[Comprehensive] Jasmine became the queen bee

It was already half dark, he finished listening to all the recordings, and when he walked to the door, he saw the two people who popped out of his forest last night leaning against the car and waving to him friendly.

Oh, God.Why didn't Mycroft let him go?

He frowned deeply, looked at the two pairs of waving arms, turned around and walked back into the police station.

"Why are you back?" Lestrade, who was talking to people in the corridor, saw him stare in surprise, "I thought you couldn't wait to go home and rest?"

"I thought so, too," he said, "but now I suddenly want to see Wendy's confession."

"Okay...well." Lestrade looked at him suspiciously.

Although Mycroft monitored his privacy and freedom, if he didn't have a high-ranking elder brother, he wouldn't have the highest authority now, several levels higher than Lestrade.

He got the results of today's latest interrogation with ease - Wendy remained silent, except for the crime of kidnapping Jessica that she had committed.

Interrogator: Would you like to know how Mr. Hannibal Lecter is doing?

Wendy Firth: Yes.

Interrogator: He's arguably not going very well. According to his new carer, he's not an easy employer. Based on his current situation, you know what that means.

Wendy Firth: She better watch out, she can't do whatever she wants with Mr. Lecter, understand?We paid, she should be nicer to him!

Interrogator: Oh, don't get excited, ma'am, this isn't going to help, okay?

Wendy Firth: Mr. Lecter is disabled and Alzheimer's, how could she treat him like this!

Interrogator: What you said is useless, why not be honest, who ordered you?

Wendy Firth: I have nothing to say but the greatest guilt.

As expected, he found that the subsequent conversation fell into the same endless loop.

It's just... He turned to the previous page, looked at the word "handicapped" and remembered Jessica's wheelchair.

It seems that Dr. Lecter's current situation is much worse than he imagined.

He put down the document and stood up, hurriedly walked around half of the building, jumped out through the low window on the side, successfully avoided the two annoying "bodyguards", and walked to the nearest bus stop.

Is this a good decision?He didn't know, it was just that he suddenly wanted to see Dr. Lecter now, after all that had happened.

By the time he rang the doorbell, the sun had already set.The community was quiet, and the bell echoed in the house. A few seconds later, a series of slightly irritable footsteps came, and the owner could be heard stomping on the stairs as if venting his anger.

He took a few steps back.The door was roughly opened, and a dark-skinned woman with a displeased face appeared. She looked him up and down, and said in a bad tone, "What are you doing here?"

"I went to Dr. Hannibal Lecter," he said, "with whom I had a close association."

"Haven't you heard?" The woman waved her hand impatiently and said with a strong accent, "He's stupid, understand? There's something wrong with his brain."

"It's okay," he quickly pressed against the door that was about to close, "I just want to see him, please."

"You are all lunatics." The woman rolled her eyes, put the towel on her shoulders, turned and walked into the kitchen.

He walked into the house that was very familiar to him. The plush carpet was rolled up casually, the dusty carvings on the chair legs caught his attention, the abstract painting above the fireplace was tilted ten degrees, and all the furniture was pushed out. side of the living room.The whole place has become like a temporary shelter for deserters, but obviously the people who live here don't care, or can't care.

Wendy had only been gone for a few days, and Dr. Lecter's life was in turmoil.

The clanging of utensils in the kitchen sounded like untalented novice musicians strumming out of tune.He resisted the urge to plug his ears, and before she changed her mind, he followed his memory and went upstairs to find the place he often visited a few years ago.

Dr. Lecter's study was one of the few quiet places he could remember.He was very happy to find that it hadn't been destroyed by that woman like the downstairs. It was still a huge glass window with first-class lighting, a comfortable armchair, and a whole wall of books.In front of the window is a figure sitting in a wheelchair, its outline somewhat blurred in the afterglow of the setting sun.

He stepped lightly at the open door, but with a "sizzling" sound, the wheelchair turned 180 degrees flexibly.

