and placed them before his chin. "Do you think... I am a madman?"
"You? Haha … "Feng Bujue replied with a smile. He raised both of his hands and extended one finger each." This is madness, and this is you. " As he spoke, he opened his arms and extended the distance between his two fingers. "You and madness are like two ends of a straight line, as far as you can go. From how I see it, you are so rational that it is boring. "
"Then," Moriarty continued, "how high do you think the success rate of acting crazy before me is?"
Feng Bujue shrugged. "It's not like I have to pay to try."
"Hmph …"
"Hehe …"
"Hehehe …"
"Hahahaha …"
The two looked at each other across the table and started to laugh for no reason. They laughed louder and louder like two mental patients.
It was Moriarty who stopped laughing first. "Welcome to the Detective Club, Feng Bujue."
"Can you invite your partner out now?" Feng Bujue raised his right palm and signaled at the chair next to Moriarty.
A puff of white smoke floated up. "I am here," another voice said.
A lanky man holding a pipe walked out from Feng Bujue's blind spot. He puffed out smoke rings and walked lazily out from behind Feng Bujue.
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