[Comprehensive] Mrs. Holmes Daily

Ludwig leaned against the cold glass, watching Sherlock's movements.

After 10 minutes, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Sir, your actions are a bit too much. If this pyramid is a woman, you will definitely be sued for sexual harassment."

"Sexual harassment? I'm solving a case, Vichy. Your father's code points directly to the Louvre, and the place you can touch at the age of nine, and which is inseparable from Egypt, is the Great Pyramid."

Sherlock put his nose close to another glass block with a cold expression:

"There are 660 pieces of glass here. When you were nine years old, each piece was 1.3 meters, and you could only get 83 pieces—your father must have left a message on it for you."

His slender fingers slid across the glass, feeling every tiny ups and downs on the plane.

——Careful and gentle, like passing through a lover's skin.

Ludwig turned his face away: "..."

I can't bear to look at it, my blood is racing.

Hey, who said Sherlock is abstinent?When he handles cases, he is often very charming, okay?

"And the most common way to leave information on the glass is the watermark pen."

Sherlock continued to say lightly:

"Only visible under ultraviolet and infrared rays - which is why the information must be hidden outside the Louvre, where infrared detectors are everywhere to prevent theft."

Most of the ingredients of watermark pens are alcohol.

...It turned out that he was looking for the smell of alcohol.

"But alcohol evaporates quite easily."

Ludwig frowned:

"How could there still be traces of the message my father left me eight years ago?"

"Your father is not the only one who left you a message. I remember I told you that there have been at least two groups of people watching you in the past ten years, so that you can feel the sight when you go out."

Sherlock straightened up, walked to her side, and squatted down again until his eyes were level with her [-] height:

"And one of them is the old woman who lives upstairs from you. She is with your father. It is not so much that she is watching you as she is protecting what your father put in your hands... oh, Vichy, what are you doing?"

Ludwig stared at him blankly, his hand still on his curly black hair.

— Just to the height of his own chest.

"I can't feel it if I don't compare it. So I have grown so much in nine years?"

She cupped Sherlock's chin:

"You are now the height I was nine years ago, but look, your chin only reaches my waist..."

Sherlock: "...that's because I'm squatting."

Ludwig hoped for him, without smiling.

"It's hard to imagine, sir."

She let go of Sherlock's face and said softly:

"Tell me, nine years are such a long time, how did I grow up?"

The clock is ticking, every second is wrinkling, but when it is silent, it does not exist.

time?This is a concept created by man. When the world first opened, it did not exist.

Only when you look back and find that the road you have traveled has been so long that you can’t see the beginning, you will realize that most of your life has already passed.

It turned out that she had been so far away from her last life—she was already a Frenchman.

……

"Are you asking me?"

Sherlock was silent for a while, frowning:

"With all due respect, this is the most basic biological knowledge. As far as the growth process of normal people is concerned, the process of growing up is nothing more than the beginning of embryonic development. At this time, you are a cell group with only four cells, and gradually differentiate into plants. pole and animal pole..."

Ludwig: "...shut up."

Who the hell asked this.

It's rare for a girl to be melancholy all her life, dare not interrupt again and again?

She was pulled out of the lyrical emotion by Sherlock, neither up nor down, so she had to press her temple:

"Sir, every time you try to comfort me, it makes me sadder—why?"

"It's not surprising that it depends on the IQ gap."

Sherlock used to say:

"Every time I open my mouth, there's a heavy sense of sadness hanging over Scotland Yard."

Ludwig: "..."

Sherlock suddenly looked at his watch, stood up, took out a photo from his pants pocket and handed it to her:

"I want to give it to you when you finish the exam."

There was no dissatisfaction in his tone:

"But since you've been hanging out for four hours, I'll just have to let it hang around in my pocket for an extra four hours too."

"...you are too naive, Mr. Holmes, what is this?"

Ludwig reached out to take it.

An old black and white photo.

A family portrait that is still in time because of the retro tones of black and white.

