My Detective Roommate [Sherlock Holmes]

He is always trying to figure out the limit of the distance she can accept, so that he has to consider the strength of an ordinary hug.At this moment, he knew that she would definitely refuse to touch, but he still held out his hand.

Perhaps it was because she was still trapped in some kind of vulnerability at this moment, and he was not pushed away.

That kind of temperature contact lasted only a few seconds, and Sherlock suddenly realized that he was nervous, hesitant, and his heart beat faster because of such a hug that was hardly considered a hug.It is difficult for him to describe his feelings, which may be compared with Newton grabbing the apple and the steam engine dragging the locomotive for the first time.Sherlock tried to attribute the throbbing of the moment to the excitement of finally breaking the protective shell of his subject.

He didn't know when the other party would push him away, so he only carefully calculated the time and quickly let go of his hand, his eyes were rare to avoid: "In short, I feel that you need this just now."

In fact, it's not that he hasn't hugged his friends before, and even a courtesy hug may be closer than that with Adrian.But maybe it was influenced by the other party's constant alienation, or driven by his heartbeat and breathing, Sherlock actually felt a little uncomfortable.

The tip of his nose seemed to still have some grassy aroma, and he rarely trusted his sense of smell.It was also difficult for him to explain how Adrian's expression was a mixture of fragility and indifference.He even thought, if alienation is a kind of protection, why did Adrian form such a guard, gently rejecting people thousands of miles away?

There is no doubt that Adrian is a gentle person, but there are many contradictions in him: he is withdrawn, but it does not mean that he does not know how to socialize, and he has a unique sense of smell for people; Troubles are lazy to solve, but many things are easy to handle, as if there is no difficulty in everything.

Including this time, I even thought of asking Lestrade for a letter with the seal of Scotland Yard.

Speaking of which, Adrian seems to use some perfume?Perhaps it was suggested by his "fashionista" friend Smith.

All the information swept through his mind like a hurricane. He didn't know where to put his hands, but he felt that Adrian would be more uncomfortable than him. Sherlock tried to remember what he wanted to say to Adrian when he opened the door, and opened his mouth But I couldn't remember it, and what I said was: "Then I will go to Torres first."

Adelia's cheeks blushed belatedly, and she stared blankly at his eyes, as if she couldn't even find a suitable position for her head, and it was slightly crooked, and when she came to her senses, Sherlock said When something happened, she had already nodded and watched the door close again before her eyes.

Why did he say that just now... What does it mean that she needs this hug?

She's very nice, she doesn't need any hugs...why is this person so distanceless...she was a little reluctant to live in one room...why didn't she push away?

Although she has lived with boys in the school dormitory before, due to her own gender and her sense of alienation from this era, it is difficult for her to accept being too close to people socially.But why didn't she push it away just now?

She pressed her forehead against the door, closed her eyes, and didn't notice that her body shrank a little, she felt a little cold.

She tried to find a rational reason for her inclusion of Sherlock Holmes—perhaps her strange affinity for the man stemmed from something in him that was beyond the ages.

Apart from Smith, Stilton, her only "friend", is doing things that can be said to be deviant in this era. He is not afraid of rumors, not only doing his career as a doctor, but also not shying away from exploring death.In comparison, Sherlock Holmes doesn't even look rebellious—many people in this era, even workers and farmers, are interested in bizarre murders—but he has a sense of being beyond the age.

She couldn't figure out where this mixed temperament came from, except that maybe his "cute" little reasoning reminded her of the evidence-based feel of her old days.

She forced her thinking to return to rationality, but the drive of emotion pulled her repeatedly.The familiar, migraine feeling returned, and her mind seemed to be clouded.

I am already very happy.she told herself.

Although I always feel that I am out of place in this era, at least... Stilton needs her to help paint, and Smith has only one friend who can talk about dreams and reality, and has always loved his aunt.

Now there is an extra homeless roommate who asks me to be an assistant.

Thinking of the last sentence, she felt a little funny again.

