[Shen Xia] Britannia Rose

The rain stopped, and the foggy weather still made people feel irritable. After a simple lunch, the diligent "little staff" of the British government drove to Whitehall after confirming that his girlfriend had no other problems. The top secret affair of the UK shutdown.

Before McCoff left, Isabella specially picked out that beautiful peacock blue tie for him, which looked great together with his new three-piece black vertical stripe suit.

Isabella looked at the other party with satisfaction, and praised her aesthetics.

Mycroft stood at the entrance, holding a briefcase in his hand, with a smile on his lips, "See you tonight, when I come back."

Isabella lowered her head and kissed the corner of his lips lightly, and said naughty words in a sweet voice, "Okay honey, you know I won't just stay at home and watch TV."

Mycroft said helplessly: "Can't you just say it and do your naughty things after I'm gone?"

"No. Alright, Anthea has been waiting downstairs for a long time," Isabella blinked slyly, "don't worry, your expression looks like I'm going to do something to the British Empire, take it easy, Myc."

"When you and Sherlock are together, I have to worry so much." He sighed, and with that, Mycroft turned and went downstairs.

Isabella shrugged. She lifted up the shawl that slid down to her forearm, covering a large piece of white skin like goat cheese on her chest. She lifted up a curtain, and the small black car downstairs spewed out a burst of smoke towards the white The direction of the hall is far away.

At least one thing Mycroft said was right, she was going to go to 221B, the recorder, and Moriarty, she had to talk to Sherlock.

Given that the "unspeakable" marks on her neck were too obvious, Isabella didn't want Sherlock to see through what she did last night with just one glance, so she searched through the box and chest to find a high-necked shirt, and applied special-effect concealer Cover large and small red marks tightly.

"Fortunately, it's raining today, and the weather has turned cold, otherwise it would be a bit strange to wear a high-necked shirt in summer," Isabella said.

……

"I said, can you pass me a pen?"

Isabella had just parked her stylish red sports car on the side of the road, stepped on her flat leather shoes and stepped up to the second floor of 221B, when the curly-haired detective sitting with her back facing her suddenly spoke.

"Huh?" Isabella found the pen from the messy table for him in a good-tempered manner and threw it over.

"Why are you?" Sherlock made a pyramid with his hands. After seeing Isabella, he woke up from his own thinking hall. He frowned and asked, "Where's John?"

"I don't know, I'm not here, maybe I went out?" Isabella sat down.

"..." Sherlock's eyes were cold and sharp, and he quickly scanned her from head to toe, "The fat man didn't go to work this morning?"

"How do you know?" Isabella looked down to see what was exposed on her body.

"Perfume, fresh perfume," Sherlock snorted, "cold enough to make people think he is a cool perfume, the special note of a fat man."

Probably because of the kiss she leaned towards before McCoff went out just now, she accidentally got a little scent of perfume.

"He has an online meeting," Isabella said vaguely. "By the way, Moriarty, I know who he is."

"You know? Who?" Sherlock finally turned his head around, staring at her.

"He used to teach at Cambridge University, not for a long time, not more than a year. He was a professor of mathematics there, and at that time he used a pseudonym, called James McVitie."

"McVitty?" Sherlock repeated.

"Yes, he said he was a consulting criminal and he was behind the London Underground bombing."

"Have you seen him?"

"At the rose party, he was wearing a mask and a voice changer, but I recognized him. Professor McVitie taught me that. He was very elegant and easy-going at that time, completely different from Moriarty." Isabella recalled.

"What does Moriarty look like?" Sherlock followed closely.

"Not tall, with double eyelids, big eyes, and a little baby face... When he is Moriarty, you will feel two words," she paused, "Crazy."

"Of course he's crazy," Sherlock's face became gloomy, "Consult the criminal, does he regard himself as the London underground crime king? However, for the first time, I feel that your club seems to be useful. When and where? I'll find time to meet you." Get in there and have a look."

"What does it mean to be useful?" Isabella was dissatisfied, "I'm not sure whether he will appear there again in the near future, and I went to investigate the list of people who attended the party that night, and there was no admission of Moriarty at all. For the record. I remembered afterwards that all the distinguished guests who entered through the main entrance wore freesias on their chests, but Moriarty did not."

