[Comprehensive] Mrs. Holmes Daily

"Oh, Vichy, this is the password your father left you."

Sherlock focused on "you".

Ludwig raised his eyebrows:

"so what?"

"How old were you when he gave you this locket?"

"Nine years old."

"That's the problem, the mind of a nine-year-old is not sensitive to abstract words. What you just said may be a second message from him, but it's certainly not for you - believe me, he is you anyway Your father will not deliberately embarrass your IQ."

Ludwig: "..."

Sherlock leaned on the snow-white sofa. The thick black on his body and the flawless white of the sofa formed a pure and strange tone:

"So when I saw the locket at first glance, I ruled out 'Under the Temple'. This has nothing to do with what Atum was looking for. It should be the words he left for other relatives when he had a premonition that he would not be able to escape— — Like your mother."

His gray gem-like eyes stared at the dark green locket, which was opened and closed repeatedly.

In the place where the photos were originally placed in the locket, there were three small strands of hair from an unknown pharaoh. Due to the loss of keratin, the three strands of hair showed a pale yellow color, like dry straw.

"There must be an easier way to crack it. It's what you would think of when you were nine years old-what do ordinary nine-year-olds like to do? Mud? Dolls? Model cars?"

Ludwig touched his nose:

"Don't look at me expectantly—how do I know what the average nine-year-old likes?"

When she was nine years old, she locked herself at home and memorized the 23 conjugations of tenses in French, and abruptly changed her half-baked English pronunciation into a uvula.

Then she finally understood why the classmate who learned French in her previous life said that she went in crying and came out crying——French is so perverted that it makes people cry, okay?

Ludwig stood up:

"You study it slowly. I want to prepare Chinese food. What do you want to eat? Vegetable salad with beef? Or croissant with eggs?"

"Eggs on a croissant."

Ludwig nodded:

"You want a croissant? Very good, then have a green salad with beef."

"..."

Sherlock hooked the corner of his mouth slightly, and whispered:

"It's really good...that's exactly what I want."

Ludwig stood there for a while, then ran to open the door happily:

"Mr. Butler is back!"

Sherlock glanced lightly at her cheerful back - it seemed his girlfriend was hungry.

There was no knock on the door, but when Ludwig opened the door, Old John was about to put down the paper bag in his hand and knock on the door:

"Let me see what you got? Oh, salmon, I love salmon."

Sherlock was concentrating on searching all the information about "blonde", "three", and "Pharaoh" in his brain, when he suddenly heard Ludwig say something to Old John——

"As soon as I heard your footsteps, I knew it was you."

This……

He didn't look up, just paused:

"There are less than 20 people over the age of [-] in the world - of course you can easily recognize his footsteps."

It seems to say to myself, and it seems to say to Ludwig:

"It's nothing special."

But Ludwig ignored him at all, she took the recycle paper bag that Old John was carrying as a matter of course:

"I process the fish very quickly, and add the ice cream syrup...we can have dinner in 10 minutes, please sit on the sofa."

"..."

Old John watched helplessly as the little lady, who had been selected by the little master, took the paper bag and salmon from him, walked into the open kitchen, rolled up his snow-white sleeves with his noble hands, and showed a ferocious look. posture, start...

Crack the egg?

No, please don't do that to chicken children... please leave me alone.

A century has passed... In the second century of his life, Old John finally experienced some kind of overwhelmed emotion.

Oh, for old Mr. Holmes' sake, old John was threatened with unemployment after a century of work.

And this candidate for the position... is actually the little wife he serves?

This unscientific.

The poor old butler looked at Sherlock, who was so absorbed in his work that he had no time to pay him any attention.

Old John walked up to Ludwig, watched her smile and stare at the bloody fish for a while, and then began to cut obliquely with a sharp knife...

No, this knife technique is wrong... please let me go.

He couldn't help stretching out his hand:

"You don't have to be so polite..."

This feeling that the kitchen is not under his control is too bad, begging to let him come!

But before he finished speaking, Ludwig said with a smile:

"How can I be polite? I didn't even pour you a cup of coffee."

Old John opened his mouth and was about to say something when Sherlock, who seemed to be sitting on the sofa concentrating, spoke:

"John, she just wants to thank you for tidying her room yesterday... And you don't have to worry about her knife skills, she has never had knife skills, she even arranges the length of celery sticks into a Fibonacci sequence."

Ludwig: "..."

Feeling the calm, cold gaze from my little girlfriend, which cannot be ignored.

Sherlock paused, did not look up, but added a sentence calmly, trying to redeem:

"Of course, this is her characteristic, very personal style...."

He suddenly raised his head and stared at Ludwig's hand putting the seasoning:

"Oh, Vichy, I'm not criticizing the way you cook, you can't squeeze wasabi on my plate...nor chili sauce, I thought we had an agreement on that."

Ludwig calmly squeezed mustard and chili sauce into Sherlock's plate:

"You expect a woman who doesn't even know how to cut a fish knife to abide by the agreement? Don't be naive, sir, the fulfillment of the agreement depends on my mood."

She turned her head and smiled slightly:

"By the way, that's also my signature — very personal."

Sherlock: "..."

Mr. Holmes's lunch was ill-fated, but safe and sound.

They were back in Baker Street around four o'clock in the afternoon.

"I don't understand why you bring ice cream back? You clearly dislike its substandard sweetness!"

On the dark stairs, Ludwig was carrying his schoolbag, Sherlock was carrying the thermos, and Old John was empty-handed.

This was not a common occurrence for him, but old John was very adaptable, and he soon got used to his new way of being with his masters.

"That's not disgust, but a tactful suggestion so that you can keep improving."

