[Comprehensive] Mrs. Holmes Daily

Sherlock let out a "hmm", and her vocal cords triggered the tremor of her Adam's apple, a small tremor came from under her fingertips.

"Really? Maybe I walked too fast and didn't pay attention."

Ludwig's hand stopped, but only for a short second.

Are you in a hurry?

She bit her lip, pretending to mention it casually, and said:

"Sir, I didn't explain it to you because I think you must have already reasoned it out. It would be too stupid for me to explain it again-but everything that happened today is a stopgap measure. If you don't interrupt me, I will also avoid that kiss."

Sherlock raised his eyes, and her profile was clearly reflected in the gray pupils.

His little girlfriend, pretending to be indifferent, explained to him the whole story of what happened today with a casual attitude.

It's just that she didn't notice that the strength of her hands had subconsciously increased.If he was injured a little more seriously, this force might cause a second injury.

Ludwig took out the Band-Aid that was originally used as a bookmark from the flip of the book.

That small wound, falling on his smooth skin, was like a blemish on beautiful jade, reminding her all the time how many things she had done stupidly wrong.

If Sherlock hadn't come to rescue her, and Atum hadn't waited for Sherlock, she was useless and a liability-could she come back alive?

She pursed her lips, turned her face sideways, and carefully pasted the bandage on his broken wound by the dim light above her head:

"I did something wrong today... You told me that it's best not to go out today, but I didn't listen."

At some point, the bright stars disappeared, and a little bit of rain fell on their faces one by one, but none of them paid attention.

Her tone was casual, because she lowered her posture, with a little bit of softness, floating low in the night, her pale red lips, like flower petals, opened and closed in the breeze.

"But I promise, this kind of thing will not happen in the future... When I am with you, I will never go to nightclubs or casinos again... No matter what the reason is."

Her eyes were drooping, her eyelashes covered like a small fan.

Focusing on his insignificant wound, his lips pursed unconsciously, but then opened slightly:

"From now on, when you tell me to stay at home, I will obediently stay at home and not go anywhere..."

Her voice hadn't fallen yet, and her voice still stopped in the narrow alley, in the rain as thin and soft as cow hair, and it couldn't fall anymore.

Because, when the last words came out, Sherlock had already hugged her whole body tightly.

Following his bent posture, he hugged her and fell forward.

She was in his arms, so petite and fit, with just a light ring, her body, her hair, and her breath could be locked into his arms without leaking.

The alley was too narrow, and he easily pressed her against the opposite stone wall.

He stared deeply at her mysterious and pure black eyes like the night in the darkness, then bent down and kissed her petal-like lips.

Ludwig let go of his hand, and the book fell to the ground with a clatter, scattered all over the place.

The light yellow pages of the environmentally friendly paper were wet little by little by the drizzle of rain.

The old-fashioned lamp on the old stone wall is about to fall asleep, and the light is as old as an old man.

Dim, ambiguous, shrouded in mist...but yet so clear.

Thin rain fell from the endless black sky, falling into Ludwig's wide-open eyes like cow hair.

Sherlock is... Sherlock is...

Sherlock put one hand behind her head and cupped her face in the other.She was only as high as his shoulders, and he had to bend down to wrap her in his arms and kiss her fragrant lips.

Fragrant, soft, captivating.

Kiss her like you kiss a tulip.

Ludwig struggled and turned his head away: "Sir..."

Sherlock ignored her struggles, he let go of her face, and his broad palms followed the smooth fabric of the black satin shirt, holding the palms she had been trying to push away from him.

Fingers intertwined.

Then he turned his head, the tip of his nose against hers, his lips against hers.

He gently rubbed her lips, and said lightly:

"Open your mouth."

It's not just a taste, it's not enough, he wants more with the feeling of fullness in his arms.

What Sherlock held happened to be her injured hand.

With his broken right hand tightly held by him, Ludwig couldn't help crying out in pain: "Sir, it hurts..."

However, her cry was too weak, like the meow of a newborn kitten. Before the sound could be released, he swallowed it all into his mouth along the open gap.

This time, it was truly engulfed—entangled with each other, overlapping each other.

Even deep in his throat, he could feel the other party's breath as cool as ice and snow.

... The rain gradually became heavier, and Ludwig could see the rain along the old and mottled lampshade, converging into small streams, dripping down drop by drop along the no longer smooth arc, and falling on her face superior.

The icy cold temperature could not wake her brain up.

Sherlock's hand behind her head went all the way down, along the flowing lines of the silk satin, and under the silk satin, her silkier skin fell on her waist.

With a light movement of his hand, Ludwig was lifted up by him, his shoulders were rubbed against the rough stone wall, and he was forced to meet his kiss even deeper.

Her legs were pressed between them by him, one arm was locked in his arms, and her body was also tightly imprisoned by him.

And the other hand fell into his palm, gripping him tightly.

