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

You reach in from under the skull.Your hand is much smaller than his, and it's easy to stuff it in and touch something.

When I took it out, it was a small spray.

There is no label on it, and you have no idea what it is for.

Out of curiosity, you opened it and quietly sprayed it into the air, pale with shock.

This smell...so familiar?

You take another sniff in disbelief and realize it's your pheromone.

Is this some kind of perfume that collides with your pheromone smell? ?

You vaguely felt that you had discovered some terrible secret, and before the other party woke up, you quickly closed the lid, stuffed the spray back, and put it on his lap.

But this skull is very disobedient, always rolling around out of balance.

Just as you're trying to put the skull down for the third time, Mrs. Hudson has finished dinner and is serving it.When I saw you, I greeted you with a smile, and said "Oh!", covered my mouth and walked down with a smile.

Makes you so confused.

"What are you doing?" What Sherlock said in the next second reminded you of the situation now.

You actually put your hand on his thigh.

This action is an action that is inconvenient to do at any time.

You were a little ashamed, and immediately withdrew your hand.You actually just want to keep the skeleton in its original position.

Sherlock didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows and looked at you, "Can you help me up, Yiri?"

Today Sherlock said please for the first time.You didn't understand his intentions, and you couldn't refuse him, so you had no choice but to hold his arm and help him walk forward slowly, as if you were Mr. Holmes' exclusive little crutch.

He leans most of his weight on you, and the warmth through the smooth material is as hot as it was that afternoon.Even though he obviously didn't do anything now, you still—

Your ears are red.

The sweet potion took most of his strength away, and the best thing he could do for his situation now was to fall asleep in his bedroom bed.But he chooses to have dinner with you, even though he doesn't have much appetite.

People really are changeable.For the first time, he broke the concept that he has always followed and agreed with—for a certain purpose, he can eat even when he is not hungry.

He scooped up a small spoonful of mashed potatoes and put it into his mouth, but the discomfort in his stomach forced him to stop eating in an instant, and the frown between his brows deepened.

You notice this situation, you stand up quickly and go to the kitchen to pour him a glass of warm water.

"Are you OK?"

"I'm - fine." He put down the cutlery, considering how to start his statement in order to make it easier for him to arouse your sympathy.

Sure enough, his answer will not dispel your worry at all, but it will aggravate it within a reasonable range.This is what he wants.

"I guess you have a few questions you want to ask," he said.

You didn't even bother to eat, but just sat opposite him and said, "Sherlock, do you really go to receive treatment regularly? Why does it feel like you still haven't... changed after so long? Yes, it is change."

Sherlock glanced at you, then picked up the spoon on the table and repeatedly poked the mashed potatoes on the plate, "Of course." No.

"I'm normal now, obviously. Didn't do anything unbearable to you, didn't run naked in the street...isn't it normal now?"

He expected that with your personality, you would only be brooding over such a matter, so he simply said it straight to the point.With a slightly self-deprecating tone.

"No," you denied, while your hand, which had been tucked in the sleeve of your baggy coat, reached out and pointed across from you. "You're bleeding. Sherlock. Didn't you notice?"

Hearing this, he looked where you pointed.

Blood protruded from the crack in the skin texture, soaking the cloth covering the arm, and the khaki color became darker.

At some point, there was such a long cut in his arm, but he didn't realize it at all.

"Oh," he heard himself say, "one of the possible side effects of the medication, the unusual loss of pain. That's why."

"You have to go to the hospital and need to see if the wound needs stitches." You make the decision for him.You think he really doesn't care about his body too much.

"No." The detective's refusal was more emphatic than you'd imagine, he didn't like going to the hospital.Yao thought that the last time he went to the hospital, he was taken to the hospital after being shot into shock, and he jumped out of the window after waking up for a while.

He's really good at jumping through windows.

What's more, there are [-] people who are reluctant to accept McCoff's susceptibility period treatment.

Hospital?He will never go in his life.

"Sherlock, you are such a big man, can you stop playing childish temper all the time?" You get angry when you see his indifferent attitude, you must know that pain doesn't exist just because you can't feel it .

"Wound ulceration and inflammation will cause some serious complications. Unless you don't want to die young, then I suggest you go to the hospital."

Your rare toughness caught his attention, and Sherlock smiled noncommittally.

you:?

