Sherlock Research SH

"Here's a cheddar sandwich, please!" The fat man in the glasses wiped his forehead with the corner of his tie.Panting and flushing, he tried to tuck his shirt back into his trousers.

"Morning, Mr. Stanford. Would you like two more fresh-baked bagels?" Dove held up her arms, twirling a pen loosely through her hair.

Stanford took off his glasses and breathed lightly into the thick lenses, "No, come on, Jones. You have to think about my fatty liver. How are you doing?"

The door of the cafe was pushed open vigorously, and the doorplate hanging on it by Mr. Chatterjee tapped on the door frame tremblingly, and the man with the damp air hooked the windbreaker and scarf on the hanger.She came back to her senses, impatiently pressing the ballpoint pen, "That's right, I'm going to rob a few banks this afternoon. Do you need coffee, sir?"

"Black coffee, two sugars, thank you." The man sideways avoided Dove, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Stanford, "Oh, it's on this gentleman's account." He raised his head and glanced at her. Added while turning out his right palm towards Stanford.

"Hey, Sherlock! I didn't expect to meet you here!" Stanford tucked his tie into his left breast shirt pocket, and the bright color tie bulged the pocket.

"Come on, Mike. You haven't thought of enough, like who knew I lived above this cafe—why are you still here?" He looked up again with a dissatisfied expression, "I'm paying attention Until you guys call yourselves 'Express Cafés'."

"Sir, if you pay attention enough, you'll find that it's a noun and it just so happens that our store manager is Speedy Chatterjee." Dove raised an eyebrow and tapped the ballpoint pen twice on the table, "You haven't Order staple food."

"Damn nouns." Sherlock closed his eyes and put his hands to his chin. "I'm not eating while I'm thinking, probably for days. So, if you don't mind, I'll have my coffee. Oh, by the way." Can you pass me the TV remote?"

"A cheddar sandwich, two bagels, a cup of black coffee. By the way, no! Help yourself." Sherlock's added cutlery screeched across the plate.Satisfied, Dove pulled out the pen hanging between the strands of her hair, not caring that some of the frizz curled up.

Taking advantage of her turning around, Stanford lowered his head and stretched his neck towards the opposite side, saying, "Look, I call her 'Miss Mania'."

"Okay, okay. Whatever you want." Sherlock took the remote control that Stanford handed over, and stared intently at the inferior old-fashioned CRT TV above the mirror that kept turning.

He stopped suddenly, leaned back in his chair, his chin raised, like a sleeping rock waiting to be carved.

"...The body of Beth Darbo, Deputy Minister of Transport, was found in a construction site in London late last night..." The woman on the TV read the manuscript with a blank expression.

"So," Stanford turned his head, seemingly determined to ignore the dreaded morning news, "you moved here? I mean, downtown?"

"Yes, is there any problem?" He pursed his lips, "The landlord gave me some discounts, but it is still difficult to control the rent cost within 30.00% of the income. In view of this, Mrs. Hudson suggested that I move the third floor bedroom sublet-"

Stanford coughed twice, and the sugar cube he just threw into his mouth slid down his throat very slowly towards his stomach, "Oh, I see, you're looking for a roommate."

"I call it a 'rent-sharer.' You know, it's hard for someone like me to find a roommate."

At this time, Dove had already served all the meals one after another. She sat on the empty seat, supported her head, and flipped through a second-hand book full of notes.Most of the corners of this book were wet with water, and she could only patiently smooth out the wrinkles page by page.

"...preliminary investigation indicates suicide, we can confirm..." the woman on TV continued.This distracted Dove, who threw her head back, pondering the woman's grammar.

"Can I borrow your laptop?" Sherlock said patiently across a few tables.

"Sir, what makes you think I'd bring a computer to work?" Dove looked away.

The man stood up from his seat.Tall, curly-haired, well-tailored suits draw close to the body and frame the bones.

