[Comprehensive] Sherlock's Secret

The autumn wind is bleak, and the luxuriant green leaves are gradually withering away. After living through the spring and summer of this year, we ushered in the end of life falling from the branches.

In a small square in Brooklyn, New York, the fountain sprayed tirelessly, the tips of the buds on the grass turned yellow, and the white pigeons flew up and down, pecking away the bird food in the hand of the feeder.

Patrolman Isaac Reagan walked through the center of the square in awe-inspiring strides, scanning the surrounding people with majestic eyes, whether it was children playing by the lawn, couples feeding pigeons, or homeless men performing arts by the flower beds, the melodious The sound of the piano was floating in the air, and everything looked peaceful and comfortable.

He nodded seriously, and took two more steps, and saw a woman in black standing on the edge of the square at some point.

He is very familiar with this person, because she has come here every day recently, and she may not have any special business when she comes here. She just stands under a ginkgo tree and looks into the distance.

It was a rather slender young woman with long black hair, wearing an ordinary black hooded sweater and jeans and Martin boots. She often put her hands in her pockets and stood motionless, her beautiful side face covered by ginkgo Among the mottled shadows of trees.

The patrolman looked suspiciously in the direction she was facing - there was nothing there except a tall homeless man playing an old violin.

I don't know what attracted her.

The reason why the patrolmen were impressed with her was not only because she would come here to stand here for an hour or two almost every day, but there was also one point that made people feel a little weird-a snow-white owl was always standing on her shoulder.

Who would keep an owl as a pet?

What a weirdo.

She walked a few steps forward, and the patrolman hurried over and said in a businesslike manner: "Madam, please don't stand here, this is the roadway, it's very dangerous."

The young woman turns her head—she didn't bring her pet owl today.

Maybe it was too conspicuous, thought the patrolman.

"Okay." The woman agreed and retreated under the ginkgo tree.

Pigeons whirled and flew over their heads, and some landed on a bench not far away. The old man who read the newspaper looked down at the white pigeon and smiled calmly for a moment.

The patrolman noticed that the young woman under the ginkgo tree seemed to be smiling slightly.

He followed her leisurely gaze - the snow-white owl was trying to grab the head of the homeless man playing the violin, messing up his curly hair which was already very disheveled.

The tramp waved his bow angrily and wanted to drive the nasty bird away, still muttering something, the owl spread its wings and patted his ears, then flew up triumphantly.

The policeman's bushy eyebrows trembled twice. He just wanted to remind the weird lady beside her to stop her pet's mischievous behavior. When he turned his eyes, he was surprised to find that the owl landed on the homeless man's left shoulder at some point and rubbed his sharp beak against the bum's chin.

The posture is friendly and docile, and he is completely different from the little villain who grabbed someone's head just now.

The patrolman was stunned for a moment.

And at this moment, the homeless man by the flower bed suddenly looked over here.

It is obvious that his slender figure is bent and hunchbacked, his clothes are ragged, and his thick beard is messy and tangled, which almost covers his entire face, and a small piece of exposed skin is also covered with bruises. With dirty bloody bandages—

But he stood there, making people feel unreasonable, and he couldn't be ignored.

And the gaze he looked at was indifferent and sharp. The patrolman was sure that even from such a distance, he could clearly see his cold gray-blue eyes, which were unusually deep, deep but sharp and bright, like the dawn The cold stars in the western sky.

The patrolman unconsciously turned his gaze away, and inadvertently saw the woman under the ginkgo tree shaking her head helplessly, and smiled vaguely and softly at the homeless man in the distance.

It seems that he doesn't mind the bleak autumn wind and the cold gaze of the person opposite.

Gentleness and alienation are contrary, as if there are several mountains and rivers separated, or just a step away.

With a little wave of her hand, the owl flew back.

The homeless man raised his chin indifferently, and pressed the violin against his neck. The strings touched the bow, and the smooth and melodious music spread like a gurgling water. It seemed more withdrawn and cold when I went there.

Under the ginkgo tree, the young woman looked away indifferently.

When the patrolman turned his head again, she had disappeared.

"What a weirdo..."

==

It rained that night.

The night is like a dome, the hazy clouds are thicker than the light of the stars and the moon, and the muffled thunder explodes in the sky, but it is just a bluff, the rain is slight, and it is nothing more than a cold face.

But there was no trace of pedestrians on the street.

One is because of the weather, and the other is because the "red light district" in Brooklyn here is low-lying and difficult to build a drainage system, so until now there is no tap water, and domestic water is inconvenient, so naturally it is not suitable for living. But there are still a group of people gathered here.

Widowed old people, emaciated orphans, sick prostitutes, beggars, vagabonds, and more criminals and desperadoes.

