My Detective Roommate [Sherlock Holmes]

After getting permission from the detective, Watson submitted the article entitled "A Study in Scarlet" to the newspaper.

Sherlock refused to read Watson's manuscript, but after the newspaper published it, he still read the article with himself as the main character. He looked at the military doctor's description of himself and almost laughed out loud. Smiling, I couldn't help but think, what did Adlia think of him when she saw her for the first time, and how would she write?

I'm afraid she will be like writing a thesis, maybe there are a few harsh words... At that time, how she resisted being approached by others.But then I remembered that she finally opened herself to the world, but she came to this ending...

In a daze, he thought that if he could bring her back, then the protagonist of a third-rate love novel would not be out of the question.

Back in Baker Street, he dropped the paper boy's change into the piggy bank on the corner of his desk, then bent down to stroke Shilling's shaggy head.

"No more pennies," he said to the shilling.

When Sherlock realized that the article had brought him unimaginable fame, he couldn't help it, and went to Smith's tailor shop for the first time after Adelia left.

"Rare visitor, big detective," Smith said, looking unchanged, still immersed in his designs, only missing a model, "Are you here to model me? I'm afraid I can't afford your fee." Woolen cloth."

"Musgrave's ceremony," he went straight to the point, "did she leave it with you?"

Smith was stunned: "I thought you didn't need her articles after you had a biographer."

He didn't refuse, took it out of the box, and handed it to Sherlock as if passing an ordinary piece of white paper.

Sherlock took it with both hands, and his eyes couldn't help looking at the box. He knew that there was the letter she had prepared inside.

"How long are those letters enough?" He asked.

"What's the matter, it's okay in three or four years." Smith sighed, "To be honest, her writing style is really not very good. If you really want to be your biographer, I'm afraid you won't be able to gain the fame at this time so quickly. "

"I don't care about that," he said.

"You care about puzzles and detective stories," Smith replied.

He still cared about her, and Sherlock put the article in his arms properly: "I always feel that you know something else, which makes you look like a bystander from God's perspective."

Smith looked at Mr. Detective again and again: "I do know, and I also know that you will become the most talented and famous detective in Great Britain, just like what I said when I chatted with her."

It took almost no effort for the detective to picture her saying these words. Her compliments in front of him were always awkward, but she seemed so frank to others.

Holding Adelia's manuscript, Sherlock returned to 221B. He lit the lamp in front of the desk, read the manuscript he brought from Smith first, neatly, and showed her serious attitude when she was a student.He read her article word by word, and a smile appeared on the corner of his mouth as he read it—thanks to her being proud of being a perfect student all day long, I really don't know how she got good grades in literature class.

Then, he finally took out her notebook, which he had kept for a long time but never opened, from the drawer.He always laughed at her writing like tadpoles, swaying here and there in a mess, but he also knew that it was just her shorthand notation.He regretted that he didn't ask more about the content, and it was even more difficult to decipher it now.

But the fragments of her thoughts are so cute—the first thing he deciphered was the shilling weight scale, and then he struggled a bit to identify that the S probably referred to him, but he didn't understand what she secretly criticized himself up.Flipping back, I saw a simple sketch again. It was him. There were several pictures like this. They were drawn at different times, and they were drawn a little sloppily. Maybe I didn't want him to find out.

He was under her pen one by one, but what he saw in front of his eyes was her... His eyes slowly sank, finally revealing a bit of sadness.

Inferring from the time when these illustrations were probably drawn, he almost took the attitude of deciphering the code and delved into what she wrote, but the more he looked down, the more he couldn't read.

She is often plagued by migraines, but she stubbornly refuses painkillers or stimulants; every time she suffers from insomnia, she is accompanied by countless nightmares; he sees her struggle and her love.The further back the notebook, the more and more traces of S, he couldn't fully understand it, or his fear of understanding it was equal to his expectation.Unable to understand music, she carefully recorded the names of several violinists he liked, and copied the verses he had read, waiting to find the source. She recorded what he needed when he went out to explore, and reminded herself to remember to bring them.

Need some nicotine, but when I wanted to take out the matchbox from my pocket, I remembered that he put the matchbox in her coat pocket-her coat was still hanging in place when he moved into her previous room.He wanted to get it, but curled up again, unable to move.

At first he stuffed it in, and then she smiled and took his cigarettes, and then packed her coat with a lot of things he might need.

He couldn't imagine until now, just in the last two weeks, how disturbed she felt when she was alone at home, looking through the index to find the villain who came to kill her; how she felt every time she bowed her head in his arms The expression; will she be haunted by nightmares?How should she feel every time she looks at herself?

And that last kiss...

He was blinded by love, gave up thinking blissfully, missed her fear-and then lost her.

This is punishment.

The curtains were drawn, and the window was brightly lit. In the past, on occasions like this, she often sat on the sofa over there, perhaps flipping through his manuscripts, or reading some medical professional books, quietly until she was caught by him. disturb.Only when the curtains were drawn and the twilight was dim, did she lean by his side without any scruples, showing some coquettishness that belonged exclusively to him.

At this moment, when he raised his eyes, she seemed to be still there. Noticing his eyes, she tilted her head and smiled at him suspiciously.

