My Detective Roommate [Sherlock Holmes]

Watson was sitting in Othella's clinic when he received Sherlock's letter.The boy reported to him crisply: "It's a letter from Baker Street, sir."

Watson didn't notice that the female doctor who had been talking so eloquently suddenly got stuck. After receiving the letter and thinking about it, he didn't open it here.

Ossella glanced at Adelia, and became more certain about a certain guess in her heart.

"Is it a letter from the great detective? If it's important, we can avoid it for a while," Osera said with a cheerful smile, "Should he call his biographer to explore together?"

Adelia thought in her heart, I am afraid it is.She could even guess his tone.

Watson touched his nose: "Who knows, he will really think about it."

Mycroft told her that Moran might come, and no name could touch her heartstrings more. When Moriarty was coming, she had no idea of ​​running away, but when Holmes was coming, she wanted to hide like a criminal. Get up, out of his sight.

It was so bad, her heart beat restlessly, and the thought of the snappy letter she had left at parting made her even more withdrawn.

In his story, she shouldn't have been there.But she presumptuously thought that she was the biographer of the other party, looking for some meaning of life from him, and avoiding his feelings. The most extreme thing was that she said goodbye like that after expressing herself—she actually imagined Reunion, even thought of going back to Baker Street in disguise, but everything was interrupted.

Perhaps, he shouldn't have her by his side.

She couldn't imagine what she would do when they reunited, and what he would think of it.

"Riya, what are you in a daze for?" Osera woke her up from her wild thoughts.

"Ah, I'm thinking that gallbladder surgery may require more specific indications," Adlia smiled as usual, "Surgery itself is a blow to the human body, and we must determine that the benefits outweigh the risks."

Ossella took a look at her, but didn't expose her in the end.

After Watson left, Osella tapped on Adlia's desk.

"May I ask what you're thinking now?"

Adelia is not very willing to tell all this, even though Ossella is considered a half-informed person, Ossella used to be the personal doctor of a certain government official, and was also a personal friend of McCoff, so he probably knew about Moriarty , and also roughly understand the origin of Adlia.

"It is nothing special."

For Adelia, Osella is both a teacher and a friend, but she has no habit of telling others about her feelings.

"Then will you go back? I mean, Baker Street." Ossella asked sharply.

"Doctor Ossella, you are a doctor, not a detective." Adelia smiled wryly.

"Ah, maybe I'm old and like to gossip," Ossella took off his glasses and wiped them, and put them on again, "I still remember when you were in the consulting room and saw the scarred research article Woolen cloth."

Adelia was silent for a moment: "I'm just happy."

Then she hastily added: "It's just a little sad again."

Ossella shrugged: "I know you don't like others meddling in your private affairs, but, as your friend, let me say a few more words, Rhea, you are not usually like this—you have always been brave, Isn't it?"

Adelia opened her mouth to argue, but lost her voice again.

A lot of her bravery came from his affirmation, but she dared not meet him.I am afraid that he has changed, but I am also afraid that he has not changed.

Sherlock arrived in Kent on a bright spring afternoon. He was dressed in a gray suit and a peaked cap, which made him stand out from the crowd.He has also been here because of the case, so he is no stranger to this place.He found a tavern with familiarity, and blended in easily-he was too good at getting the words out of the mouth of an alcoholic, as long as he pretended to be an alcoholic.

His mind wandered briefly when he saw the bottle of tequila at the bar—he hated drunks, except for that one.

A drunk man reeking of alcohol came over and told him in a low voice: "Are you inquiring about the Osella Clinic? I won't tell anyone else. In fact, it wasn't Dr. Osella who actually performed the operation, but that woman—then What a hot bitch."

The topic gradually ran in an obscene direction, and Sherlock hid his discomfort. He was about to change the subject, but he was attracted by their discussion.

"Don't be tempted by that stinky bitch Heston," said a bearded man who was obviously drunk, his whole face was red from neck to neck, "she used a gun to force her suitor out From the clinic!"

So there was a burst of laughter in the tavern, full of ridicule that the suitor was not yourself.

Sherlock seemed to have grasped something, found a guest with a big mouth, and said casually: "This Miss Heston is really a hot girl."

So the guest answered him in a low voice: "They are all guessing, sir, there was a man who came to seek medical treatment before and fell to his death under the cliff, and they are all guessing whether it is Heston—"

He gestured for silence, and then gestured for a gun.

Sherlock refilled his drink, and he continued with satisfaction.

"However, I think Sir Brackenstadt will be disappointed. His son, who has finally lost weight and regained his health, has his whole heart on her."

He opened a pair of cloudy drunken eyes, gave off an unpleasant smell of alcohol when he spoke, and took out a tattered cigarette case from his arms, and Sherlock graciously helped him light it.

"Outlander, you know the times—" He was about to say something when he suddenly looked somewhere outside the tavern, "Look, that's Heston."

In the market at dusk, the crowd was bustling, rushing in and out, but there was only one lovely person left in his eyes, because the last gentleness of the sun stayed on her body on this day.

There she is, right in front of her eyes.

But in the blink of an eye, she disappeared again.

He wanted to chase out, but his legs seemed to be tied up and he couldn't move. The drunk man had an arm on his shoulders, and he looked good with his brothers. Sherlock knew that he might just want him to treat him to a drink. liquor.

And now, there was no need to pretend, Sherlock thought, maybe he was the drunk, and what was worse, he even thought it was her.

It wasn't until the strong alcohol burned his throat that it hurt, and he suddenly realized that it was not a hallucination. He swayed and pretended to be drunk, and immediately rushed to the place where he saw her just now, the direction she was going after paying the bill.

A blacksmith shop.

she is not here.

"Let me ask," he looked very drunk, "Where does the Lincoln Hotel go?"

"Diagonally opposite, drunkard, you're going the wrong way." The boss said angrily.

It wasn't until he left that the blacksmith shop owner rolled his eyes and continued to register his account books.

Another drunk chasing Heston, he said contemptuously.

The author says:

I can't do it, I'm stuck, let's have a dessert episode.Cover your face.Originally I wanted to touch an abo, but I couldn't touch it because I saw too little, and I wanted to touch an old man's blessing.I’ve written half of it so far. The if line from Watson’s perspective has nothing to do with the text. This is actually the outline of the first edition. Adr is a typist in the morning as a woman, but a doctor in men’s clothing in the afternoon. Visually, it’s sprinkled with sugar. Try the original Watson’s perspective. No.1 said.Don't buy if you're not interested! (Key points) Thanks to the little angels who voted for me or irrigated nutrient solution during 2022-01-1122:25:37~2022-01-1220:08:10~

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

Thanks to the little angel of the irrigation nutrient solution: the world's cutest dragon, 1 bottle of hard to wake up from dreams;

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