Next time he asks her to be an assistant, she will have to take some salary.After all, a social animal like her would not do anything without money.

Of course, it was also to allow him to save enough money to pay the rent.

Her roommate was obviously a restless person,

The door was slammed open, and Adelia, who was leaning on the door, staggered—she didn't even have time to clean up her inexplicable sadness——

"Sherlock Holmes!"

She gritted her teeth and called him by his first name before realizing what had happened.

Although Adrian usually stands straight and has a tough temperament, he just hugged him gently-but when the other party crashed into his arms, he realized that his estimation seemed to be wrong-his figure was bigger than he looked. Thinner.

Sherlock immediately assessed the size, shape and volume of this "unexpected visitor".

And I have to say, it may be softer than it looks.

Ah, being called by his full name - he didn't feel any embarrassment, he just felt that his roommate, who had a sense of distance, felt uncomfortable when he suddenly entered his defensive distance, and he even wished to come a few more times to see how he collapsed .

"Oh sorry Adrian, I didn't expect you to be so impatient—" he had a triumphant smile on his face, "you're not hungry, are you? Let's go see poor Bran before the body rots." Mr. Stone!"

He put his hand on his shoulder, it was very natural.Only he himself knew that he hadn't completely calmed down yet, his hands seemed to be scalded.

Adlia endured it, especially when she saw the "beaten" smile on Sherlock's face, and decided not to condone her roommate's stupid style.

"Knock before you enter, Mr. Holmes." Forced herself to ignore his burning palm, she slapped his hand on her shoulder, stepped back, and slammed the door shut—this time Sherlock nearly got caught in the middle of it.

It's unknown what Sherlock's expression is outside the door, but Adlia's wild thoughts have been somewhat curbed after all.

Boom, boom, boom.

He knocked three times.

Adelia just opened the door from the inside, and before she could speak, her excited roommate took the conversation away again.

"I'll obey your little rules, Adrian, after all I've always been considerate—are you ready, then? Shall we go now?"

Adelia: Destroy it, hurry up.

But he was pulled out the door by the excited young detective.

"I didn't have a cane—"

"that's not important."

——The important thing is that at this moment, they are going to go out to solve the puzzle.

The two asked Torres to borrow the hotel's simple carriage, and the hotel servant who was in charge of taking care of them became their coachman.Adelia stuffed some money, in order to nourish the life of this nominal caretaker.

She has never spared money on things that add to her comfort.

"You are quite generous," Sherlock looked at the roommate who climbed into the car behind him, "you are also very skilled at stuffing money."

"It's all external objects." She replied lightly.

"Then you don't have to worry about my rent—"

"That's enough money." She retorted lightly.

Sherlock couldn't help laughing: "I thought the gentleman sitting next to me in the simple carriage was a rich man."

"Money is not a problem, there is a problem without money." She didn't want to pay attention to the man's sudden ridicule, but after thinking about it, she taught herself the core spirit of being a social animal, "I don't mind spending money, but I must earn it." Can not be less."

Her thoughts wandered for a moment. There seems to be no place for consumption in this era...Smith takes care of clothes and everything, food?There is nothing to eat, and there is no rent to live in my aunt's house. She usually spends a little money for travel and so on. The rest of the money is used for buying shops or making small investments.

I haven't checked how much money is in the bank for a long time...

Ah... If you really want to leave, you have to take stock of your assets, such as house deeds and land deeds, and pay dividends.

So complicated.

"Although it's a bit abrupt to ask now, you always seem to want to leave." Sherlock said abruptly, and he even turned his body slightly to better see her expression.

Ah, right on target.

Not surprising though.

"Well," she said ambiguously, just like every time she answered outsiders about her whereabouts, "the current life is a bit boring, and I need a change of air."

He seems to be trying to figure out her emotions from her details, but his roommate may have been completely stripped from the warmth just now, and has returned to a calm state.Just now he was a little concerned about whether the distance was too close, but now he had an idea that he still wanted to tease him - at least not to make his friend look lifeless.

