Baker Street Charterers

Sherlock Holmes took down a bottle of potion from the corner of the mantelpiece, and took out a hypodermic syringe from a neat Moroccan rubbed leather case, rolled up his sleeves, pushed the needle into the plump muscle with his sensitive and strong fingers, Then he leaned back in the plush easy chair and let out a long sigh of relief.

Watson was sitting on the chair reading the newspaper, noticed this move from the corner of the eye, couldn't help sighing, and kindly persuaded him again, "Oh Sherlock, you should use less of this... Morphine, or cocaine?"

"Cocaine," Holmes said with his eyes closed, "the concentration is 70.00%, do you want to try it?"

Watson immediately refused with righteous words. His body has not fully recovered from the damage suffered in the Afghan war.

Nora happened to see this scene when she came back from get off work. She walked in with her neck a little numb, sat on the sofa tiredly, and took a sip of the cold black tea left over from lunch to quench her thirst while talking, "Sherlock, again Didn't get the case?"

Holmes let out a deep response through his nose, and then spoke softly in a somewhat ecstatic tone, "Such a strong stimulation, excitement, can lift my spirits, even if there are some side effects, it doesn't matter...you know, I Difficulties are needed, work is needed, crack the most esoteric codes for me, give me the heaviest analysts, so that I can fill my body with strength without the help of cocaine."

"You can write a book with me." Watson spoke of the topic of his interest, his eyes sparkling. "I have never encountered such a case in my life. The murder in Lauriston Gardens... I have Write the whole story in a booklet, maybe you can give me a suitable title?"

Holmes yawned uninterestedly.

Nora untied her tight ponytail and sighed deeply. Noticing Watson's hopeful eyes, she paused and pretended to think seriously, "It is said that the name of a novel must be mysterious and representative. Sex, how about using that blood cross as the theme?"

Watson thought for a while, and his eyes lit up, "Yes! Let's do it like this—the blood cross...what do you think of the research on the blood cross?"

It is very unwise to argue about the title with a pseudo-author who is interested in recording the case. Nora immediately nodded her head in agreement, and Watson immediately stood up excitedly and rushed to his room, presumably to finish the small Finishing work on the booklet.

Nora stroked the tight hair, looked at Holmes who was resting with his eyes closed, pondered for a while, and spoke slowly, "hmm... Sherlock, what Watson said is indeed reasonable, but Cayin can do it for you. You provide a momentary thrill, but this stuff does hurt your all-knowing brain."

A good employee must always remember to flatter the boss with every word.

Holmes pretended not to hear, and remained motionless with his eyes closed.

"How about this." Nora leaned on the sofa, touched her nose, and showed a malicious smile, "How about we play a guessing game to activate your brain?"

Guessing?Holmes opened his eyes at once, and looked at her with piercing eyes.

"Of course, this is not an ordinary guessing game. It requires you to let your imagination run wild, because the answers are often not expected by ordinary people... You need rich associations to do it."

Holmes immediately sat up straight. All the profound and unknown problems made this great detective who likes to face difficulties full of curiosity and spirit of seeking knowledge. He adjusted his sitting posture, stared at Nora, ready to go, "Come on! , ready at any time."

Nora smiled slightly, showing a thoughtful look, "Well...then here comes the problem - there is a magical thing that can hold up [-] kilograms of oak but cannot hold [-] kilograms of sand, what is it? ?”

Holmes lowered his eyelids and fell into deep thought. His hand subconsciously stroked his chin, and the gray eyes showed that dazed and distant expression again. This unusual "guessing" made him a little dazed for a while, but he quickly realized, Said the answer, "Water."

"Well... the first question is always very simple, but you have to pay attention to the following." Nora said pretending to be mysterious, "There is a type of people who are sick but never need to see a doctor. Who are they?"

——That's right, Nora's question is not a riddle at all, but a brain teaser that stumps countless people and enlightens generations after a hundred years.

For a stubborn and eccentric person like Sherlock Holmes, monotonous persuasion can't stop him from contacting cocaine-like stimulants. In order to divert the employer's attention, Nora has racked his brains with good intentions. .

It can be seen that these questions that are obviously different from guessing puzzles made Holmes a little distressed, or that the completely different thinking patterns made it difficult for British people in the nineteenth century to understand the key points of these weird questions.Holmes frowned, and he looked at Nora strangely, "Miss Sharp, are you sure that this kind of question can be answered?"

Nora rolled her eyes and smiled happily, "Of course, Sherlock, it's not like you can't answer and want to admit defeat, right?"

Holmes raised his chin haughtily, glanced at her with that obvious "Are you a fool" look, and said slowly, "Of course not—I'm just thinking of other possible answers to this question."

Nora leaned over, looked very interested, stared at the other party with interest, propped her cheek with her palm, and smiled softly like dewdrops in her eyes, "i'mwaiting, Sherlock."

"Doctor," replied Holmes in a firm tone, full of confidence. "Of course doctors don't need to go to a doctor when they are sick, because they are, are they?"

Nora laughed twice, mockingly, "Of course... no, Sherlock Holmes, do you have any other 'feasible answers'?"

"The answer is wrong, it's impossible." Holmes obviously didn't believe her. He glanced at her suspiciously, as if to make sure that she was talking nonsense just to fool him, but he couldn't get over that smiling expression for a while. Seeing any strange emotions on his face, he could only turn his face away and continue to think silently.

Nora leaned back in her chair, took a book of poems on the coffee table in a leisurely manner, and read softly in a voice full of emotion, "...the person who has lived in the arms of his lover will never be poor in his life—even if he dies alone , he will also feel happy and happy, remembering that he kissed her on the lips, and that she still belonged to him when he died..."

Holmes frowned.

In Nora's own eyes, it is very moving, but in Holmes' eyes, it is very ironic. The poem continues to echo, "—these beautiful figures, although I have not seen them for a long time, I have never forgotten them. It is not like a blind man facing the beautiful scenery in front of him... And yet, when I am alone, amid the noise of the town, and weary, they bring a sweetness to my blood, my heart, and even my purest thoughts..."

Holmes snorted suddenly, disapproving of the thought in Wordsworth's poem, "It's love again."

Nora stopped and looked over inquiringly, "Oh? Sherlock, do you have any different opinions on this emotion that has been admired and praised by human beings since ancient times?"

Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Of course—emotion, this thing will interfere with people's reason, make people unconscious, and make sages mediocre—"

Nora smiled strangely, "What about a peerless beauty? Could it be that someone with a beautiful face like Amanda can't move Sherlock Holmes?"

"When making a judgment, you must never compromise your personal appearance." Holmes' eyes were very calm, without any emotion, "A client, a client, is just a unit of measure to me. I might as well tell you that I have never seen anything in my life. The most beautiful woman of all time was hanged for poisoning three children to get insurance payouts. The ugliest and least likable man I ever knew was a philanthropist who donated nearly £25 Relief for the poor of London."

Having said that, Holmes couldn't help asking, "What is the answer to your question...?"

In a disguised form, I compromised to this problem that was completely out of the mindset.

Nora raised her eyebrows and gave him a squinting look, then said in a slow, unhurried voice, "...Well—the answer is probably similar to that of Mr. Holmes."

Holmes frowned again.

Nora rolled her eyes and smiled, "—blind man."