[Comprehensive] Mrs. Holmes Daily

Sherlock stood in the dark for a second.

In this second, there was no expression on his face, no sound in his throat, no breath in his nasal cavity...even the sound of his heartbeat disappeared, and the flow of blood stopped.

As he stood there, the earth roared and the heat roared.

He was still.

It was just a second, and it seemed to go back a long, long time.

It's not that long either.

The last time he saw her, she was standing on the balcony with white curtains, holding up a bag of coffee beans towards him, her white sleeves hanging down to her wrists, her long black hair swaying in the wind.

The first time he saw her, she stood at the gate of Baker Street and said majesticly to him when he first met: "No matter what species you are, get out of the way of Aunt Ben."

... These pictures flashed through his mind at an extremely fast speed in just one second.

Just like in a rainstorm, lightning splits the sky and suddenly illuminates the black sea.

Followed by continuous, rumbling thunder.

... No, that's not thunder.

That was a blast.

Sherlock's fingers moved suddenly.

Immediately afterwards, the black coat rose behind him, like a sudden wave on the sea.

She is not someone who will sit and wait to die, she still has a chance of surviving.

...what are the odds?

This thought just flashed through his mind, and he threw it directly into the brain file shredder.

From the structural point of view, the tunnel is zigzag. As the protective layer of the secret room, copper pipes containing liquid bombs must be buried in this layer, but he has not seen it yet.

With this kind of structure, the explosion will spread to this layer, and it is certain.

And calculate the burning rate and expansion rate of nitroglycerin, the comprehensive tunnel length and the rate of heat conduction of copper...

She has 1 minute left.

Then, he also has 1 minute.

The race of life.

It's just that she is going to come out of hell.

And he, because of her, is going to break into hell.

On the other end, Ludwig raised his head from the ashes.

The flames burned her fingers, and her fingertips were a little blackened. Miraculously, her hair was not burned, but because of the high temperature, the protein at the end of the hair curled up, and it was shortened a lot.

But... who care?

She stood up with her hands on the ground... Her chest cavity itself was hit, and then the unburned sulfur, carbon particles and ash rushed directly into her lungs with the impact of the explosion.

Now I can hardly even catch my breath.

The end of the yellow copper tube in front has been seen... 30 meters, and 30 meters away, she will be able to walk out of the danger zone of the explosion, and she will suffer a little more injury, but maybe... maybe she can save her life.

……perhaps?

That was just an optimistic estimate. In fact, she couldn't keep it.

It's not giving up in despair, but a judgment based on objective facts... Even if she suddenly erupts now and runs 50 meters in the remaining few seconds, she can't survive the explosion. Shock and prolonged hypoxia thereafter.

What's more, 30 meters is really a long way.

She's been running for too long, she can't run anymore.

She stood in the middle of the tunnel, walking slowly forward, exhausted, she didn't fall down but only supported by will.

And she had no will at all.

What is so terrible about death?If she doesn't die today, she will die in 50 years.

She has nothing in this world, she is truly alone, no child, no father, no mother, her only friend is missing, and her only family member, An He, has died because of her sudden death... She has nothing, She didn't even have any unspent money.

Except...except Sherlock.

By the way, she also has Sherlock.

But it's just that she was just his girlfriend who had been with him for a short time. His world is so big, she only showed her face once in his life, leaving little impression. After the fireworks faded, she would still hover over the water like a dragonfly ... When the ripples are gone, there are no traces left.

Hey, what is she doing in this world?Mr. Drama, where is the agreed soy sauce?

……

Ludwig didn't stop, but he didn't speed up either.

She won't give up until the last moment.

But in real life, there are always some things that cannot be recovered... For example, stocks will dive, dealers will wash their dishes, such as volcanic eruptions, snow mountain collapses...

Another example is the physiological limit that people cannot surpass.

She has reached her limit.

If death is really unavoidable, she is more willing to embrace death calmly... just like An He.

……

I don't know how long it took, but in fact, it was only a few seconds, and she could already hear the sound of gas hitting the pipe behind her from far to near.

1 minutes, here we go.

There was no expression on her face, walking at this moment was just a subconscious movement for her, and soon the heat wave would sweep over her body, burning her flesh and facial features.

The pitch-black tunnel has been illuminated by the red-hot copper pipes behind it, and the ancient wall made of stone bricks, under the light of the fire, has a grease-like luster.

Ludwig raised his head and looked at the far and untouchable front.

A look of disbelief suddenly appeared on her face.

For, ahead of her, where the shock of the explosion could not yet reach, Sherlock was running toward her.

Sherlock?

Is this hallucination, or...

She watched the hem of his black clothes rise behind him, her resolute jaw tightened.To watch him cross the safety zone without hesitation, to her...and to death.

He reached out to her, as if he wanted to grab her, his gray eyes were no longer calm.

She never thought that one day, she would see such an expression on Sherlock's face.

That's...fear.

Sherlock, actually afraid?

There was a huge explosion behind her, but she couldn't hear anything, and her ears were still buzzing from the previous explosion, as if a thousand standing drums had exploded around her eardrum, making her dizzy.

The scorching wind burned his hair and scorched his scalp.

Ludwig stood there and stopped in his tracks.

Seeing that Sherlock is getting closer and closer to her, and seeing that he is about to step into the dangerous area that will be affected by the air pressure...

She slowly reached out and took out the gun from behind.

……

Sherlock's sanity is collapsing a little bit because of the scene in front of him.

