Reichenbach Falls, located in the mountains of Meiringen, Switzerland.

On either side of the falls, black coal-like rocks towered. At the mouth of the valley was a massive chasm, into which the river plunged.

The chasm below gradually narrowed, and the milky white, churning water cascaded straight into the bottomless abyss, gushing and splashing into a torrent that flowed from the opening. The continuous green waves thundered, and the dense, swaying curtain of water roared incessantly.

The torrent plunged into the abyss, and the spray splashed high, like smoke rising from a house fire. The rapids and the roar made one dizzy. The waves beating against the black rocks also made a rumbling sound like an angry roar.

Feng Bujue had always felt that this was a very ominous place. In the real world, it was here that Conan Doyle came up with the idea of killing off Sherlock Holmes. And in the virtual world, a generation of criminal giants and the god of detectives perished together in this place.

Of course, Sherlock Holmes was later resurrected by the author, while Professor Moriarty was forever buried here.

"What exactly do you want me to see..." Feng Bujue stared at the waterfall, looking down at the dark abyss, as if he was about to be sucked in.

The match burned for much longer than he had imagined. If the little match girl had a box of matches like this, she probably wouldn't have frozen to death; she could last all night.

"Oh, here it comes, here it comes..." In Feng Bujue's sight, two figures walked onto the narrow path.

One of them was the famous detective Sherlock Holmes. He was nearly six foot three, and rather thin. His face was blurred, making it difficult to see his specific features, but Feng Bujue was still certain that this was Sherlock Holmes, because the other man beside him was clearly over fifty years old (Sherlock Holmes was set to be born in 1854, and in the final case, he was around forty years old).

And the man around fifty years old was naturally Professor Moriarty.

The two of them exchanged some words on the narrow path, the content of the conversation completely drowned out by the sound of the waterfall. Looking at the gestures of the two men talking, they seemed very polite.

Feng Bujue truly admired the demeanor of these two. He knew that Sherlock Holmes was well aware of Moriarty's intentions at this moment, and he understood that he would soon face a life-or-death struggle. And Moriarty, facing an opponent who had ruined everything for him, could still maintain his composure in the final moments before revenge, which was equally admirable.

The conversation lasted for a few minutes, and then, with Moriarty's consent, Sherlock Holmes took out a piece of paper from his pocket and began to write on it, which was the farewell letter he left for Watson. Before long, Sherlock Holmes finished writing this short letter and left the letter, cigarette case, and cane on the narrow path.

Then, the two continued to walk forward.

When Feng Bujue was a child, when he read this passage, he deduced from the lines that the professor had a weapon on him (the original text described Moriarty attacking Sherlock Holmes, writing "He did not pull out a weapon, but suddenly rushed at me"). He was 100% sure that there was a pistol in his pocket, otherwise Sherlock Holmes would not have walked towards the waterfall.

But Mr. Conan Doyle never wrote about Moriarty drawing his gun. From this, it can be seen that he had a very thorough grasp of the characters' personalities.

If this plot were in an American detective film of the eighties, it would basically be... a villain with a dirty mouth pointing a gun at a perpetually straight-faced tough guy protagonist, and even though the villain had already pulled out his gun, he would still have to push and kick to get the protagonist to walk forward obediently.

But the two characters in this book would never be so失态 *shi tai* (lose composure).

As two intelligent and cultured gentlemen, there was no need to say everything, and there was no need to put on a tense posture. Since I know you have a gun in your pocket, and you know you have a gun in your pocket, let's have a calm and polite conversation, and then let's do whatever we need to do.

"So far, it's no different from what's described in the book..." Feng Bujue muttered as he watched this CG-like scene, "But according to the style of this script... some situations that contradict the original work will definitely emerge next."

His prediction was very accurate...

Before long, Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty arrived at the end of the narrow path, and the latter suddenly attacked.

In Moriarty's eyes, the flames of hatred burned. His criminal empire, which he had built up over many years, had been destroyed by Scotland Yard, and the detective in front of him was responsible for all of this.

Sherlock Holmes had also anticipated this development, and he immediately used his skilled fighting techniques to confront his opponent.

This fight was not very good-looking. There were no beautiful movements of punches and kicks like in martial arts movies, and there were no bullet-time and dazzling special effects in postmodern action movies. Most of the time, these two were just wrestling.

But this kind of fight was the most realistic. In real life, people in street fights will wrestle with both hands; it is more practical than anything else.

