[Comprehensive] Mrs. Holmes Daily

06:30 in the morning.

Sherlock sat at the dining table and recorded some experimental data, while Ludwig was still sitting on the sofa, maintaining her posture from the night before, as if frozen.

A bottle of tequila had been drunk, the candle had burned to the bottom, the flame flickered, and went out with a "poof".

A wisp of half-burned carbon rose above the candle, and she finally moved.

Sherlock raised his head immediately:

"Are you finally going to make breakfast?"

Ludwig stood up, walked around him, and threw the empty bottle into the trash.

"not going to."

Sherlock said blankly, "But I'm hungry."

Ludwig was expressionless: "You can't die of hunger."

"..."

Sherlock leaned down again and fiddled with his data sheet. The densely packed data on several large pages was a headache to read. Especially, he didn't use Roman numerals, and the whole text was in Greek.

This is definitely pretending.

He accurately draws a curve with a pencil:

"You're getting impatient — normally a woman doesn't have an autonomic nervous system disorder that's triggered by fluctuations or decreases in sex hormones until she's in her 40s."

"Why don't you just say that I have mps (menopausal syndrome)?"

Ludwig opened the refrigerator and calmly took out a bottle of juice from a plate of intact kidney tubules:

"Although, if you judge only by the lack of patience, you may have been in the MPS state since birth... Remember to cover the internal organs with plastic wrap next time, the smell of the kidneys is too strong."

Sherlock casually put away the messy papers on the table, although it was just as messy whether he took it or not:

"I'll try to remember."

— That is, they will not remember.

He continued:

"You haven't had a drink for a long time. The tequila alcohol I have stored has a purity of 50.00% six. For experimentation, you drank half a bottle last night... If you passed out at the funeral, no one will send you back."

——his caring way is as punchy as ever.

"Three bottles of vodka are a drop in the bucket for me."

Ludwig shook the juice in his hand:

"This little alcohol doesn't affect me, I just want to be sober because I'm afraid of falling asleep... I hate getting drunk."

Her eyes were indeed sober.

Sherlock stuffed the book in his hand into the fireplace:

"When are you going to leave?"

"I'll be in touch."

Ludwig didn't say anything more, put the juice on the table, walked into his room, and lifted the coffin lid.

Sherlock stood at the door:

"need my help?"

Ludwig didn't look back:

"Thank you, but I want to do it myself, it's not heavy."

...Well, the wood density of this material is indeed not high, and he understands her desire to exercise after a night of sleepless nights.

Sherlock paused for a while, but did not walk away:

"Do I need to contact the porter then?"

"I have already contacted, and the funeral home will pick it up."

His face lay quietly in the dark coffin, except for some paleness, it was as fresh as if he had fallen asleep.

As the lid of the coffin was closed, the light slowly faded away.

And so he sank into the darkness, she thought... as he did when he was alive.

……

Ludwig stood by the coffin for a while before realizing that she had been unconsciously holding her breath since she closed the lid, almost suffocating herself.

Turning around, he almost bumped into Sherlock's strong chest.

Sherlock stood behind her, holding a glass of water in his hand, and handed it over with a calm expression.

"Thank you... But, you actually know how to pour water?"

Ludwig was stunned for a while before taking it in disbelief:

"Mr. Holmes, I have a bad feeling. Is Mycroft finally planning to abolish the queen and install a new king?"

"Your words would be treason in the Middle Ages... Don't finish drinking, you still need to take medicine."

Ludwig bit his glass:

"I said I'm not drunk, and I don't need to take sober medicine."

"It's not a hangover drug."

Sherlock held out his other hand.

In the palm of his hand lay three pills, one pale yellow and two white.

Ludwig was silent for a while: "It's not a hangover drug, what is that?"

Sherlock looked at her and said calmly:

"Chlorpromazine, haloperidol, and penfluridol, the drugs that control your fantasies."

Ludwig took a step back, bumping into the coffin behind him.

"No, I won't take it... I know what chlorpromazine is, it will affect my dopamine and acetylcholine balance, right? The pyramidal system is damaged, what should I do if I have movement disorders? Will you carry me downstairs?"

Sherlock stood there, neither retreating nor advancing.

"It's the extrapyramidal system rather than the chasing system... If you have an understanding of these drugs, you should understand that moderate intake will not cause long-term damage to the body, here is only ten milligrams."

"That hurts too, not even a milligram."

She spilled the water in the cup on the ground:

"I'm not sick, I don't eat."

He watched the glass fall on the carpet, rolled over, and stopped moving:

"It's no use pouring water out, if you can pour all the potable water in London on the ground, I'll fly it in from France."

Ludwig pressed his temple:

"It's my brain, I know better than you, it's healthy."

"Insisting that I am not sick, refusing to take medicine and seek medical treatment is one of the symptoms."

Sherlock's tone remained calm.

His hand was stretched out in front of Ludwig without moving.

"I've got a hundred ways to get you to take your meds without you even knowing... Honestly, that's what Mycroft suggested to me, and doctors in hospitals do it to their patients all the time, But I'm not ready to take it."

