Sherlock Research SH

Dove has seen two kinds of people.

In the same specific situation, Mr. A will say to you "Come with me", and another Mr. B will awkwardly imply "Stay with me".

Although it sounds unreliable, according to a rough summary of experience, this Mr. A is often gentle and simple, the type who will put his arms around his neck and talk when he encounters animals. As for B, he is restless and serious, at least he can say "I love you" during birthdays and holidays.

Dove is not either.She is C who was cast aside.

"You're late, Greg." John wiped the egg wash from his beard.Although he was very hungry, he still checked the round clock on the wall from time to time.

Greg draped his coat over the back of the chair. "Sorry. Been messing around with the Waters gang lately. Give me a fish meal, Dove, please."

She calls every Friday "C's Party."As the name suggests, cast aside, C's party.

"what?"

"It's a band of robbers." She sat down and checked today's emails on her phone, "Lestrade, you just admit it. You can't do anything without that. He's like 'Forbidden' Who can refuse the door to get in?" Dove continued, smelling the smell of tobacco seeping into his clothes, "After you went in, you found that it turned out to be a one-way door. lock up……"

"Stop it, Dove." John kicked her chair, "You can't save him from the misfortune." He looked up at the clock again, "Since Mycroft couldn't for some reason Come here, come here today. I think I've got to see Mrs. Hudson. Maybe I'll be married before long . . . tonight, anyway. Wish me luck." He suddenly He patted the pocket on his right chest and walked away.

"Ha! Get married... Dove, I need my fish meal. It's urgent, I need to go back to Scotland—"

"Don't talk to me!" she felt disheartened.

*****

It was something that happened from time to time, and it even made it difficult for her to fall asleep.I don't know if this makes it clear, the lights are turned off and the lights are turned on are two separate worlds, just the moment she turned the knob beside the bed.

Quiet, sometimes too noisy.

The bird without feet sang happily here, and waited until it was exhausted and fell to the ground wearily.Clearly even the wind warned it that this is an extremely pessimistic world.It starts to drink, gets drunk, pretends to have the ultimate insight into life, and turns into a pompous bird.

"She said, 'Dorve was drinking while we were having tea,'" Finn said.

"Congratulations to her for becoming a real Englishman!" Dove tilted her head to consider the pictures sent in the email.The poorly drawn bird sleeps with the leaves in the wind.Miss Daisy hoped that she could give some more simple and beautiful interpretations.

"I don't like it when you stumble like this."

"I thought I made the 'right' decision to make you happy." She hooked her fingers and watched him weigh the tea bags in the pot.

He stopped suddenly, stroking the beard he had grown on a whim. "But you know, wrong motives can make right decisions... go wrong... where's your coat?" He frowned.

"In the office." She closed the computer and poured the last sip of cheap whiskey diluted with ice into her mouth. "Good night, Finn."

She detoured into the alleys of Soho, climbed several rusty stairs and fences with ease, and climbed the window ledge along the rain pipe.Lift your shoes and the air smells of Hawaiian pizza and lemon dish soap.It made her feel nauseous, getting stronger and stronger.

Covering her mouth and nose, she almost crawled to the bedside, resisting the burning heat coming from her stomach, rippling in the whirlpool of pineapple soup.Like melting ice, she slowly stared at every corner of the wall one by one, all of which were hard white.The light cast by the passing vehicles outside the window changes to beige, light white, creamy white, and then becomes fluffy and soft.Just as she was almost falling asleep, the screaming of the woman downstairs brought the feeling of vomiting back to her again.

*****

"Did you just spit on my carpet?"

*****

She was awakened by crows outside the window.It tapped the glass several times with its mouth, and jumped back onto the dead tree.

When was the last time this window was locked?

She reached out and fumbled for her phone on the ground.Seven twenty-four.The damn crows cost her 24 minutes of sleep for nothing.

"It's so fresh, last night was the first time in my life that I wanted to ask the police for help." Said the man leaning on the cupboard door.

"F—"

He picked up the phone she had thrown at his feet. "Watch your language. Miss Jones."

A bird without feet discovers that drinking makes life easier.Pain without the ability to express can be swallowed into the stomach along with the mixture.Hold it with the wind and say:

"It's okay, you can stay here."

"Sherlock," she said, ruffling her hair, trying to meet his eyes, "it was an accident. I didn't…"

"I'm not particularly fond of lace," Sherlock said, tapping his elbow on the cupboard.There were several sets of Dove's underwear stacked there. "Just by the way."

The hangover suddenly made her sad, her head hurt, and stars appeared before her eyes.She sighed and struggled out of it, "Well, you have your own bathroom. So I'm staying here...no need to share it with Finn. Sorry, I thought it was a good idea..."

"Continue." He raised his chin as usual, his eyes sparkling.

"Well. They're married. Finn and Jessie. I don't feel comfortable living with them. Are you hungry? Can I cook you something. Peas?" She dusted the table.

"I think you dropped this by the window, Miss Jones." Sherlock spread his right palm.Dove's face was reflected in the metal cube, her face pale and haggard in the elegant cursive. "A lighter. Who is Collins? Another brother?"

"No kidding. I think it fell out of the coat." She was wearing a Collins coat.

"What have you been up to lately?"

"Working as an assistant to a newspaper editor. Sometimes serving tea, and putting kid-friendly text on a terrible illustration, etc... a little bit of everything, because they assured me it would Get yourself a regular page." She didn't open her mouth to ask politely.Rather, she wished to kill such a conversation in the first place.

"It seems that you have adjusted to modern life quite well."

"That's a concession I can make."

"I thought you had no interest in newspaper stuff. But in that case," Sherlock said carefully, "do me a favor."

Dove rested her chin on her hand, and snorted slightly as if hesitating slightly.

"Accompany me to investigate the case," he raised his eyebrows with an awkward and sincere expression, "please?"

"What? Do John's stuff?"

"In theory. But it doesn't matter what you do, you just have to do what you like. Talk less."

Sherlock is so charming when he wants something, it doesn't even take any tricks to find what he really wants. "Why don't you just ask John to help you? Mary would love it, she even prepared your socks on the fireplace at Christmas. Anyway," Dove stood up, pocketing Sherlock's lighter, "I Guess I don't like seeing you often enough, you total and complete nuisance."

He smiled and stared at Dove intently. "Are you throwing a tantrum at me?" He leaned back easily in his chair. "Calm down, you'd better write it, John will be more than happy to use it in his blog."

"You really... haven't changed at all. Two years have passed, and not everyone can do what you do, Sherlock. It shouldn't be like this. Say hello to me, and chat about things you don't even care about. You deserve to be Hang, drown, or suffocate. Please get back to the surface for a while, Sherlock."

"Are you losing your temper with me?" he repeated.

Dove didn't respond, and silently pinched the lighter in his pocket.

Sherlock pursed his lips and asked after a moment of silence, "Who is Collins?"

She looked puzzled and surprised. "Of course it's a boyfriend."

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The snails are even spicier!