[Comprehensive] Sherlock's Secret

Flogging a dead body sounds crazy, but Sherlock had to do it because he had to find evidence that Mr. Williams was not present in the murder of Mrs. Williams last week.

Besides, whipping a dead body is nothing at all, like terrorizing a ghost.

So thought Sherlock as he drew back his whip.

He returned to the laboratory, just as he dropped a drop of the reagent in the middle of the petri dish, the laboratory door was pushed open, and Mike Stanford and a man he had never seen before walked in.

He raised his head and glanced at the two of them very slightly.

What happened next was exactly what had been racing through his mind the moment he first saw them, and it looked like Mike had brought him a suitable roommate.

Under John Watson's shocked eyes, he quickly finished all the information he had obtained from his reasoning, then put on his coat and went out, walked to the door and turned back, and introduced his name and house address to Watson.

Watson nodded, and just as he was about to agree, he added: "By the way—maybe it's important, I also have an owl. Of course, if you can call it by its name, it will never bother you at all. of."

After he finished speaking, he winked at Watson, then strode away.

John Watson looked at Mike inexplicably, and Mike shrugged: "That's what he does."

And Watson thought, keep an owl?What a hobby!

At seven o'clock that evening, Sherlock and Watson met at the door of 221B Baker Street. This house was very familiar to him, but the only difference was... the co-tenant was replaced by a new friend, that's all.

Mrs. Hudson nagged and disliked him for making the house a mess, of course it was a mess... He didn't have obsessive-compulsive disorder, he insisted on cleaning the house spotlessly clean, so he might as well pay more attention to a few cases if he had so much free time.

For example, the "serial suicide case" that has caused a lot of trouble in the city recently.

……

Dr. Watson finally named the first case he and Sherlock went through "Pink Research", and he wrote this case as a story on his blog. When he finished writing the last paragraph, he stretched out With a lazy waist, he raised his head and faced the snow-white owl on the shelf next to the bookcase.

Poor John still can't understand why a man like Sherlock would keep an owl as a pet.

Especially since he and this owl don't seem to get along very well.

Under his repeated questioning, Sherlock finally told him impatiently that the name of the owl was Jumbo. John thought it was a very cute name, but Sherlock couldn't call it right every time. He had a great memory, but he couldn't remember an owl. The name is simply puzzling.

Like now.

Sherlock was playing the violin, and as soon as his curly black eyes rolled, he flew over to make trouble, which surprised John even more. This owl was so smart that it was outrageous.

Juanjuan squatted on the music shelf and combed his feathers, flapped his wings intentionally and slapped the music all over the floor, Sherlock poked it to the side with a swing of the bow, as if he had done this before. Hundred times.

Forgive Dr. Watson, he couldn't help laughing.

Curly let out a proud cry, flew over and landed on the armrest of the sofa, John reached out and stroked its feathers—they had been together for a while, and they were already acquaintances.

Sherlock looked over with sharp eyes, John immediately covered his lips, and pretended to be serious: "It seems that the tea leaves are gone, do you have any spares?"

"In the box." Sherlock simply replied, then turned around and started playing the violin.

John patted the owl's head, got up and pulled out a square box from the bottom of the cabinet, which contained various sundries.

After searching for a long time, he finally dug out a thick parchment paper bag. When he opened it, he saw that there were golden brown leaves the size of a little finger inside. : "Is this parchment-wrapped package?"

Sherlock played the violin with a long sound, and answered vaguely. John poured the leaves in the paper bag into the tea caddy, grabbed a few pieces and threw them into his cup.

He was sitting in front of the computer with a cup in his hand to check his blog post. After a while, he thought he heard a sound... like the sound of boiling water.

He got up and went to the kitchen to check, and found that the water heater was not on, so he came back to sit down again, but the sound became louder, and he said loudly, "Mrs. Hudson, are you heating water?"

A few seconds later came a negative answer from Mrs. Hudson downstairs.

He sat back in doubt, but when he moved the laptop away and lowered his head, he realized that the sound was coming from his cup. He opened the lid and was startled.

He clearly remembered that his cup was filled with tea and water, but now the cup was full of blood-red viscous liquid.

Like blood that has been heated and boiled, a bloody bubble bubbles out from time to time "gudong", and then falls silent, with white foam appearing on the edge of the cup.

John: "..."

I can't tell which is more exciting, suddenly discovering that my tea has turned into blood plasma, or seeing a human head in the refrigerator unexpectedly.

Incomparable.

He took a few deep breaths, then turned to Sherlock and asked, "What exactly is that thing you said was tea?!"

Sherlock answered absently: "Tea."