"Joe, is that you?"

The backlight made Dr. Lecter's face hidden in the dark, and he couldn't help squinting.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Lecter," he said, taking a few steps closer, "I know this is presumptuous, but..."

"Joe," Dr. Lecter's old face appeared in front of him, and the smile made deep grooves appear on his face, "Where have you been these few days?"

This heartfelt joy made him feel complicated.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, sir," he knelt down and looked Dr. Lecter straight in the eye. "Remember?"

Dr. Lecter stretched out his only hand like a child, and stroked his hair tentatively, "You have curls on your head, it's funny, isn't it?"

He didn't move, allowing Dr. Lecter's hand to move slowly over his head, trembling, pulling his scalp from time to time.

"You're not Joe," Dr. Lecter suddenly lowered his head in disappointment, "he doesn't have hair like this."

"Yes," he nodded, "how have you been? Since Wendy's gone?"

In fact, he didn't need an answer. The deep and shallow stains on his chest and the yellow collar were already obvious.

"Wendy?" said Dr. Lecter blankly, his eyes growing blank. "Who? Where's Joe?"

"Joseph is in jail," he said patiently, "and Wendy will be there too."

"Really?" Dr. Lecter shook his head in confusion, "Prison is not a good place."

"Yes." He changed the subject. "What happened to your leg, doctor? Why are you in a wheelchair?"

Dr. Lecter instantly became elated, "Because I can move, in a wheelchair, but not in a bed, you can't walk on a bed, can you?" He moved the handle awkwardly with trembling hands, "This is to forward, this is backward..."

He watched in silence as Dr. Lecter circled the room, demonstrating the use of the wheelchair.Dr. Lecter's excitement faded in an instant after he missed his brakes and nearly hit him.

"Who are you? Why are you in my study?"

Dr. Lecter looked at him warily with a completely unfamiliar gaze, and hurriedly retreated to the corner.

"I am Sherlock Holmes," said he, "and I have come because you have helped me and I want to help you."

Dr. Lecter still looked defensive.

He continued, "I don't know what happened to your leg, or what Wendy's got involved with that wanted man, but it's not fair that they made a mistake that cost you."

He took a few steps closer, and this time Dr. Lecter didn't duck.

"Your clothes are dirty," he pointed at Dr. Lecter's skirt, "do you want to change it?"

Dr. Lecter opened his mouth wide, as if he didn't understand what he was saying.

He turned and walked to the next bedroom and opened the closet.

There are stacks of clothes neatly folded inside.

He calmly picked up the top light blue shirt, held it back in front of Dr. Lecter with both hands, and handed it to Dr. Lecter in a half-squat.

Dr. Lecter's hands continued to tremble.

"Are you always like this?" he said. "Your hands are always shaking?"

Dr. Lecter paid him no attention, stroking the fabric of his shirt intently.

"It looks so," he said self-consciously. "There are signs of multiple overturned bowls on the floor, such as the mark from the drop, and there are food residues that haven't been cleaned up."

He paused, "However, a person who can't even hold a bowl can't fold such neat clothes."

Dr. Lecter's hand stopped for a moment.

"You and I both know that you folded it. You figured out how to quickly organize clothes with one hand. This represents you."

He smiled self-deprecatingly, "At least in my heart, that's your sign."

Dr. Lecter looked at him quietly, with a hint of pity in his eyes.

"I know there are a thousand ways to explain it, and Alzheimer's patients don't always have tremors, or sometimes they go back to normal. But you're pretending, it's real."

He lowered his head, as if saying to himself, "This is like an avalanche, with just one cry, the world will collapse under it."

The person on the opposite side was silent for a long time. This sudden silence made him no longer look like an ignorant child, but changed back to the eternally calm psychiatrist in his memory.

"Oh, Sherlock," Dr. Lecter's voice was low and elegant, "how did we become like this?"

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