"Ugh—"

Accompanied by a low roar, Professor Moriarty fell into the waterfall.

And Sherlock Holmes also fell down with him...

"WTF..." Feng Bujue couldn't help but utter a classic curse.

At the same time, the flame on the match finally burned to Feng Bujue's finger. The slight burning pain brought him back to his senses, and the illusion in front of him disappeared.

In the dark living room, a wisp of white smoke slowly rose, announcing that the match had failed.

Feng Bujue threw the small stub of the burned match on the coffee table and got up to turn on the light.

"He died..." Feng Bujue sat back on the sofa, frowning and pondering, "That's right, he died!"

Brother Jue suddenly realized: "When writing *The Final Problem*, Conan Doyle really wanted to end the story of Sherlock Holmes, and the ending was death together." The information in his brain swirled rapidly like a vortex, "In that virtual world, before *The Return of Sherlock Holmes* was written, Sherlock Holmes was a dead man, a dead man who was buried in the waterfall with Moriarty..."

【Unreasonable things are not necessarily obvious.】

The fourth message flashed through his mind.

"The narrative on pages 599-602 was written years later by the author to 'resurrect' the detective." Feng Bujue looked at the book again. "There was no climbing of the cliff, no attackers, no 'three men,' no one at all." As he spoke, he tore the two pages from the book. "You want to tell me, is this the matter? Moriarty."

"No, I want to tell you far more than that," a deep, mysterious voice replied.

The voice was like a spell.

In an instant, the scenery in front of Feng Bujue's eyes changed abruptly, and he came to another place as if he had woken up from a dream.

"Oh... am I the first one?" Feng Bujue took a closer look and found himself in a room with six white walls, all emitting a suitable brightness of white light.

In front of him was a wooden round table about four meters in diameter, with six chairs around it. He was sitting in one of the chairs. And Moriarty was sitting across the table from him.

"Or maybe the last," Moriarty replied. His appearance was consistent with the illusion just now. At this time, his face was also clearly displayed in front of Feng Bujue.

The professor looked over fifty years old, and his face already had many lines. Between his brows, in addition to the temperament of a scholar, there was also something else: a cold, evil, and cruel quality.

"You mean... they will die in their own memories?" Feng Bujue said.

"Perhaps not, I'm just saying it's possible," Moriarty replied, his tone giving a sense of composure and restraint. "They are all smart people, but you... are more unique."

"Ha... I suppose Professor, you also asked the magic mirror who is the most handsome person in the world," Feng Bujue replied with a smile. "Alas... I don't deserve it."

"Look, this is one of the interesting things about you," Moriarty said with a smile, but there was no smile in his eyes. His gray eyes were like a wild beast staring at its prey, looking straight into Feng Bujue's eyes, as if he could pierce through his soul. "You are very good at using this unique sense of humor to probe others. At the same time, this is also a kind of protection for yourself, which can conceal your true inner thoughts."

"Oh? Is that your judgment?" Feng Bujue said. "Hmph... but have you considered the other two hypotheses?" He raised two fingers one after another, saying, "First, I'm just a smart aleck; second, I'm a madman."

Moriarty sneered, he leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, and placed his crossed fingers in front of his chin: "May I ask, do you think... I am a madman?"

"You? Hehe..." Feng Bujue replied with a smile, he raised his hands, each with one finger, "This is madness, this is you." As he spoke, he stretched out his arms, pulling the distance between the two fingers far away, "You and madness are like the two ends of a straight line, as far away as possible. In my opinion, you are simply so rational that it's boring."

"Then what do you think..." Moriarty said again, "What is the success rate of pretending to be crazy in front of me?"

Feng Bujue spread his hands: "It doesn't cost anything to try."

"Hmph..."

"Hehe..."

"Hehehe..."

"Hahahahaha..."

These two guys looked at each other across the table and inexplicably began to laugh, laughing louder and louder, like two lunatics.

Moriarty was the first to restrain his laughter: "Welcome to the Deduction Club, Crazy Bujue."

"Can you invite your partner out?" Feng Bujue gestured with his right palm facing up, pointing to the chair next to Moriarty.

"Pff—" A wisp of white smoke rose, "I'm already here," another voice said.

And then, a tall, thin man holding a pipe, puffing out smoke rings, and walking with a lazy pace, came out from the blind spot of Feng Bujue's sight behind him.