Here, even a three-year-old child knows that you can’t go out once it’s dark, otherwise the dirty water in the canal won’t be able to wash away your blood when it’s dawn the next day, and people will see you staring at you on the side of the road. Round head.

Dim street lights illuminate the path full of sewage, muddy and winding, like an ugly snake, twisting and leading to the unknown dark depths, and under the dim light of night, the fine raindrops are like needles, silent nails Into the dust.

The neon lights belonging to the city in the distance are dazzling in the mist and rain, but in the dead corners, filth and sin grow.

The homeless man squeezed his way through the low eaves carefully to avoid stepping on the rotting rat corpse. The cold wind blew into his collar with a chill like light snow. He shivered, rubbed his hands and continued to walk. go forward.

There are countless pairs of peeping eyes in the dark, and it is completely unwise to come out at this point. Although the place he committed himself to is nothing more than a small shack that leaks from wind and rain, it is at least safe there. In the area where fish and dragons are mixed, even the most prudent and intelligent people have to be cautious when facing madmen.

When he was about to walk out of this area, there was a sharp whistle not far away, followed by a few people laughing and cursing, and a few sparkling sparks danced in the darkness, probably someone held it in his mouth smoke.

He took a step back vigilantly, and immediately turned around and hid behind a low wall. The rain in the dark night reflected the cold light of the knife, the sound of the wind, the sound of bullets exploding, and the screams were mixed together. Gradually submerged in the rain.

The tramp frowned.

He waited for those evildoers to disperse until the rain almost stopped, and in the small puddle under his feet, another person's blurred and slender shadow was gradually reflected.

There was a soft "click".

The originally dim street lights were completely extinguished, and it became pitch black here.

All kinds of subtle sounds are infinitely amplified.

He keenly heard someone walking behind him, and before he could turn around, he reached out a hand in the darkness and patted his shoulder.

He backed away in big strides until he was far away from the chaotic noise just now, and the dim light fell into his field of vision again, outlining the thin figure of the person who had been walking beside him.

"Coming here is not a good choice." He said unevenly.

"You knew I was coming?"

"certainly--"

"I won't spoil your business."

His tone became impatient, and he complained a bit: "It's dangerous here..."

"Obviously you are more likely to be in danger than me." She walked up to him as she spoke, waving the wand in her hand wildly in a demonstration.

He shrugged and said nothing.

Su Fu took a step forward and stretched out his arms, but he stepped back.

"Hi!" she said with a suppressed voice, "I haven't seen you for a long time!"

Sherlock pointed to his dirty and colorless coat: "I recently lived in a garbage dump."

His voice was rough and hoarse, as if suffering from severe wind and cold.

"What's wrong with your throat?" Su Fu asked, still pulling him in front of her, standing on tiptoe and hugging his neck.

"Voice is the most obvious sign of a person," Sherlock patted her on the back lightly, "I can't let my opponent recognize me—"

"You've lost a lot of weight..." Su Fu let go of him, feeling that he could touch his abrupt spine through the thin clothes.

"I'm a bum now," he said, wiping off a small speck of mud on her sleeve from holding him just now, "I put on quite a bit of disguise, but you still recognized it."

"Of course, you are different from others—" Su Fu looked down at his skinny fingers that were chapped like water-deficient land, couldn't help but grabbed two and held them in his palms, and said solemnly, "I decided to practice hard. Healing spell!"

Sherlock seemed surprised and said: "So you still don't know how to use healing spells, I remember this is the most basic?"

Su Fu: "..."

This hurts old man.

She gave him a twist on purpose, and said angrily: "It's good now, you have another reason to laugh at me."

"You said it yourself," he bent over and sat on the next higher step that wasn't wet from the rain, with his long legs stretched out together, "I didn't do that."

Su Fu squatted beside him, tugged at his tangled beard like weeds and smiled, "Your beard is really sticky..."

He frowned and hid back, quickly grabbed her evil hand and said, "It's not sticky!"

"what?"

"You can try to be untidy for half a year—" Sherlock muttered, "but according to your degree of cleanliness, you definitely can't bear to do so."

"How do you know it's not okay?" Su Fu pouted, "—Have you ever drank milk with green hair?"

Sherlock: "..."

He frowned—although it was almost invisible under the messy hair: "Did you ever drink?"

"That's right," Su Fu pursed his lips, but his expression remained indifferent, "It will ferment a ... old sour smell, and—"

"Okay," he interrupted her directly, and said bluntly after a while: "Your experience is really rich."

Su Fu looked at him for a while, then suddenly laughed and said, "I lied to you!"

Sherlock was stunned for a moment, then his lips moved, and he said helplessly: "You really..."

His words were not finished.

