[Comprehensive] Mrs. Holmes Daily

Downstairs, the black girl with the aortic aneurysm was still singing, and her hoarse voice filled the floors.

It sounds like being in a remote tropical rain forest, where life is so prosperous, but it is still a deserted place.

After Ludwig finished speaking, he didn't speak for a while.

She tilted her head and listened carefully for a while, then suddenly said:

"It's "roll, jordan roll"...she's singing roll, jordan roll, do you hear that?"

Very old, very old black music.

Moses led the people to the Jordan River, humming repeatedly in the lyrics——

When I die, my soul shall go to heaven.

yes my lord.

As long as the Jordan never stops.

……

"When I saw you appear, for a moment, I expected my boyfriend to come and hug me... To be honest, I'm a little tired. I ran too fast just now, and now I don't need any strength."

Ludwig reached out and slowly wiped it across his face.

--Heaven?

No, here, there is no heaven for her and Ann.

God only cares about his own world, and they... don't.

……

"I appreciate everything you've done for me, but right now...leave me alone, I want to rest."

She still didn't go to see Sherlock.

Because I don't want to waste my energy to look up.

"I'll take care of the funeral, don't worry, go back first..."

"Vichy."

Sherlock suddenly interrupted her and made a faint sound.

But only one name was called, and there was no more.

Ludwig waited for a while, did not hear the words behind, and raised his head.

The moment she raised her head, Sherlock bent down, cupped her pale face with his slender fingers, and kissed her cold lips precisely.

Ludwig opened his eyes wide.

——Except for the time in the alley, they seldom have such intimate actions.

Firstly, Sherlock doesn't seem like someone who would like to kiss such a "meaningless act", and secondly, even though it has already happened, Ludwig still has a hard time imagining kissing with Sherlock.

Her long black eyelashes trembled, and she tilted her head subconsciously, trying to avoid his too deep demands.

But Sherlock held her face in his hands, confining her in that small space.

Slow, firm... no no no.

Her tiny resistance was out of his consideration at all, it was just the flapping of a butterfly's wings, except for a small wind, it couldn't make any ripples.

……

Ludwig remained motionless at first, then closed his eyes, and with his fingers on Sherlock's chest, slowly, he grasped the shirt in front of his chest.

The tighter and tighter the grasp, the tighter the grasp... The long nails penetrated the thin fabric of the shirt and sank deeply into the palm of my hand.

——Her little brother is gone.

——Her only relative in this world is gone.

Had he not come into this world, he would have been a very good translator, would have had a very beautiful wife, and had a small child.

He will be a good father, take the children to the place where it snows in winter, go to Tokyo, and watch the thick snow fall on the roof of the temple.

At least, he won't be lying on a cold hospital bed in a foreign country like he is now.

No more running, no moving... no more smiling.

……

After an unknown amount of time, Sherlock finally ended the long kiss.

He slightly moved away from her lips, the tip of his nose touched hers, his white and slender fingers lightly stroked the corners of her lips, and said softly:

"Did I comfort you?"

Ludwig's eyes were still closed, her eyelashes were like the tentacles of a butterfly, covering her dark pupils.

Some strong emotion was set off like a hundred-foot giant wave, about to break through her coastline, but at the moment of breaking through the boundary, she was firmly pressed down.

She closed her eyes and said in a low voice:

"Well, comfort arrived."

"You don't have to suppress yourself so much, my lady... If you want to cry, just cry."

He let go of her face with his other hand, took her hand holding his shirt, separated those fingers that were almost self-harming one by one, and held them in the palm of his hand:

"I'm going to pretend I didn't see you cry for him...but never again."

"Ah."

She reached out, hugged his slender neck, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I see."

"No, you don't know."

Sherlock put his hands on both sides of his body and raised them slightly, but only slightly.

He seems to be a little bit out of control of the current situation - this is the first time in the world that it is not within his area.

And now, it was his little girlfriend in this world who took the initiative to hug him for the first time.

"If you knew, you should be crying now instead of just shivering in my arms... What should I do now? Should I put my hands on your back?"

But his little girlfriend obviously wasn't going to give him any advice, for she just put her little head motionless on his shoulder and said:

"think it yourself."

"..."

Sherlock slowly raised his hand, placed it on her back, and patted her lightly.

He said with some uncertainty:

"Should I pat you now?"

The fine wool of the coat brushed against her chin.

It was a long time before Ludwig said:

"You've already done it."

"..."

Sherlock pursed his lips:

"Well, it's certainly obvious."

Ludwig's pointed chin rests on his shoulder...Under the cashmere and shirt, there are smooth and beautiful muscles.

She opened her eyes, stared at the empty and high sky outside the corridor window, and suddenly said:

"gentlemen."

"Ok?"

