Sherlock Research SH

"Where is he?" Mrs. Jones picked up the red peel with her fingers, as if preparing to turn it into another apple.

Under the white woven lamp, she was aging at an alarming rate.The hair that was originally delicately hanging on the sides of the body was curled and scattered on the pillow, and the small ears became thinner without the earrings.She reads the newspaper with glasses, shriveled and shriveled like a sack that once held potatoes.

"He went to the publishing house, as you hoped." Dove recycled yesterday's newspaper as usual.

"Who are you talking about? Oh... You can tell from the square head of that silly boy, Finn, that he is just as stubborn as his father." She licked her lower lip, "It will take a few years for you to learn Thanks. It's nothing special, I just gave each of you a decent job—"

"We can talk about that later, I suppose. Who are you talking about?"

"The tall gentleman in the decent suit and the clean shoes. I don't remember his name."

"Though I suppose his leather shoes don't keep clean, but...we didn't have a good time. He didn't always listen to me when he was...well...too obsessed with something. He was horrified by the way he was obsessed with it Me. You better not tell Finn."

"Really? He didn't look like a junkie when he visited me yesterday."

"What? Visiting you? What do you mean?"

Mrs. Jones slid her spectacles up to her nose, and said cheerfully, "Two bouquets. Oh yes, he wants me to tell you he's going back. Leaving London. Poor chap, looks like he's expecting you to come with him." Well. When he talks about you, it's almost like... Dove Jones, don't you join some cult?"

"Collinth? Are you talking about Corinth?"

"Oh, that's probably the name." She took off her glasses and pinned them to her collar. "Otherwise, who do you mean by 'junkie'?"

"The one in the newspaper you're holding," Dove lamented.

She wrote it, and even the photos were selected by her.The whole process is like completing a high-intensity exercise, exhausting but effective.

"Oh dear, this is headlines! How did you do it? Let me see..." She put on her glasses, the temple of which pierced her right eye.She winked and read each word: "'Affair on Baker Street, Reporter: Dove Jones'?"

***

Two weeks ago, she got some random photos from Sherlock: the black walnut door of 221B, a woman dressed fancy, and him following behind with his windbreaker collar turned up and his eyes dodging.

"Sherlock? You have your own paparazzi now?" She wiped the chocolate sauce from the corner of her mouth. "That's why you're dressed like a bum today? I need to worry about the possibility of showing up in a picture like this ?"

"I don't think it's necessary. This is a photo taken as requested. Now I give her to you."

His hair was scratched and matted, and his oversized, ill-fitting coat looked pale and emaciated.Maybe the coat should not be buried, Sherlock himself is getting thinner and thinner.His knuckles holding the coffee cup were particularly protruding, sharp and cold like a knife sliding in the air.

Dove stuffed the photos in a drawer. "Have you started again? John said you stopped a long time ago. Should I worry about that?"

"It's for a case."

"Mycroft told me that's what you say every time. Listen, I don't want to get involved in your case, but you'll stop when this is over, can you promise?"

Sherlock took another sip of coffee, snorted twice, and continued, "I'll let you know when these photos will be published. Maybe you'll want to write the manuscript in advance."

"'Publish'? What do you mean? You want me to post this for you?" Dove was completely confused, she took the photo out of the drawer, looked at it carefully, "Purple news is not my board , Sherlock."

"No, you have to." He sighed, clasping his hands together. "...I mean, I guess these photos can help you get promoted. This is first-hand information."

"Well, Sherlock, if you know anything about human nature, you know I can't trade your information for—"

"You emphasized 'your message.' Suppose it were Mr. Collins? Would you?" He laughed.This is not the first time, whenever Collins is mentioned, he can't help raising the corners of his mouth.This is indeed overkill.

"Stop!" Dove pushed Sherlock's approaching face away, "You smell like a sewer pipe. When will the case be closed?"

"I'll let you be the first to know."

***

But he didn't.

Until Dove met John in the hospital corridor, he squatted on the ground covering his forehead, muttering hoarsely.

