My Detective Roommate [Sherlock Holmes]

Adelia still couldn't make it to the clinic in the end - it wasn't because she was uncomfortable sitting, but mainly because seeing more and more people she met, everyone wanted to make fun of her. A thin-skinned girl really couldn't stand it, and she couldn't wait for it Even people and horses bid farewell to go back alone.

On such occasions, Sherlock was very calm, and even greeted unfamiliar passers-by naturally, as if he was turning away from customers.At this time, he felt the meaning and deliberately delayed, like a new courtesan in Kent.

And then Adelia regretted it again—she might as well have ridden back, at least she could hide her face in his neck.

It was finally time to get to the clinic, but Dr. Ossella took the patients with him, and the two of them lay outside the clinic to watch.

"Yo, isn't this our Dr. Heston?" Osera whistled flirtatiously.

When Adelia sees patients, she always corrects her rigorous image, but Dr. Ossella has taken the lead to stop being a human being, and she can't correct her image anymore.

"Doctor Ossella, can you pay attention to your image a little bit, it's nothing to take patients out to watch the excitement!" She tried to criticize severely.

"It's lively and beautiful, it's lively and beautiful," the simple patient smiled, "We are all friends, don't be so strict, falling in love is a good thing."

Osera pretended not to hear, and greeted Sherlock very naturally: "Hey, detective, it seems that the marriage proposal was successful?"

Adelia wanted to ask why the whole world knew about it?How many people did Sherlock tell?

Forget about the shiny ring on your hand.

"Of course," Sherlock put his hand on Adlia's shoulder naturally, which was a common action when they were friends, "I didn't even leave myself a way out."

Adelia patted his hand to make him put it down. It seemed to be complaining, but she couldn't shake off her anger: "You didn't leave me a way out."

"Ah, Annie is shy," Sherlock raised his eyebrows, his tone narrow, "Shall I go to the lounge with her first?"

Osella took off his hat exaggeratedly and saluted, offering blessings to the lively younger generations.

"Doctor Ossella," the patient who came to the outpatient clinic to chat quietly gossiped, "Isn't Hurston's fiancé Brackenstow?"

"Then your news is out of date," Osera said with a smile, "By the way, why did you come to see a doctor this time?"

Adlia, who returned to the room, didn't want to care about anything. As soon as the hat was put on the coat rack, she threw herself on the sofa and buried her face in the pillow.Sherlock looked funny, put his coat and hat away spontaneously, sat next to her, and patted her on the back.

"You don't entertain me." He deliberately accused.

"You have already turned yourself into the master of this place, and you want me to entertain you." Her voice was muffled, and she only left the back of her head for him.

Sherlock felt that he laughed too much today, and his face was almost frozen with laughter, but at this moment he still smiled: "Okay, you just threw yourself on the sofa when you came in, and you didn't even see the roses I brought."

So she sat up again: "Where is it?"

"Ah, I put it in the pocket of the other coat you went out with."

Adelia glanced at him and got up to go to the coat rack, and sure enough, she saw a rose with plucked thorns in the pocket of her coat: "It's very careful."

She praised, not noticing that her cheeks were redder than flowers at the moment.

He walked behind her and pinned the flowers to her ear.

"It doesn't look good." She muttered, but she didn't take it off, and adjusted it slightly in front of the mirror.

Sherlock was just behind her, and there was a moment's silence: "I do think the more sparkle the ring the better."

He deeply realized that the ring should be bigger and flashier, which is not all nonsense.

"Ok?"

For example, let everyone see that she has a lover.

He didn't say it out, and planned to save up a little bit to talk about it later—in case someone thinks he's not interesting in a few days.

How well they look in the mirror.

The two finally had time to chat about business.

"How did you solve it, Milverton?" she asked him.

"Ah, it's not a very glorious way, it's better not to tell you." Sherlock avoided her eyes.

Adelia immediately followed along and asked, "How did you do it?"

He wanted to hide, but this time she finally got the initiative, so she stood on tiptoe to make him look at each other, but when she met his eyes, she found that he had a triumphant smile.

She realized for a moment: "You are so annoying."

"It's you who's so cute," he responded with an exaggerated aria.

But after Adelia wanted to dodge again because of shame and anger, he held her hand, stroked the ring, and slowly began to describe the situation that night.

"You don't know," he concluded in a resigned tone, "that Watson is going to hate me."

"How do you say?" Adelia asked curiously.

"It disturbed his couple's time together, and forced him to become a felon along with me," he shrugged. My blood boils and I want to come to Kent to study with you."

Adelia thought about the scene, amused and annoyed: "Okay, I was thinking, maybe you have to give him a gift or something to calm down the anger of the biographer."

"I'll think of a way—I'm not a person who is good at picking out gifts." He was used to taking a pipe from his arms, but Adlia stared at him.

"I didn't smoke," he almost surrendered, "I just took it out."