"Well, I didn't pick a good time." He shrugged and looked ahead again.

"Good time?"

Adelia glanced at him suspiciously, and similarly, she couldn't find an answer from him.

There was an exceptional brightness at noon in late summer, and it was rare for Adelia to breathe some fresh air. Even though she didn't like the people in this country and there were certain things, she definitely didn't hesitate to praise the environment.She closed her eyes and dozed off, and the detective next to her was surveying the surrounding environment with his eagle-like eyes.

Branston's manor was in sight, and Sherlock pushed his sleepy friend a little helplessly.

"Get up, Adrian," he wished to hit the big slob with his cane, but he just remembered that he forgot to bring his cane, "I invited you to be my assistant, but you are just resting in a daze."

Adelia yawned lazily and lazily: "If you want, I can also be responsible for praising you, sir."

Branston Manor is the same as it was a few years ago. The gray and white villas are half-hidden in layers of bushes, with a classical and simple style, and the haze is added by the color of memories.There is still some distance from here to where other people in the village live, and the air floats in silence, like an isolated building in a dream.Adelia jumped out of the car following Sherlock, and subconsciously raised her head to look for the topmost tower, which was covered by shutters, but Adelia knew that the entire village could be clearly seen from there.

As for whether it is the "king"'s supervision of the "people", or it is to satisfy the eccentricity of a certain head of the family.

Who knows.

An old man with gray hair went out to meet them.

"I remember you, Mr. Hudson, and I'm sure you're medically literate," he smiled at her kindly. "Is Mrs. Hudson all right?"

"Mr. Edward, long time no see." She reached out and shook her hand politely, "Everything is fine, you look haggard."

The old butler frowned tightly, and sighed: "I still don't understand what happened, even though they all said it was suicide, but Mr. Branston -- what reason does he have?"

Adelia avoided the subject: "This is my friend, Sherlock Holmes, and he is an excellent consulting detective."

"This is the one—"

"Yes, the one who was taken into custody as a suspect," Sherlock didn't mind, "Hello, Mr. Edward."

Edward obviously knew what happened, so he didn't show any surprise: "I know, you've been in the newspaper!"

Know this too?Sherlock glanced at Adlia subconsciously, and saw her slightly nodding from the corner of her eye.

Understood, she also brought a newspaper to the countryside.

"Excuse my old man's ignorance, though. Consult the detective—is that a new post at Scotland Yard?"

"Actually the job at Scotland Yard wasn't challenging for my friend, who was so tired of the constraints that he turned down the official detective job," the glorified CV description Adelia snapped, "but Scotland Yard They admired my friend's talent, and he also had other important jobs, so he gave up a job as a consulting detective."

Refused to become an official detective?Who knows whether it was a rejection of Scotland Yard's invitation or a psychological "rejection".There is another important job, although she helped to make the connection, the work in the dissecting room is also very important.

Edward was in awe.

Sherlock was also in awe.

"Then I am really looking forward to your opinion, Mr. Holmes," Edward led them to open the door, "I really want to know who will persecute Mr. Branston."

The old man's eyes were a little red, his figure was a little stooped, and he trembled uncontrollably when he stretched out his hand to unlock the lock. Those are signs of old age.

"I'm old," he sighed. "I've been here nearly seventy years. How could Mr. Branston go before me?"

Sherlock comforted at the right time: "Please forgive me, little Branston still needs your care."

Edward tried his best to nod, and cheered up a little: "I will definitely guard Master Branston as an adult."

As soon as the door was opened, dogs could be heard barking, and more than one.

Adlia didn't think there was anything wrong, but Sherlock couldn't help but glanced at the kennel separated by the fence, and the youngest pug barked extremely fiercely.

"They look hungry."

"A hungry dog ​​guarding the door is strong enough." Edward only glanced at it, "otherwise it won't be able to restrain those who do evil."

They walked into the hall, and a lady came down with her skirt in her hand.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come down to greet you." Her eyes were still red, and she looked like a spoiled wife. "I have another headache. I heard you are a doctor, right?"

