My Detective Roommate [Sherlock Holmes]

"It wasn't too cold last night, was it?" Sherlock, who was lost in thought, didn't even see that his friend was asleep, and asked himself.

He didn't hear an answer, but perhaps he didn't expect one.

"He who is afraid of the cold, does not sit by the fireplace, but by the window?"

Medically not declared dead after all?

His brain was thinking like a hurricane, every sentence was not coherent, and there was a long pause in between, it was just a few words that escaped accidentally after he collected a lot of information.

The most ridiculous thing was that his friend seemed to be asleep or not, so he answered in a daze: "He's lying—every sad expression on his face... is observing our reaction. "

"What I need is evidence, not your intuition. If you only rely on inexplicable feelings and intuition..." Sherlock stopped abruptly in the middle of his speech, only to find that the person beside him had fallen asleep, frowning unsteadily, He even rubbed his cheek against his shoulder several times.

He couldn't help laughing out loud,

"What am I talking to the sleeping man?"

Reluctantly, he slid down a little bit, so that his friend could lean on him a little bit, and also avoid poor Adrian's chubby cheeks being completely sunken when their carriage arrived at the destination.

Yawning is contagious, and so is sleepiness.

Sherlock, who also stayed up all night and immersed himself in the puzzle, felt drowsy at the moment, and even felt a little drowsy. He was not sure that this drowsiness was a sneak attack that had been lurking in his mind for a long time. Or because of a friend infection.He took out his cigarette case from the other pocket, and it was only when he was holding it in his mouth that he remembered that the match was in his friend's pocket.

never mind.he thinks.

So when the coachman reminded the two gentlemen that they had arrived at their beautiful little villa, what they saw when they turned their heads was two people who were head to head, sleeping unconsciously.

Adlia, who returned to the villa, didn't want to care about anything, and rushed back to the room to sleep with a sullen head. When she woke up, it was already evening, and the maid Judy said that Sherlock had gone out.

The sun was really good this day, and Adlia, who slept until the sun was setting, looked out the window with some regret.

For her own patients, Adelia has always maintained her habit of being in the emergency department, and once she gets off work and handed over to others, she will no longer pay attention to follow-up, unless it is a difficult case where colleagues discuss the condition.As for these two "patients", Adelia was always a little confused.In terms of her medical literacy, it is hard to believe that healthy people are scared to death, and two of them are scared to death in one breath, even if one of them has some underlying organic disease, two people, it seems Not quite right either.

She couldn't figure out the case, and she stared blankly at the pad in hand, which was the pad that Sherlock despised and wrote, and she might not be able to remember it after she finished writing it.

I haven't drawn for a long time, and then I don't know why I suddenly remembered the appearance of Sherlock who was checking on the scene at that time. With a thought, I started to draw involuntarily.

She was so absorbed in drawing that it took her a while to recover after the door was pushed open.

In addition to Sherlock, there was a strong and burly man who entered the door. A pair of fierce eyes on a wrinkled face and a sharp hooked nose made him look unusual.Adelia quickly met the man Brenda wrote to herself, the African explorer, what's his name, she forgot.

"Are you Adrian Hudson?" His eyes were complicated, with gratitude and hostility, "I'm Leon Sterndale."

Adelia glanced tentatively at her friend, who returned a helpless look.

"Ah, I am, what is this?"

"There is no need to hide between you and me. I think Tregennis should have told you about me," he said in an arrogant and sure tone. "I have a lot of friends with the Tregennis family."

Adelia blinked slightly, convinced that Brenda hadn't told this gentleman that she was a woman, and now she looked at Sterndale's golden beard and said, "Ah, I know."

"What I want to know is, why did you go to Tregennis' house late at night on Christmas night?"

Adelia was a little puzzled. Wouldn't this person suspect that he came late at night to do something with Brenda?Who wants to go with friends when doing this kind of thing, why not play such a big game?

She was a little puzzled, but considering Brenda's reputation, she thought about it and was more friendly to Ms. Brenda's favorite: "The Tregennis family invited us to spend Christmas together, and by the way, we can witness Mortimer reconciling with them, But we didn't think it was appropriate to participate in family affairs, so we refused."

She weighed her words: "But we saw Mortimer at the parsonage that night and we were a little bit out of our minds. We wondered if something happened. My friend is a detective and he has a better instinct for these things. We So I decided to make an abrupt visit."

Sterndale tried seriously to detect some trace of lying in her face, but he did not seem to find anything in the doctor's face.

Only then did Sherlock say the first words after entering the house: "I don't think my friends and I have anything to hide from you, explorer."

He returned the less polite gentleman with the same haughty tone.

"If you really care about Ms. Tregennis, you should go to Terry Danny Vassar," Sherlock said without inviting the uninvited guest to sit down, "instead of making random accusations here-I allow you Coming in as a guest doesn't mean you question my friend."