His restraint was so firm that she couldn't tolerate the slightest struggle.

Her tiny resistance, like a mayfly shaking a tree, couldn't push his solid chest a little bit.

Ludwig raised his head, passively bearing Sherlock's irresistible kiss, his long eyelashes drooped and fell on her eyelids, and she could feel them trembling slightly as long as she blinked.

——It was the wings of a caught butterfly, shaking gently in the cage, struggling to escape.

She opened her eyes, and through the gaps in Sherlock's black hair, she saw beside the lampshade, a moth in spring and summer, drenched in the rain, flying around the old and dim street lamp.

Its wings were too heavy to fly because of too many water droplets.

On the pair of white wings, the fine scales it used to protect itself were also washed away by the rain, but it still circled around the dim light, persistently trying to capture the center of the light, and finally bright place.

The rain is getting heavier.

Sherlock's hair and windbreaker were already wet from the rain, and there were crystal drops of water on his eyelashes, and he was so close to her.

So close, she could count each of his eyelashes, but couldn't see his expression clearly.

I don't know how long the kiss has been - Ludwig no longer has the concept of time in his surging waves.

Maybe 5 minutes, maybe an hour.

Or maybe it was a whole day... the dawn came and the night passed without her noticing it.

The moth finally couldn't bear the weight of the rain, and everything seemed to happen suddenly—one second, it was still flying, catching fire in the rain, and the next second, it was already carrying its heavy weight The wings landed under the street lamp, on the window sill, and on a cluster of purple hyacinths.

Ludwig opened his eyes wide.

She watched the moth fall from mid-air, its wings folded, unable to fly... She wanted to take her hand out of Sherlock's hand, to reach out to catch it.

But her hand was tightly locked in Sherlock's bosom, in the palm of his hand, between his ten fingers, unable to move.

The moth landed on the hyacinth, and the flowers bloomed so brilliantly. Because of the stickiness of the water molecules, the small moth's withered body clinged to a purple hyacinth. After struggling for a while, the wings could not be lifted. Also did not move.

Ludwig suddenly struggled violently.

The injured hand was excruciatingly painful.

Sherlock finally didn't ignore her struggle this time, he was slightly separated from her, and his lips were still close to hers.

He spoke with a slightly hoarse voice:

"what happened to you?"

Ludwig panted from the slight lack of oxygen and said:

"pain."

His voice is the whispered cello, flowing like a sigh in the night:

"Where does it hurt?"

His lips were still gently caressing hers.

Like a soft feather, gently scratching the corners of her lips:

"Did I hurt you?"

Ludwig finally slowed down his breath, and his brain couldn't tell whether he was awake or confused:

"No, my hand hurts...the right hand."

His arm holding her relaxed slightly, his left hand raised slightly, held the bones of her wrist, and groped a little.

He stared into her eyes with a harsh tone:

"Your wrist is broken...why didn't you tell me?"

"why?"

Ludwig thought hard for a while, the rain streaming down her forehead:

"Because I guess you don't carry bruise cream with you."

Sherlock stared at her silently for a while, and in the next second, without warning, he possessed and kissed her again.

Without his protection this time, Ludwig staggered back a step, bumping his shoulder against the solid wall.

She looked away, Sherlock didn't force her this time, just supported the wall with one hand, and brushed away the water droplets that were about to flow into her eyes with the other:

"I used to wonder why people did it, thought it was pointless behavior...but, now, I get it."

His cool fingers brushed across her eyebrows:

"Kiss can indeed replace a lot of words - for example, what I wanted to say to you just now is that I hope you tell me everything about you, everything, every detail, whether you think it's important or not... because It is impossible for me to stay by your side anytime and anywhere, reasoning about the puzzles on you."

Ludwig looked at her toes without making a sound.

The shoes are black Martin boots, not such an expensive brand, and the edges are frayed.

It’s just that these shoes have accompanied her through too many places. She wore them and walked alone through the Andes in the United States and the Alps in Switzerland. They walked with her as described in "Heidi", and the flowers bloomed like Carpet valley.

It is like her friend, she has been reluctant to throw away.

Similarly, the more she experiences with Sherlock, the more she shares, the more... she will be reluctant to give up.

Sherlock's gaze was not empty, his was visible, tangible, tangible - she always knew without looking up that Sherlock was looking at her intently.

"If you don't speak, I will take it as your tacit agreement."

He looked at her, grasped every expression on her face, and stored them in his mind in a folder called "Ludwig."

His memory is more accurate than the imaging system of a single-lens reflex camera.

He intends to take advantage of her when she is most unconscious, and find out about her false and real past... This case named "Ludwig" is more complicated and contradictory than all the cases he has encountered before.

There has never been a case that made him want to solve the mystery so urgently... He didn't even care about the fun of the exploration process, he just wanted to reveal the cards of all her puzzles.

"Then, I want to make sure, besides your wrist injury, what else are you... hiding from me?"