[Comprehensive Yingmei] I became the white moonlight of the superheroes

Mycroft doesn't like things he can't control.

And the most uncontrollable thing in this world is, of course, feelings.So he deleted this area without hesitation.

This saves a lot of trouble, and also makes his thinking sharper, his logic clearer, and his observation and memory abilities have reached a new level.

He's Wikipedia, and sometimes, he's even Britain.It's hard to believe that one day the British government will be the servant of the American girl.

At this time, Mycroft was calmly watching Tony Stark being fascinated by the red-haired girl.

After informing Daisy that he had deleted "emotion" twice, Mycroft added: "Don't worry, I have no plans to restore this area at this time."

Looking at Stark's appearance, he can fully imagine the result after recovery, and he hates the feeling of being out of control.

Mycroft continued to smile in an official way: "Now, can we talk about the liquid robot incident in London?"

From the beginning to the end, Mycroft's expression showed indifference and alienation. Although Daisy could guess that his second deletion of the emotional zone was related to her, the other party's look of clearing away made her feel that she was a bird of fright. .

When the routine questioning was over, Mr. Big Holmes left without looking back.

When the two parties left in opposite directions, Daisy still looked back strangely at the back of Mycroft leaning on an umbrella.

Before even looking at her, Tony stretched out his hand, clasped the back of her head lightly, and straightened her eyes.

——Hmph, Mycroft's trick can only deceive someone as simple as his sweetheart, doesn't he know?A typical story of lust.

At the same time, Daisy heard a ding-dong from the system: [Tony Stark blackening value: 10%. 】

Daisy:! ! !

She quickly didn't dare to look at it, didn't dare to look at it.

……

As Tony thought, all of Mycroft's actions have his purpose.

But on "deleting the emotional area twice and not restoring it", he really didn't deceive Daisy.

Even so, there was still something pressing on his chest, making him feel like he couldn't breathe.

The hands holding the handle of the umbrella tightened, and Mycroft sat in the Mercedes with a gloomy expression.The rain outside was falling harder and harder, crackling on the car window, which reminded him of the cold and rainy night when he first met Daisy.

The driver slammed on the brakes, leading him to fall forward, the screeching sound of tires rubbing against the ground made people's eardrums hurt.

"Sir, there is a person lying in front." The driver has followed Mycroft for many years, and he is used to seeing big scenes, but at this moment his voice was still trembling unconsciously, "I don't know if she is alive..."

He said that he unfastened his seat belt and was about to get out of the car.

In the dark rainy night, he propped up two black umbrellas, and Mycroft followed suit.

Looking like a young adult, his white and delicate body soaked in stagnant water has several large and small scars, and in some places, the bones can be seen deep, which can barely brush against a fatal place.Either this girl has extraordinary close combat skills, or the injurer did it on purpose, and he is more inclined to the latter.

Other than that, there are no more useful clues.

After McCoff squatted down and observed carefully, he asked the driver to take the girl to the hospital first.

Unexpectedly, the other party grabbed his hand so fast that he had no chance to escape.

The sound can no longer be made, and all the strength is on the fingers.

She tried her best and wrote on his palm: "Mor."

The person who chased her down was Moriarty?

Mycroft frowned after a long absence.

……

Here, Mycroft fell into memory, and Daisy also had a hard time.

Because the night after meeting him, she had a dream.

In the dream, she was oppressed by a man with a British accent, just hearing that sexy accent made her feel puffing up.She was turned over and over again, cursing secretly that this was too real, while looking at the man's face.

It has a similar outline to the British government I saw a few hours ago, and the facial features can overlap a bit, but the face is more serious and profound. A cold aura is much more honest.

Flushing flooded her cheeks, Daisy bit her lip, and her sweet panting sound, together with the tip of her tongue, was pressed against the roof of her mouth.

He was no Mycroft Holmes.

Who is he?

……

Back in time a few years ago, 221B Baker Street.