The doctor seemed a little unreasonable, frowning tightly, and without saying a word, he found a chair opposite Adria and sat down. As far as his body was concerned, he was stronger than two Adlias, and he undoubtedly gave her a great deal. pressure.

Sherlock was obviously also a little displeased, and sat next to Adlia, forming a sharp confrontation.

"If you gave up going to Africa just to question this matter, then you can leave," Sherlock said, "but if you have some other opinions on this matter, we can communicate calmly."

"I want to know what happened that night," said the doctor.

In terms of the case, Adlia completely handed over the home court to Sherlock, and the latter obviously had his own plans.

"The current view of the police is that he died suddenly in extreme panic," Sherlock showed a sympathetic expression, "now that Owen and Brenda are still unconscious, we can only hope that they get better and tell us what happened What."

A look of pain flashed on the face of the lion hunter: "That would be the best."

"So do you have any other ideas?"

"No, I don't think I have anything to talk to you about," he obviously ignored the poor detective from London, "then Mr. Hudson, if you are really good at medicine, please help me a little bit." Friends, thank you very much."

He finally took off his hat, revealing his messy hair that could reach the ceiling: "I'll stay in Cornish and wait for their good news."

And then, without even saying goodbye, the door was closed.

Adelia finally had a gap in her shoulders and could relax a bit: "Did you meet him on the road?"

Sherlock didn't answer: "What are you drawing?"

"I didn't draw." She lied subconsciously—because she didn't want the other party to know that she was drawing him.

"Such a lie is meaningless, Adrian, look at your own hands." Sherlock was a little impatient.

Forget it, this is a detective after all, Adlia closed the book completely and pressed it under her elbow: "Because I don't want to tell you what I'm drawing."

She was so honest that Sherlock didn't know how to reply for a moment, but fortunately, Terry Dannick Vassar's puzzle was what he cared about most, and he didn't bother to care about it at all: "So why do you know this person?"

The topic jumped too fast, but Adlia quickly reacted: "Brenda mentioned him to me when she wrote."

Sherlock looked at his friend with hawk-like eyes: "I wrote to you, mentioning the friends of the Tregennis family?"

Adelia hesitated for a while, but she hadn't decided whether to reveal something. If it was really related to the case, maybe she should tell him?

"No, no, no, your attitude has already made me understand," Sherlock put his index finger in front of his lips, "I understand that you need to keep it a secret, but Ms. Brenda should have told you more than this."

His eyes were clear.

This time Adelia has a complicated expression, so is she really a leaker?Or should she thank Sherlock for his thoughtfulness, so that she didn't really leak the secret?

Before they had time to say anything, Sherlock nodded his chin when he heard the hasty knock on the door, motioning for his friend to come over.Adelia was helpless, so she went to open the door.As soon as the door opened, she saw Mrs. Potter crying with tears all over her face.

"Please, doctor, please, please save him again, I—" She was so exhausted that she almost fainted in Adlia's arms, let alone finish her sentence.

Adlia quickly caught the fragile Mrs. Potter, and the detective who didn't want to move quickly came over to help Mrs. Potter, and wanted to take her to the sofa to rest.

"No, I just ask you to go to Tridane Vasa," she looked extremely weak, but she tightly held Adlia's wrist, "Owen, he..."

Adelia realized what was going on.

Her worried face slowly sank.Even in the medical environment a hundred years later, with cardiopulmonary resuscitation, ventilator, and defibrillator, very few people who come back from forced first aid can really come back to life completely, let alone simple chest compressions, which can bring Owen back to life. Returning to the human world and living an extra day is considered a miracle.

Holding the poor old lady in her arms, she sighed softly.

Sherlock read the answer from his friend's face, and turned back silently to find brandy from the cupboard.

"Mrs. Potter, I'm sorry," she whispered. "A miracle cannot happen a second time."

What's more, counting the time she spent going back and forth, Owen's body temperature may have completely dissipated at this moment.

Hearing this answer, Mrs. Potter burst into tears.

She actually knew this too, but she still came here herself.

Sherlock immediately understood Mrs. Potter's real appeal: "My friend is here on vacation, and I'm afraid he hasn't fully recovered yet."

The author says:

Three-dimensional is a bit exhausted, and what happened that night disturbed my mentality again, and I simply wrote without thinking about anything. Only Lao Fu still has a little warmth in this cold world. (And everyone who got together because of Laofu)

I have given up looking at the data... I don't want to make myself so tired... Then I am really touched that everyone has thrown a lot of landmines into a lot of nutrient solution. I know that I am afraid that I will run away. I will die laughing. I will continue for the sake of the old man and the little cutie. Written by doge, but recently I feel a little sad and some knives are hesitating whether to sprinkle it (Hey, see this picture?)

感谢在2021-12-1223:47:34~2021-12-1400:12:09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 the irrigation nutrient solution: 10 bottles of Buju Uniqueness, Ravenclaw Mary; 3 bottles of rice noodles with cold skin;

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