"Some?" Sherlock's smile is bright, but to you it's spiked with genius arrogance.

"I don't remember when you took medicine as an elective." Sherlock said, "You didn't fill out the volunteers for that."

God, he knew it all.

You now have reason to suspect that every aspect of your life has become transparent glass before him.In the year of graduation, Midtown High School will distribute some personal career choice forms, allowing students to tick the parts they are interested in, and turn a blind eye to those who are not interested.You just skipped everything that has to do with medicine.

But that form is useless, so you just fill it in casually, unexpectedly...

"I just took a look at your career choice form." He put his hand on the edge of the table and tapped his fingers lightly on the table, "Honestly speaking, with your current grades, it is indeed a good choice to study medical care at university. But you The occupations you choose, such as actors, planters, beauty bloggers, etc., are not suitable for you, in terms of hardware."

In his perception, any career in public is quite dangerous.Besides, he doesn't want to open the website full of your pornographic photos, or in other words, artistic photos.Although there seems to be no difference between the two in his eyes.

You can't get angry, but the system in your mind keeps telling the host to calm down, "Don't think about it, I won't choose. And don't change the subject—are you going or not?"

"No. Unless—"

Before he finished speaking, Mrs. Hudson who ran up interrupted him and said to you: "Honey, are you staying tonight? I have a small gift I want to give you."

You are a little confused.Gift?Why should I give you a gift?

You didn't know how to answer for a while, and you couldn't live up to Mrs. Hudson's kindness, so you had to say hello.

After Mrs. Hudson got the answer she wanted, she went downstairs satisfied.So you look back at Sherlock, wondering what the hell he was trying to say.

But he didn't have any desire to continue the topic just now, he just said to you, "Eat."

You do, and he removes his portion of food and places the skull in front of him, hands slightly closed, elbows on the table, in a meditative position, staring at you intently.

Before you can say anything, he replies: "The average arrival time for 911 in New York is 10 minutes per hour—"

He estimated it just right, and as soon as he finished speaking, a person in orange clothes came up with a stretcher.

You are dumbfounded.So he actually called the doctor long ago?

"Did you take the morphine? I left a note." Sherlock didn't move, his blue-green eyes looked at the medical staff flatly. If you ignore his now completely discolored half of the sleeve, he looks like nothing. different.

"No, there's no need. Just give me a casual bandage." Sherlock said before rolling up his sleeves.Only then did you get a glimpse of the full extent of his wound.

Seeing this, the medical staff took a rough look at his wound and frowned, "Sir, the wound is too deep, and there is local arterial bleeding. You should go to the hospital for stitches and a tetanus vaccine."

You look at him steadily.

You two stared at each other for a long while before he sighed.It seems that he has lost the battle of eye contact.

He said hello.

But Sherlock had only stood up and walked two steps before he felt dizzy before his eyes, and was staggered and carried onto the stretcher by the medical staff.

How can you even think about eating? Of course you went to the hospital with them.

You think anyone you get involved with needs a day trip to the hospital.

It never occurred to you that your life trajectory is from one hospital to another, and your identity is from one person's family member to another person's family member.

[Can't you see that I am of different races? 】

You think feebly.

But the strangest thing was that Sherlock woke up immediately upon arrival at the hospital.

You're also forced to listen to him wrangling with the doctor for a few minutes.Sherlock always has the magic power to make the doctor give up his treatment with a few words.

He seemed to be telling the truth, the potion for the susceptible period really made him lose his sense of pain.He even had stitches without anesthesia, his eyes fixed on the wound, without any expression of pain on his face.

If you sure can't.You are still afraid of pain.

You don't even want to see the part where the needle goes into your skin when you're drawing blood.

After Sherlock finished the stitches, he dawdled with the medicine for another ten minutes, and when he walked out of the hospital gate with him, the cold wind blew into your collar.

You are silent, and you don't really want to talk to him.

Who made him so big not to cherish life? ?It makes you worry for a long time every time.

You walk ahead of him, and it's surprising that he walks uncommonly slowly.

Temperatures at night are colder than during the day.You even tucked your hands into your sleeves.

Suddenly, you are surrounded by a strange yet familiar embrace.

Sherlock Holmes, the most conceited, most reliable and most remarkable consulting detective, has put his coat on you, and at this moment, he is embracing you through the clothes emitting his pheromones.

"give me a hug."