[Comprehensive] Mrs. Holmes Daily

Ludwig paused because of Sherlock's "alone".

She just felt that it was too troublesome to explain, and she didn't have the habit of celebrating birthdays. If it wasn't a coming-of-age ceremony, she might not remember it at all.

...but why, she felt, Sherlock seemed a little unhappy?

This is just a trivial matter... She must be thinking too much.

The Kenyan girl stopped wrapping the cake, then raised her head with a smile:

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes, I am the best cake decorator certified by PME, and this is not a small cake shop."

Sherlock: "If you insist on wishful thinking."

Ludwig pressed Sherlock's hand in his pocket in time:

"I will pay for the cake myself... Only our common expenses are paid by you."

Sherlock paused: "I have no intention of taking money, I never put money in my coat pocket."

"There is no need to pay the bill."

The Kenyan girl smiled slightly:

"The Cattle Cake is owned by Mrs. Holmes. I'm just here to help train their baker. As Mr. Holmes' girlfriend and the luckiest lady in London, you don't have to pay, of course."

Ludwig: "..."

Is Mrs. Holmes in charge of catering for the whole of London?

So tell her, what exactly does she have to pay for being the girlfriend of the luckiest Mr. Holmes in London?

When the taxi drove towards the dark mountain road, Ludwig finally couldn't bear it anymore.

"Are you sure you're on the right track?"

"of course."

Ludwig scratched the glass window with a tangled face:

"But why do I feel that there won't be an apartment here...it's more like a place where Dracula lives."

"If you really want to read literature, I don't recommend you read too much Gothic fiction—literature is boring, and Gothic fiction is the pinnacle of boredom."

Ludwig turned around in surprise:

"It's unbelievable...you know even gothic novels now?"

Sherlock stared at the phone expressionlessly, his tone was a bit cold - his tone had been so cold since she finished buying the cake.

His personality is originally cold, and if he is so cold, he will give people a cold feeling, as if you are a goldfish without thinking in his eyes, not worth talking to.

But facing such a cold Sherlock, Ludwig breathed a sigh of relief.

"There's no reason why I don't understand what you understand."

... Ludwig brought up the sigh of relief just now.

If she had been in the past, she would have thought that it was just that Sherlock couldn't bear what others understood that he didn't understand.

But after finding out that Sherlock was... her boyfriend, she seemed to think a little more about him without saying a word.

For example, those words in the bakery before, or his explanation just now.

And the more I think about it, the more I feel that I can't say anything to clarify the misunderstanding.

Ludwig turned sideways, and there was a faint light coming from the car window. On the road not far away, there began to be one after another, medieval-style ship lights, hidden among the layers of green leaves.

"Actually, Gothic novels are not all dross."

She leaned on the car window, and while speaking, the car slowly turned a corner.

"Like Dracula, elegant and noble, not only knowledgeable, but also able to get off the kitchen bed, what a vampire... What the hell is that!"

Ludwig opened his eyes wide.

Under the huge silhouette of the mountain, under the starry sky, where the lights are bright.

Gradually it was revealed that a medieval... castle?

...that is really an ancient castle.

Ludwig even saw an obelisk standing quietly under the night.

Who is so... pretentious?

"...are there any other residential buildings here? I mean, apartment buildings or something."

The driver uncle said strangely:

"Who would build buildings in the mountains? It will take half an hour to drive out. There is only the second Sherlock Holmes manor here."

"The second Sherlock Holmes estate?"

Ludwig turned his head "bass" and looked at Sherlock in disbelief:

"This is what you told me... a small apartment that lacks a sense of design?"

Sherlock turned his face away lightly:

"This manor is completely imitated of the place where I lived before, even the cracks on the Roman columns are exactly the same. There is nothing new, and of course it lacks a sense of design."

He has an expression of "my description is completely correct, it's all because you misunderstood it":

"Besides, we occupy at most one room inside, which is not fundamentally different from an apartment..."

Ludwig almost grabbed him by the collar and roared: Of course there is a difference, the difference is huge! !

I just found out my girlfriend's identity, and I haven't explained it clearly here, so I immediately moved into Sherlock's house, the progress is too fast, she can't hold it...

"Then what you said, the so-called small government official who treats guests and his parents..."

Wait... Ludwig paused.

Minor government official—Mycroft?

Fuck, is there any big officials in the government?

"My elder brother by blood is indeed a government official, and it is indeed his parents who want to invite you to dinner."

Sherlock said calmly:

"It's just that his parents, unfortunately, are also my parents."

