Sherlock Research SH

Collins was a policeman born into a devoutly Catholic family.Gentle and innocent, lacking in self-confidence, he looks like a puppy in a back alley when shaken.

Dove imagined him blowing smoke rings.In the smoke, his eyes flickered shyly like candlelight.

"What can I do for you, Dove?" He breathed out over the phone.Another beautiful smoke ring, Dove thought.

"Well, if you could give me a little detail about Lord Moran's case..."

"Dorve, you know. That case is not under our jurisdiction." He lowered his voice, and seemed to have walked to some empty place.

"What about Jack the Ripper? How about it?" Dove closed the notebook, listening to him light a second cigarette. "Collins, just scraps. It's about my promotion."

"Okay ok ok. But, look, we have rules about not giving information to the press. So you—"

"I'll put 'Information via Detective Inspector Gregory Strade', don't worry."

He has very beautiful eyes.Transparent as a mirror.I've already said it, but I still have to emphasize that it looks cute when it shakes.Like a clear spring that has been aroused to ripple, it ripples in the eyes for a fleeting moment.

"What's the plan for tonight?"

"Same as usual. Meet you at the bar around the corner of the hospital, okay? See you tonight." Dove opened her notebook and dialed another number from the payphone on the desk.Everyone will have a day when there are so many things to deal with, but her situation is particularly embarrassing.

"Wait. Wait a minute," Dove said, holding the phone to her ear. "Perhaps...you noticed that Finn helped me remove a few story books from your locker, didn't you?" Collins explain.

"Yes." Actually no.

"Uh, actually... don't mind. Dimo ​​told me that if there is any... major announcement, Shakespeare's works will be the best model."

"What do you mean by 'big thing'?" Dove was silent for a moment. "...Did I make a mistake? Are you going to interrogate me in the backlight like those guys in the X-Files while evilly smoking a cigarette? You better Tell me now."

~~~~~

Who can tell?A person has to do two things every day that he doesn't like.

Dove is obedient and obedient, overly ascetic, like cheese.Sliced, shredded, and melted into a liquid with a scalding knife, you're left with shapeless lumps.

"Thank you for rescuing me from a dreary life," Collins said in the bar.Perhaps someone knew that she hadn't completed today's target, and that made her suffer like this.

Collins naturally turned to the ball of paper in his hand again, and continued to mutter.

She felt terrible.

It's Shakespeare.Doesn't Collins know that even his tone of voice has been used thousands of times by predecessors?

She shifted her right hand to support her chin.

Collins looks radiant, even in a dimly lit bar.The bus with its lights out slipped through puddles of all sizes, and it was hard to avoid splashing raindrops on the windows.The night in London has become more humid and cold.

Dove looked at him. "Collins—"

Another bus passed by, but with its lights on.Very conspicuous on the street.The people by the window were illuminated by the beam of light, and even though it only passed by briefly, they could clearly see the ball of paper falling on the ground.Collins covered his face with his hands, the opposite of the original glow.He seemed to have lost all willpower.

Dove pulled up her hat, rolled her coat around her arms, opened the door and ran towards the lighted bus at the end of the street.

~~~~~

She climbed up, pushed open the flat and narrow window, got in with her legs bent, and sat down limply against the wall.

"I guess my rug is annoying you again." Sherlock poked his head out of the hallway outside the bedroom.He wears goggles and medical gloves, but a nightgown and plush slippers. "Otherwise you'll knock, and Mrs. Hudson can show you up."

"You are here."

"I pay a reasonable monthly rent to live here. Why do you say that?" He walked in, holding an eyeball in his left hand.

"I don't know, Sherlock. Maybe I made you angry, maybe... I don't know, maybe you like to leave without saying goodbye. Like two years ago."

"That was never my intention, Miss Jones." He lifted the goggles up to his forehead with his other hand, pressing a few locks of curls in. "Where have you been?"

