Boyfriend Development Program

A group of four were surrounded by weeping angels.

There are two in the southeast, north and west, and they are dormant in the darkness in a quadrangular shape, waiting for an opportunity to move.

John didn't dare to take his eyes off the hideous stone statues, and asked the consulting detective on his left back: "Sherlock, do you have a plan?"

"No, I don't have any plans." Sherlock replied quickly, without the slightest hesitation in his tone.

"You must be joking." John laughed, emphasizing in a tone of absolute certainty, "Please, for God's sake, you're the only consulting detective in the world, and you always have a plan. So don't Tell me, tell me, your plan."

The curly-haired man's voice was still steady and calm, echoing in the quiet and narrow underground warehouse: "But John, not this time."

The little man pursed his lips, a rare panic flashed across his face, but soon, he forced himself to calm down.

"So, what should we do?" John stared at the weeping angels in different shapes, his eyes scanned every part up and down, trying desperately to find the Achilles heel of those damned sculptures. ——Oh, thanks to the torch in Sherlock's hand, the two weeping angels in front of him were exposed, "Is there nothing else to do but stare at them?"—Obviously, he failed.

"I think so." Dean confirmed with a wry smile from behind.

After hesitating for a while, Sam lowered his voice and asked, "Our drive... um, things are useless?"——It's no longer a matter of keeping secrets.

"They're rocks." Dean shrugged, breaking his brother's expectations, "and when we look at them, they're dead."

"You can write down their positions first, and hit them as soon as you look away." John took the conversation, "Uh, use those things of yours."

The next second, the little man heard his good roommate laugh without hesitation,—unexpected and reasonable, "Come on, my dear John, you can expect high technology to work on a stone ?fod'ssake! Who told you that weeping angels can only be complete sculptures? Even if you get away with breaking them... well, we managed to increase the coefficient of being sent to the past."

"That's it." Dean shrugged.

John: "..."

The text message bell rings.

The corners of the little man's eyes twitched suspiciously: Besides the great Sherloes, who would have such a fucking ringtone?

Thinking of this, the tone of his mouth became a bit intriguing: "SMS, huh?"

Sherlock ignored John.While staring intently at the two weeping angels within his sphere of influence, he took out the phone from his pocket with his right hand, slid his fingertips, and then groped for the location to open the text message with incomparable precision, and then quickly He lowered his head for a glance, then raised his head... "Ka!" It was too late to speak, but the movement of raising his head made the voice stop abruptly.One of the two weeping angels suddenly stopped moving forward, and turned into a lifeless static sculpture as if it was just a hideous face.

--really! Sherlock's high-hanging heart finally relaxed a little when he saw this situation.

Are you in the underground warehouse of the museum?Have you ever met a crying angel? —jh

John broke out in a cold sweat from the movement on the left back, and shouted: "Damn it! Sherlock, are you reading a text message?"

"Hmm, obviously." Sherlock replied absently.His eyes were fixed on the sculpture in front of him, and his fingers jumped quickly on the touch screen interface. Under the illumination of the lights, his slender fingers looked exceptionally agile. Obviously, blind typing did not cause him any difficulties.

We met the wier brothers.And, 8 Weeping Angels.come over? —sh

"Go to hell 'obviously'!" John roared, "Do you know that we are living and dying right now!"

"It's not 'life and death'." Sherlock suppressed the slightly raised lips and corrected John expressionlessly, "It's 'sent to the past'."

John twitched the corners of his mouth, and finally decided it would be wiser to shut up.

Sam suddenly said, "Your relationship has always been this good?"

"Yep." Sherlock made a melodious plosive.

"...Good relationship?" Almost at the same time, the little man muttered and retorted, "Jesus, it would be nice if he didn't mock me."

The text message rings again.

Sherlock repeated his old trick, and quickly lowered his head to take a look: "Come here right away, you hold on for a while." —jh

In the next second, there was a "click!", and one of the weeping angels was only three or four meters away from Sherlock!

Looking at the motionless angel in front of him, Dean said, "Sherlock, how long can you hold on?"

"Oh!" The curly-haired man glanced at the distance of three or four meters from the corner of his eyes, "Don't worry about me."

"What should I do?! It's not an option to go on like this! I can't help blinking—" Sam's anxious voice sounded.During the few seconds that Dean was talking with Sherlock, he blinked a few times due to his sore eyes, and there was a few "clicks", and one of the sculptures moved forward a few steps, posing a more ferocious styling!

