New York is a Shura field [Comprehensive British and American]

For some reason, every time you're with Sherlock, you feel a little uncomfortable.

It's been that way since the first time we met.

Just his seeing eyes make you feel a certain discomfort, you don't want to be seen through.You sometimes wish that you have such a high genius IQ, but in fact you are just a smarter ordinary person, let alone a member of the Mensa Club or some rare girl genius who goes to Harvard at the age of 12.

You think that the psychological gap between you and the famous detective is still very strong.

You are indeed embarrassed about the vulnerable period, but... no one can refuse Sherlock Holmes.

You stand there like a penguin, and anyone who sees that look will be puzzled.

At the moment when you were standing outside hesitating, the detective had already calculated the time of your arrival, and was sitting on his single sofa waiting for you to open the door.

Your heart is easy to guess.

It was what it was to him anyway.Standing at the window, he sneaked a glimpse of you pacing back and forth at the door for a while, and he didn't look away until you stood motionless in the blind spot of his sight.

Today's Sherlock Holmes hadn't had dinner, and the waffles brought to him by Mrs. Hudson, the landlady not long ago, were still lying alone on a porcelain white plate, waiting to be tasted.

But he lacks interest.He is not hungry yet.

Sherlock doesn't like to live by the rules—it's not easy to follow the rules of "sleeping eight hours a day and having regular meals three times a day is a healthy life".The few words he agrees with are: An honest lifestyle is to act according to one's own body's wishes, eat when you are hungry, and don't lie when you are in love.

He also likes Marquez.At least he has also finished reading "Love in the Time of Cholera". You must know that this type of book is not Sherlock Holmes at all.

Ordinary waffles are certainly not enough for his eyes.

you.

He looked away and opened the tin box on the table. Inside were a few susceptibility period treatments for injection. It was a pale pink liquid, and the color was extremely beautiful, just like the pale sunset glow in the sky.It doesn't look like an injection at all, but like a sweet and sour drink.

He pulled one of them out and rolled the sleeve up, exposing the part where the elbow knuckles were facing inward.His blood vessels were all obvious, and after he was poked, the injection was pushed into it all at once.It won't take much time, it will roam all parts of the body along with the flowing blood cells.

And just a few seconds ago, he clearly heard the word that came out when his vocal cords trembled slightly.

is your name.

It has to be said that no matter how reluctant he was, the medicine developed by Mycroft's people really suppressed his illness very efficiently. In the final analysis, there is only one antidote...

After the injection, he stared at the iron box for a while, and then his eyes wandered to his skeleton head placed above the fireplace, thoughtfully.

But you're more slow than he imagined, and you haven't come up yet.

"She's gone?" Sherlock put his hands in the pockets of the light brown coat he was wearing. The fabric was draped silk, so smooth, it was like... like what?

oh your skin.

Skin.

"Impossible." He let down his hair, deleted some inexplicable thoughts about you from his mind, and denied it to himself.

But that was all in vain.You are like an unthinkable computer virus stuck to the desktop in the form of a folder.No matter how he deletes, right-clicks to smash, and clears the recycle bin, you will still return to the original place, showing off your victory to him silently.

You didn't come up the stairwell until he looked at the door No.15.

You admit that when you saw such a tall figure standing upright not far from the door without saying a word, your heart skipped a beat.

"How are you, Sherlock?" You asked when you got a good look at his face.

In fact, you don't know what else to ask other than this.

"Fine." His movements didn't change much, and he replied to you coldly and concisely.

"No." You think for a moment, "I mean, how are you doing?"

He didn't seem to expect you to ask this question, he cleared his throat, turned around and walked towards the sofa while answering, "As you can see—do you want me to answer well or not?"

You frowned slightly, "You know, I can't ask you to answer anything. I...I care about you."

He walked towards the sofa and suddenly changed direction. He walked to the fireplace and picked up the skull, holding it in both hands and returning to the original direction.The medicine that Mycroft gave him had a strong stamina, and he was easily drowsy.It reminded him of that hilarious farewell bachelor night he had celebrated with Watson earlier.At that time, he was also in this floating state, but the reason was different.

"The result is similar." He muttered something in a low voice, you didn't hear clearly.

He was lying on the sofa, the light was still dim, but he didn't draw the curtains, the moonlight tonight fell on him like fine sparks, casting a faint cold color on his sculptural face.