"What happened?"

"Dorve? Did Lestrade call you?" John rubbed his face, deepening the lines.

"If that's the case, he'll be looking for me at Speedy's. He still thinks I work there. But my mother's got a broken bone. Are you here alone?"

"Mary's there too—but she probably went to the vending machine. But I thought Mrs. Jones was out of the hospital last month?"

"Neither do I, but this is the second time she's slipped in a puddle. Is something wrong with you?"

His muscles stiffened, and he said vaguely, "I'd rather be. But it's Sherlock this time. It's a gunshot wound. Luckily he's awake, and he should be able to allow visits soon."

"Sorry who did you say?"

"Please Dove, don't be so surprised. You and I only know one Sherlock who can be shot."

***

This is indeed his style.

Dove leaned back in the chair, rubbing her upper and lower lips back and forth.She stared intently at the slow rise and fall of the thin blanket on Sherlock's chest, and listened quietly to his monotonous humming.It was a big mistake, and she actually felt infinite peace from it.

"It's really cold." He suddenly said softly, his voice hoarse and muddy.

Dove leaned over, put her hands on Sherlock's sides, and half leaned on him, "Miss Jielin came here earlier than any of us. Is there anything you want to explain?" She stretched out her index finger and pressed Between Sherlock's brows, trying to iron out the creases.

"That sounds really reassuring." He turned his head with difficulty, glancing left at the pain pump. "Don't you need to go back to work?"

"I actually quit my job." She flicked the curls from Sherlock's forehead. "The biggest mistake you made was agreeing with me that I 'adjusted pretty well to modern life'. I think I'll go back to school now that they Willing to give me a job as a teaching assistant."

He seemed absent-minded. "Why isn't John here?"

"Mycroft sent him back. He hasn't slept in two days and looks terrible."

"It will only get worse in the future..." Sherlock closed his eyes in pain and stroked Dove's back, "I need your help."

Dove almost flinched back.She clenched her teeth, her expression stern, "Impossible. Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh? The anger is back," he said mildly, as if he hadn't noticed Dove's frustration at all.

***

***

***

"Sherlock! Sherlock!"

Someone tried to wake me up, calling the name relentlessly.

What is the connection between this name and me?I chewed this word repeatedly in the palace of thinking, bitterness appeared on the tip of my tongue, and the pungent smell of fire｜medicine made me wrinkle my nose.Or maybe I didn't actually do it, because the people who bothered me didn't realize I was awake.

I was still sitting in the armchair, but I just bent my legs and put my feet together in the chair.The changing views of the mind palace were definitely abnormal, but it didn't bother me.The main tone changes from blue to green until it is now engulfed in red.Accompanied by an unknown rhythm, I nodded my fingers.The comfort made me gradually swallowed by the armchair.

"Sherlock! It's fourteen past ten, Sherlock!"

It seems that someone is determined to invade my territory.

"Please let me enjoy the last peace." I raised my left hand and used my arm to block the sight of the cast. "There is a big battle that needs me."

"Sherlock, you can't always be likening a family Christmas party with Mycroft to a big fight."

"It's different this time." Because both Mary and John will be there.But I kept my mouth shut, knowing that I shouldn't arouse her curiosity.

"Why do I have to stay in Baker Street? With Mrs. Hudson?" She sounded interested, as if she had finally taken pleasure in "embarrassing Mr. Holmes." "John said you invited Mary."

I didn't respond, just pulled her closer and reached up to stroke her ribs under her shirt.In the present situation, I should have tried my best to keep everything in plan.It's admirable though, how on earth did McCoff say no to cream puffs?

"Are you thinking of an escape plan?" she asked quite abruptly.

"Why am I doing this?"

"Because I regret it, since family gatherings are high-intensity sports for you and me, we can actually do something else." She frowned, as if this could express her determination, "You don't want to participate in that Christmas fight .or I can tie your hands and feet."

I agreed with her proposal, "Very sensible."

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Thank you to Mrs. Holmes who have been with me!