"...You still don't need to explain, Mr. Holmes, do you know what it means in Great Britain to bring a woman to meet her parents and live there for a short time?"

Sherlock turned his head and stared at Ludwig, silent.

After a while, he pursed his lips:

"If you're referring to its sociological symbolism . . . roughly."

"If you know it, you shouldn't mess around like this."

Ludwig fell back and leaned back in the chair:

"As you said, we've only been together for half a month, and we don't know if this fragile relationship can last until the second half of the month... See the parents now, are you kidding me?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes: "...a fragile relationship? Also, what do you mean by 'not lasting for the second half of the month'?"

"Isn't it fragile? Didn't we quarrel before Lestrade came? Don't tell me that you love me so much that you can't get out of it, and you can turn a blind eye to the contradictions between us."

Sherlock looked into her eyes.

In those black and white eyes, there was no anger or anger, only... ridicule.

She was... deeply mocking.

And he... couldn't help himself.

Ludwig smiled coldly:

"Your reason is above everything else. Even if I disappear immediately, I'm afraid your life will not be affected in any way... So, I beg you, don't always make rash decisions about the two of us by yourself before you think it through. —I am not dead."

She knocked on the back of the driver's seat: "Sorry, stop."

Sherlock pressed her fingers on the doorknob, pulled her back into the seat, and said indistinctly:

"It's too late to get out of the car now. We've already arrived at the door of our house. I informed them in the morning that my father and mother came here on a special trip."

Ludwig looked at him in surprise:

"That's something you have to solve. Whether you can step down or not is none of my business? Although I don't think that's your real reason, because face doesn't matter to you at all."

She smiled:

"Before you make a decision for me every time, you never consider whether I am willing or not... Correspondingly, I don't have to consider your position either."

The driver in front said at a loss, "Should we go or not?"

Sherlock grabbed Ludwig's wrist:

"Keep going."

"Well, keep driving...keep driving."

Ludwig smiled:

"What am I worried about? As long as you don't worry about me acting rudely, speaking inappropriately, and offending your parents—that's the thing that really won't come down."

Sherlock's grip tightened.

In the gray gem-like eyes, no emotion can be seen.

"It's just a meal, you don't have any loss, I don't understand why you react so much."

Ludwig let Sherlock hold his wrist, his expression calmed down.

"That's right, I'm making trouble for no reason. It's just staying for a few days and eating a few meals, but I can't even understand you. As a Sherlock Holmes' girlfriend, I'm really unqualified, so we split..."

Let's break up.

Let's break up, it was originally a misunderstanding.

Let's break up, rather than letting you think that you were teased and deceived by me, it's better to let you think that I just left in anger, and let you think that we can't be together because of our personality differences.

In this way, at least in this way, you will not have a completely contemptuous attitude towards normal human emotions because of me.

So... instead of explaining more and more chaos, it is better to break up like this and end this oolong.

But she was interrupted by Sherlock before she could finish her sentence.

"I've said it again, and I don't like to repeat it... The criminals this time are different from the past. Their goal is not simply to kill me, but they will probably start with people around me, with the purpose of completely destroying me. And the only person around me who can make them attack is - you."

Ludwig looked at his expressionless face, his lips moved slightly, but he couldn't speak.

Let's break up—this sentence can't be said now, will there be a chance to say it in the future?

"If it's just me, I can live anywhere... But it's different now, because I'm beside you, and you."

——She was too weak, completely unable to protect herself, she had to stay by his side, and she couldn't be far away from him from the living room to the room, and it made people feel restless to leave for a second.

And the closest and safest place he could think of was his brother's manor.

His eyes are stern, under the calm gray lake, the dark tide is surging, like a dark flame burning:

"...So, whether you agree or not, you can only live here during this time."

Ludwig was held by his wide hand, and stood there in a daze, not knowing what to say for a moment.

And the phrase "Let's break up" is like a thorn stuck in the throat. Although I can't spit it out quickly, it's stuck there, and I can't spit it out.

The car stopped slowly in an open space.

"get off."

He let go of her wrist, the dark light in his eyes disappeared, and his expression returned to his usual indifference and reservedness.

Ludwig was still in the car in a daze, but suddenly Sherlock stretched out his hand and dragged him out of the car staggeringly.

Immediately, the uncle driver kicked the accelerator with a "swish" as if his butt was on fire, and left at a high speed.

He didn't feel the "rhabdomyotrophic disorder" that Sherlock called, or the sluggishness of stepping on the brakes.

