Sherlock Research SH

"What's up with my computer desktop?" Finn sipped his coffee.Wrapped in his work coat, he still hasn't recovered from the cold.

"I changed it." The spaghetti was rolled up by Dove's fork, they were lumpy, dripping tomato juice.She loves food deeply, maybe more than that.Food is baked, boiled, pan-sauced, and sauce-rolled.These programs are so important to human beings that they alone can keep life going on in an orderly manner.

"What did you say? You changed it?" Finn closed the computer again, and the spilled coffee dripped on today's special menu, "Do you know whose painting this is?"

"Sorry, thought you'd like this better." Dove bit hard at the ice cube that slipped into her mouth.Learning the basics of the computer took more time than she expected, and she didn't even know why she was doing it.

"Shut up, Dove Jones, why on earth do I like this? How many more times do I need to declare my sexual orientation is female?" Ham lowered his voice angrily.

Dove is good at provoking people.This is an innate ability, and it is also her extreme sports obsession, "No, you are not." She supported her head and ate the last tomato juice on the plate with a fork.

Mr Chatterjee always said that Angelo of the Northumberland corner restaurant was a complete jerk who killed and robbed without incident and even pretended to operate hunger marketing.Of course, Dove guessed that much of this had to do with his failure to give Mr. Chatterjee and Mrs. Hudson the best view of the reception window.

But now he has assigned this position to two men as if nothing had happened.

"What are you staring at—hey, I think I know him! Collins mentioned him! What's his name? It's a weird last name." Finn always had two blobs of blush on his face, which made him Smile like a sunshine kid.

And Dove hates Kid Sunshine, "I'd appreciate it if you could keep your mouth shut while you're eating." Especially when he's like a giant jet.

"Where did they get the candles? Wait, do you think they're dating? Collins never told me that." He pulled out Dove's tomato sauce plate and replaced it with a half-eaten cake.No, the truth is, he left all the cream.Finn has his own ten principles. First, swallowing cream with a fat content higher than 40.00% is theoretically equivalent to suicide.

"He's the straight one, the curly one." Dove tilted her head.It has to be said that she occupies the best position to observe Mr. Smart, "He is dressed exactly the same as yesterday."

"I'm also dressed exactly like I was yesterday! Why did you—"

"Finn, I have my own theory...Collinth?" Mr. Smart looked out of the window in a daze, obviously not enjoying the night view of London.Dove frowned, searching the left side of his face.He looked terribly odd, at least not in Dove's finite life, which explained her inability to look away, even the dangerous act of sitting here looking for his unusual facial features.

"Oh, Collins lives across the street. He's a nice guy, you know..." Finn pulled the coat that had become part of him. "Hey, I mean, you two should meet. Like me Say, nice guy, a bit traditional. But, can you straighten your hair? It'd be more...uh..."

Mr. Smart and his companion got up suddenly, and hurriedly opened the door.Dove shook the napkin off her lap and stood up, not sure about her next plan.

"What's more?" She turned her head and scratched the bridge of her nose.

Finn frowned and fiddled with the bread.He tore the bread into strips and filled the pea soup with the falling crumbs.

~~~~~

Dove has always gone out of her way to keep her mind busy.She imagined her body filled with whispers of different timbres, so that she wouldn't sit back and realize how out of place she was.She clearly understands that she has trust issues with gregarious people, and in Finn's words: "They're confused and vulnerable, and they're more likely to do the stupid things they're told to do. So, in theory, it's no different than a terrorist organization." .”

And one of the ways to keep brain cells active is to get used to being emotionless and keep young.

Except now.

Dove tucked the book she was reading into her arm and walked to the seat from which she had just been pulled. "Good morning. Need something?"

"Egg and tuna sandwich, and black coffee. Thanks."

"So you're not 'thinking' right now, are you?"

"You can say that."

Sherlock blinked and gently pulled one corner of his mouth into a smile, then lowered his gaze back to the black-covered book in his hand.He turned slightly, facing the street outside the window.

In other words, throw Dove out of sight.A classic bridge of refusal to communicate.

Since Mr. Chatterjee could never teach Dove to use an electric can opener, she had to forcefully lift the lid of a can of tuna with the tip of a knife.But overall, it didn't take much time.

"What happened upstairs?" She pulled out the chair, and placed herself and the square dinner plate opposite Mr. Smart.

Sherlock raised his eyes, but quickly returned to the book, "At that time, I did some stretching exercises."

"Stretching?" You know, Mr. Chatterjee yelled and almost called the police.

"You've started a new book. How's Shakespeare going?" Sherlock didn't put the book down, as if it contained something urgent he needed to know right away, like how to eat a sandwich.But the method taught in the book must be different from the traditional way, because he is stretching out his right hand and crushing the sandwich into pieces with just a fork.

He pursed his upper lip, let the sandwich on the tip of the fork fall into his mouth, opened and closed his jaw a few times, and swallowed it.Dove looked too seriously, which scared herself a little.

"Why do you talk like that?" She seemed to like Mr. Smart's daily human life very much.

"What?" Sherlock raised his face, casting thin shadows through London's hazy 10:30 sun.This made Dove completely lose her mind, like she had never loved anyone, and just passed her life like this.

"You talk like...I don't know...something just right." She frowned but couldn't put the feeling into words more accurately.

Sherlock closed the book and poured the last of the coffee from his cup into his mouth. "I saw you yesterday, Miss Jones. On Northumberland High Street."

"You know, you looked like you were working for a debt collection agency." Dove took the glass and stacked it with the dinner plate.She was wicked enough not to throw a sugar cube in her coffee at all, but Mr. Smart was so absent-minded that he didn't notice.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Sherlock stood up straight, looking down at Dove who was counting coins, which made Dove feel like he was the book in his hands at first, "Do you provide delivery service?"

