"The Widow" Bertha

Pall Mall.

Mycroft looked up at the clock on the wall. Nearly an hour had passed since Bertha entered the bathroom.He thought for a moment, got up from the sofa, chose to leave the side hall, and walked directly to the second floor.

The man knocked on the door lightly, then pushed the door open and entered.

Fortunately, nothing unexpected happened, and Bertha just lay in Mycroft's bathtub, staring up at the ceiling in a daze.

She was completely naked, but most of her limbs were submerged under the foam, only her shoulders and limbs were outside. As she raised her head, her slender neck like a swan drew a beautiful arc, just lying on the honey-colored skin. The scabbed scars were almost glaring.

Mycroft pursed the corners of his mouth in displeasure, feeling that the scar was an eyesore.

Bertha turned her head at the sound of footsteps.

"What?" She raised her eyebrows and asked.

Mycroft took a step.

He stopped in front of Bertha: "Smoke?"

Bertha was surprised, and when Mycroft took out a brand new cigarette case and matches from her bosom, she realized that the man was not joking.

"Okay," she laughed, "laying in the bathtub and smoking, what a life of luxury and chaos."

"You are a great hero."

Mycroft knelt down, took out a cigarette and said seriously: "It's worth it."

He brought the cigarette butt in front of Bertha, and when his red lips bit the cigarette, his lips brushed slightly against Mycroft's fingertips, like a kiss or a tease.

The match was lit, and the smell of white phosphorus was fleeting. What remained was the golden flame of cigarettes in the bathroom with heavy curtains drawn tightly.

"How does it feel?" Mycroft asked.

"Fortunately," Bertha raised her hand to indicate the knife wound on her neck, "I'm not injured except for this."

Fortunately, she reacted quickly and avoided Marco Esposito's fatal blow.This cut looks scary, but it actually avoids blood vessels, it's just a flesh wound.

Bertha looked at the mirror for a long time, and only used alcohol and trauma medicine for simple disinfection.

She didn't take the injury to heart, but was surprised to find that the cigarettes that Mycroft himself brought to her mouth... tasted good.

She looked up, her eyes met, and Mycroft understood without Bertha needing to say anything.

He smiled and replied: "American products are said to be very popular with women on the other side of the ocean."

Bertha understood at once.

Probably that night in the backyard of the office, Mycroft found that she was not used to the cheap cigarettes that could be seen everywhere in the Whitechapel area, so she prepared it specially for herself.

Just that one time.

"You, Mike."

Bertha sighed, admitting that she had been badly pleased.

"If you will," she said, "how many ladies will you have to go on your behalf?"

"Thank you, Bertha."

Mycroft was modest: "But why should I care what other ladies think? Just care about this one in front of me."

"It's a pity that this person in front of you has caused a lot of trouble for you."

"It helped me a lot too, dear."

"So," Bertha took off the cigarette, turned her head, her dark golden eyes were filled with the usual sharpness and clarity, "Is there really trouble?"

"It's nothing more than the finishing touches brought by the Italians."

Mycroft explained: "Your boys are very obedient, Bertha, disarm immediately in the face of the army, and I assure you that they will not be harmed. This matter involves a cult, and I have explained it to Thomas. Just negotiate."

Having said this, Bertha was not relieved.

She held a cigarette: "other than that?"

Mycroft: "Other than that, you must give the police an account. Scotland Yard is looking for you, Bertha."

Bertha could not help laughing.

It wasn't too much trouble.

Gang fires and boss deaths, it's a wonder Scotland Yard doesn't do anything like this.In addition, Bertha had tricked Inspector Lestrade several times, and he would definitely pursue her.

But even if he took Bertha to court, there would be no result.

One is that it was Marco Esposito who made the first move. Even if no one witnessed it at the time, the knife wound on Bertha's neck can also testify.

British law in the [-]th century did not have a strict definition of self-defense, but she did act out of personal threats. Can Bertha be blamed for this?

Second, she has money and can afford the best lawyers to defend herself.

"It seems that we have to spend some time dealing with the police," Bertha sighed. "It's not a big deal, but it's troublesome."

"It's not urgent."

Mycroft said slowly, "Don't worry, Bertha, as long as you're in this apartment, you're safe."

Bertha understood at once.

She hooked the corner of her mouth, put the cigarette back to her mouth, and leaned back to the edge of the bathtub safely.

"Then I'll take a good rest," Bertha said with peace of mind, "Let the police station wait a little longer!"

Bertha rested in this way for three full days.

For three days she had not set foot outside her flat in Pall Mall, and Mycroft Holmes had been with her three whole days.