"Then you picked out gifts for my aunt and me at the time, use your powers of observation to see what Dr. Watson needs." She didn't even bother to care about his pipe, after all, technically speaking, she also gave a pipe, which counts as Add fuel to the flames.

"It didn't take much thought to choose the one for you at that time. I chose it according to my scarf." He was still thinking about quitting smoking and replied subconsciously.

Then he looked up and realized that he seemed to have said something wrong.

"Well, that's not what it means."

Adelia pursed her lips: "Oh."

"At least I'm not worried about you committing a crime of indecency." She added something herself, and then hurriedly changed the subject, "Then Moriarty, how did you deal with it?"

"Annie," he sighed, "I can totally accept a little temper tantrum."

"But being able to explain it to myself is also something my character will do," she blinked, "It's not like you don't know."

"I know," he kissed her fingertips, "I just feel that my gift is a little perfunctory compared to everything you gave me."

Adelia looked down and saw the top of his hair, and her sinful hands wanted to mess up his neat hair, but it was a pity that her hands were in his palms, and she couldn't bear to take them off for the time being.She thought in her heart that what he gave her was not a scarf, but a flame that could inspire her to walk through the winter, but she would not tell the gentleman who is already proud of the spring breeze today, to write it down for a love letter in the future-someone despised her love letter for lack of emotion.

"You can't finish those things so quickly?" She still asked.

"Indeed, Moriarty...it's not that easy to defeat him," he said, somewhat unwillingly. "This time he involved a certain nobleman, and he was infected with syphilis with unclean blood. There are some private matters involved, and no one entrusts me, so it is inconvenient for me to intervene for the time being."

"Are you really willing to let it go?" Adelia didn't quite believe it.

Sherlock thought, he couldn't let Moriarty go without talking about her, not to mention that he was full of desire to challenge this stealthy king of the criminal empire.

But there is no better way for now.

"Mycroft sent me to deal with a small case. I bet he didn't even have to go to the scene to find the murderer," he said with a gloomy expression. Servant, I then participated in the interrogation, but there is no more news."

Sensing that the detective was in a bad mood, Adelia shook his hand gently.

"Huh?" He looked puzzled.

"Although the great detective commented that his work has no technical content, when the biographer is away, I am happy to record these trivial tasks." Her eyes were bent, and the eyes were full of water, "I hope the detective will not Dislike my literary quality."

He was amused by her.

"of course."

Adelia found the interest in listening to his stories when she was living with her at the time, and turned around to find her new notebook from the drawer.

"Have you read the papers? The death of Adair," Sherlock continued after receiving affirmation, "that is a gentle gentleman who never enmities with others and is friendly to others-he is indeed a bit unlucky, if If he doesn't know Moran, he can live happily ever after."

"I know, they met at the poker club, so it's not a good habit to gamble," Adelia recorded, "I remember writing in the newspaper that there seems to be no trace of invasion?"

"Yes, Lestrade has rarely done a clever thing, though for a foolish purpose," Sherlock smiled at the thought, "Adair seems to have committed suicide, but even Lestrade You can see the abnormality, his hand is almost unable to pull the trigger."

"There is a string of footprints about twelve inches in the house, leading to the window sill, which also seems to have strange scratches," said Sherlock, "but I noticed that the footprints were not quite right. The toe marks were light and more important. What's more, the stride is not right, how can the stride be less than two and a half feet for twelve inch feet?"

Adelia nodded again and again.

"There is a garden outside the window, why are the footprints so clean? In my opinion, it's just a poor disguise, so I narrowed my consideration to the inner ghost," Sherlock quickly concluded, "Called all the servants, carefully Observed their features—you know, I'm good at observing."

"Because you already know what you're looking for," she added casually.

He half-closed his eyes and smiled softly—she always knew that.

"Yes, I know, I found it too," he said, "When I knew that the other party had an affair with Moran, I even easily thought of the characteristics of the murder weapon. Moran did a special thing on his air|air|gun Transformation can minimize the sound. There is no doubt that the murderer also has such a tool, which is enough for him to kill silently. Although I have no clue where the murder weapon is hidden, but the shoes, as long as he does not guess the first His house will be searched in two days, and the problem of shoe size can be found by luck, he does not need special hiding."

"Yes, but without your intervention, I'm afraid this case will be called a mystery." She listened and wrote it down.

But as she was writing, she suddenly remembered Watson's article published in the newspaper.

"Sherlock, I think our cooperation is terrible."

Sherlock looked at her puzzled.

The tip of her pen tapped her chin again and again, and her delicate brows were slightly frowned.

"You tell your exquisite reasoning process flatly and without surprises," Adlia complained, "and I don't have a good enough pen to describe it thrillingly. No one will read newspapers if they pay for them.”

"My description is naturally the way I like it," he didn't mind, "How could I not like the story you wrote?"