"...Then you are kind to me."

Ludwig slowly stretched out his hand and took the three pills from Sherlock's palm.

Sherlock went to the table to refill a glass of water and walked over.

"What about the medicine?"

——Mr. Holmes actually poured her two glasses of water today, but she didn't have the slightest urge to post on Weibo.

Ludwig spread out his palms, laying on it without missing a single pill.

Sherlock brought the water to her hand:

"It's ready to eat now."

Ludwig lowered his eyes, poured the pills in his hand into his mouth at one time, did not go to catch the water, but took a sip from his hand.

After drinking the water, Sherlock didn't take the glass away, but said lightly:

"If you want to hide medicine next time, don't hide it in your fingers, it's too obvious."

"..."

Ludwig took out the medicine hidden between his fingers and ate it dry, but Sherlock gagged him and drank a big mouthful of water.

She really wanted to give Sherlock a middle finger, but felt that doing this gesture to her boyfriend was too suggestive, and she seemed very horny.

So she said:

"Didn't you say Mycroft had a surveillance camera in Baker Street, where?"

"In the eyes of the fireplace portrait."

……

Ludwig walked up to the fireplace portrait, and gave a long middle finger to the portrait's eyes.

Sherlock: "..."

Ludwig turned back: "Do you think he can see? Do I need to wait a little longer?"

Sherlock: "..."

He straightened his shirt collar with his back to her, obviously not wanting to face this embarrassing scene.

Mycroft could see it, of course, and was probably watching in his office.

Sincerely hope he didn't choke.

The whole process of funeral service, may peace be with you.

This is the sentence that Ludwig has heard the most on the phone these two days.

The funeral business in London is in order. Fifteen minutes after Ludwig made the call, the girl Ludwig met in the mortuary, Jo-Alice, had arrived downstairs on Baker Street with her porters.

An He's coffin followed behind, and white roses were placed on the coffin.

They took another car, and the driver was Joe. Ludwig was wearing a long black dress and black stiletto heels, and she was sitting in the back seat of the car with Sherlock.

Joe looked in the rearview mirror and said:

"Nice to see you again, your boyfriend is so beautiful, and your dress is so beautiful."

Sherlock looked ahead indifferently, as if he didn't take Joe's voice into consciousness at all, so Ludwig could only say:

"……thanks."

Originally, Ludwig did not intend to let Sherlock attend the funeral, after all, he was not familiar with An He.

But when she opened the car door, Sherlock was already sitting in the car.

Joe's face was pale, and his tone was as flat as a concrete floor:

"But the more beautiful a person is, the less willing he is to be burned after a tragic death. I've met many of them."

"...let's change the subject, how is Thomas?"

Thomas was the gentleman who would not accept the burning that Jo had asked her to help persuade last time.

"He is fine and his ashes have been sprinkled in the Thames at his request."

"..."

"Are you the only two at the funeral?"

"I made an announcement and contacted a few people who might come, but it seems like there are only two of his friends, one in jail and one a doctor."

Suddenly Sherlock said:

"William Shakespeare has been released, I asked Lestrade to inform him, but the doctor who accosted you last time was pretended by Atum, he was trying to hypnotize you when I interrupted him, I'm afraid not Attend again."

...pretend?Hypnosis?

She thought of the bewitching blue eyes of the old man, and the feeling of being sucked into the whirlpool when they looked at each other.

Ludwig turned his head to look at the passing scenery outside the window, and knocked on the window frame indifferently.

...it turned out to be another false friend.

But sometimes when things go through too much, the lies become as bland as plain boiled water.

No one in the car spoke anymore, Ludwig took out a small cosmetic case from his bag.

Sherlock glanced lightly at the black makeup box in her hand:

"I thought you didn't wear makeup."

"It's just not normalized."

Ludwig took out a black eyeliner, skillfully.

She looked into her eyes in the mirror and said calmly:

"At the funeral, of course you have to be more serious."

47:[-], funeral home.

Joe stood at one end of the corridor, and at the other was the incineration chamber.

She held a pen and a notebook, without any emotional fluctuations in her tone:

"Are you sure you want to burn it first and then perform the ceremony? You don't need priests?"

Ludwig leaned against the wall, folded his arms: "Yeah."

An He doesn't believe in religion, and probably won't like lying in a glass cabinet and being watched around by others.

Joe wrote these down in his notebook and tore them out:

"Then I will arrange it like this. Now that the incinerator is empty, it can be carried out immediately... Please sign here."

Ludwig slowly signed his name on the paper.

Ludwig... not Li Weixi.

Here, her name is invalid.

……

Joe took back the paper and turned to leave.

Ludwig suddenly grabbed her sleeve: "Wait a minute."

She held her forehead, her nails digging deep into her hair:

"Please wait a little longer... wait until eight o'clock to start, just wait another 10 minutes, okay?"

Joe stared at her:

"Do you have a headache?"

She shook her head.

— It's not a headache, it's the medicine that's starting to work.