Ludwig staggered to his feet, and before he had time to look around, he was hugged into a warm embrace.

"Oh, my sweetheart."

The person hugging her was a lady with a very slim figure. She didn't have time to see her face clearly, but only got a glimpse of her bumpy figure that was clinging to her.

The lady's voice was low and choked up and said:

"What a poor child, from your habitual look to the left when you got out of the car, you must have had a close relationship with your parents when you were a child, and from the way you like to put your keys in your left pocket, it can be seen that you have been frightened for a long time - the law and order in France is so bad okay?"

The lady turned her head and said in a dissatisfied tone:

"Christopher, can't you write a letter suggesting that the French president improve their law and order?"

Another majestic deep voice said a little sleepily, as if he was used to it:

"I've been stressing to you for 27 years, Heras...your husband's name is Christian, not Christopher."

Ludwig leaned back silently, avoiding the too tight embrace.

... No need to reason, this must be old Mrs. Holmes.

And that must be old Mr. Holmes.

Sherlock rescued Ludwig from the arms of the old Mrs. Holmes, and only used a faint evaluation:

"Mom, if you hold her for a full minute and you can only see the security problems in France-then with all due respect, you can let her go, because you won't get more information."

Old Mrs. Holmes released Ludwig immediately.

She stretched out a hand with a diamond ring and a rose bracelet, caressing Ludwig's face, with a gentle expression:

"It doesn't matter if you're not close to your parents - whether you and Sherlock are married or not, you can call me Mom."

☆, after the first breakup failed

... Ludwig was silent for a while, and at the same time was frightened by old Mrs. Holmes' words and her young and delicate face.

Sherlock - Holmes is simply a replica of her, but more angular.

Gray eyes like autumn water, under the long black eyelashes, under the pure black curly hair like crow feathers, like a gray, empty lake.

... No, I shouldn't call you mother, I should call you sister.

This is so young, it's Liu Xiaoqing without makeup.

She smiled slightly, longing to take her hand out of old Mrs. Holmes's:

"...Thank you, Mrs. Holmes."

"Oh, don't call me Mrs. Holmes, I hate being called someone else's last name, call me Heras, I've inherited my grandmother's sister's name, and that counts as my name—isn't it, Christopher?"

"Six thousand 320 seven times, my name is Christian... To be honest, just because I didn't take your surname when I got married, you have called me by the wrong name for so many years, it is so childish, Heras."

Ludwig then looked at the man who spoke.

Given his beard, Ludwig could not see his face very clearly.

He just stood there lazily, with a look of not waking up, wearing a pink shirt casually, with the collar button loosely undone, just like the middle-aged people who can be seen everywhere in the streets of the United States, drinking street coffee .

It was in stark contrast to the unbelievably exquisite attire of old Mrs. Holmes.

...Old Mrs. Holmes, she was very well dressed.

Sherlock seemed to see through her mind, and explained lightly:

"You didn't notice her last time, which hit her hard. I'm sure she's been trying on clothes since I told her you were coming this morning."

Ludwig: "..."

No one came to greet him except Sherlock's parents.When they walked onto the suspension bridge leading to the gate of the manor, it was also quiet along the way.

It was as if there was no one else in the huge manor except for the few people in front of me.

"There are people along the way."

Sherlock didn't look at her, but walked side by side with her on the suspension bridge, holding her hand, looking at the dark valley between the mountains and said:

"There is a monitoring person every three meters, but you probably won't find them. There is an infrared monitoring point every one meter... I advise you not to step on it. My father designed a very effective capture and reaction chain. From this he has a series of Since the settings were started, the housekeeper has never bought meat, and has been eating freshly caught game."

"..."

Ludwig stepped on the rickety suspension bridge with difficulty, had to help Sherlock's hand to maintain balance, and whispered:

"I can still understand this...but I don't understand why the bridge is so swaying. Generally speaking, shouldn't such a wide bridge be very stable?"

Sherlock paused, as if he was very reluctant to talk about it, but his tone was still cold:

"My mother added a pulley under the bridge... She thinks that the right shaking frequency is good for regulating emotions, and it can also exercise the muscles and bones along the way. However, those who come to Holmes' house to step on the spot are too nervous, and the work intensity is too high. It is not reasonable, and some Need to help them..."

Ludwig slipped suddenly, almost slipping into the infrared range that Sherlock said.

Sherlock reached out and pulled her back easily.

"……relax for a moment."