He didn't dare to make a sound, didn't dare to look away, and didn't dare to stare for a long time.

Who can catch the bubbles?

And now, she won't come again.

"Holmes, guess what I brought?" Watson pushed open the door and saw the detective put something into the drawer in a panic, then leaned on the desk and looked out the window, he couldn't help feeling a little puzzled.

"It won't always be the latest commissions and puzzles." His voice was like dry wood.

"It's not that I brought it. Mrs. Hudson went to pick it up today. She said that when she passed by a tobacco shop, the store manager said that Dr. Hudson had ordered a pipe before, but she never came to pick it up. She just took it." I'm back," Watson put the small wooden box in front of his desk, "it must be a good thing as far as the packaging is concerned."

Of course she was, said Sherlock inwardly, she was never willing to spend money, generous miser.

He sat down again, and was about to open the wooden box, but found his new roommate looked expectantly and curiously, and changed his mind again.

Holding his belated gift like a miser, he returned to the room and reopened it.

It was Petersen's briar pipe.

There is a card on it, which she probably entrusted the clerk to write. She can't write such beautiful cursive characters.

[Smoking is bad for your health, from Adelia].

He stared blankly for a long while, and suddenly laughed heartily, but without making a sound, he bent down, almost squeezed the air in his lungs, and the smile froze on his face, but it turned into sadness shape.After a long time, he took out his matchbox from the pocket of her coat that was hanging behind the door, and took out shredded tobacco from the locked drawer.

When the match was lit, he suddenly remembered the first case they had worked together. She obviously didn't care about anything, and looked helpless at his poor attire, making him hold the match while she lightly painted on his face.

——At that time, did he look at her face carefully and seriously?

He tried to avoid recalling the day when she left, and even thought he could forget the day. Everyone thought she was alive and happy for her to start a new life. Lestrade patted him on the shoulder and said maybe she was just innocent. After leaving, it was rare for Mycroft to condescend to go to the scene, but he did not draw any conclusions.

He inspected the scene and found her belongings. The female corpse in that room had been burned so badly that it was impossible to tell her original shape, let alone who she was. Appear.

However, he could not believe that she was alive, nor could he believe that she was dead.

After she left, his emotions were like the ashes after the fire, smoldering for a long time, once the wind blows, a little flame can rise again.

He was afraid that he was about to forget what she looked like, whether she was wearing a suit or a skirt, he suddenly realized that he didn't have a photo at hand.He hurriedly picked up the pen again, wanting to write a letter to Brenda of Tredanick Vasa, asking for the only photo she left, writing, slowly, when she was standing inside the door, the sunlight On her face, and the way she smiled at him was very clear again, and he kissed the pipe as he kissed the back of her cold hand, and that finally brought him some relief.

After a long time, he finally put down his pen, put the pipe next to his pillow, let his brain empty, no longer functioning, lay on the bed wearily, and slowly curled himself up.

The night fell staggeringly, and the gentle moonlight finally favored the person who lived alone in a dreamland.

Blurred and unable to distinguish between dream and reality, he saw himself standing in front of the window playing solo, one movement after another, just like a novel turning page after page to the ending.

"I really don't have any talent on the violin." She put down the notebook in her hand, leaned on the back of the sofa, and looked at him with a smile, "but I think your performance is better than the concert we listened to today."

He put down the piano and turned to look at her: "You are flattering me too much. That violinist is really out of his mind and missed a bar, but I am indeed not as professional as him in music."

"It's more humble." She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm just a logician in the habit of—"

"Let everything be what it should be," she lazily took his words, fumbled in her pocket, and threw a coin over, "but now I think you're playing well, hurry up continue."

He laughed, shook his head helplessly, and put the coins into the piggy bank: "In return, I'm afraid I'll have to play all night to satisfy you."

So she couldn't stop laughing, smiling, her face became blurred, and her voice became soft and distant: "I thought you were a girl in red dancing shoes, spinning all night, and couldn't stop."

He touched her forehead with the bow from a distance, and she simply lay down on the sofa, but raised her right hand like a child answering questions in class, but made the request so confidently: "I want to listen to Beethoven!"

How many Beethoven pieces can you remember?He couldn't help laughing in his heart, but the Qin rested on his shoulders again, and what flowed out was the famous "Spring Sonata".

Note after note flowed rapidly, the tune became faster and more blurred, and finally became the song of the wanderer.

is a dream.

"Sometimes I don't want to wake up," he still closed his eyes. "When I open my eyes, she will go away; when I draw the curtains, I will be separated from her."

The author says:

Suddenly, I found out that Lao Fu went out to play, Adr spent money, Lao Fu looked for a job, Adr introduced, Adr died, and left a legacy to Lao Fu.

Damn, old Fu, you eat soft food!

ps, I can’t say enough knives, I tried my best (Wipe my tears, if it doesn’t work, why don’t you guys come? (Give up the struggle

I woke up from a dream at two o'clock in the morning and added another section, I tried my best.

感谢在2022-01-0622:29:38~2022-01-0800:17:10期间为我投出霸王票或灌溉营养液的小天使哦~

Thanks to the little angel who threw the mine: 1 little dongdong;

Thanks to the little angels who irrigate the nutrient solution: 4 bottles every minute;

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