My Detective Roommate [Sherlock Holmes]

After the spotted tape case, Sherlock and Watson are invited to Miss Stoner's wedding.Sherlock, who was determined to refuse, finally changed his mind and went with Watson.

Roylott's death was believed by the local police to be the result of teasing a pet snake, and the terrifying spotted belt was also burned to death.

Watson and Sherlock are the unnamed guests. They sit among the relatives and friends of the woman and offer their blessings to the unfortunate girl who finally catches some luck.

The bride threw a bouquet behind her, and several unmarried girls smiled coquettishly to pick it up.

A girl in a green skirt came out on top, blushing under the envious eyes of the other girls.Watson looked back at his friend, and found that he seemed not interested in everything in front of him, just staring blankly.Watson observed silently, and was sure that the end of his gaze was probably the girl in the green skirt, but it didn't seem to be the case. He wasn't sure if he was simply in a daze, or if he saw the shadow of "her" from somewhere.

Before leaving, Miss Stoner and her new husband made a special trip to thank them and offered them an honorarium.Sherlock seemed to hesitate for a moment and refused.

Watson vaguely sensed the reasons for his refusal, but could not articulate them clearly.

On the return carriage, Sherlock suddenly said, "I expected to be troubled by dreams tonight."

He didn't know that the second half of the detective's hidden sentence was: but he was afraid that the dream would not come.

Back in Baker Street, Watson eagerly bent over his desk to write the ending of the speckled tape case, while his friend dragged out a dusty box from the bottom of the bookcase.

Even though he was concentrating on writing, Watson still couldn't help taking a peek at what Sherlock was doing - he picked up a notebook, opened it carefully, more carefully than he turned any page of the file, and then carefully Put it aside, then sat cross-legged on the ground, lit his pipe, and slowly flipped through it. There were some fragile papers, and he held them very carefully.

Watson shook his head and continued with his work.

Time is arrogant, it cannot be refused and rushes by with a destructive force. Sherlock pressed his eye sockets and closed his sour eyes. Every corner evokes those subtle and deep memories.He thought he could rely on time to forget, but he dared not forget.

Because if he doesn't remember, she's literally gone.

"Holmes, do you want to take a look at this case?" Watson put down his pen and looked at his friend who was sitting cross-legged on the ground.

Sherlock was holding Adlia's manuscript in his hand, looking at his real biographer, and then at the article of the false biographer, he suddenly felt amused.He wasn't very interested at first, but he took it anyway.

Sherlock seldom read Watson's manuscripts. In fact, Sherlock was willing to take it this time, which was beyond his expectations.This made Watson feel like he was back when he was a child, when he gave his composition to the teacher for correction. The most important thing was that the topic was written in "My Teacher", and the person who judged the paper was also the teacher.

What questions would he ask?Perhaps it is mocking his exaggerated description and praise, or the omission of details, or the literary narrative that he has always disliked, and the structure that sets up suspense but is regarded as a trick?

But he said: "Your brain is not so bright, but your praise is more sincere than someone."

He laughed as he spoke.

Putting the exhausted pipe aside, Sherlock returned the manuscript to Watson.

"Maybe it's for the novel to be more dramatic. I see that your descriptions are upside down, but since it's finished, so be it." He picked up the manuscript in the box again.

Watson couldn't help it, and looked at the box a few more times, always wanting to ask what it was, but Sherlock didn't seem to have any intention of opening his mouth, he could only scratch his head and wonder what those things were.

After a long time, the detective may have been tired from sitting, so he summarized some of the papers and took them out of the box, while the others were put back in their original form and locked with a small lock.

And that stack, he placed on the table.

What does it mean?Watson speculated on the thoughts of this strange roommate, and subtly comprehended his brain circuit: "Is that your previous case?"

"Yes," replied the detective, "before you moved in."

"I thought, maybe you wouldn't mind giving me a reference?" He tentatively asked.

"As far as literature is concerned, I'm afraid there is nothing to refer to, but each case has its own interesting points." He smiled briefly, pressed his hand on the stack of documents, and tapped lightly. .

"If you are willing to publish the case between me and her, then publish it. Although I prefer to keep it private, I understand." He was silent for a long time, and then added, "It's the same as this case. Wait, even if you write it, publish it later—I remember you promised Ms. Stoner to keep it secret for the time being."

After Sherlock returned to the room, Watson immediately picked up the manuscripts.

Some of the notes were very messy, in typical doctor's handwriting, while some were neat and tidy. He read through those cases carefully, some of which were solved by Sherlock alone, and some of them were together with "her". A woman took charge of sorting out Sherlock's case.

After flipping through roughly, he suddenly reacted.

That "she," I am afraid, is Adrian Hudson—Mrs. Hudson's nephew, friend of Stilton's, doctor in Brussels?This discovery made him open his mouth in astonishment but was speechless.

He suddenly remembered the photo in the drawer where Sherlock shot the gun that day, that shy smiling woman.