Maybe because of your perspective, you feel that Sherlock is different tonight.

He didn't answer your words, put the skull on his lap, and caught a glimpse of your attire out of the corner of his eye - the slightly wet coat that was not taken off, the shoes that were not changed and are still standing on the step rug at the door, and the obvious That faint tired look.

He said, "Don't you want to change your shoes?"

You also responded briefly as you saw.

"So, you didn't come back to sleep?"

You are keenly aware that he seems to be upset again, but you are not ready to accommodate him.

"I told you, Sherlock." You still didn't move even a step in his direction.

"Oh, really? My medicine was too strong, so I forgot—I guess." He softened his tone a little, "But Mrs. Hudson has been talking about when you will come back for the past two days. She is very happy. Miss you."

Your attention has successfully reached the medicine, "Really? Does the medicine have serious side effects?"

"Uh," you could hear the tiredness deeper than yours from his tone, "average." He even used a relatively neutral word, you must know that usually he directly admits yesorno.He didn't want to answer bad, so that Sima Zhao's heart seemed too naked and obvious, and he didn't want to answer well to pretend that he was fine.

Every day you go, he has something to do.

"At most, he would forget some things occasionally, lethargy, and loss of appetite." He opened his eyes and said nonsense.

You're all nervous, Sherlock Holmes is a detective!How important it is to him to have a superior memory, and now it is actually affected by drugs.

You quickly asked, "Did you forget a lot?"

He was thinking about how to answer, but he caught a glimpse of the overly concerned expression on your face, "Yi Ri, don't look at me with that expression, as if I have Alzheimer's disease."

"If you don't love yourself, you really will!"

"Don't think I don't know, and you don't eat well." He was referring to the incident where you passed out in school.

You were at a loss for words for a while, "Whatever you want, then I'll go." Then you turned around and prepared to leave quickly.

"Mrs. Hudson misses you very much. Every time I say it, I get tired of hearing it."

"I'll be back soon." You replied.But this answer made him very dissatisfied.

"You didn't have dinner today, and neither did I."

"So?" You turned to look at him again.

"...Let's have dinner together." He said this, and if one ignores his usual awkward expression, this is actually one of the few serious invitations in Mr. Holmes' life.

"But..." You hesitated a little, but even if you went to Steve, there was no one there.They are all busy and on assignment.

"If you can't give a reason, you agree." He said, stood up and walked to your side, and said to the next floor, "Mrs. Hudson, please make some dinner, whatever you want."

"Honey, I told you not to eat just now. Not now!" Mrs. Hudson's soft tone came from below.

"Yi's back," he adds, and Mrs. Hudson immediately becomes enthusiastic, overwhelming you.

You are approaching again.

"Mrs. Hudson asked you what you want to eat." Sherlock's words brought you back to reality from your thoughts.

"Uh, whatever you want is fine." You prevaricate.Sherlock didn't say anything, and returned to his sofa again, holding his skull in silence.

You have no choice but to change your shoes and sit on the sofa as Sherlock wanted.

But you don't know what to say, so you don't speak.

Omega seeks advantages and avoids disadvantages. After the last time, you have vaguely classified Sherlock as a threat. Now you have not thought about staying with him peacefully like this, and you inevitably feel that It's kind of embarrassing not to speak.Because Sherlock was no longer obsessed with his weird experiments.

You are afraid that you will do something that will allow him to start using his powers of reasoning on you.

But he was really quiet today.

Sitting stiffly, staring at you who didn't dare to move your knees, after ten minutes, I couldn't help but glance around.

Then I caught a glimpse of him sitting next to you, leaning on the sofa, sleeping unexpectedly.

He doesn't seem to be lying.The medication really made him want to sleep.

In fact, Sherlock with his eyes closed feels really different from usual.Those blue-green eyes were dozing peacefully at the moment.His skin is also so pale.You seem to be seeing him like this for the first time.

The last susceptible period is not counted.This is the normal sleeping face.

As soon as he let go, the skull slipped from his leg, and you quickly caught it.

This is one of his few good friends, and it cannot be broken.

With that in mind, you couldn't help but observe the skull more.

You find that after spending a long time with Sherlock, your tolerance for certain things has skyrocketed.Looking at this skull now, I don't feel any fear at all, as if it is an ordinary toy.

You find that there seems to be something inside.