There are very few people and things in this world that he can't see through, not to mention...he knows her temperament and micro expressions like the back of his hand.

He didn't want to know what green-haired milk tastes like, but he wanted to know what kind of embarrassing and desolate situation would force this clean-loving and picky woman to... endure spoiled milk.

According to Sirius, Sue Frank is a powerful figure with mysterious origin and unfathomable magic. She has always been calm and persistent, and is not afraid of anyone—even when she is hunted down by the enemy's leader.

But he knew better—this person’s past experience was messed up...lost his parents at a young age...being hunted down...bearing the guilt of his best friend's tragic death all his life...young but sleeping like a dead body for decades... There is simply not a single good thing.

It's rare that after being tortured by those terrible things, she is still a normal person.

"Why... why are you looking at me like that?"

Sherlock lowered his eyes: "What look?"

"The sympathetic look at the horrific murder corpse—it's scary that you can feel sympathy."

Sherlock: "..."

He was wrong just now, this woman is not normal at all.

The rain gradually stopped, and the noisy and noisy sounds in the distance also subsided. When everything was quiet, the moonlight fell on the clouds, and the blurred moonlight soaked by rain poured down.

Su Fu smiled indifferently, propped his arms and tilted his head on his knee, and said, "Mr. Tramp, can you tell me about your experiences and gains in the past few months?"

"It's not a great experience, but I have gained a little bit."

"Like the currency smugglers?"

"More than that," he stared down at the small drops of water on her hair, "but obviously it's not appropriate to discuss it here, I assure you, we can meet again in London in a short time."

"Oh, is your homeless career coming to an end?"

Sherlock nodded and muttered in a low voice, "It's been long enough..."

Su Fu said, "Do you want me to stay and help you?"

"you--"

Before he could finish his sentence, he suddenly stretched out his arms to embrace Su Fu and rolled her to the ground—three bangs were heard, and the sparks rubbed off by the bullets were annihilated in the pool of rainwater.

Just as Su Fu was about to ask what was going on, Sherlock covered her mouth and held her against the low wall, motionless.

"Who the hell is there!"

"get out--"

Someone's yelling, chaotic footsteps, and a series of continuous sparking bullets came from the night.

Su Fu struggled to pull out his wand from his sleeve, the footsteps behind the low wall came closer, and after a few more bang bang shots, the choking smoke and dust filled the space, and the air became silent.

After a while, those people walked away cursing. Sherlock bowed his body to observe the situation over there. Just as Su Fu was about to put his wand back into his sleeve, there was a slight rustle not far away.

But not the direction behind the low wall.

A drop of cold rain "tick" fell on the bridge of Su Fu's nose.

In the night, about seven or eight meters away from her, someone's hand was stretched out, and a gorgeous fire-colored flower suddenly bloomed on the dark and cold barrel.

She waved her wand without thinking.

The dark green light soaked the night, passing by the bullet that pierced the darkness.

The next moment it reached her side.

She was less hesitant than waving her wand just now, and reached out to push Sherlock beside her.

At the same time that the bullet sank into her chest, the gunman on the opposite side was hit by the spell and fell silently to the ground.

But when Su Fu turned over and fell to the ground, the first thing to fall was the magic wand he had been holding in his hand.

It fell into the small pool of water with a "slap", splashed a few muddy water flowers, and then stopped still.

Like the guy who fell to the ground.

Hot blood seeped into her chest, but was doused by the cold rain falling again.

She felt as if she had been cast with a holding spell, and the only thing that could move in her body was her eyeballs.

Glancing out, one could see the cold rain in the dim light of night, Sherlock's hand covering her wound, and the blood flowing through the seams of his hand.

I saw his lips moving, but couldn't hear what he said.

She saw the deep and vast sky, the turbulent haze clouds, and suddenly remembered that she and Riddle turned against each other so many years ago, and the murderous spell passed through her back like this bullet, and she fell down At that time, what I saw was the blue sea and blue sky.

But after that glance, when she opened her eyes again, many years had passed.

The author has something to say: #悲生活的多疑#→_→

After reading it, you have to leave a message, and if you don't leave it, I will start to make trouble.

Don’t worry if I don’t cheat, there’s not much left anyway, so the writing is over, it’s boring to cheat, right?

By the way, do any of you like to watch Chaoying fans, the kind that is stewed in a pot by Zhenglian Avengers X-Men.

Why do I suddenly think of superheroes, because I went to the supermarket yesterday and bought a board with Captain America and Iron Man... Yili QQ star haha ​​I'm still a baby.

By the way, tweet "[Holmes] Befriends Him", written by the little whale on the lonely island, a fan of the original Sherlock Holmes, if you like it, go take a look, if you think it looks good, leave a comment and save it.

I love you all.