"he died."

Sherlock paused:

"Well, he's dead."

The singing from the garden is still repeated——

A man sits in an empty kingdom.

Watch the Jordan River flow, never stop.

……

As if she wanted to convince someone, she said it again in a more affirmative tone:

"he died."

"..."

Sherlock folded his arms and hugged her tighter.

After a long time, he repeated in her ear in an unquestionable tone:

"Yes, he's dead... Vichy, he's dead."

Ludwig is going through the discharge procedures of An He at the hospital counter.

——That’s right, discharged from the hospital.

For the distinction between the living and the dead, English is more equal than Chinese.

With his hands in his coat pockets, Sherlock watched her every move like a cat watching a pendulum.

"Are you sure you really don't need my help?"

"Ah."

Ludwig handed over his ID:

"unnecessary."

"comfort?"

Ludwig was filling out the form on the table, a few strands of hair hanging on the snow-white paper:

"Thank you, but you've already comforted me."

Sherlock puts his elbows on the table:

"Consolation can have more possibilities to try, angle, strength, frequency..."

Ludwig finally couldn't bear it anymore and put down his pen:

"...Can you go back first? I'm sorry, I mean, I'll take care of the rest. You go back and have a rest?"

She was trying to recall all kinds of documents and information about herself, but Mr. Holmes' usual noble and glamorous attitude was fed to the dog today.

"..."

Sherlock looked at her coldly, without any special emotion in his tone:

"This is... throw away after use?"

"That's a good summary."

Unexpectedly, Ludwig nodded:

"Since the value of life you have shown today has exceeded my expectations, don't waste your time with me now—"

She pointed to the door with the tip of her pen:

"You can go save the world."

"..."

Sherlock looked at her face:

"You look pale... are you sure you're okay?"

"It's okay, I'm sure."

Ludwig stared at the snow-white paper, and the black ink slowly swam a dot on the paper.

Their family likes to write with a pen. An He, grandpa, and her are all the same.

"What about the church?"

Did Sherlock flick the phone screen, on which he found just now, about the various steps and customs of the funeral:

"The places where the corpses are usually placed are churches. Have you contacted them? Or should we put him in the morgue first?"

Mortuary?

The tip of Ludwig's pen paused, thinking of the cold rooms in the mortuary, and the metal, gray, small mortuary cabinets in the room.

"No, he doesn't go to that kind of place."

She didn't pause for long, and continued to write:

"I plan to take him back to Baker Street, stop for one night, light candles, pray, bless, and send him tomorrow..."

She was silent for a while:

"……funeral parlor."

Sherlock frowned:

"Baker Street? Oh, Vichy, are you going to let him sit on the sofa in Baker Street and drink whiskey all night?"

"There's no whiskey in the house."

"That's not the point."

Sherlock took her pen hand:

"Do you want to put him in the living room? That's ridiculous, or do you want to put him on your bed? Oh, that's impossible, I won't allow it..."

"I'll leave my bed free for the coffin."

Ludwig withdrew his hand from him:

"Also, you need to understand that I'm not negotiating with you... I can sweep my fingers under the sofa every time I clean, I can see Mr. Fox's arm in the microwave every morning, you always put eyeballs and chocolate Together, the refrigerator was filled with duodenums and heads of all kinds... I tolerated them for a long time, but I upheld the principle of tolerance and did not sweep them out."

She said calmly:

"To sum up... I am definitely not discussing with you, because there is no room for negotiation on this matter."

"..."

Sherlock pursed his lips:

"The church is so much bigger than Baker Street, we could have found one..."

"He doesn't believe in a religion that hangs a cross on his chest, and this religion probably won't accept him either."

"I still don't understand why you brought him home..."

"You don't have to understand."

Ludwig stood up, handed the completed form to the nurse standing by, and turned to face Sherlock:

"You have only two choices - you object and I will bring him home, or you agree and I will still bring him home."

"..."

Her tone was just as she said, there was no room for negotiation.

"Ok."

After a one-minute confrontation, Sherlock reluctantly said:

"Only for one night...can't put it on your bed."

"Look, deal close."

Ludwig held out his hand, but didn't say what he wanted.

But silence is obviously not an obstacle to communication, because Sherlock has already taken out her mobile phone and placed it on the palm of her outstretched hand.

"Have you picked out the funeral home yet?"

"Ah."

Ludwig pulled out a business card she had photographed earlier from her phone.

Yes, she was looking for the girl she met when she passed the morgue last night.

According to her, she could see dead people wandering about in the corridors because they did not want to be burned.

A photo of the business card was displayed on the screen of the mobile phone. The design was very simple, except for the address and the name of the funeral home, there were only three contact numbers printed on it.

smith71092-88324

0-73244-42374

+75001-58294