A man with curly hair and a slightly long face is buried in a pile of old books, and the case files sent by the police station are almost piled up on the entire table—these are all cases that the London police find too difficult and have to give up hope. In Locke's eyes—simple, disdainful, not worth mentioning, he even just glanced at it to find out the clues of the murderer from the most obvious evidence.

He is a more flawless existence than the most precise instrument.

Unlike Mycroft, who took the initiative to delete the "emotional area", no emotion can occupy a place in Sherlock's thinking palace.

Therefore, each gear can run at the fastest speed without rusting due to the corrosion of emotional viruses.

Until——an extra woman appeared in his dream, not the kind of woman that appeared in his favorite supernatural events.

If he had to describe this dream, he had to think about his wording.

Because it is not unusual for a person to appear naked in a dream; but it is a bit indescribable for two people to wear nothing together.

That's a more addictive feeling than cocaine.

The first thing Sherlock did after waking up was rubbing the space between his brows for the first time.In the dream, he was pinching the woman's slender waist, and the soft muffled hum was still echoing in his ears. He searched the memory palace, but he didn't find any useful clues.

Following the woman's appearance and voice, no relevant information could be found.

--interesting.

He included the dream as a mystery, and devoted all his energy to interpreting it.

The result in exchange turned out to be that he was more involved when he fell asleep again.

After several days of tossing like this, the great detective Sherlock still found nothing.On rare occasions he became irritable.

Thanks to Chun Meng's blessing, he now sees that beautiful face and snow-white body when he closes his eyes.Not a good sign for a rational, emotionless, ever-calm mind.

Disturbed by dreams for several days, and after he took out his pistol/gun and punched dozens of holes in the wall, Sherlock set up the violin expressionlessly, pretending to be intoxicated, and played ecstasy stand up.

It was as if music could clear his mind.

Although Sherlock said he was a second-rate violin player, he was obviously being modest in this regard.

The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, knew that Sherlock was not in a good mood today when she heard the upbeat music.Of course, there was no day when he was in a normal mood. For a long time, he alternated between taking drugs one week and not taking drugs one week, jumping repeatedly between drug-induced drowsiness and case-induced excitement.

Sometimes Mrs. Hudson was always worried that she would open the door of the room and see Sherlock lying dead on the sofa, maybe there would be a dagger stuck in the carpet as a mischievous one.

This concern came to a head when his assistant, Watson, briefly left London for personal reasons.

Fortunately, a new roommate moved into their small apartment today.

Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door, and the violin's throbbing melody finally stopped.

The little old lady whispered softly outside the door: "Sherlock? The girl Mycroft asked you to take care of is here, my God, she is so beautiful! You will be amazed, she looks like an angel!"

As soon as the words fell, Sherlock opened the door expressionlessly.

That was the first time Sherlock saw her in reality, although the body was all too familiar to him in his dreams.

But when the person in the dream stood in front of him so really, even the curly red hair and the smiling lips could completely overlap, he was suddenly in a trance, and for a moment he couldn't even distinguish the boundary between reality and illusion.

Daisy stood at the door with a smile, and the first thing she met was the detective's scrutinizing gaze, which seemed to see through everything.

Before she had time to say hello, the door slammed and was slammed back by the man in the woolen trench coat.

Daisy:? ? ?

Mrs. Hudson's furious reproach came from her ear: "This disrespectful Sherlock Holmes!" She said as if she was about to roll up her sleeves and hit someone.

Daisy couldn't laugh or cry, she didn't know whether to feel sorry for herself or comfort the lovely old lady.

She didn't know that Sherlock, who was separated by the door, was leaning on the door with one hand, and flung the one side of the woolen coat behind him with the other, closing his eyes and meditating.The memory palace was running fast, the doors of thinking were opened one after another, and countless keywords emerged in his mind. He raised his hands, arranged and combined them, and simplified them.

After several minutes, he finally opened his gray eyes and regained his usual arrogance and composure.

Daisy was still comforting Mrs. Hudson when the door suddenly reopened.

The man inside the door had a strict and rigid look at first, and soon he smiled lightly and looked at her with interest: "The game has begun."