What do Sherlock's eyes look like in the dark?

Like algae blooming from the rocks of the deep sea, in the deep and shallow diffuse light.

Ludwig looked into his eyes... the previous turbulent signs had disappeared, and in his deep eyes, only reason and calm remained.

The moon sinks below the sea level and the tides recede with it.

They disappeared so quickly that one could think that the wavering of his reason at that moment was just her illusion.

……

The two maintained that posture and did not speak for a while.

Then, she spoke, breaking the silence, her tone was as indifferent as his:

"So, now, are you planning to stop..."

She lay on the sofa, looked at him quietly, and slowly opened her arms:

"...Or, continue?"

Sherlock looked calm, just stared at her, and said:

"If I say, go ahead... what are you going to do?"

"Are you asking for my opinion?"

Ludwig smiled, as if hearing something extremely funny:

"Isn't this what you decide? You are proficient in boxing and swordsmanship. I can't resist you. Your logic is strict and there are no loopholes...Compared to you, I am vulnerable."

She slowly raised the corners of her mouth:

"Holmes decides everything... why should you ask my opinion?"

Her long black hair was messily scattered on the sofa, beside a large dark flower... scattered around his fingers.

She was so pale that she looked as if she hadn't slept for two days and two nights.

No, it doesn't look like... She didn't sleep for two days and two nights, and she didn't eat well.

……

Sherlock's eyes locked firmly on her face.

Then, slowly, he let her go.

He helped her up and leaned on the sofa, the strength of his hands was no longer too strong to resist, but just wrapped around her waist just right.

He pursed his lips:

"Do you want to drink..."

Would you like some coffee?

He might try pouring her another cup of coffee... except for her first day in Baker Street, he hadn't poured her a cup of coffee since.

But at this moment, a soft noise suddenly came from Ludwig's room... so soft it was almost inaudible.

But she heard it.

Ludwig suddenly pushed Sherlock away forcefully.

She didn't even have time to put on her shoes, so she jumped off the sofa with her bare feet. Sherlock had just treated the wound not long ago. Because of her sudden force, it opened again, and the small scratches on the soles of the feet touched the rough carpet, like needle pricks.

She hurt and almost fell to the ground.

Sherlock's arm lifted, as if for a moment to grab her.

But when he saw the sudden joy on her face, he slowly withdrew his hand.

He watched her staggering movements indifferently - in just a few steps, she almost ran over in a panic.

But at the door of the room, it stopped.

Nothing happened... nothing happened.

Nothing...it was just a candle wick popping a flower.

……

Ludwig stood at the door of the room, stretched out his hand, and slowly covered his face.

...the dawn is coming.

However, still nothing happened.

……

"Look at what you look like now, Vichy... stumbling around, covered in dust, in a mess."

Behind him, Sherlock sat on the sofa, clasped his hands.

The shirt was neatly put on him, so delicate that he could go straight to the wedding.

"Let me speculate on what you want to do now... I wanted to remind you five hours ago, but out of respect for you, I have kept it until now."

Ludwig stood at the door of the room without looking back or moving.

Sherlock's indifferent tone was exactly the same as every time he reasoned about the case:

"You refused to take him to the morgue, you refused to close the coffin lid, and you insisted on opening a gap even during transport, as if you were afraid he would suffocate... His death time was seven fifteen in the morning, and you died at nine o'clock From the beginning, I have been staring at the coffin without moving my eyes..."

He looked at her back:

"Two hours after death is the time when the plaques start to spread, and two to four hours is the first period. What I said before I contacted you, and told me before I contacted you, when you 'resurrected from the dead', from the mirror I saw the corpse spots on my body..."

Ludwig raised his face and looked at the retro and exquisite ceiling on the ceiling:

"What do you want to say?"

"I want to say that your waiting at this moment has nothing to do with the burial customs of any country. You are doing something terrible and ridiculous...Vichy, you are actually waiting for a dead person to come back to life."

He watched her long black hair fall on the white flowers around her waist as she moved.

"You repeatedly emphasized 'he is dead' in the hospital before, not to convince yourself to accept the fact that he died, but to confirm with yourself whether there is a possibility of his resurrection."

—she was waiting for the café owner to rise from his coffin.

If you don't wake up today, then wait for tomorrow. If you don't wake up tomorrow, maybe she will wait forever.

Because when she asked him to have the "Last Supper" before, the original words she said were——

"Wait tomorrow... or the day after tomorrow, Erich's affairs will be finished."

……

"Why ridiculous? Why impossible."

Ludwig turned his head slightly, and the voice sounded in the silent night:

"That's how I came back to life. I was covered in corpse spots, my whole body was cold, and I couldn't breathe well, because the blood had stopped flowing at that time... What? Do you feel terrible now?"