Young couple holding their newborn baby, mother smiling at father with admiration and attachment in eyes.

And the child's father took off his black round eyes, with a pedantic air, his hair was a bit messy, like a bird's nest, and he was holding his wife's hand while kissing the little child in her arms. face.

this kid...

"Is this child a boy or a girl? Why do I feel like a boy and a girl?"

"……female."

Sherlock crouched down again:

"Don't you think it looks familiar?"

"feel."

Ludwig sighed at the photo:

"Babies are all ugly, and this one is no exception. Every one of them looks familiar to me."

"...Although I am very reluctant to reveal this cruel truth at this time, but."

Sherlock paused:

"This is your birth photo."

Ludwig: "..."

She crouched next to Sherlock, and carefully looked at the photo again with the light coming from the ground:

"If there is a beauty pageant for babies in the world, I must be the youngest Miss France. I can't be this ugly!"

Sherlock: "...if all the judges are given a large area of ​​brain damage, this kind of thing is indeed possible."

"Where did you get your picture?"

Ludwig looked at the photo from front to back, still unbelievable:

"I obviously have a melon-seeded face, okay? But this baby actually has a melon-seeded mother's face!"

"It's a bit fat, but not as fat as a sunflower disk."

Sherlock glanced at the photo and commented very pertinently:

"When you said your birthday was in early May, I went to the hospital to check your birth certificate and took your birth photo. I noticed that you didn't have a photo at home. Did you deal with it?"

"No, since I opened my eyes at the age of seven, there hasn't been a single photo at home."

Ludwig stuffed the photo back into Sherlock's pocket:

"This photo is definitely my black history. I burned it immediately when I went back. I want to obliterate the fact that I once looked like a sunflower and was not male or female."

Sherlock: "..."

Ludwig stood up:

"Don't stare at me, it's better than you molesting a pyramid, even if I've ever been sexless... Please go ahead."

French belongs to the Romance branch of the Italian language family. With the ancient tradition of the Latin ancestors, words are divided into feminine and masculine.

Therefore, when French men wash their hands with the tap running, they are doing animal things.

Because—the word handle is feminine.

Sherlock was very disapproving of her teasing:

"If you must divide by gender, the pyramid is also male..."

Ludwig: "—poof."

"..."

Sherlock raised his head and looked at her from bottom to top, with a sense of inscrutability:

"Humor?"

"When you said that the pyramid was male, you accidentally thought of the male pyramid in front of you as a naked statue of David..."

Ludwig covered his face with his hands:

"If this is the case, sir, the place you are pressing is very delicate. Hey, are you touching the front or the back of the pyramid?"

Sherlock: "..."

He stared at the square silicon dioxide block in front of him, and suddenly felt that today's clues could not be found.

Ludwig turned his back:

"No, the current picture is too shocking, I need to calm down."

Sherlock said blankly:

"If you really have nothing to do, I can tell you a ghost story about the Louvre."

This sentence was originally a joke, he knew she was afraid of ghosts so he said it on purpose.

But his little girlfriend suddenly got excited:

"Ghost stories? I like listening to ghost stories best."

Sherlock frowned: "You are afraid of ghosts, but you like hearing ghost stories?"

"It's because I'm afraid that I like it. The more I'm afraid, the more I like it."

Ludwig is confident:

"This is the same as Catholicism forcing the world to believe that sex is impulsive, vulgar, and vulgar. The more you say it is sinful and the more forbidden it is, the more enthusiastic people spread it in private."

"According to your logic, everyone is afraid of death, so everyone wants to commit suicide once?"

"Whether you want it or not, you are alive, which itself is a slow suicide process."

Ludwig crossed his arms and chatted generally:

"The Louvre has always been rumored to be haunted, but why did you suddenly bring it up?"

"Because this rumor has risen again recently."

Sherlock goes around the other side of the pyramid:

"You've been living in London, so you haven't heard of it... Three monitors on night duty have seen the mummy wearing a black funeral gown, appearing on the monitor for a while, and then suddenly disappearing from the corridor."

