Bad days as neighbors with Sherlock Holmes

Until the butler sent someone to clear the table, the Earl still looked helpless as if he had been devastated.

He slumped on the chair with blank eyes and a dazed expression, not caring at all about the servants walking around beside him.

"I can't figure it out, I can't figure it out..."

He murmured and questioned his soul, "How could anyone like to work? Is Elena stupid? Is she not afraid of baldness at all?"

How can anyone not yearn for a life of lying around and having fun?Nonsense, simply nonsense!

If it wasn't for Elena's personality that followed her grandfather's, her eyes resembled her grandmother's, and her appearance resembled her mother's, the count almost suspected that he had made a mistake.

He scolded, "Work is the scariest thing in the world! Overtime is as hateful as studying!"

And nodded, agreeing with his own words quite deeply.

The butler next to him handed him a hot towel, and made a gesture by the way, indicating that the servant could go to rest.

And automatically ignored his complaints about his daughter.

After putting the towel on his head for a while, the Earl felt a little comfort in his heart.

"Okay, you go down," he waved his hand, "I'll calm down for a few days before going to Elena."

The butler nodded and took a few steps back.

Just as he was about to leave the room, he stopped in his tracks.

"Speaking of which, Miss Elena, my lord," said the housekeeper, "Jenny discovered this when she was cleaning the room of the lady a few days ago."

He handed over a note.

It was hastily cut out of a notebook, with a sentence written in scrawled handwriting.

"Whoever controls London controls the world."

After hastily reading the note, the earl turned pale with shock.

He jumped up almost at a jumping speed, "What, she wants to control London?"

The earl asked sadly, "Isn't it enough for her to master my architectural firm?"

Could it be that my daughter is no longer satisfied with turning her own small workshop into an overtime chain, and wants to advance to her peers?

Thinking of his daughter's ability to act, he couldn't help but sympathize with his colleagues in London.

"No," he mused, "book me a ticket for tomorrow. I'm going to London."

How can I let my daughter really go to London to dump other buildings, this is too... cruel to others.

Elena has been in her architectural firm for less than three years, and almost half of the employees have lost their heads.

As a result, he had to include hair water in the Christmas gift list, and sent servants from door to door to deliver it.

"My lord," said the butler, "you haven't finished the backlog of work from the previous three days."

He looked at the earl who seemed to get an electric shock when he mentioned work, bent slightly and said, "Look—"

The count glanced at the housekeeper who had served their family for three generations, and waved his hands in frustration.

"Forget it, forget it," he said desperately, "I won't go, let God bless those architects by the London river!"

Elena, who was being missed by him, was sorting out the letters, planning to experience the feeling of applying for a job in a different world.

Almost as soon as she arrived in London, she sent letters to several well-known architectural firms, asking sincerely if there was still a shortage of manpower.

Now that I have received replies from several of them, I plan to try to talk about related work matters tomorrow.

If everything is in order, you may be able to join the job the day after tomorrow.

She turned around a little excitedly, opened the box again, and picked up the clothes.

I was thinking of choosing a formal and serious outfit for the interview, but unexpectedly, I found a letter from underneath.

Different from the letters she saw a few days ago, the envelope was elegant and the letter paper was thicker.

Elena estimated that the sketch paper in her memory was relatively thin, about one or two shillings for a stack of paper, and the letter paper in her hand was about twice as much as the sketch paper.

She searched her memory for what appeared to be a letter from one of her pen pals.

This pen pal is a lady in her 30s and [-]s who lives in Italy and met Elena at a banquet. The two hit it off quite well and exchanged contact information immediately.

Her usual words are gentle and amiable, almost equivalent to Elena's elder sister, so the two of them maintain a communication frequency of two to three letters a month.

She wrote in the letter, "I have heard about London for a long time, and I happened to be introduced by an acquaintance who suggested that I move to London from my apartment near the Warsaw Theater to rest my tired voice. So I decided to listen to my friend My suggestion is to move near St. John's Wood... My present address is Serpentine Street, Brioni House..."