She cuddled vulnerablely against Adélia.

Adelia stretched out her arms and hugged the overly naive lady, her palms didn't even touch her skin.

Sherlock glanced at her out of the corner of the eye—she didn't keep her distance much at this moment.

"Ah, I'm offended," the lady straightened up again as if suddenly awakened, "I forgot, the person who would be jealous of me is no longer here."

Her mournful tears were about to fall again.

"He just came back from a business trip, and we haven't finished chatting well—"

Adlia recalled the first time she saw Mrs. Rachel Branston, when she was brought back by Mrs. Hudson for the first time. She was nine years old, and Mrs. Branston should have just married ,very young.

I really can’t remember the exact age of this lady, but I only remember that she is the second generation, about fifteen or sixteen years younger than Mr. Branston. From her modern point of view, she may not be an adult, as if she was born within a year child.

He should be in his early thirties now, but he was raised at home with a naive and ignorant look on his brows.

"Maybe you need to rest on the sofa." She said softly and gently, and took out the handkerchief and put it on Rachel's hand—whether it was intentional or not, the handkerchief separated the two of them, and there was no direct skin contact.

Rachel opened her eyes wide and looked at the young doctor with some puzzlement—she always prided herself on her beauty, but she didn't know why she was so sad, and the people in front of her didn't offer any comfort.

She needs a hug, someone to hold her hand and tell her it's all over.

But she looked into those green eyes, noticed her restrained movements, and suddenly forgave the man.

Edward silently looked at Mrs. Branston's foolish appearance, and only reached out to help her at the right time.

"Thank you doctor, maybe I need to slow down," she fell weakly into the sofa with the support of the housekeeper, "I still remember you, Mars praised you for being brave."

Mars was the name of the dead Branston.

Adelia endured it, and did not deny that she was a doctor, but she was puzzled. Sherlock should be more attractive in terms of height and body, so what is the matter with this lady throwing herself directly into her arms.

Little did she know that her forbearance to Mrs. Branston in the subtleties of her actions completely fell into the eyes of her friends.

"I know you're a detective, aren't you?" She looked at Edward for help, and after getting confirmation from the butler, she turned her gaze to Holmes again, "We don't welcome outsiders. Mars was the one who judged before." Or, he's been doing really well."

Her tears fell again, and she wiped them lightly with Adelia's handkerchief.

"Mr. Hudson, I believe in you," she looked at Adelia, "I would also like to believe in your friends."

Sherlock took off his hat.

The lady took a deep breath: "Hunter Hudson, he shouldn't have appeared near the manor, he did appear that day."

Sherlock subconsciously looked at Adlia, and he soon realized that this lady might not trust them very much, just because Adrian had a personal grievance with Hunter.

Adelia did not avoid her eyes, and she was even tolerant: "Perhaps I should avoid this topic, after all, although it is far away, it is more or less blood-but you can completely trust my friend Mr. Holmes, even though he does not belong to this village, but I am willing to take responsibility for his integrity."

Rachel glanced at the butler seemingly unconsciously, and Sherlock noticed a slight, permissive movement from the butler.

"No one is trustworthy anymore," her voice was still trembling, "then please don't hide my wounds, I will definitely know everything about the whole story."

"I want to take a look at Mr. Branston." Sherlock immediately made his request.

"Of course." Rachel pressed her forehead with a handkerchief, "I'm sorry I can't face it anymore, Edward, thank you for your hard work."

"Sure, ma'am," Edward bowed and gestured in the direction, "please follow me."

It's the basement again.

Adelia hated the basement, and there were never any fond memories of the basement.

But when he got to the basement, he saw only an empty coffin, so Edward said apologetically, "Sorry, Mr. Branston has already been buried."

"I thought it was placed—" Sherlock's dissatisfaction was about to overflow, but he knew how to control his emotions anyway.

Edward expressed some displeasure at the right time: "Actually, it's Madam who doesn't want him to be buried. She always thinks that the ice cellar can be preserved, and that she can——and see Mr. Branston."