--mummy.

A mummy in a black robe.

Not far away, the water in the fountain pool was rippling, and the indifferent chill seemed to permeate the air, and even the clothes were covered with a layer of cold water droplets.

But that's not a drop of water.

That's when fate started to turn, and the dirty oil stains on the gears seeped up from the soles of the feet little by little.

The plot of "Phantom of the Louvre" has been postponed for two years, and finally, it is about to start.

Ludwig reached into his trousers pocket, but found nothing to hold on to, so he had to hold on to the key.

But on the surface, she just raised her eyebrows and said casually:

"Oh? Is this a prank?"

"If no one died and no property was lost, then it was a hoax."

"You said if... that means no one died yet?"

"So far no—if there was, it would have been deliberate murder, and the theory of ghosts is untenable."

Sherlock didn't look at her.

But after a brief silence, he quietly turned his back to her and said:

"If you're afraid, you don't have to force yourself to ask... Vichy, this doesn't have to be your business alone."

This may not be your business alone.

What a warm remark, too warm for Sherlock to say... It was almost an invitation to her to drag him into the water.

Sherlock, what do you know?

……

"Of course it's not about me alone."

Ludwig smiled:

"Hey, it's not my business at all, okay? France's tax burden is so heavy, it's not easy to raise those policemen for nothing, can't they even catch a mischievous ghost?"

Sherlock stared at a point on the pyramid, and suddenly said:

"It's here."

He stroked the piece of glass lightly:

"You can smell the alcohol when you come closer... There was a light rain in France yesterday. Some people were afraid that your father's notes would be washed away, so they retrace it."

"But our black light, now there is no store open for a while."

"The store door?"

Sherlock raised the corner of his lips:

"For us, it doesn't make a difference whether the store is open or not."

"Why bother?"

Ludwig put his hands in his pockets and stood two meters away from him, neither stepped forward nor moved.

She smiled slightly:

"My dad left a black light, and it's only five minutes from here to my house."

Ludwig looked towards the balcony of his apartment next to the Louvre Square, the pure white curtains stood out in the night.

Cross the square, turn a few steps, and you will find her home.

She turned to Sherlock, who was standing up:

"You don't have to go with me, just wait for me here."

Sherlock glanced at the dark road behind the square:

"Aren't you afraid anymore?"

"Actually, I just realized today that another nine years have passed in my life, and my birthday didn't have such a big shock."

Ludwig said calmly:

"Of course I'm afraid, but the more I'm afraid, the more I should walk alone. There's no reason why I dared to walk alone nine years ago, but I don't dare to do it nine years later."

She patted Sherlock on the shoulder, a smile in her eyes.

Just like every time she was blocked by him and had nothing to say, she had to make fun of him to vent her anger.

"So just wait for me here, are you hungry? I'll bring you something to eat by the way."

Sherlock stared at her closely, as if searching for clues in her dark eyes.

But she just stood there quietly, smiling.

"Okay, I'll wait for you here."

After a long time, Sherlock finally spoke reluctantly:

"There's only one way to your house from here, and I can see you, so if you're afraid..."

He paused, as if he was very unaccustomed to say such words:

"I mean, although ghosts and the like are nonsense, but since you are weak-willed and vulnerable, you can wave at the window when you have to..."

Ludwig: ...weak willed and vulnerable?

Sherlock paused, and quickly added:

"You don't have to wait until it's absolutely necessary. Out of humanitarian spirit and duty considerations, I will be loyal to my duty to pick you up."

"Sorry, I don't see a 'humanitarian spirit' in you at all, not a single cell."

"..."

It was still dark in the early morning, but there was already a thin mist in the square.

Her white figure was gradually submerged in the darkness ahead.

Sherlock only saw her standing under the sycamore and honey holly branches when she came to the corner, turned her head, smiled at him, turned around again, and melted into the deep black desert night.