"You really shouldn't have thrown the whole club in the hands of that Alston Hill, very chaotic management, no doubt! Mycroft is right..."

"What did he say?" Isabella caught Sherlock's careless words and asked suspiciously.

"It's nothing."

"Tell me, I still have a piece of information that I haven't told yet!"

"Well," Sherlock said reluctantly, "Mycroft said that he puts too much emphasis on commercial interests, and sooner or later the Rose Party will become the second anonymous Wall Street."

"..." Isabella was speechless.

"Okay, tell me, what's your second piece of information?" Sherlock looked at her with great interest.

"Someone told me that I could trade a recording pen with me at the rose party, so I..." Isabella continued, and suddenly a strong sense of disobedience came to her heart, and she slammed He stopped the car so hard that he almost bit his tongue.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"No, no, let me calm down and think about it, I think something is wrong." Isabella clenched her fists tightly, her brows forming a deep furrow.

Why exactly?Moriarty would rather deliver the recording pen to her personally at the risk of being exposed?Why not give it to someone to do it?

What Moriarty wanted was this key.

Isabella thought about it, she didn't know what he wanted to know about her.Judging from Moriarty's behavior, he was quite interested in Sherlock.

Wait, Sherlock?

Her eyes lit up.

When Moriarty personally showed up to deliver the recorder, out of vigilance, she would never simply believe that the information inside was true, and she needed to analyze it.

And Mycroft, who was the most helpful, would not tell himself the truth about this matter, so he settled for the next best thing, and the person he would 100% choose for help was... Sherlock?

Sherlock!

Moriarty made this big circle, with the ultimate goal of letting Sherlock hear the recording.

But why?

Isabella hasn't figured out the problem yet, so she decided to hide the recorder first.

"It's nothing, I just remembered that incident suddenly... Well, your brother specifically told me to keep it secret." No way, let's put the excuse on McCoff first, who asked him to prohibit himself from getting involved in the rose party.

Sherlock's eyes rolled out of the sky.

"Oh, Isabella, why are you here?"

Isabella greeted with a smile: "John? Are you... applying for a job?"

The military doctor came in through the door and said, "Yes, I went to the surgery clinic for an interview."

"How?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"Fine, she's great."

"Who?"

"That works."

"she?"

"it."

Sherlock knew it in his heart, but he didn't say it. Instead, he turned his head and asked Watson to read the report on the computer.

"An intruder who can walk through walls?" Watson asked.

"Last night, the reporter was shot dead in his apartment. The door was locked and the windows were pinned, exactly like Van Kuen."

"Wait...how far have you guys been with that case?" Isabella asked, noticing the pictures of weird symbols that had appeared in the bank on the wall.

"Van Kuen is dead, it was murder." Sherlock said coldly.

"He killed another one?" Watson said in surprise.

Sherlock said nothing, but moved his lips to his clasped hands.

"Are you going to Scotland Yard?" Isabella raised her eyebrows.

"Together, Isabella?" the military doctor invited.

"No, I'm very interested in these strange symbols..." Isabella leaned over to stare at the photo with the yellow spray paint symbol, she reached out and tore the photo from the wall and sandwiched it between her index finger and middle finger, and said with a smile, "Split up? I'll help you find out if anyone knows this thing."

Sherlock pursed his lips slightly, and he nodded imperceptibly.

……

"Hey, bro!"

In an unknown alley in London, a fat girl with a huge SUPREME Logo on it lazily pulls on trendy basketball shoes. While chewing gum, she approaches the street graffiti who is illegally spraying paint on the wall.

"Cool~" The man, or rather a big boy, gave her an appreciative glance and couldn't help but whistle.

Isabella knew that grimy, paint-smelling paint lovers would love the kind of American street hip-hop hipster look they call "arty."

"Are you drawing? Oh~ this is really good." Isabella stepped forward to make a close call.

"Of course, part of the new work, I call it... um, "Urban Killer." The boy said excitedly.

"It's beautiful, but should some elements be added here to make it look more dynamic and impactful?" Isabella clicked on the wall.

These fanatics are generally difficult to accept other people's suggestions. They are cunning and conceited. However, the boy glanced at her beautiful face, handed her the spray paint can in a mysterious way, took a step back, and said, "Then you come."