"But she won't come."

He silently looked at the empty coffin in front of him: "I am afraid that my husband will not find peace, so I can only bury him first, and leave the empty coffin for my wife to think about."

"You didn't make this decision alone, you don't have the power yet." Sherlock looked at Edward firmly.

The two stalemate in dead silence.

In the end, Edward was defeated: "Yes, I can't deny it."

"Ha, I know who it is," Sherlock said calmly, "it doesn't matter, I know it all."

Perhaps as compensation, Edward told them a lot of information in the cold basement afterwards.

One is that Hunter, who has been missing for half a month, should have appeared in the manor during the period of disappearance. The wife and two servants seem to have seen his shadow in the nearby jungle, but they are not sure.

The second is that although Branston died in the bathtub, his clothes were arranged differently from his previous habits.

"What's the difference?"

"Mr. is a well-organized person. Every time he takes a bath and changes clothes, he will definitely put his clothes in good order. The accessories are hung on the hangers, and the others are put on the fence. But this time it looks very messy, so we put them all directly on the fence. ,very messy."

In addition, Branston said that he had an appointment that day and needed to take a shower and change clothes to meet people, but he didn't say whether he would go out or where he would meet, and when the time came, no one came to the door.

"When a person is buried, has his room changed? Have you maintained his room?" Sherlock pondered for a moment.

"Actually, I didn't do much cleaning, just brushed off the dust a little bit," Edward sighed, "In fact, it was rumored that Mr. Suicide|suicide is also the result of this. The bathroom is calm, and Mr.'s expression even—he even It's smiling."

His lips trembled slightly: "If you don't look at the pool full of blood, he will be asleep."

Sherlock patted the butler on the shoulder to show comfort, but he was still immersed in thinking from the expression on his face. He patted it casually two or three times before making his request: "I need to see his room again."

"No problem." Edward waved his hand, indicating that he didn't need comfort, and agreed to his request.

"Your young master, you haven't shown up yet," Adelia interjected, "I remember the last time I came back, I was still in the noble public school?"

"After Mr. Branston's burial, the young master had a fever and felt uncomfortable. He has been recuperating for the past few days." Edward didn't understand why he mentioned the young master, but he still replied, "We have been tutors and public servants since he entered middle school. You won’t fall behind in your studies, the tutor will come to teach recently, maybe you can meet.”

Walking up from the basement, the temperature slowly warmed up. When passing through the living room, Sherlock noticed the portrait on the wall again.

It seems that they all have the same protruding chin, which is a typical genetic expression.When he came across something that had something to do with medicine, he couldn't help but glance at his roommate who was "suspicious of the doctor".

But his roommate didn't look sideways, and had no desire to express an opinion at all.

He can only write it down in his heart first, and prepare to find some time to test it out.

Branston's room is on the easternmost side of the second floor. He does not live in the same room with his wife. The decoration of the house looks quite classical, and there are some oriental elements that are popular nowadays.

In the eyes of Adlia, a true oriental, the oriental elements she has seen in this era are very expensive and tasteful - milky white porcelain, bed nets with dragon patterns, and pillowcases should be the same silk.

Indeed, as Edward said, Mr. Branston is a very organized person. The arrangement of the hangers can be interpreted as the servants tidying up properly, but the neat arrangement of documents and books should be a personal habit.

Compared with looking at the furnishings of the house, her roommate's actions are more interesting to watch, even if she is "well-informed" like Adélia, she can't help but take a few more glances.

He was already immersed in his own world - he stood by the door and took a quick look around the room, maybe because he had been here a few times, this step was just to make sure that they really didn't change the scene.

Immediately afterwards, he walked to the window, opened the blinds, glanced out to confirm the field of vision, took out a magnifying glass to check the window frame, then slightly shortened his body, took a step back, sat on the sofa chair, and lifted the window frame. Xiaoji looked at the water glass.

There was no water in the cup, and even a little dust had accumulated, but there was still a little smell.

He sniffed it, wasn't sure, and put it back gently.