"You are a student, you study Shakespeare, you live far away, and the school is very close to the cafe... So, of course, you will come here with your computer." He still stood with his back straight, "Sorry, sometimes it is Like that. The brain is spinning so fast, I can hardly keep up with it to put these things into neat, beautiful sentences."

Stanford shrugged his shoulders and shook his face, which he didn't know whether it was stained with basil leaves or mustard. "Never mind, he's always like this."

Dove looked away from Sherlock's face and back to the TV.The woman finally looked up, and even had a confident gesture when she said that "this apparent suicide case is similar to that of Sir Geoffrey Paterson and James Phillimore".

"Mr. Smart, you have to tell me how you know." Dove closed the book, imagining the transparent head of the barreleye.This makes it much easier to observe the brain, perhaps accompanied by a rusty creak when the brain is turned too fast.

"More on that later. Please, you'll make me miss the moment."

~~~~~

Dove lay prone on the table, staring at Sherlock's fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard.Stanford had just paid the bill and packed away the two bagels.I have to mention that the tips from this gentleman always brighten her day.

"Don't forget to delete the browsing history next time." Sherlock's fingers paused for a moment, and soon returned to work.

"No, it's been deleted." She raised her eyes and looked at the blunt and emotionless man.

"Really?" Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief, turned around to check the news, "Then I might have accidentally recovered them."

Dove moved her elbow forward against her chin and sniffed lightly, pretending to be natural.To be honest, she didn't like her nose that much.It was a bit too sharp, but fortunately, she had a good sense of smell, which at least allowed her to distinguish good eggs from bad ones.Like Finn smells like ham in the oven.Sherlock was like melting ice in a small pool of water.

"Is it too hot?" Dove suddenly pursed her lips, her teeth grinding against her lips.She's sure she's a fool who likes to talk but always realizes stupidity after talking.By the way, she also likes to dance, because dancing does not need to talk.Just when she was five years old and realized that she should use some kind of Latin dance to express emotions, Mrs. Jones broke the heel of her dancing shoe with a hammer.

Sherlock ignored Dove, who was pretty focused on the damn TV.

"...the deceased were all taking the same medicine...the deceased had no signs of suicide...they must be related..." The press spokesman turned into a man, depressed, like a waxy potato.

Sherlock snorted and tapped the keyboard with his index knuckles as if knocking on the door.

Continuous ringtones came from the TV, including the men and women sitting at the front.They put their heads down and read the messages on their mobile phones.

"If you have all received text messages, please ignore them." The woman raised her head first, and her originally confident face became bewildered.She raised her eyebrows as she spoke, trying to regain control of her authority.

"The above only said 'wrong'." The owner of the voice failed to appear on the screen.

The woman's eyebrows were raised even higher, as if about to order "chop his head off". "Yeah, just ignore them," she said, much to Dove's disappointment.

"I almost think you did it, Mr. Smart." Dove stretched her arms, trying to turn away from the screen so she could see what the gentleman was doing so fast.

Sherlock made a quick move. He held up the computer and knocked over the chair. He made a small half-circle in a Viennese waltz style, and knocked over the salt shaker on the table in a not-so-elegant manner. "Ha! 'Our elite agents have launched an investigation'... Clearly not, Inspector Lestrade." He squeezed his throat and tapped on the keyboard.

What followed was another commotion on television. "Still 'wrong'."

"Ah! So you're one of those, raging hackers?" Dove caught the salt shaker rolling towards the table.Didn't it say that girls are made of sugar and spices?Dove felt more like sea salt and pepper, "You should put salt on the back of your shoulders. Everyone does."

"Tell me, am I one of 'everyone'?" Sherlock replied.He should have been good at this all along, half-hearted and indifferent.Like he said, the brain is spinning fast.

Dove pursed her lips and tapped her index finger on the table rhythmically."Murder" and "serial killer" appeared on TV one after another.This is one of the reasons Dove dislikes people in the press, plain and simple.She can't even hold back her laugh when Waxy Potato says "Don't kill yourself, we can keep ourselves safe."How happy she would be to support this if it could be the main thrust of the Conservative Party's social policy.