Sherlock walked to the door and turned sideways habitually:

"I just don't want to hear you complaining to me ten years later that I discarded the desserts you made yourself... This drama is even more stupid."

"..."

Ludwig took out the key and opened the door:

"Ten years from now, you won't have as many things to worry about as usual."

As soon as Ludwig entered the apartment, he sat down at the dining table, grabbed a piece of bread, and entered the master mode.

Sherlock puts the ice cream in the freezer, but obviously he doesn't know that he should take the ice cream out of the thermal box before putting it in the quick freezer:

"Vichy, where is your father's death place?"

"do not know."

"Don't you think it's weird that you were his only daughter and you weren't even invited to his funeral?"

"do not think so."

"A letter from your uncle Mikala Ludwig to you..."

This time Ludwig did not wait for him to finish, but interrupted him directly:

"To shut up."

Sherlock: "..."

It was already nine hours after Ludwig got out of the book.

Old John left after finishing dinner. The old Sherlock Holmes and his wife came back from Kyrgyzstan this evening. This hardworking and all-round old housekeeper had to finish taking care of the children at one end, and then go to take care of the children at the other end.

Mr. Holmes, who was sitting opposite her, heard the noise, raised his head from the test tube and beaker, and saw his girlfriend still staring at the book motionless, her eyes... glowing green.

Kind of scary.

...This is, are you hungry?

Obviously, without the old butler's urging, he and his girlfriend both forgot to eat dinner, but it didn't matter.

He lowered his eyes, perfectly dissolving the basic copper carbonate on the locket's copper chain:

"If you're hungry, then I'd like a coffee."

This is by no means an illogical statement.

Sherlock's thinking is probably like this - if Ludwig wants to eat dinner, he has to go to the bar to get a sandwich, and obviously, she can grab a few coffee beans and help him make a pot of Ludwig's black coffee. coffee.

"But I'm not hungry, so no coffee."

Ludwig stared blankly at the words:

"I'm going to burn these books...and go to bed."

She was a bit sleepy, and she definitely couldn't go to the exam without rest.

But if these books were here, she would not be able to sleep.

"You only have four exams tomorrow. To be honest, I don't quite understand your clumsy behavior. You have already spent a whole..."

"A month to study these courses, I know."

Ludwig packed all the books and stood up:

"But your students in England have been preparing for two years, maybe more than two years, so even if my grades tomorrow don't reach an A, which is lower than the Cambridge standard, I refuse any irony."

She moved the book to the sink, turned on the water with a splash, and then — let go of her hand.

The books were all submerged in the water.

Sherlock: "..."

Ludwig walked towards his room and stopped at the door:

"You haven't slept for several days, sir, longer than me. I couldn't supervise the first two days, but you must sleep tonight..."

Sherlock had no room for negotiation: "No."

Ludwig: "..."

She glanced at the locket in his hand: "Haven't you researched it yet?"

Sherlock pursed his lips:

"Certainly came up with something, but it wasn't the point - your father ate a lemon lollipop while he was making this locket. He had a ring-necked parrot in his room in Egypt, Because the details of the birds he carved on the lockets were more vivid than the rest. He smoked local homemade cigarettes because the soot got in the molten copper."

Just a locket.

The image of Ludwig's father, whom he has never met, surfaced bit by bit.

She didn't make a sound, and walked into the bathroom of her room:

"Although it has nothing to do with the clues, these inferences are still magical."

Sherlock added lightly:

"The most amazing discovery was that you had cockroaches in your apartment in France... the sap from the cockroach eggs stuck in the crevices of the locket."

"..."

Ludwig through the door:

"You don't need to tell me this kind of thing... oh my god."

There was a "pong" sound from the bathroom, and something hit the ground.

Sherlock immediately put down the test tube in his hand and walked quickly to the door of the bathroom, but just as he was about to open the door, he heard Ludwig say:

"No, sir, don't open the door... I just tore off the shaggy handle."

Sherlock: "...if I remember correctly, it was made of copper."

"Obviously a phenomenon of metal fatigue, not my strength."

Ludwig put his head around a towel and poked his head out:

"Sir, can I borrow your bathroom?"

No matter how horrible Sherlock can make the living room, his room is still tidy.

Probably because he didn't have the habit of doing experiments in the room.

Ludwig came out of Sherlock's bathroom and saw Sherlock sitting on the edge of the bed, obviously waiting for her to finish washing.

Ludwig leaned against the door with a towel wrapped around him: "Didn't you say you won't sleep?"

"I'm not going to sleep right now."

Sherlock didn't look up, he was fiddling with the locket in his hand intently:

"All the experiments I can do on its surface have been done. There is no gap so it cannot be a light-transmitting text, and there is no cipher text that requires a chemical reaction to appear... Then there is only one path left, which is these three strands. The symbolism of the pharaoh's hair."

"Three strands of hair?"

Ludwig walked to him and frowned:

"Why do I feel a little familiar?"

She leaned closer to his finger and looked at it: "Golden."

The aroma of shampoo and the rich steam hit her face together - she still had the heat that she had just after taking a shower.

Sherlock paused, lowered his eyes calmly:

"Obviously a yellowish pale color."

"All I see is golden yellow."

Ludwig was sitting beside Sherlock's bed. He no longer used the snow-white sheets in the Sherlock Holmes manor. She bought them for him, and they were all over... well, she would only buy one color, that is, A big, wet, dark flower.

She thought carefully for a while, Sherlock stared at her profile:

"Do you remember anything?"

"I don't think it's possible, but that's all I can think of."

The dim bedside lamp smeared her side face, Ludwig raised his head:

"Sir, will it be... The Devil's Three Golden Hair?"