~~~~~

Dove always wished she could experience something.

She flicked the corner of the newspaper lest the noise she made should wake the squinting Mr. Chatterjee.

Mrs. Jones thought so.But not quite the same.She hoped that Dove would have a "good experience", just like herself, traveling around and writing a guide to attractions, at least let the title page introduction retain a meaningful number of words to introduce, not like it is now.

"'Have a daughter, Dove Jones, 24 years old.'" Dove cut out the sizeable report with scissors. "Brilliant, 'Bestselling Author - Mrs. Jones'. This will be my new bookmark .” Thin sheets of paper were sandwiched into the book.

Dove hates traveling, is too settled, and even agrees that the utopia of bartering is more suitable for her to survive.From Mrs. Jones' point of view, the experience Dove expected was a "bad experience."

Sherlock is definitely one of them.

~~~~~

"Hi." Panting, she shook the paper bag in her hand, "Your takeaway, sir."

Sherlock opened his mouth, rubbing the wood grain on the door frame.

"Mrs. Hudson let me in." Dove lowered his head and slipped through under the propped arms, "Oh," the room was almost filled with dozens of boxes and books scattered on the floor, a woman in a white shirt The man was taking a nap on the table, "Mrs. Hudson didn't tell me you had guests."

"That's my roommate, John Watson." Sherlock closed the door sideways, kicked away some books on the ground, like a jungle explorer carrying a knife, cutting off the branches blocking the way, "I thought you were there Told me the other day that the cafe doesn't have delivery."

"That's right, the cafe closes at 03:30. Now it's Jones' takeaway." Dove managed to tiptoe to the table where the man lay on his stomach.She bent down and almost pressed her face to make out in the dim light. It was the man by the window of the restaurant on the corner of Northumberland Street. "So you didn't eat, did you? 'Thinking'?" The long hospital operating room lights.

"No, I think I can eat a little, Miss Jones. It's not thinking, it's just physical work." Sherlock walked towards the kitchen.Although Dove wouldn't call it a kitchen, it was a laboratory with a range hood and a stove.He put away some glass instruments and barely vacated some space, "I'll give you a suggestion, don't open the refrigerator."

The man behind Dove frowned and hummed twice, then turned his face to the other side.

"Why? There's a woman hidden in the freezer?" She pulled out two boxes of gratin from a paper bag, and the parsley sprinkled on top of the crispy skin was jolted right in the middle, but it wasn't too bad.

"near."

"So, what the hell do you do?" She imagined a hacker with a wall of computers.

Sherlock made a soft chewing sound, a beautiful movement of nature. "Consultant detective. Why, you keep asking?"

"Well, you can ask me something, too. But I don't think there's anything about me that would make you curious." Dove shrugged.Twelve words plus three punctuation points are enough to introduce yourself.

"Actually, I tried. How did Shakespeare go?" Sherlock raised his lips slightly.

"Oh. Not very good. That's why I decided to divert my attention." Dove opened her bag and took out the book she was reading from the compartment. "Do you have any interest in circuses?" She put the bookmark The report was handed over, Mrs. Jones's opposite.

"Golden Dragon Circus?" Sherlock leaned against the back of the chair.Half of his face was hidden in the shadows.Dove was beginning to like the look of the raised jaw.

"One day in London, tomorrow night."

He put his hands on his chin and returned to the table seriously, "No, the circus is boring. And Shakespeare is very important. Why don't you go to a play? If you want, I can book you a front row for tomorrow." Location."

"give me?"

"Or... us? But not sure if I'll be there." He turned his head, the man in the white shirt mumbling caught his attention, "It's getting late. Can you please take these with you when you leave?"

Dove is used to being emotionless.At least for a long time, she was good at it.It doesn't even have to be an effort to hold back, it's born so emotionless.And Sherlock is the force majeure in her established life rules and eating habits.

"Then you book two seats. One for me and the other for my schoolbag."

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