The press conference was disrupted for the third time.Sherlock seemed quite satisfied with what he had done, the corners of his mouth raised, and his fingertips moved from the computer keyboard to the phone keyboard.

"I can see how much you like texting." Dove stood up and cleaned the table.Now that Mr. Smart is ready to accept the bad luck of being sprinkled with salt.

"Tell me more about the salt."

His voice was wet.

Dove suddenly felt that what she thought was right.This is an ice cube that can be thrown into whiskey with one's brain.She raised her face, "Why don't you tell me more about me."

Sherlock looked away and raised his eyebrows, "This is a bad time to show off." He sighed, filling his body with oxygen unhappily, "You ride to school, you are a ridiculous low-carbon practitioner. No... Or maybe not. Hate technology, don't even use electronics. There's nothing you can do about it except a laptop. Even if you stay up all night and you fail to finish your dissertation, it seems like a big subject. Sorry, I don't know anything about literature. I don't fit in and talk back. By the way, your roommate has bad taste in computer wallpaper."

"Why do you say 'talk back'?" Dove frowned.

"On this point, it's just speculation. Thank you for confirming." Sherlock raised her hand, grabbed a pinch of salt and threw it over his shoulder. "Now, tell me, what do you think of 'salt'."

"One last question Mr. Smart," Dove said, staring at his upturned jaw, which seemed to relish being lifted.She wondered if Sherlock needed more time than normal to fine-tune the growing stubble. "Why do you think the computer isn't mine?"

"Obviously, you don't use naked women as wallpaper, you just don't know how to change it." Sherlock was more patient as he taunted, even his pupils were greener and darker.

Dove blinked and bit her tongue which was paralyzed by the ice, "What do you want to know? Salt? Oh... just like you don't open an umbrella indoors, you don't use matches for three people, and you shouldn't walk under a ladder. Spilled salt like you just—”

"Ladder!" Sherlock raised his arms, his suit tightened, and he looked excited, "A wall without windows! And a ladder on the side of the road! It's not very clever, but it's still interesting. I think I'd better make some confirmations! Goodbye, Miss Jones!" He took off the scarf on the hanger, casually wrapped it half around his neck, and knocked on the door frame again.

Sherlock is like the reverie messenger who comes and goes in a hurry in Shakespeare's plays, promoting the development of the plot.

"Oh," the glass door was pushed open again, and the cold air came in through the crack, "You shouldn't have left your student ID card in the bicycle basket. This way of introducing yourself is wrong."

"That's cheating!" Dove was annoyed that she had overestimated this gentleman just now.All the little facts seem to be orderly and obvious under his explanation.

"That's just making full use of my senses to observe, Miss Jones." Sherlock turned up his collar, and the cold finally made him give in.He shuts the door and exits hastily, leaving Dove alone to brood.

She picked up the book that was turned upside down on the table, and she read, "'I fly over the garden wall with the light wings of love, and the brick wall cannot block love.'"

Things happened out of the blue.

Even if she tried to figure out the gregarious love story again, and reopened the document named "Fuck His Shakespeare" on the naked woman's desktop, she couldn't deny that the "hacker" on the ceiling made her feel a little distracted.

"Oh hello, dear." Mrs. Hudson pushed the door open.The typical sugar lady in Dove's eyes, wearing a tulle dress and mauve lipstick all year round.

"Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Chatterjee is in the back kitchen. I need-"

"That's fine, I can go by myself. I think you've met my new lodger. Well... my relationship with Chatterjee... You know, Sherlock always thinks we're not a good fit. So... can you Can't..." Mrs. Hudson leaned close to Dove's ear, her creamy skirt hesitated.

The author has something to say:

For ladders, you can go to Sherlock's website thescienceofdeduction. The case named thegreenladder in the casefiles is the ladder mentioned in this chapter, and it was also sent by Sherlock on Watson's mobile phone later: "If my brother has a green ladder, arrest him. SH" origin. --Trivia!

Update irregularly