And at the end, he asked her very tenderly about her life and invited her to live in London.

Elena thought for a while, then sat back at the desk.

She slowly unfolded the letter paper and replied a letter.

"Dear Eileen, what you may not expect is that I'm in London right now," she wrote, "due to my not-so-happy conflict with my father, I've planned a stay with my aunt for a while (and put it into practice that day practiced), now I live in Baker Street, life is fine..."

After finishing writing, Elena thought about it and hurriedly added another sentence.

"If it's convenient for you, maybe we can meet up? After all, it has been nearly three years since the meeting at the Italian Theater," she wrote. "In any case, I look forward to your reply."

She sealed the envelope and planned to drop it off tomorrow.

Then I tidied up my things meticulously before changing into pajamas and getting ready to fall asleep.

London, Baker Street.

The two Holmes moved very quickly, and within a few days, they moved into this small apartment building.

The new neighbors brought a strong smell of smoke and strange smells from time to time-in fact, on one occasion, they almost bought the house.

As soon as Elena came home in the evening, she found a circle of London firefighters sitting in a simple carriage at the door, and there were a bunch of onlookers around to join in the fun.

Thick smoke billowed continuously from the windows on the second floor, and there were even two people standing there.

Elena recognized her neighbors, Holmes and Watson.

She has always known Watson, and has always been very humble and stable, not to mention Holmes, it is absolutely impossible for them to set fire to the rented house.

Could it be that the enemy came to seek revenge?

Shocked, she pushed aside the onlookers, shouting sorry, sorry, while squeezing inside.

Fortunately, the person is fine, and the house is fine.

When she broke through all kinds of difficulties and broke in, she happened to meet the fireman walking out.

Inexplicably, one of them glanced at her and nodded slightly at her.

Elena suspiciously took note of this person's appearance, but because she was too focused, she bumped into Holmes who was holding a stack of documents.

"Sorry," she bent down to pick it up quickly, "I didn't see anyone here... What happened just now?"

"Actually, Miss Molson," Watson tried to explain, "it's just me and Holmes for a little... small, um, experiment."

"If you restrain your desire to explore a little bit, and put these experiments and other things within the range that normal people can tolerate," Mrs. Hudson stood in the living room and said angrily, "I will be grateful to you, sir them!"

Elena breathed a sigh of relief, it's fine, it's fine.

She seized the time to go back upstairs and change into her home clothes, and then came down to help Mrs. Hudson cook.

After the meal, the four sat in the dining room and drank tea.

Watson flipped through the newspaper in his hand, sighing from time to time.

"Look, what's written on it," he complained. "Can newspapers rely on these sensationalism now? It's better to write something else, even household practical tips are better than this."

"What's the matter?" Elena asked curiously as she put the tea and snacks on the table.

Just as Watson opened his mouth to answer, he paused again when he realized that it was Elena who asked the question.

He hesitated and said, "A murder case happened in the East End. The scene was a bit bloody. I think you might feel uncomfortable after hearing it, Miss Molson."

"Ah... so," Elena responded vaguely, and simply picked up a topic, "Leave these things aside, Dr. Watson, have you settled down with your work?"

"For me, the current physical condition may still make it difficult for me to work," Watson took a sip of tea, "Thank you, Miss Molson, your craftsmanship is really great."

"My pleasure," Elena said, "as long as you like it."

She took a sip of tea and took another bite of the cookie, "Desserts always make people happy."

"Pleasants?" Watson asked sharply. "What makes you unhappy, Miss Molson?"

Elena pursed her lips, just about to answer.

"I suppose," said Holmes slowly, "that what troubled Miss Molson was also about work?"

He rolled up his sleeves and took the last cookie on the plate.

The fragrance is charming, the color is golden and attractive, and Elena even added twice as much dried fruit as usual.