[Comprehensive] They forced me to die

Alice looked at Mr. Detective's figure and didn't know what to say for a while.

There was a beeping sound in my ear, and there was a beeping scream in my heart like a siren. This is not an act, let alone a novel. I met my brother but couldn't recognize him.

Can't recognize it! ! !Could it be that the other party can't recognize himself?

"Cough cough..."

Alice leaned against the door, looked at Mr. Detective who was fiddling with a black, unidentified liquid object in the kitchen, and said with a stiff smile.

"You know Mycroft."

Sherlock didn't look at her, pursed his lips, and let out an "uh" indifferently.

"He's my brother."

"Uh... so?"

Sherlock turned to look at her, wearing tight jeans and a pure white T-shirt, her complexion was translucent, big blind eyes and light dark circles.

"Mycroft seems to understand your taste very well." He couldn't help but glanced a few more times, and knew without thinking that the casual clothes on her were definitely not McCoff's style.Because Mycroft is always European medieval, stuffy, serious.

"Amy prepared it for me."

"She's Mycroft's secretary."

Alice suspected that she seemed to go a little far, so she paused and continued to ask, "Are you and Mycroft brothers?"

She played with the BlackBerry in her hand, looking careless.

"Correct."

"When did you know about me?" She walked up to Mr. Detective.

"From the beginning."

"But you never told me...."

"You didn't ask me."

The picture looked a little awkward, Alice turned her head and looked out the window.

"Did Mycroft send you to save me?"

"Ah."

Alice nodded and said nothing more.

"Then trouble you to sleep on the sofa, sir."

At night on Baker Street, it began to drizzle. The rain slowly flowed down the eaves and slid through the glass windows, drop by drop, gradually forming thin lines.

Occasionally, a few passers-by pass by outside, holding black umbrellas, and some stand by the roadside as if waiting for someone, maybe a lover; they are just pure friends; they wave their hands, maybe they are waiting for a car Passing taxis; some people’s footsteps seem to be rushing, maybe they are rushing home; maybe some big event happened; it’s like a story, everyone is constantly interpreting something as the protagonist of this story...

Alice stared blankly at the naked girl in the bathroom mirror, but she was only about 1.6 meters five, with a faint blush in her pale skin, long black hair hanging down her waist, and her pupils were dark like a night in London. There is a flickering light in the heart, and it is completely impossible to see what kind of person he was in his previous life.

right?How can you tell?

Not at all like the Sherlock Holmes children.

The next day Alice got up early, wanted something to eat, then opened the refrigerator and let out a high-decibel scream.

"My God!"

"what happened?"

Obviously our great detective Sherlock Holmes was awakened by the soprano, his tone was dazed, and he didn't seem to wake up.

"There's a hand in the refrigerator!!!" Alice couldn't stop raising her voice.

"I'm doing an experiment on ASDF."

"what?"

"Using the QWE potion can extend the shelf life of an arm."

"Like formalin?" Alice looked at Mr. Detective in front of her with a strange expression, trying to adjust her breathing.

"Of course not." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat lazily on the sofa playing with his mobile phone.

"Whatever the hell it is, I don't want to see it again, get this thing off."

Alice looked at the refrigerator with a disgusted look, and she put her hands on her chest, and said in her worst tone.

However, our great detective ignored it.

"Now, immediately." Alice emphasized her tone.

"Where else can I put it but in the fridge,"

"Where did you get it?"

"It was taken from the morgue at Butts Hospital." Mr. Detective produced a violin.

"you win."

Alice frowned, rolled her eyes, and entered the bedroom. Out of sight and out of sight is not enough to express her mood at the moment vividly.

The life of the great detective is full of surprises. Looking at this pile of garbage-like halls, Alice felt that she was really going to have a mental relapse.

"Boring, boring!" Mr. Detective complained as he lay on the sofa in a casual T-shirt and gray trousers, holding a violin in his hand, strumming the strings once and for all.

For two full hours, "Can you be quiet?" Alice said angrily, resisting the viciousness brought by that hand all morning, and ate the morning casually, and then listened to Sherlock's non-stop complaints .

"What a boring book, for God's sake." Sherlock glanced at Alice's book "Finding the Monster in Your Heart" out of the corner of his eye, played the strings in his hand again, and continued, "A senior Mental patients, study psychology?"

"Out, of, your, business (no, off, your, thing.)" Alice said with a deadpan expression.

"Stupidbook. Doesn't make any sense. (There's nothing redeeming about this book.)"

Sherlock continued to make up the knife.

Alice glanced at her mouth and looked away from him.