Autumn in London is filled with mist. The cold air and gray sky almost swallowed up the entire city, and the rush of footsteps on the streets echoed in the silence. Sherlock Holmes, the calm and witty detective written by Conan Doyle, was not sitting on the sofa at 221B Baker Street as usual today, indulging in the melody of the violin or the newspaper in his hand. Today, Holmes has an unusual case.
I, Watson, as Holmes's friend and recorder, always stand behind him and observe his every reasoning process. This time, his brows were furrowed, and his eyes were not as calm and confident as before, but filled with some complex emotions that I had never seen before.
"Watson, I'm not sure," Holmes whispered, putting down the magnifying glass in his hand. "All this seems not as simple as we thought."
A mysterious woman breaks into our lives. Her name is Erin Walters, she is about thirty years old, with a slender figure, her golden hair shines like the autumn sun, but there is an unknown secret in her eyes. Her father, a famous archaeologist, recently disappeared during an archaeological excavation. No clues yet. Erin claimed that she had an ominous premonition that her father's disappearance was related to some kind of ancient relic, a mysterious item brought back from ancient Egypt, which was said to have the power to turn back time.
"Go back in time?" I once suspected that I heard it wrong.