His little girlfriend looks very bad now. Her right shoulder is in an unnatural posture because of the pain.

Her once dark, long hair hanging down her waist is now completely shortened by burning, and only one side of her hair is condensed... She obviously hit her head. According to the amount of bleeding, the damage is at least above concussion .

And the injuries are obviously not the only ones he saw, the deeper wounds are hidden deep in the body, and the exhaust gas from the explosion rushes into the lungs with an unstoppable force, that is fatal.

……

Sherlock stared intently at her smoldering face.

——It was a small, pale face, but it was surprisingly calm in the approaching flames and billowing smoke behind him.

His sanity was about to collapse, but his brain was still running fast.

——The current distance is 35 meters, and there is a small depression on the left side, which is the habit left by medieval knights stacking swords.

Judging from the law of the explosion sound, the copper pipe is segmented, and the liquid is detonated only through the heat conduction of copper... Then he still has time.

How much time does he have?

This is beyond calculation.

Because at this time, there are only two answers: life and death.

But why is she standing there motionless?Why doesn't she run?Why did she pull out the gun?Why did she...point the gun at him?

The muzzle of the black gun was aimed at his head, but Sherlock ran towards her with strides and determination as if he didn't see her movement.

Ludwig's hand moved down slightly, and he squeezed the trigger expressionlessly.

"boom!"

This was the first bullet, and it hit a muscle in his calf.

And Sherlock just paused, and continued to run towards her, without even slowing down.

Blood flowed down his black trousers, and dripped on the floor tiles that hadn't seen light for hundreds of years, like a winding and mottled totem painting.

"boom!"

This is the second bullet.

This time her direction was more precise - she hit his femoral artery.

With the feeling of shooting for the first time, she has quickly mastered how to use this icy and hot machine, neither will he suffer too serious injuries, but it is enough to make him lose his ability to move.

Sherlock staggered and fell to his knees on the ground that had been covered with centuries of dust.

Dust rose and flames gushed.

He struggled to get up, but a damaged artery blocked his movement.

He could only lie on the ground and move forward bit by bit.

But he was still too late.

Because the high-temperature flame brought by the infinitely expanding gas was roaring, engulfing her body.

He watched her being thrown high by the surging and huge air current, hitting the hard tunnel roof heavily, and the gun in her hand hit the side wall together with her hand.

With a "snap", the gun shattered into two halves under the violent impact.

And she, falling from the top of the two-meter-high tunnel, landed not far from his fingers like a lifeless doll.

He slowly reached out and took her wrist.

There was no sound, no pulse.

Only bright red blood flowed slowly from her hair under the light of the fire.

On a spring night in May, the branches are full of cherry blossoms.

There is a Japanese female singer who has just died, and she made a promise to him at this time.

He responds, and the contract is established.

Although it was obviously a bad joke, because the person who first sent the invitation didn't take it to heart.

--"forever?"

--"forever."

Contracts without a signature are void.

A promise without a subject is a lie.

……

Three hours, Paris Saint-Louis Hospital.

Mycroft walked out of the consultation room with the same expression as usual, not different.

The difference was that the little black umbrella that he never left his hand was not held by him, but was broken into two by unimaginable force, and it was lying pitifully in the trash can of the hospital at the moment.

Mycroft was passing this trash can.

So Anthea, the assistant lady who followed him every step of the way, put away the mutated weapon that the boss discarded casually, and prepared to destroy it secretly.

Of course, this matter is not important now.

Mycroft stood at the door of the ward.

He stared at the snow-white door, paused for a full two seconds, and then opened the door and walked in.

Sherlock was lying on the hospital bed... It might not be appropriate to say lying down, because Sherlock's two hands were tightly bound together by the most advanced smart handcuffs and placed under the quilt.

"I'm sorry that I have to tie you up. Since your current mental state is extremely unstable, I can't let you operate on Miss Ludwig yourself."

He reached out and patted Sherlock's leg through the thin quilt:

"Your leg is fine. Since you are still a little away from the center of the explosion, and other parts of your body are not injured, you will be fine after two days of rest, and there will be no sequelae."

Sherlock raised his head slowly:

"What about her?"

Mycroft sat down on the couch at the side of his hospital bed:

"You mean Miss Ludwig? Speaking of her, I have to talk about the two bullets that grazed your leg bones. They accurately incapacitated you, but did not cause more damage. ..."

Sherlock interrupted him:

"What about her?"

Mycroft changed his sitting position...not often.

"...If she hasn't used similar weapons before, I can only say that she is a genius in this area."

Under Sherlock's terrifyingly calm eyes, he crossed his fingers and avoided the topic openly:

"I've never been so lucky that someone shot you twice. Judging from the site survey, she turned her back to the center of the explosion, and you were facing the front. The risk factor was three and a half times higher. If you were really Just rushing to her side without any protection, then you will definitely die..."

Sherlock sat on the hospital bed, his fingers under the quilt seemed to be motionless.

"I'm not waiting for you to talk such nonsense, Mycroft."

The look in his eyes made people feel cold, but there were still only those two words:

"What about her?"

Mycroft sat on the sofa and was silent for a long time before speaking slowly:

"I've already told you the answer, Sherlock, when I paused at the door of your ward...you should have already guessed the result."

Under the pale light of the hospital, Mycroft's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish bubbling, seeing only the shape but not hearing the sound.

"Miss Ludwig is dead."

He looked at his brother's pale, calm, almost collapsed face, and said softly;

"She's dead, Sherlock."