He took a step back vigilantly, looking for the target as if he was scanning—he seemed to have noticed a mark on the ground, squatted down to observe, and after a few seconds of meditation, he looked around again for a while—he suddenly discovered something, in the window In the corner of the wall directly under the frame, he withdrew one leg and squatted down, as if confirming something, he took out a piece of paper from his arms, picked up the dust with his hands and put it on the paper, and looked closely at it for a long time .

Then he folded it carefully, stood up to look for other clues, and only held out his hand to Adlia.

Adelia subconsciously took it and helped him put it away. Noticing Edward's puzzled eyes, she could only smile and find other topics: "Does Mr. Branston have any enemies?"

Edward briefly looked away from Sherlock: "Mr. has always been kind to others. I don't think he has any enemies. Even in the ruling, he is extremely fair and has nothing to say."

"It's a bit inappropriate to talk about this topic," Adlia felt a little disgusted with the small paper bag, but she still put it in the pocket of her pocket watch. She suddenly remembered something and seemed to mention it inadvertently, "He used to have a pretty Fun little dice, I looked pretty delicate before, and I wanted to ask where I bought them."

Edward was stunned for a moment. He quickly understood what Adelia was talking about, but he was also a little confused: "It seems that he sold it from outside when he was on a business trip a few years ago, maybe it was Birmingham? I can't remember exactly. He Sometimes I keep it in my hand, but I can’t seem to find it now.”

"Really, that's a pity." The dice was made into a shape similar to a fidget spinner, and Adlia took a few extra glances at that time.

While they were talking, Sherlock had already picked up a deck of playing cards on the bedside, poured it out and looked at it roughly, and seemed to be holding it and sniffing it.

"Is there something missing in the house?" Sherlock said suddenly. "May I turn it around a little?"

"There is no wallet for cash, and the other is the lack of some valuable accessories. The sum may not be a small amount for ordinary people." Edward hesitated, "Please do it, but please don't make too much mess."

He hooked open the drawer of the bedside table with his fingers, and there were glasses, pens, cigarette cases, sleeping pills, and a copper coin, which looked like chips?There's just a weird half-sheet left.There are some accessories in the second drawer, including pocket watch chains, collar clips, finger rings, etc., each of which is placed in a small compartment by category. Obviously, there are many missing, and I am afraid they will be picked and taken away. part of it.The files in the third drawer are neat and tidy.

When I opened the closet, it looked tidy at first glance, but in fact the clothes in the lower row also showed traces of being turned over.

He settled, and then went to rummage through Branston's clothes hanging outside the bathroom.Adelia noticed that he carefully checked the buttons of his clothes and the buttons of his trousers. In addition, the pockets of his trousers had also been turned out. It was ridiculously empty at the moment.

"I'll go to the bathroom." Sherlock said, and after getting Edward's approval, he pushed the door open and entered.There was still a faint smell of blood in the bathroom, but he didn't seem to notice it.

Perhaps it was a taboo, Edward did not step in, and was only two steps away from the door. Adlia wanted to follow in, but by some coincidence, she leaned against the door, half blocking Edward's sight.

Edward seemed to be a little concerned, but maybe because he thought there was nothing in the bathroom, he didn't let Adlia get out of the way.I just found a topic to find out about Adlia: "Are you working as a doctor in London now?"

"Actually," Adlia frowned, "I did lose some of my courage to become a doctor after that incident, and finally turned to research."

When she said this, she inevitably felt a little tingling.

"That's really a pity," Edward was taken aback for a moment, "Mr. has always praised you for your courage."

Adlia recalled Branston's attitude, and seemed a little confused about the scene back then.It seems that Branston didn't understand her at the time, but his attitude suddenly changed...

Is there such a thing, she is a little uncertain.

"I really thank Mr. Branston for speaking for me at that time," Adlia's appearance was still impeccable. "He showed me justice and gave me some confidence, but it's a pity that it did..."

She showed a somewhat unspeakable expression, and Edward even looked at her with some pity.

