[Zongyingmi] She is a princess and not sick

"The 21st birthday is one of the most important moments in my life. I will help you solve the case, and you can come to my birthday party." Francis is still trying to convince the bear boy Sherlock.

"NO, Mycroft isn't going to your birthday party. Shows how boring it is. BTW (by the way), I don't need your help, Francis."

Francis raised his eyebrows: "Wow, you are so cold-blooded, Sherlock. But, you don't understand art. Do you? Baby Sherlock, now is not the time to be angry."

Sherlock frowned, and gave Francis a quick sideways glance: "I'm not angry, and I never get angry."

"Ah, yes, why don't you go tell Mycroft about this." Francis also glanced at Sherlock, turned his head and greeted Inspector Lestrade who came over, "Good day, Ray Inspector Strade. Hardday, huh?"

Every time Lestrade saw Francis (only twice in total), he was particularly nervous, as if the supreme leader was visiting the lower levels.

"Good day, Her Royal Highness Princess Francis."

Francis had a decent smile on his face: "Don't be so reserved, Inspector. Just call me Francis, today I'm just Sherlock's partner."

Lestrade returned a smile to Francis uncomfortably, turned his head to Sherlock and said earnestly: "Even if Watson abandoned you, Sherlock, you shouldn't bring Her Royal Highness here. For God's sake Come on, Sherlock, she's a member of the royal family."

"Don't you have anything else in your brain?" Sherlock sneered at Lestrade, "Oh, I really dare not expect the Scotland Yard goldfish brain."

Francis rolled her eyes. She took out a pair of medical latex gloves from her pocket and put them on neatly.

Sherlock glanced at Francis very unexpectedly. The equipment was surprisingly well equipped, and then he stretched out his hand to Francis.

Lestrade: Exome

Francis silently reached into his pocket and took out another large latex glove and handed it to Sherlock.

Lestrade: I want to be quiet.

"I didn't even think about it, you still use gloves?" -Francis.

"It's better than nothing. I don't even know, you carry this thing with you." - Sherlock.

"It's not a joke, it's a medical latex glove. Well, I'm a bit of a clean freak." -Francis.

"Aha, it looks like that fat bastard has handed over his cleanliness to you. You know he won't wear his dusty shoes twice. That's why Baker Street is always the cleanest." - Sherlock.

Francis, who had been talking to Sherlock, stopped. She frowned and hesitated. Sherlock glanced at her distractedly: "What did you do?"

"At dinner yesterday, he accidentally dripped ice cream on his shoe." -Francis

"Hahahaha, even a fat man has his day." - Sherlock.

Lestrade: Don't ask me who Quiet is.

"I heard that you and Watson had a quarrel." Francis moved the corpse to do a simple inspection, rigor and plaque formation, "may I know why?"

"Heroism, accuse me of having no compassion, and not caring about those lives." Sherlock looked at the details of the corpse with a simple magnifying glass.

Francis snorted: "This reminds me of a sentence that McCoff often said, don't invest too much."

"Yes, indeed, Mycroft-style education."

"Anything?" asked Lestrade.

"Temporarily found seven places."

"Seventh Office?" Lestrade lived up to everyone's expectations and showed a puzzled expression.

Francis stood up and took off her gloves: "He has been dead for more than 24 hours, but it doesn't look like drowning, it's suffocation. There are fingerprints on the face, especially the lips and forehead, and it should be grabbed by hands He turned his head and choked to death. Oh, this looks like a very professional technique, it should be done by a professional killer."

"He's been soaking in the river for too long, and the river water has destroyed the evidence." Sherlock, who pressed the phone button in the middle, put the phone into his coat pocket, showing a half-smile expression, "But I'm sure, that A lost Vermeer painting is a fake."

"What?" Inspector Lestrade looked at Sherlock in confusion.

If Francis still spoke human language, he wouldn't understand a word of Martian language Sherlock spoke.