Ludwig touched his chest, and was in shock:

"...Your mother is so cute."

Mrs. Herras, who was walking in front with Mr. Holmes on her arm, turned her head and smiled:

"I think so too...but I'd be cuter if you could remove the 'you' in front of 'mom'."

Ludwig: "... Mrs. Herras, I think you are cute enough, really."

"Oh, my sweetheart, that's not necessarily the case. When it comes to cuteness, I'm definitely not as good as you..."

On Mrs. Heras's beautiful face, there was a narrow smile:

"After all, little Charlie hasn't let me hold his hand for 18 years...isn't it, Sherlock baby?"

Sherlock said blankly:

"The 130th reminds you for the eighth time, Mom, please call me Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes, and 'Sherlock Baby' again, and I will always call you 'Mrs. Holmes'."

Mrs. Herras turned her head:

"You are so uncute, Sherlock... Maggie was cute when she was a child, but you have never been cute since you were born."

"It's a great honor for me, Mom."

Calling Mr. Holmes 'Baby Sherlock' or Mycroft 'Maggie' doesn't bother Ludwig anymore, really.

Her thoughts were still stuck on the sentence "little Xiali has refused to let me hold his hand for 18 years".

She stared at the hands she and Sherlock had been clasping for some time, and wanted to chop off her own, or knock it open after it was frozen at minus one hundred degrees Celsius.

What balance is maintained.

Forget it if you fall down.

They walked into the black carved door and walked into the still very retro hall.

In the middle of the long spiral staircase, in front of the huge portrait of Mrs. Heras, stood a man in a neat suit, holding a long black umbrella, exactly the same as any time I saw him.

"Oh, I didn't expect to see you again so soon, Miss Ludwig."

Holding on to the railing of the stairs, he walked down the stairs slowly, with a soft tone.

"Perhaps I should call you - Mysister-in-law?"

Mrs. Herras cast him a reproachful glance:

"You are not qualified to speak in this regard, Maggie, at least Sherlock has brought you a sister-in-law, but you haven't even brought him a brother-in-law."

Mycroft paused:

"Call me Mycroft, mother, and I'm not gay."

"Oh, I'll remember next time, Maggie..."

Mrs. Herras waved her hand nonchalantly, and led old Mr. Holmes to the side door, smiling at Ludwig:

"I'll ask the housekeeper to take you to your room, and Christopher and I will get you some snacks—Christopher's French tart is the best, isn't he?"

Old Mr. Holmes' lazy voice came from the corridor:

"French tart? No, Heras, I don't know what that is."

After their backs disappeared, Ludwig smiled at Mycroft, crossing his arms:

"What should I do, Mr. Mycroft, I don't think being your sister-in-law is something to be proud of."

"Oh?"

He walked up to Ludwig and looked down at her:

"But in my opinion, apart from this, my ineffective brother has no other advantages."

Ludwig looked directly at Mycroft and smiled slightly:

"At least Sherlock is better-looking than you, doesn't talk as cumbersomely as you, doesn't have as much fat on your body, and doesn't point a gun at me—isn't it, Xiali?"

Sherlock's response was to just drag her away.

Ludwig: "..."

Mycroft sighed behind them:

"You don't have to, Sherlock, your little girlfriend just stared at me for 2 minutes..."

Sherlock said lightly:

"That's the limit - I've tried it, and as long as you stare at you for more than 3 minutes, the eyes will inevitably get some kind of pollution."

Mycroft said cheerfully:

"That's better than me staring at you for 3 minutes and then being hypnotized by you."

"Who told you to refuse to study psychology when you were four years old?"

"Because that's useless pseudoscience."

"So you're hypnotized by me—it's as simple as that."

Mycroft looked at his back:

"When I was four years old, you were not born yet, Sherlock—on the third floor, the location of the room has not changed, and it is completely arranged according to the main house."

Sherlock turned back and smiled slightly:

"Then I'll trouble you to bring the snacks instead of my mother—although I really don't want to see you, but seeing my mother with snacks at night is definitely something I don't want to see."

They walked up to the corridor on the third floor. There were dark rooms on both sides, extending from 2046, 2047, and 2048 all the way to the back.

Ludwig: "This is like a cabin—why is there a number on the door?"

Sherlock's tone was cold, but he still explained:

"Most of this floor is my study room, with a total of 27 rooms. Although I can remember where each book is placed, the housekeeper can't remember it, so the numbering has become an indispensable and stupid thing."

The collection of books in 27 rooms...