After the "Sign of Four" case, Watson moved out of Baker Street due to his marriage. He told Sherlock that he would open a clinic nearby.

"The location is on Oxford Street, and I plan to rent that apartment." He still had the joy of newlyweds on his face, but he was worried that his friend would not accept it.

Sherlock was not surprised when he heard the news. He thought for a while and took out a check from the drawer: "This is the reward that Miss Stoner insisted on sending. Think maybe you need the money."

"I didn't expect you to be so supportive." Watson didn't care about the money. During the time he lived with Sherlock, he had seen big storms.

Sherlock wanted to explain, but gave up again - the Oxford Street clinic, that was her unfulfilled last wish.

"This in itself is our joint work, and there is nothing wrong with you taking it - I live here, I don't need these, and the work itself is my reward." He watched Watson accept the check, and then turned to look at it again. out the window.

It was in this position a long time ago, when he and Adelia found out that there was someone stalking them.

"You are so generous in money, but I still have a little question," Watson said with a smile, "I have neither seen you deposit money nor take it out of the piggy bank on your table. I want a coin for emergency, but you are still refusing, I am about to move out, can you answer my little confusion?"

Sherlock turned his head, looked at the unattractive piggy bank on the table, and raised the corner of his lips: "No."

Despite having a family of his own and a practice, Watson often returned to Baker Street to see his consulting detective friends.Maybe it's because after getting married, I can't bear to see my friend sitting alone in front of the window. Watson occasionally persuaded him to go out to relax and take a vacation, but obviously, all this was in vain. , they only go out because of detective activities.A few months after he moved out, Shilling suddenly fell ill and died of illness, so the detective was even more lazy to go out, and he didn't even take a walk. Apart from the case, nothing could dig the detective out of the room.

The death of Shilling depressed the detective for some time, and the letters and money from her nephew that Mrs. Hudson received undoubtedly added to his distress.

Watson knew that Mr. or Mrs. Hudson was dead, and now the letters were being forged by his detective friends.Perhaps, every time he imitated her handwriting, and every word written in her tone in the letter, it was suffering for him.

Watson tried to persuade the detective to find another lovely lady as a lover, so that at least he would not be so cold, and even tried to introduce him cryptically by a friend of Mary.

Not surprisingly, an angry detective was harvested.

He told the doctor solemnly: "I must tell you that emotion is contrary to absolute reason. I have missed it once-I can't repeat it again."

Watson felt a little guilty and didn't speak.

But the detective seemed to have flipped some switch, and said indifferent words in his usual rational tone when analyzing the case: "I will never fall in love, my friend. I hate emotion. It is like the gravel in the instrument, the grain on the lens Cracks—I lost her because I loved her."

He sat down heavily, leaning on the back of the chair with his elbows, pointing back to himself: "I have no doubt that I am the murderer."

His fingertips trembled, but the tremor quickly disappeared.

After that, Watson never brought up similar topics again.

And everything turned around in the next spring.

There were no patients in his clinic that day, and it happened that his wife Mary was not at home, so he went to Baker Street to visit his friend.

The door was not closed, so he pushed it open, and saw Sherlock receiving a visitor. It was the young and promising Inspector Hopkins. He had recently accumulated some fame in the London detective circle and was very popular.

"Did I bother you?" Watson thought about leaving.

"No, no, no, you came just in time." Sherlock pushed open the door and invited him into the room. "You know this one too. Our old friend, Detective Hopkins, has replaced Detective Green."

"Ah, Dr. Watson, long time no see." Hopkins warmly extended his hand and shook hands with him.

Hopkins turned to Sherlock again: "I have already told you the case, and there are a few things to add."

Sherlock raised his hand to signal him to continue.

"If you remember the, er, pastor at the time, he was dead, and his last words after his death were, 'Whoever exposes me will succeed me.'; I found traces of him from a case file, and he died, it seems to be an accident."

Sherlock's eyes widened suddenly.

"I know you have been chasing him for a long time. Here are the documents I lent out for you. I wish you all the best." Hopkins took off his hat and greeted him.

The author says:

good!Push the plot!Ready to merge (rubbing hands (it seems to be able to break 30 words tomorrow)

To be honest, the plot is almost out of ammunition, and I have a little idea of ​​ending it after the reunion. I will try to end it this month (clench fist)

Lao Fu, this man is so damn attractive, he has to type desperately after work every day, so I can be at peace after sprinkling all the knives and candies I want to send out.But at a certain moment, there was a feeling of opening a pre-receipt just in case I made the same fucking mistake one day and scored twice.Laofu, you have such a great charm (violent words

ps没想到这个时候居然还能看到一些老朋友刚入坑，在俺热情将尽之时，有点感动。尽管感觉自己又滑向了案件开局恋爱为主的结局有些羞惭……感谢在2022-01-0822:22:09~2022-01-0918:38:06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 grenade: VioletP1;

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

Thanks to the little angel of irrigation nutrient solution: 30 bottles of VioletP; 1 bottle of hard to wake up from a dream;

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