Her long black hair curled around her shoulders, and the flickering candlelight fell into her eyes.

She even smiled a bit:

"It's not too late to feel terrible now... I've already broken up with you, and you can push the boat along."

"Putting the boat with the current... Who is pushing the boat with the current?"

His deep voice is like the cold water flowing in the night:

"On the one hand, you believe that he can come back to life, and on the other hand, you make up your mind to break up with me. Can I make such a judgment-you are just looking for a proper reason, a suitable time, to get rid of everything here, Fly away with your dear little boy?"

He smiled:

"Of course, you don't have this chance, because the dead can never come back to life...and I won't allow you to leave."

Ludwig looked into his gray, jewel-like eyes.

Cold soles.

"Flying away with him? What are you talking about, Mr. Holmes. I have explained clearly about him. The wedding dress is his wedding gift to me, and he is my only relative."

He looked into her eyes and said softly:

"But you loved him."

A moment of silence.

"Indeed, I loved him."

She only felt that there was a layer of ice water in her chest cavity, and even her lungs were cold:

"I remember I told you that this is all in the past, ten years ago, or more... How many times do you want me to repeat it?"

There was not even the slightest emotion on Sherlock's face.

He just said flatly:

"But you also told me that it is all your past that makes up who you are now... This shows that you subconsciously regard him as a part of yourself, and no one can abandon yourself."

……

If you want to catch the wind, how many times will all the women in the world be convicted of crimes?

……

Ludwig calmed down instead:

"If you only look at it from the perspective of one case, your reasoning is flawless, and all kinds of clues and your psychological analysis indicate that I intend to abandon you and follow my old lover... If I don't want to belong, why should I leave? What about the current boyfriend who is getting along well now? Your statement is reasonable."

Sherlock's expression remained unchanged, but his jaw was tightened because of her words:

"Aren't you going to refute, Miss Ludwig."

"First, you are the best psychiatrist in England."

Ludwig really laughed out loud this time:

"Secondly, you are still a detective, and your observations are meticulous and interlocking...and I don't have the slightest evidence to prove that I am not half-hearted. Even if I refute it, who will believe it? Do you believe it?"

Sherlock's lips were drawn into a tight line.

"I will believe it."

He was silent for a while:

"I will believe that... feelings are not my area, so you can explain to me, I will not interrupt you, I will sit here and listen."

... This is his concession and compromise.

Sherlock Holmes, who was too proud to look into anyone, told her that he would not interrupt her, and he would listen to her well.

He told her that he would believe her unsubstantiated claims and overthrow his flawless reasoning for her sake.

If a brother-controlled British government hears the news, it might cry.

but--

"But I don't want to explain."

Ludwig raised his chin, his eyes turned cold:

"If trust needs to be explained over and over again to gain, then I don't want it... I don't have to ask you for love, sir, it's too embarrassing and humble, I'd rather get together and get away."

She tilted her head, her hair scattered around her cheeks:

"Don't bother anyone, just let it be... You don't seem to have given me the right to choose, sir, so it's up to you whether to break up or not."

……

"Don't make me say it a third time, Miss Ludwig."

Sherlock looked into her eyes and said softly:

"It's impossible for us to break up...never possible."

Ludwig walked up to him, squatted down, and the long skirt was spread on the embroidered carpet.

"Then it doesn't matter."

She tucks her messy hair behind her ears:

"If you can bear me dialing empty numbers by your side every day, waiting for the dead to wake up, clinging to the past you can't see...you are so great that you can rival Rabbi Jesus."

She smiled, reached out to hold Sherlock's hand, and kissed it on her lips:

"But you have never been a saint... So sir, I will wait, wait for the day you get bored."

"This day will not happen, because I will not let your delusions continue."

He sat on the sofa and looked at her drooping eyebrows:

"If you insist on waiting for him to wake up, I'll help you confirm his death. If you can't recognize yourself, I'll help you clear your memory... There are sciences in this world instead of myths, Vichy, there is no disease that cannot be cured of."

— But it's not a disease.

If there is no disease, how can it be cured?

Ludwig's focus is not on this matter, she slowly frowned:

"Confirm death? Sir, he is dead, how can you help me confirm his death?"

...Can the dead die again?

"I'm afraid that's what you think—die again, you know I'm good at handling corpses."

Sherlock took her hand, guessing exactly what she hadn't said from the look in her eyes.

His movements were gentle, but his tone was unnegotiable:

"Before eight o'clock tomorrow morning, he must be incinerated, or you can see him forever - in the form of a specimen in my laboratory."

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