It's a good thing she rarely shows off her knowledge in front of Sherlock, which would be a shame.

"...Do you know which room I'm going to? Didn't your mother say that the housekeeper would take us there?"

"housekeeper?"

Sherlock turned to look at her:

"Isn't Old John always by your side?"

Dark medieval corridors, dark medieval rooms.

Between the rooms, Mrs. Herras probably wanted to create a certain atmosphere, with only a small, dim boat light on.

"He... is next to me?"

Ludwig silently grabbed the hem of Sherlock's coat and said slowly:

"What does it mean?"

Sherlock stared at her hand grabbing his hem:

"You seem to enjoy grabbing my hem...but it's no use grabbing my hem if you're scared."

Ludwig smiled calmly: "What are you talking about? No, I'm not afraid."

No matter how scared she was, she would never hold his hand again.

When the action becomes a habit, the relationship really becomes a deception and a game, and I can't explain it clearly.

Pull again, cut hands.

The cold and clear moonlight poured in from the window, and there was dust floating in the air.

Sherlock looked at her, pursed his lips, and in the process of walking forward, slowly took two steps closer to her, walking next to her.

"Are you afraid of ghosts?"

Scared of ghosts?

Afraid, of course.

When she opened her eyes in the small apartment opposite the Louvre, she couldn't move because her whole body was stiff, and she couldn't feel the temperature of the floor because her whole body was cold.

All this told her that the body that woke her up was a lifeless corpse that had been dead for a long time.

The cold, stiff, small corpse that belonged to Ludwig.

For a long time, she didn't dare to look at her hands, wash her face, or look in the mirror, for fear of seeing the dead spots on her face that hadn't disappeared.

I didn't dare to eat, because I was afraid that my stomach was still rotting.

... She has been able to come back from the dead, so can't other more supernatural things happen?

"Not afraid."

Sherlock didn't get the sarcasm down to the essence, but Ludwig knew that he was sarcasm:

"It's amazing that, as an organism that retains excitability, you can be afraid of a bunch of organic and inorganic combinations."

Ludwig was still clutching the hem of Sherlock's coat.

"Well, I'm a little scared - but I want to counter that it's not the combination of the inorganic and the organic that I'm afraid of, sir, it's the souls that I'm afraid of, so I'm not afraid of those severed arms in your room, but I am Crime scene."

Sherlock disagreed, but did not take the coat out of Ludwig's hand:

"Then I'd rather you fear a combination of organic and inorganic matter. At least that's not nonsense."

Ludwig: "With all due respect, just because you can't prove the existence of the soul, you can't prove the non-existence of the soul."

"So you're afraid of something that you're not even sure exists?"

"I don't know if it exists?"

Ludwig repeated:

"Mr. Holmes, I also thought that all these things did not exist. I also believed that space is definite, time is fluid, and the sum of all probabilities is equal to one."

"...so I hate physics, time, space, determinism...what's the point of all that? That's a really useless subject."

"I think it's a wider world that doesn't lose to chemistry."

Ludwig dragged Sherlock, directly lowering the average walking speed of the two of them:

"Mr. Holmes, do you know where the boundary of space is? You don't know. You can find the truth about all the murders in the world, but you can't find the end of space or the end of time."

Sherlock paused: "Why go to the end of the space? Are you planning to travel there?"

"No, I just want to prove that things that you think are impossible are possible."

She said lightly:

"There is no end to time and space, so the probability that depends on the existence of these two is endless... When the possibilities are infinite, how can we refute so directly, the soul does not exist, time is irreversible, and space is not parallel ?”

Ludwig gripped Sherlock's coat a little tighter.

Because if all this does not exist, then who is going to explain why I am here?

Sherlock opened his mouth slightly. With his meticulous logic and absolutely pragmatic style, before he had time to say his thousand and one refutation reasons, he heard an old voice behind Ludwig:

"Little madam, old John is here."

☆, the second breakup failed

The voice sounded against her back, and Ludwig almost jumped up, grabbing Sherlock's collar in fright.

"What the hell!"

Sherlock broke her hand away, and didn't let go by the way.

He turned his head and said to a crooked shadow behind him:

"Old John, are you finally willing to speak out?"

The old man behind him held on to a candlestick and walked in front of them tremblingly.

The dim light illuminated his gray beard, and the dimples on his face and body were traces left by years of time.

He carefully took off the key pinned to his waist.

He walked on the cold granite floor, but there was no sound at all:

"Because Old John found that if he didn't make a sound, he would become a lonely soul at the end of the space."