"Wait!" Sherlock popped a word out of his mouth, categorically cutting off little Wier's anxiety.

John relied on his extraordinary willpower to resist the blinking of his eyes: "...Wait? Jesus, Sherlock, do you have a solution?"

The consulting detective just snorted softly, and fumbled the phone out of his clothes with his right hand again, and his fingertips jumped on the interface a few times, before putting the phone back in place.

Sam took this humming as affirmative by default, and was overjoyed: "Really? What is the solution?"

"The only way to get out of trouble." Even though no one would see it, Sherlock still had a brilliant smile on his face, and his gray-green eyes were unsurprisingly gleaming with triumph.

……

Time passed by minute by minute.

The underground warehouse was dead silent, and even the air that circulated here seemed to be solidified.The occasional "click" sounded, not only did not add a trace of vitality, but added a bit of desolation and despair to the narrow space.

John wanted to break the solemnity several times, but he opened his mouth but didn't know what to say, so he asked what to do, his good roommate always ambiguous with words, or simply ignored his inquiry; asked when is "" "Good time", consult the detective and cherish words like gold... "sher...cough, um." With one syllable out, the little man realized that his throat was so dry that it was almost hoarse, and clearing his throat didn't help. I can close it tightly.

Sherlock ignored John's strangeness, still staring straight ahead with a blank expression.

The room returned to dead silence.

After a while, Sherlock's low drink pierced the stagnant air: "Here we come!"

"Coming?" John finally managed to make a sound, "...What? What's coming?"

Dean's heart moved, and he listened carefully, but he didn't hear the slightest suspicious sound for a while, and there was some hesitation in his expression.

On this side, as soon as the little man's voice fell, Sherlock's gray-green eyes suddenly shot out a sharp light, and shot away in the direction of the small voice, instantly breaking through all the haze and barriers. "Crack!" Leaving the sight of the curly-haired man, the sculpture took another step closer. He turned his head abruptly, pursed his lower lip and pouted with displeasure on his face, and stared viciously at the two weeping angels. !

Gradually, other people could also hear some sounds, coming through the air with some kind of weird "click".

"Well, this voice..." Sam swallowed, "Could it be...?"

In the next second, Sherlock triumphantly announced Sam's "could it be": "Crying Angel!"

"That's the way you said it?" John couldn't help but yelled, "For God's sake, are you fucking crazy!"

Sherlock replied calmly: "I'm fine. Thanks."

Of course, John noticed that the last sentence was accentuated by his good roommate with gritted teeth.

In just a few tens of seconds of speaking, those weeping angels showed their ferocious faces in the blink of an eye!

The corners of John's eyes twitched: "I have another one here!"

Sam yelled feebly: "Me too!"

"...here!" Dean yelled too.

John waited for a long time but didn't hear Sherlock's voice, and asked suspiciously: "Sherlock, are you there?"

Sherlock took it quickly: "Yes. Same."

The little man rolled his eyes unmannerly out of sight of the consulting detective.

"The sound stopped. What should we do next?" Sam interrupted their progress on an increasingly weird topic.

"Next?" Sherlock frowned suspiciously and asked back, then seemed to think of something, with a bright smile on his face, turned to them and said, "Did I forget to say?"

John suddenly had a bad premonition, and sure enough, he saw his good roommate smile even brighter: "The next thing is...we can leave."

"Leave?" Dean frowned, but still didn't dare to take the risk of turning around, "You mean, they've been killed?"

"Kill? I remember I repeatedly emphasized that stones can't be killed." Sherlock smoothed his frizzy curly hair, and said in a rather impatient tone, "If you still want to stare at those ridiculous sculptures, I don't Any comments."

Tightening his windbreaker, the curly-haired man strode towards the stairway he came from earlier.

The sound of footsteps made the Wier brothers also release their vigilance.

John went up a few steps, keeping up with the curly-haired man: "But Sherlock, what did you use—"

One didn't pay attention, he bumped into the back of Sherlock who stopped suddenly, and the corners of his lips twitched a few times before he rubbed his sore nose.A familiar figure in a windbreaker appeared in his eyes, and the little man suddenly understood who his good roommate was texting with just now.

The author has something to say: The scumbag author has finally come back from a place where there is no internet, quq, and the update is back to normal~

I was so sorry before...