Sherlock told her that under the influence of anti-neurotic drugs, she will have a little bit of confusion, but it will not affect her speaking and doing things.

Joe put away his notebook:

"Actually, there is no difference... Well, I will arrange until eight o'clock, but a friendly reminder, we have five funerals to deal with today, and it will be very busy after eight o'clock."

"I see."

Jo nodded, and as she passed Sherlock who was standing only a few steps away from Ludwig, she said flatly in her straightened tone:

"Why don't you go and hug her? She's not well...although she looks fine."

Seven forty-five.

They were already standing at the door of the incineration chamber.

Joe said blankly: "There are still 3 minutes, do you still want to postpone? But after the postponement, you will have to wait another hour."

Standing behind her, Sherlock slowly put his hands on her shoulders:

"If you want to postpone...we can postpone, eight o'clock is not an appointment."

Ludwig stood in front of the small iron gate of the cremator, silent for a while:

"I described to you the state of the plaque I saw in the mirror. How many hours after death?"

Sherlock pursed his lips: "Three to four hours."

Three to four hours.

Ke Anhe has been dead for 24 hours.

If he waited any longer, his face would not be pretty, his body would be incomplete, and his eyes would be rotten... He must not want to do this, it's too embarrassing.

Even in death, he wanted to go to the banquet calmly.

"No more waiting."

Her voice was soft, as if she was speaking to herself, or to An He:

"We won't wait... let's burn it."

The tempered door opened.

An He was slowly pushed into the crematorium in a foreign country, his pale face, pale hands and feet, as well as his pale lips and soul.

She knew the next steps, the incineration process had been clearly understood since she attended funerals as a child.

The corpse first passes through the outer furnace, where there will be blades to cut open the abdomen of the dead to prevent the dead from exploding during burning.

Then there is the inner furnace.

Gasoline was poured on the body, and the high-pressure oxygen flame was sprayed down.

His soft hair, his white shirt, his fingers who are good at making tea and writing... will just like this, all will be reduced to ashes.

...How could this be the case.

How could she do this to An He?

An He's body was sent into the cremator inch by inch by two men, and the inner furnace could be vaguely seen, which was already burning red hot.

……

On the edge of the golden field, as the sun was setting, he helped her tie up her hair and said, "I'm just smoothing the fur of the neighbor's puppy."

--don't want.

We met by chance in a bar, the rain splashed across the glass, his eyes were unbelievably clean, and he said: "The world is so big, but you came to England. There are so many coffee shops in England, but you just walked into mine."

--don't want.

Finally, there was a wave of fluctuation in Joe's tone: "Get her fingers off the door quickly! There are blades in there, and she will hurt herself!"

……

——The white roses in the morning were covered with dew. He stood under the eaves and said, "If you are happy, I will see my old friend happy."

……

no, do not want.

Her Anhe can't die here.

They've been together for so long, they've been apart for so long.

She still had too many things to say to him.

……

"The autopsy knife is about to start working, oh god, this is not the strength of a woman, can I knock her out?"

……

She was not knocked unconscious, it seemed that someone hugged her from behind and dragged her back.

Someone broke off her fingers holding the door one by one.

Someone was talking loudly in her ear, trying to wake her up, and someone was covering her fingers with a hand to keep her from being burned by the waves that were already starting to heat up.

Is that Sherlock?

No, she didn't know, she couldn't hear anything.

She could only see, deep in the crematorium, a garden full of slender orchids, wet in rainy days, and large hydrangeas blooming under the eaves.

And her young man was sitting on a dark black chair, next to a small stove, boiling green tea, and the curling white smoke filled his eyes.

He raised his eyes, smiled at her, and said quietly:

"Zhuang Zhou's wife died, and she sang with drums... Have you forgotten?"

...she forgot.

She forgot everything, couldn't remember anything, and couldn't remember anything.

……

Sherlock finally broke Ludwig's fingers off the edge of the crematorium, and the staff standing next to him immediately closed the door.

"Crack" sound.

The sound of mechanical knives waving came from the stove.

The living and the dead, life and death, are already two worlds.

When she sees An He again, is there a way to recognize her little brother's eyes in that handful of ashes?

……

Sherlock hugged her tightly, covering her ears to muffle the sound of the flames as they flared up.

He hugged her and whispered:

"It's over...it's over, Vichy."

She opened her mouth, her voice was so hoarse that she couldn't speak, she looked at the small furnace door, her eyes were blocked by layers of mist, blurring her vision.

——Meeting an old acquaintance in a foreign land should have wept with joy, but she didn't.

——When waiting for his death, he didn't know whether he was alive or dead. She should have cried, but she didn't.

——In the end, he died, and his cold body was lying on the hospital bed, and she should have cried bitterly at that time.

She still doesn't.

After a long period of patience, those fears and longings that I didn't even know about, finally went to their proper place.

……

She reached out and hugged Sherlock:

"he died."

"Ah."

"he died."

"Ah."

It was exactly the same conversation as last time, but they both knew that it had two meanings.

Sherlock stroked her long black hair and let her rub the makeup on his suit, his tone was as firm as last time:

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