"You have never had so many questions, Mr. Detective. If you can clearly observe it, why bother?"

He paused for a moment.

"You came out of the hospital and went to a cafe? A bar? Well, I smell it, it's a bar. It must have been with that Mr. Collins? Looks like an exciting speech? Goosebumps and... dilated pupils." He squatted suddenly He got very close, so close that he could smell the burnt eyeball, "But you escaped."

He laughed, changing his gloomy face, with a teasing look at the corners of his eyes.

"Collinth proposed to me." Dove uttered every word with sincerity.

Almost without a pause, Sherlock said to her: "You call him 'Collinth'? Why? I thought you knew each other more than just calling each other's surname?"

He seems to be smiling slowly, gradually, and the smile is still widening.

"You made a mistake, for example, I like him to call me 'Dorve'." She stood up holding the window sill, and looked away from the following eyes, "He told me, 'Loving someone is like an earthquake' .So I thought...maybe...Sherlock, your eyeball fell out."

"I believe it's Bill, Billy, or Bee's eyeball. Please watch your feet, don't step on them, I'm conducting a very important experiment." Sherlock took off his gloves.A cold hand rested on her cheek, and her thumb gently and slowly swept across her chin, gently lifting her chin.

"Open your mouth, Dove."

~~~~~

Dove delayed the alarm clock, rolled up the quilt, and moved her body to find a comfortable angle.She closed her eyes and opened them immediately.The crow, probably not the same crow, jumped in through the open window.At the same time, she found a naked arm growing under her head.

"Holys—"

Her mouth was covered.

"I can hear John talking to Mrs. Hudson," said Sherlock vaguely. "If you don't get dressed now, he'll keep teasing us."

"Then will you tell me about the Lord Moran case?" Dove sat up.

"Please say that again?"

"Lord Moran." She took the recorder out of her bag and continued hesitantly, "I know this doesn't look right."

~~~~~

Mrs. Jones once had a photo album filled with little Finn.Dove liked two of them best.One of him screaming at the hot bread coming out of the oven, and another of his first taste of eel parfait. "Why do people have to work hard every day to make money to be equally unhappy even though eel parfait can make me unhappy enough when I don't work hard?" His eyes moistened. "Because they need money to buy eel parfait," Mrs. Jones replied.Little Finn looked even more confused, including the strawberry waffles in the breakfast, all vomited on the lady who brought tea.

~~~~~

John looked so confused at this moment.But he is not only an adult, he is also a doctor.He knew how to keep himself from spitting up on Sherlock's rug.

"What's that noise downstairs? It sounds like a tortured owl," Sherlock asked John.

The knuckles of his index finger were dangling by the door, and Dove's quick taps on the keyboard made it unclear if it was time to knock.

"Uh... it's Mrs. Hudson's laughter." He sat down on the sofa at a loss, "So, here you are, Dove."

"Don't worry, I'll leave after finishing this report." After being interrupted for several seconds, Dove raised her eyebrows and reorganized her sentence.

"What report? About my wedding?"

"Don't be stupid."

"It's Lord Moran," said Sherlock, dipping his eyes into the solution.

"So you're here to interview Sherlock on a beautiful morning? You know, you can actually ask me. I was there."

Dove closed the notebook, scratched her eye sockets, and said, "However, if you write 'Confirmed by Mr. Sherlock Holmes' at the bottom of the report, it will be more..."

"'Will be more'?" John frowned feeling slighted.

"It would be cooler."

"Okay. No problem. Dove, Mary and I are doing guest confirmation. You'll be here right?"

"As long as Lestrade is around, this won't happen. Thank you for the invitation anyway."

"What's the matter with Lestrade?" Sherlock interjected.

"Well, not a big deal. I don't think so. It's just that Lestrade refused Dove's request to have missing persons printed on milk cartons a year ago."

"Who are you looking for?"

"Sherlock Holmes." John laughed.

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