In fact, there were no special clues in the bathroom. Looking at the bathroom, Sherlock recalled the scene of the crime he had seen: Branston was lying peacefully like a bather until he fell asleep, and the pool was full of light red blood.If you don't look at the bathtub, it's as neat and orderly as it is now.

At that time only...

He squatted down, and the dripping blood stains had been wiped away. The memory flashed back, and he remembered that there were faint, round marks of water droplets at that time.

A clumsy one that was faked as a suicide|suicide but could be seen as a murder scene just by thinking about the toenails.His train of thought had already taken shape, and he was eager to find his partner.

Someone was approaching from behind, and Adlia felt that Sherlock was going to pat herself, quickly turned around to avoid it, and grabbed his wrist.

Rarely, she raised her eyebrows proudly: "Don't stain my clothes with your fumbling hands."

As she spoke, she was about to take the handkerchief out of her pocket.

But Sherlock didn't know what kind of trick it was. With a dexterous slip of his hand, he broke away from her grasp and straightened his cuffs slightly: "Your handkerchief has already been given to another lady."

Adelia was still a little dazed, really didn't want to understand what the action was just now, how he broke away, and stared at her hand.

"Thank you, Edward, I may have to walk around here a little bit, so I won't get in the way of things?" He asked politely, and as expected, he got an affirmative answer.

"By the way, let me confirm again. The dagger belongs to Mr. Branston, right?"

"Yes, sir, usually under the pillow." Edward said.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows with interest: "What a surprise."

When they walked out of the room, Adlia accidentally ran into a maid, and she even took a step back unprepared.

Sherlock stretched out his hand to help, but for some reason withdrew it.

"Sorry!" The maid was still carrying a tray with water and salad on it, and some of the water spilled out because the tray was unstable just now.The maid was obviously taken aback, but she stood still without moving, her eyes avoiding something erratically.

"Clauney, what are you doing here?" Edward looked at the maid with some displeasure.

"I'm sorry," Clowney murmured, "I'll bring some food to Madam."

Edward originally wanted to reprimand, perhaps because it was inconvenient to be harsh in front of outsiders, so he took the plate: "Take the guests outside for a walk, I'll take it to Madam."

He gave her a stern look in his eyes: "don't be rash."

Sherlock looked at Clowney thoughtfully, but didn't open his mouth to make a relief.

"Okay sir." Clooney bowed slightly stiffly to apologize.

Edward greeted them farewell, and Clowney led them to look outside the villa.

After walking a few steps and Edward was out of hearing, Sherlock suddenly teased: "I see her skirt is wet. Is your second handkerchief prepared for this situation?"

Adelia was a little speechless, this person looked at Clowney for so long because of this?

"The apron is supposed to protect the skirt from getting dirty." She said angrily.

Clowney seemed a little distracted, and didn't hear what they were saying clearly. She only noticed that the two of them might be looking at her, and smiled subconsciously.

It was only then that Adelia noticed that she actually looks pretty when she smiles. Her face is a bit square, with sharp eyebrows and eyes that are considered fierce among women, but after she smiles, all the lines are relaxed, and she has a very characteristic beauty.Her figure is rough and even close to that toned type, at least her shoulders seem to be very broad.Smith must like this, even the apron can be designed with flowers.

She subconsciously smiled back.

Sherlock's eyes fell on her face, and he slid towards Clowney, his jaw moved slightly, but he didn't speak, and walked forward dully.

Crowney glanced at Adelia suspiciously, but the latter didn't understand what Sherlock was thinking, and shook her head slightly: "Maybe he has some ideas, let him go."

Sherlock obviously had a purpose. He headed straight for the position directly outside the bathroom. He should have come a long time ago, if he hadn't been blocked by Torres.

Fortunately, it hasn't rained in the past few days, and no one usually comes to this location.

He made a gesture to stay in place, and Adlia and Clowney stopped in place and watched him walk forward alone.

But he didn't take a few steps, and turned back: "Adrian, I thought you should consciously follow up as an assistant."

his language