[Comprehensive British and American] Those years when I opened a dessert shop on Baker Street

After the song was over, Morticia and Gomez applauded her proudly, and Wensti bowed, ended the performance, and hurried downstairs.

Wensty walked too fast and didn't hear the discussion of her parents behind her.

Morticia clasped Gomez's hand tightly, and sorrow climbed up her thin eyebrows: "I'm a little worried about Winsty."

Gomez: "I know, honey. It's sad that the song was so happy. But you don't have to worry about Winsty, she never bothered us, did she?"

"Yes, this is what I'm most worried about." Morticia stared at her husband, seeing her own sad face in his eyes, "This may be the heart of a mother, I hope the child can bring me a little trouble .”

"Of course, trouble is the greatest joy of a child. We have never found a cute little trouble from Winsty." Gomez agrees.

Morticia and Gomez, who were lamenting in the piano room, would never have imagined that Winsty, who had never worried them, was about to get into trouble.

Wensty ran out of the castle to welcome the returning spirit butterfly. The spirit butterfly and its owner were in a spiritual connection, so when the spirit butterfly returned to Adams Manor, Wensty could feel it immediately.Although the Psylocke had been made of paper and spells by her, they had worked for her for so long, and she would also feel bad if they didn't come back in time to turn into paper somewhere else and be swept away as trash.

She ran to the gate, and saw butterflies flying in the mist outside the gate, and a man surrounded by butterflies.

Winsty sent Psylocke to find Sherlock Holmes, but she never expected that the man she was looking for was standing in front of her.

She thought it was all just a coincidence.

In the dense fog, the spirit butterfly surrounded the two of them like a blue halo.

Wensty looked at the man outside the iron gate. He was more than a head taller than her, with curly black hair and bright and clear eyes. In the mist, he was like a spring reflecting sunlight. He was wearing gray clothes and buried in the mist. In the middle, it is obviously very close to her, but it gives her a feeling of being far away.

Sherlock is also looking at the little girl in the manor. His eyes are an automatic scanner, but it is hidden by the fog at the moment, and he can't read much effective information, but the thin and pale girl in front of him has two neat long braids The girl in the house obviously has nothing to do with the ferocious-looking blood-sucking demon. Of course, demons and ghosts are nonsense.

The girls in the manor were also looking at him with searching eyes.

There had never been a stranger visiting Adams Manor, and Wensty was full of curiosity about the arrival of the person in front of him.Could it be a relative?But she has never heard her parents mention that there is such a relative in their family...

After all, he looks too normal.He really doesn't look like a member of the Adams family. If he had an extra ear, he might be more like a relative who came to her house as a guest.

The girl's gaze changed from scrutiny to exploration, and Sherlock read from the change in her gaze that she was guessing his identity.

"Hey," Sherlock pretended to be cramped and friendly, "I'm a flower picker who came up from the town and walked all the way here..."

Suddenly Winston realized.

No wonder the butterflies follow him. Since he is a flower picker, he must be tainted with the smell of flowers. Paper butterflies are also butterflies, and they also love the fragrance of flowers.

"It's getting late now, and I'm a little hungry. If it's convenient, can I come to your house for dinner?" His expression showed an embarrassing plea.

Sherlock caught the embarrassment flashing in those black eyes.

"Please..."

Wensty couldn't bear to hear such a pitiful tone.

She is very willing to help the poor, but she doesn't know if the helpless person in front of her can bear all the weird things in her family?

The castle has been handed down from generation to generation by the Adams family. Once someone "not of my kind" steps in, they will immediately let out a low growl of "get out". The roar is deafening, enough to startle the birds in the entire mountain.

And the food cooked by her grandma...I'm afraid I can't describe such a strange taste with "difficult to describe".

She still remembers the smell like rotten banana peel.

Also, her parents didn't like contact with outsiders.

After various considerations, Wensty still rejected the plea of ​​the poor man in front of her. She said, "I'm sorry, I'm afraid it's not very convenient for my family to receive you. It's getting late, so you should go home quickly."

All the changes in Wensty's expression just now were recorded in Sherlock's mind: the castle in the thick fog, the girl in the castle, the hesitant look, and the strange disease in the town...

Sherlock: "Okay."

He pretended to be sorry, turned and left.

"and many more……"

He could only walk three steps away, when he heard the girl's crisp voice, he turned his head and saw a white and tender hand sticking out of the iron gate.

She was still holding a red apple tightly in her hand, which was bigger than her hand.

Winsty: "You take it, eat it on the way."

Sherlock approached and took the apple in her hand. The night was getting late, but the thick fog was gradually receding, and the girl became clearer in his eyes.

He looked at the apple in his hand, and then at her.

Her dark pupils radiated what might be called "goodwill."

Although the fog in the mountains dissipated gradually, the mystery in his mind became bigger. He thought that he could find clues this time when he went up the mountain, but he encountered an iron gate blocking him.

Winsty heard a thank you, his voice was very low, like a falling key on a musical score.

"Sir," Winsty called out to Sherlock when he turned to leave again, "are the flowers blooming particularly well now?"

Sherlock did not forget his disguised identity as a flower picker, and answered her: "Yes."

Of course it is, dusk comes and goes, spring comes from all directions, flowers fill the pickers' baskets, and the sweet fragrance of flowers floats over the town.

But this has nothing to do with Adams Manor, Spring has never thought of coming here as a guest.

It has been 13 years since Wensty remembered the beautiful spring days, picking flowers with friends to make flower honey and flower cakes.

There was unspeakable melancholy in her eyes.

Sherlock felt as if her eyes were gazing into the past, and the out-of-focus vision didn't last long, and she shifted the focus to him.

Winsty: "Sir, are you picking flowers to sell in the town?"

"Yes."

"Then can you pick a bouquet and sell it to me? Ordinary wild flowers are fine."

There was a gleam of anticipation in her eyes.

Sherlock nodded, needing an excuse to come over tomorrow.

The girl's eyes were bent like crescent moons in the sky after the fog cleared.

Sherlock leaves.

The group of azure blue butterflies followed Wenstie into the room, turning into paper and falling to the ground.

Another day without finding Sherlock Holmes.

But at least Butterfly welcomed a flower seller...

Wensty suddenly remembered that the road was dark at night, and that gentleman seemed to have no tools with lights.

Winsty picked up a piece of white paper, folded it into a butterfly, opened the shutter, the moonlight came in, and the butterfly flew out.

No matter how bright the moonlight is, it can't penetrate the dense forest. The road in the jungle is dark, and there are countless things that are about to move in the night.

Sherlock's sense of direction and memory are excellent, the route from the town to the mountain has been engraved in his mind, even if the night covered the entire dense forest, he went smoothly.

However, maybe the butterfly here prefers him, welcoming him up and sending him down at the same time.

The butterfly flew in front of Sherlock, with a faint light on his body, guiding the way forward like a beam of light, and it was precisely because of this faint light that the sneaky ones hidden in the darkness did not dare to act rashly.

The author has something to say: I need to take a leave of absence tomorrow, and I will update it as usual the day after tomorrow

Everyone, take care of yourself