Sherlock ignored the beautiful inspector whose IQ could not keep up with him and who talked too much, and said directly to Francis: "We need to confirm the identity of the corpse. Find out his friends and..."

Inspector Lestrade quickly expressed that his IQ was not enough, he stopped Sherlock from leaving: "Don't finish talking in one breath, what oil painting, what are you talking about?"

Sherlock frowned and looked at Lestrade with a face full of mental retardation: "The propaganda is overwhelming, haven't you seen the posters? The Dutch master of painting, whose works were destroyed hundreds of years ago, is now being destroyed. Found it, worth £3000 million."

"Wow, don't say that you don't know anything about art anymore, Sherlock, this is a qualitative leap." Francis couldn't help applauding. He actually knew that Vermeer was a Dutch painter, which is really gratifying.

"I googled." Sherlock raised his eyebrows but his expression was very low-key.

The great detective who feels happy when he is praised and then becomes arrogant is really cute.

"Okay, so what does that have to do with this corpse?" There must be one of the three with a very low IQ——Scottish Inspector Lestrade.

"Everything." Sherlock approached the Inspector with his eyes wide open, "Have you ever heard of Gem?"

"What Gemu?" Lestrade still looked puzzled, but he wanted to grab Sherlock's shoulder and shake him crazily to make him speak humanly.

"This word comes from a horror story. Please explain it, Sherlock. Look at the pitiful look of the Inspector. His hair is all white." Francis couldn't stand it anymore. Not everyone could keep up with Holmes' thinking. .

"It refers to the name of a giant made of clay in Jewish folklore who was also an assassin. His real name was Oscar Genda. One of the deadliest professional killers in the world, that was his signature technique." Sherlock Pointing to the poor man who died on the ground.

Lestrade understood at last: "So it was murder?"

"Exactly." Sherlock continued to explain to the inspector. After explaining, he glanced at Francis and found that the other party was not surprised but thoughtful. "Gem always strangles the target with his bare hands."

"It seems that there is nothing wrong with my preliminary autopsy." Francis raised his eyebrows and blinked at Sherlock.

"But I still don't see the connection between this and that painting?" Lestrade understood that it was murder, but he was still confused about the painting.

Sherlock became impatient: "You are just watching, but not observing."

"Okay, okay, ladies, calm down." Francis hurriedly acted as a peacemaker, lamenting that the inspector was really good-tempered, facing the bear boy Sherlock, whose hair was white with anger, he still held back and didn't beat him.

Lestrade lowered his head and took a deep breath, and continued to ask shamelessly, "Sherlock, would you like to explain to us?"

Francis looked at Lestrade too pitifully, and didn't correct what he said about us.

Sherlock speaks fast, faster than Bolt, faster than Schumacher, he really can't waste time on this kind of thing.

Sherlock deduced from the clothes and watches worn by the deceased, as well as the varicose veins on his legs, and the ticket stubs in his pocket-the deceased was a security guard working in a museum or art gallery.

"...I searched right away, and the Seaman Art Museum reported that an employee was missing, Alex Woolbridge. Tonight they are exhibiting a re-emerged masterpiece. Now the question is, why Someone hired Gemu to kill an ordinary staff member? It means that the deceased knew about it, which would cost the owner 3000 million pounds in vain. Therefore, the painting is a fake."

Lestrade said: I have heard this kind of reasoning and analysis too much, and I am not dumbfounded at all, not at all.

Francis clapped his hands in response.

Sherlock shrugged indifferently and said, "It's just grandstanding."

"Shoulders shrug in a micro-expression that means you don't have the confidence to say this. You don't think you're grandstanding, Sherlock." Francis curled his lips, "I just don't know, you can still be humble. Come on, boy Guys, at least there must be peace in London until the day of my birthday party."

"Peace is boring."

The author has something to say: There must be one person with a low IQ in a threesome, so I feel sorry for my beauty inspector

How long does it take to get a reply after applying for a contract?