The time had reached noon.
The sunshine was splendid.
Yet, Sherlock, being confined, couldn't feel a trace of sunlight; all he had for company in his field of vision was the flickering candlelight.
The place where he was, the family's ritual altar's secret chamber, measured over twenty meters in length and width and stood five meters tall, was immensely vast, so large it felt desolate and eerie.
In the middle of the secret chamber, a four-tiered altar rose, devoid of any decorations on top since no ritual was being performed. At that moment, Sherlock lay there, eyes shut, rolling back and forth incessantly, trying hard to hypnotize himself into believing he was lying on a bed.
But the hard, icy touch beneath his body made it terribly difficult for him to succeed in his self-hypnosis. After a while, unable to bear it any longer, he sat up, glaring and speaking out in discontent, although he didn't know to whom he was talking.
"Hey!" Sherlock called out.
"Hey..."
"Hey..."
