Sherlock Research SH

"Let's talk about it."

I sat in the car and put my phone in my pocket when I heard the noise.Mycroft opened the door and stared at me with interest the way he would stare at circles of ashes in the ashtray.

"My dear brother."

"What a surprise, Sherlock." He got into the car, his long umbrella propped between his legs. "Did something happen?"

"You'll see it all in tomorrow morning's report. About how I hired Moriarty to satisfy my vanity, and how I used tactics to get him acquitted..." I checked the phone and put it back, "In the name Adding a little truth to the hot soup of lies makes it easier for them to drink. It's ridiculous."

"Oh. I thought we were discussing the lady whose name starts with 'many' here." He looked at the street restaurant, lost his focus for a moment, and returned his gaze to the expensive-looking umbrella.He folded his hands together and shook the umbrella handle from time to time.

"I think John's on his way to Diogenes. Mycroft, he finally sees who's spiced this soup."

My dismissal of this was clearly disappointing.Frowning, he told the driver to go to Pall Mall.

"Moriarty and his criminal network are all in my plan. Except for one thing," I mused as I looked at the back of his head, "he wants me dead."

He shook his head, then said, "That's trouble."

"He's already failed at the pool, so he'll be extra cautious. Not just wanting me to die, this time he wants me to die as a liar."

"So what's your plan?"

"As he wishes," I said. "He's got a few loyal snipers, and he's bound to have some old-fashioned threats."

He thought for a moment, showing displeasure. "Understood. Then send some people to protect them."

I looked out the window and couldn't help but sigh the city's tenacious vitality.Like a ghost in the night, the lamp is its eyes, the mist is its long skirt.One can't kill it, whether it's a good thing or a bad thing.It has no heart, but it tirelessly injects fresh blood into it.The deeper the night, the more obvious the metabolism, and it floats in the crowd together with the air.

These times I seem to be able to understand what Moriarty is doing.

He is not just looking for smart people to play games. I have to admit that McCoff is superior to me in terms of observation and reasoning, but it is me who interests him.This is because McCoff erected a strict moral wall for himself, and he lived more happily in this model, and he was determined not to take another step outside if he was content with the status quo.But I am different, I am the boundary line of the territory, and I will step forward and backward at the slightest sign of trouble.It's not that I'm not firm enough. "Troubleshooting" all refers to my own subjective will, or I have a different set of moral standards from others.

He tried to save me, thinking I was stuck here by myself.Under this neon light, I was trapped with many faceless and unknown people.I am on the opposite side of him, on the side of justice.He was convinced of it.But it was wrong, I never belonged to either side.What light and darkness, these words are too one-sided to describe me.He was too confident and lost the game from the start.

"Sherlock, you know this is an excellent opportunity to destroy Moriarty's criminal network?" Mycroft said suddenly as the car drove towards Westminster Bridge.

"Yes."

"The purpose of this operation is not only to eliminate a few snipers, but even to convince Moriarty of your death. This way you can break into the network. Understand?"

I was silent for a moment, then turned to look at him.

"Then, fewer people know the truth to keep them safe. You should agree with that, too?"

I frowned.Mycroft's reasoning is often dramatic.He always leaves room for me to answer something.It's like a little less fun without it.

He looked at me and pretended to be affectionate: "My brother, you can't tell them."

The car stopped abruptly and fell forward with inertia.Thoughts came back to me.

"Anything else?" He resumed his initial interest. "Otherwise, good night. It must be a long night."

Not necessarily so.Compared with "long", I am willing to believe that it is fleeting.

For one night, that was all I had in London. "Things to do," "Things to do," and "Things to do" piled up under my feet.I regard time as nothing, and I want to use these few hours to experience my whole life.

"Where can I find her?"

"Who?" Mycroft leaned over, clutching the car door.The street lamp overhead made him look bright.

"You know who I'm talking about, from the first. The lady at the beginning of 'Do'. You sent Lestrade after her, didn't you? Tell me, where can I find her?"

~~~~~

She sat in the corner to the right of the bar.Wearing a poorly knitted rose red sweater, her curly hair was messily scattered on her shoulders.Unconsciously, it showed a natural laziness in the shadows.

"What next?" The bartender took the Locke cup she was playing with.

She mumbled something, holding the pair of dark glasses in her mouth, biting the temples with her teeth, letting them swing up and down around her lips.

"I suppose you're the type to spend time doing everything?"

"I mean," she continued unhurriedly, pinning her sunglasses on her sweater and rubbing her face in her hair, "Me and Finn hauled back the couch she threw in the yard in that old pickup truck. "

"Obviously they are brothers and sisters, how can they be so far apart?"

"What don't you understand?" She stretched her limbs and turned her neck. "He was turned on at birth. Like this, a beep, it's an automatic adjustment. I'm not, I'm Fixed pattern. Doing a little different outrageous things will cause ups and downs..."

She stopped suddenly, and turned her head to my position thoughtfully, with a little confusion in her eyes.

"Good evening, Miss Jones."

"You look a little different from usual today? Could it be that you just took a shower?" She folded a small stack of manuscript paper and put it in her bag, "Or did you drink some wine?"

I couldn't help but twitched a corner of my mouth and laughed. "I'm wearing a hat."

"Really." She raised her hand and moved the brim of the hat to reveal as much skin as possible, "Then why do you wear a hat? It flattens your hair and makes you look like an out-and-out villain."

"Looks like you didn't read the newspaper?" I took off Mycroft's hat and put it on the table.

"No. I hate news, so I rarely read it." She frowned, looking thoughtful, and stopped talking, just sat silently on the chair closest to me.

I smacked my lips, avoiding her candle-lit eyes, and looked down at the table.

In her book is a woolen hat with a pompom on the top, and a cotton coat on her arm, her knuckles move slightly with her breathing.She's sitting across from her, and I can literally touch her as long as I reach out.I watched, as if if I was not careful, her swollen lake could easily erase these signs.I dived down at this time but was pushed up again, sinking and floating, feeling the lump-like stomach, which was constantly compressed and trembling.

I concluded that she was definitely in a different world than me.I'm separated by membranes and left here.

"What are you thinking?" She looked at me, but she didn't seem to be talking to me.Somewhat unrealistically, it could just be talking to anyone on the other end of the film.I just happen to be that one.

"If I got you a tequila, would you tell me what you were thinking?"

"I don't think you're prepared enough for what I'm going to say," I replied.

"But you can't keep ignoring me like this." She thought about her words and continued, "I'm sitting here, separated from you by a layer of sponge, and all my thoughts are sucked in by it—— "

"Miss Jones, do me a favor." I interrupted her, lest I should come up with another wild word.

"what?"

I stood up and stared at her face rising with mine. "It's late at night, you should go back. Before you go, please say goodbye to me like an old friend."

The author has something to say:

Due to physical reasons, later snails are more

Suck your face!