Mycroft kindly reminded her not to soak too long in the bathtub, but Bertha grabbed the man by his tie and dragged him unexpectedly into the water.His well-tailored outfits were water-stained, and soon his reminders were worthless.The two were accommodated in the bathtub with difficulty, and all of Mycroft's complaints were blocked in his throat with one kiss after another.

This is just the beginning.

When you say rest, you mean rest.

For three days Bertha had thought nothing, plotted, planned the future, or considered the past.She could only focus on the present moment, which was just her and her man in the apartment on Pall Mall Street.

The world covered by the ceiling hides countless presumptuousness and absurdity.

Bertha wanted to dance, and Mycroft did his duty, she was wearing only her nightgown, and she stepped on his shoes with bare feet, while the gramophone played a slow and melodious melody, Bertha pillowed on Mycroft's broad shoulders, His palm falls behind her butterfly bone.

Ears and temples rubbing together, gestures of intimacy, a waltz accompanied by the breeze.

Bertha wants to be happy, Mycroft never disappoints, the hot body is intertwined, and all dissatisfaction is filled inch by inch.She falls into a deep sleep between kisses, and wakes up from her sleep between kisses, with high and low transitions of tenderness and enthusiasm.

At least these few times Bertha's wishes were granted, and they were in bed.

Bertha even tasted once more the supper that Mycroft had cooked himself.Holding hot tea, she leaned against the door frame of the kitchen and watched the man busy.The cook was guilty of Bertha's whim, but Mycroft enjoyed it.He remembers that she likes to add more salt, but she also warns at the dinner table that there should be more.

It's just that Bertha found that she still prefers the small kitchen of "Mr. and Mrs. Smith". There is no fireworks in the empty apartment, and his craftsmanship is still proficient, but it is a little less interesting.

In the early morning of the third day, Bertha lay on Mycroft's chest, listening to the man's steady and powerful heartbeat, and couldn't help but breathe a deep sigh of relief.

"What?" asked Mycroft.

His palm was deeply buried in her hair, and the long black and thick hair poured over the quilt.The Jamaican girl is like a leopard that has only been fully fed, crawling near the spoils, satisfied and lazy, her honey-colored skin is almost reflecting in the morning sun.

Bertha yawned: "Now I understand why there are so many foolish kings in history."

Mycroft asked seriously, "Shall I carry you to the bathroom?"

She laughed.

Finally Bertha sat up by herself, her dark hair bobbing behind her slender waist.

"Let's not keep Inspector Lestrade waiting," she said in a hoarse voice. "It's been three days."

Bertha went back to the bathroom again and washed herself inch by inch.

She dried her thick hair, then carefully pomaded it, and pulled it back with beautiful, almost extravagant hair accessories; then she picked out the most gorgeous dress in the wardrobe, a reddish-brown expensive The cloth was hooked with golden embroidery thread, which seemed to be of great value—only a face as gorgeous as Bertha could hold back such a dress.

Dressing up like this is like going to a wedding.

Accompanied by Mycroft, Bertha opened the door of the apartment in Pall Mall, which had been closed for three whole days.

The daylight poured into the ground with the open door, and the policemen standing outside lined up in a guarded posture.However, when Mrs. Thames stepped out of the door, her face was full of spring, with a bright smile, as if the stern Inspector Lestrade had come to greet her triumphantly instead of arresting her.

"Good day, Inspector," said Bertha with a smile, "hope my boys return the key to the mortuary that you 'lost' earlier?"

Inspector Lestrade: "..."

The inspector's unattractive face turned as dark as the bottom of a pot in an instant.

He looked at the woman in front of him with a complicated expression—Inspector Lestrade admitted that he hated Mrs. Thames who plotted against him several times, but when he knew that she was also "Miss Marple" At that time, the detective found that he couldn't hate him anymore.

In any case, she did help the police solve a few cases.

It's just that the inspector also couldn't feel any trust in her.

"Bertha Thames," he said grimly, "you are accused of murdering the Italian factory owner Marco Esposito, please come with us."

"of course."

But Bertha didn't mind at all. She even stretched out her hands and asked provocatively, "Do you want to handcuff me?"

Lestrade: "..."

The detective took a deep breath and held back the anger that surged up: "Take her away!"

"Then I'll go first."

Bertha turned her head and smiled at Mycroft. She still didn't forget to lean forward slightly and plant a kiss on the side of his face: "Remember to visit me in court in a few days, dear!"

Mycroft tilted his head, as if he wanted to maintain his proper demeanor in public, but seeing Bertha's insanely arrogant smile, he endured it, couldn't hold it back, and laughed out loud.

this woman.

He shook his head with a smile, fearing that if the sky fell, he would clap his hands first.