Dr. Watson showed his endurance as a veteran of the expedition to Afghanistan, and continued to ask in a calm tone: "But why is my cup filled with... an unknown red liquid similar to human blood?"

Only then did Sherlock stop playing the violin, paced over behind the sofa, glanced sideways, and said, "The Syndra leaves are damp, just throw them in the dryer to dry."

John frowned: "What leaves?"

"Syndra tree," Sherlock said impatiently, "grows in the depths of the dense forest, and its lifespan is only one year. It must be pollinated by the Daglia black gold butterfly to bear seeds and continue to grow in the next year. Its leaves are essential for blood tonics. Indispensable medicinal materials can be drunk in water after drying, and have miraculous effects on human blood vessels and blood circulation."

John felt that there might be something wrong with his ears. He held the cup and said, "I'm a doctor, but I've never heard of this kind of medicine."

Sherlock put the bow on the strings again, and said to himself, "Why should I waste time explaining this to a little brain like you, I'm starting to miss Snape—it's unbelievable."

John: "..."

Events like this abound.

If it wasn't because Dr. Watson had a good temper and was gentle and tolerant enough, and he was more willing to pay attention to Sherlock's excellence, then it would not be impossible to beat him up.

Time flies, the doctor and the detective have been friends and colleagues for a long time, during which time they have investigated some cases, big and small, the only thing in common is that they are all very bizarre, or complicated, but The detective is partial to such cases, and he can have more or less fun in them.

Of course, the doctor knows his friends, and rather than saying that his pleasure comes from exposing the truth to the world to assert justice, it is better to say that he is addicted to the process of solving various mysteries.

The more complicated and bizarre the case, the happier he was.

His friend was a queer man, Dr. Watson often thought.

But there is no doubt that he is also a genius, few people in this world can compare with him.

No matter what others think of him, the doctor always admires and marvels at his friends.

In a short period of time after the Chinese gangster smuggling case, Sherlock did not encounter a similar case. Once Inspector Lestrade came to him to ask him about a theft case. He didn't even go to the scene. According to the description, he guessed who the thief was, and the final result was exactly as he expected.

Now he is lying on the sofa in his pajamas bored and irritable, chanting silently while his eyes are blank.

John was sitting not far from him reading the newspaper. He glanced over the edge of the newspaper at Sherlock, and then continued to read the newspaper without any surprises. He was obviously used to his state of salted fish.

Until a certain moment, he suddenly said, "Su, why don't you speak?"

John frowned. He folded the newspaper and put it aside, and asked, "Sherlock, who were you calling?"

The person lying on the sofa opened his eyes and said after a while, "Nothing."

John went over and sat opposite him: "No, you yelled, there are only two of us in this room, but you yelled an unfamiliar name."

"You heard me wrong." Sherlock rolled over on his side so John couldn't see his expression.

"I heard you right, you called 'Sue'."

Sherlock suddenly turned over, he seemed in a worse mood than before, and said with a blank expression: "You heard it wrong—God, where have all the criminals in London gone, are they going to hold a peace party?" , It’s so peaceful that it makes people crazy, why can’t there be more interesting cases.”

As he was speaking, the voices of Inspector Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson came from downstairs.

John put the newspaper on the coffee table partition and said, "Isn't there a case?"

"Hi Sherlock, hi John," the detective greeted, and said straight to the point, "There is a case over there with Beyonce, there are traces of a struggle at the scene, it should be homicide, but the door is locked tightly, the deceased There are no wounds on the body—”

"The murderer wouldn't be so stupid that he had to go in through the door. Wouldn't it be poisoning or frightened to death if there were no external wounds on the body?"

"That's the problem," Detective Inspector Lestrade rubbed his hands, with a puzzled expression on his face, "Anderson's preliminary autopsy ruled out the above possibilities, but Ms. Burns was indeed dead—"

"Who?" Sherlock asked suddenly, "The deceased's name, full name."

Lestrade could only say: "Amelia Susan Bones, a middle-aged woman living alone—"

Before he could finish speaking, Sherlock had already changed his coat, put on a scarf and went downstairs "dengdengdengdeng".

The inspector and John looked at each other in bewilderment and helplessness, and then ran away.

The author has something to say: give you the peanuts you want.

The last victim, Amelia Bones, was Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she was the clerk in the memory of the trial that Dumbledore showed Sherlock.She died under the persecution of Death Eaters, and her case was indeed a vicious murder case, which was mentioned in Chapter 1 of "Half-Blood Prince".

In addition, I forgot to say that the countdown to the end of the main text is almost possible, but it may not be so fast when it really ends, because there are still extra episodes, and I am afraid there are many.