Ludwig touched his nose.

Sherlock glanced at her, and said casually:

"You don't mind . . . even Mycroft has a hard time spotting him when he doesn't want to be seen."

"That's because of your great-grandfather, Mr. Charles Holmes, who had a very strange habit--if old John made a sound on his left, he had to run to his right and make the same sound, and if the sound was asymmetrical, He can't think."

Old John stopped in front of a white door decorated with baroque reliefs at the end of the corridor, which was the only white door on this floor.

He turned his head and bowed his trembling body respectfully towards them.

"So old John tried his best to avoid making noise...Little master, this is the room I arranged for my little lady."

The last sentence "little lady" was ignored by Ludwig in shock.

But this sentence, she couldn't ignore it.

She swallowed a mouthful of saliva:

"I think you have misunderstood, Mr. Steward... I am not Mr. Holmes' wife. You don't need to call me Mrs. It's too..."

Old John's disorderly eyebrows raised slightly, and Ludwig actually saw a sharp light in his cloudy gray-blue eyes.

But soon, the light disappeared, and Old John nodded clearly:

"Little master, haven't you gotten your love yet?"

...This is so damn sharp, old man.

Feeling Sherlock's faint gaze on her face, Ludwig froze for a moment, unable to speak a word.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly.

"But it doesn't make any difference whether the little master gets your love, little madam..."

Old John said calmly:

"Old John has served the Sherlock Holmes family for nearly a century, so he is very clear, but whatever the Holmes are looking for, they have never been unavailable."

The flickering light of the candle shone on his face, like a ghost from the Middle Ages:

"...No matter what method is used, no matter what method is used, the cruelty and bloodshed are beyond imagination. They never pursue it. They only believe in plunder and suppression based on wisdom... and the ending always has nothing to do with your will."

He bent slightly again:

"Since the little master has decided to be with you, it is only a matter of time before you become Old John's little wife—Old John has never doubted this."

Ludwig looked at his receding back.

What does it mean to never pursue and only believe in plunder and suppression based on wisdom?

At first, I only thought that she and Sherlock were just a love game between young people. It might be a bit troublesome to explain, but as long as the explanation is clear, the matter can still be resolved.

But now it seems that the problem is not as simple as she thought.

They walked back and forth into the room, and Ludwig turned on the light.

This is a very retro and exquisitely decorated room, but the style is very simple.

There are no messy photos or stickers on the walls, and there is no string of small wooden wind chimes hanging in front of the windows like many Europeans like.

There are no plants, no small items placed, and no trace of people living there.

A few books were stacked neatly in a corner of the desk, next to it was a box of black ink, beside the ink, on a pen holder, there was a very delicate quill pen.

The sheets and quilt covers are all white, and you can faintly see that there are extremely delicate dark patterns on the reflections-but they are still white, white pillowcases, white carpets, and white curtains.

It completely highlights the person who designed the room, a serious clean freak.

Ludwig put the cake on the desk and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling sleepy.

Every day she lived with Sherlock, she was very sleepy, because what happened every day was beyond imagination.

Sherlock sat in the armchair and took out Ludwig's clothes and books from the military bag.

The bag was full of Ludwig's stuff, nothing of Sherlock's luggage.

Ludwig lowered his eyes:

"You can actually ask me to take it. I didn't know you were going home. I thought it belonged to the two of us."

Sherlock ignored her, but after taking out all the things, he hung the bag on the coat rack.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes."

She kicked Sherlock's sleek black leather shoes:

"Are you still angry? I was wrong to get angry at you in the car just now. I didn't know you did it for safety reasons...I sincerely apologize."

Sherlock was no longer indifferent this time, but only said indifferently:

"Reluctantly accepted."

"Why are you still angry? Speaking of it, you seem to have been so indifferent since I bought the cake..."

Ludwig blinked and suddenly realized:

"Are you angry that I don't give you the cake?"

She said reluctantly:

"Okay, for the sake of my anger at you... I'll give you a piece of it with reluctance."

Sherlock turned and looked at Ludwig sitting on his snow-white sheet.

Dark green linen trousers, loose and loose.On the corners, the complicated and delicate totems of the gypsies are embroidered with black embroidery threads.

This is an orthodox gypsy craft.

Probably on the way she was wandering, she met a gypsy craftsman who was also wandering.

She seemed to have a penchant for handmade things, which he had already discovered.

Sherlock paused:

"If you want cake, Old John can send you a ton in 15 minutes...