Isabella shook the bottle, held her breath, and drew lines on the wall one after another that were comparable to professional painters.

"WOW! That's so cool!" The boy couldn't help applauding. He approached Isabella, raised a smile that he thought was very handsome, and asked, "My name is Laz, may I know your name and contact information ?”

"Meg." Isabella made up a pseudonym casually.

"In 2 minutes, the community police will come from the corner. Let's talk in a safe place?" Raz said with a smile.

"It doesn't take long...I just want to ask you something," Isabella took out those photos, "Do you know the creator of this?"

"Well, I recognize the paint. It's like Michigan. Hardcore. I think it's zinc."

"Do you recognize these symbols?"

"I'm not sure if it's a language. But I'll find out for you," Raz said.

"Hey! The one in front, wait!"

"It's the police!" Raz grabbed Isabella's wrist and pulled her forward quickly.

"stop!"

Relying on his knowledge of this place, Raz turned left and right, playing hide-and-seek with the police in the alley.

"Ha..." He stopped panting, looked around vigilantly, and said slightly mockingly, "Tsk, I knew they wouldn't be able to catch me."

Isabella was dragged around by him so tightly that she almost passed out, and the soreness in her waist and inner thighs made her unable to run anymore.

The sound of the police search sounded again, and Raz cursed, "F丨ck! They're checking the neighborhood! What the hell!"

"Run by yourself, Laz, I can't run anymore." Isabella shook her head, rejecting the hand he extended.

"Meg!" said Raz anxiously, "get caught and go to the magistrate's court."

"I know, you run, I'm fine."

Hearing the sound getting closer, Raz was a little bit cruel, and turned his head and ran away first.

Isabella didn't move, she leaned her whole body against the wall of the narrow alley, although it wasn't in extreme pain, but the vague and indescribable soreness made her unable to take a step at all.

She turned sideways, looked at the chasing policeman with a smile, and nodded, "Hi."

"..." The community police officers looked at each other in blank dismay. They hadn't seen a street graffiti artist who voluntarily gave up their resistance, but their professional ethics made them regretfully inform Isabella, "You don't know that wall belongs to a protected art gallery. ?!"

"Sorry, I just found out." Isabella said casually.

"Okay, name?" The police assistant took out the ticket and began to record it.

Isabella raised her head and didn't look at him at all. Instead, she set her eyes on the camera that had been staring at her for some time and stopped turning her head. She smiled and looked at the person behind the monitor.

"Name?" The other party urged.

"Isabella... Isabella Holmes." She spoke slowly, making sure her lip movements were caught on camera.

"I regret to inform you that you may have to go to the detention center with us again. You need to collect fingerprints and information, and sign the indictment. The most important thing is that you will go to the Magistrate Court on Tuesday."

"Go now?" Isabella frowned.She really didn't want to walk anymore, being dragged to run at extreme speed for nearly 5 minutes seemed as long as a century, which was simply torture.

"Of course." The assistant police insisted.

silence.

Until the man's cell phone rang suddenly, he glanced at Isabella, and walked aside to answer the phone.

"Hey, sir, yes, but..." He was startled, "Special clearance? Well, I understand."

There was always a smile on Isabella's lips, and she waited quietly for the other party to let her go.

"Miss Holmes, you can go." The police assistant looked at her with weird eyes, and in his heart he wildly speculated about the supernatural powers of this lady. His immediate superior personally called to inform that a big man had spoken to her. Miss Holmes does not enforce punishment.

"Thank you." As she expected.

Just after the co-ops left to make fun of themselves, Isabella still maintained that posture leaning against the wall, and the numbness around her waist made her feel uncomfortably painful when she moved even a little.

She moved little by little until a small black car parked silently at the entrance of the alley.

Anthea hurried forward to help Isabella.

The author has something to say:

感谢在2021-06-1321:18:03~2021-06-1501:43:10期间为我投出霸王票或灌溉营养液的小天使哦~

Thanks to the little angels of irrigation nutrient solution: 80 bottles of bean paste; 20 bottles of dawn's twilight; 10 bottles of Jiuqueyi;

Thank you very much for your support, I will continue to work hard!