Sherlock Holmes

Alcohol peeled away the gentle layers of the landlady's sense of danger, and she began to like to talk.

Maybe she has always liked to talk, but it's just that in this era, people will naturally be wrapped in a shell.

Survival can change many things.

Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson's optimism in her bones has not been worn away. Although she has to work hard every day to pay for debts and medical expenses, although she dreams about receiving a letter from her brother or a letter every day. Although I am looking forward to the phone call, I am also worried that a familiar name will appear on the battlefield obituary.

Well, she was hard.

But she's been in a good mood lately.

Because Lord Nightingale is coming to London, as long as he can get her attention, his father's disease will definitely be cured.

"Do you have any dreams?"

The landlady was startled: "Dream?"

"Yes, in addition to your family, your debts must be your own, more selfish dreams."

Talking about dreams was almost a guaranteed topic during dinner, but Mrs. Hudson was stunned.

She thought about it for a long time.

"Maybe you find someone you like." She shrugged a little drunkenly, even feeling that her words were a bit like an ignorant child.

"Are you talking about the Holy Son?"

This is a very traditional joke, because all women in the empire will imagine that they can be the protagonist of the Day of Holy Love.

When the story of Cinderella and the glass slipper is reflected in reality, no one can avoid delusion.

But the landlady laughed: "I don't have saint syndrome. In fact, I don't understand the feeling of becoming a saint. Can you fall in love with a man you have never met before for the first time?

I don't believe it.

Moreover, after becoming a saint, she seems to be very busy. She has to attend various places every day, and she has to put on makeup all night so that the photo in the saint magazine will look better tomorrow. At that time, her appearance does not even belong to her. It represents the face of the Holy See.

Doing these things all day long will make you exhausted. "

Sherlock smiled and agreed. In fact, he didn't quite understand why all women yearned to be a sacred vase.

The meal was very good.

Whether it’s the taste of the food or the expensive bottle of wine.

At the end of the dinner, he looked at the drunk landlord and waited for a long time. Seeing that the landlord seemed to have forgotten the purpose of the meal, he finally said: "Mrs. Hudson."

"Ah, now that I hear this title, I feel like you are making fun of me."

"It's a bit strange, but I'm used to it." Sherlock smiled and said, "Then, can I live here?"

After hearing this question, Mrs. Hudson looked a little embarrassed, but she quickly smiled:

"Of course, Mr. Holmes, you are more graceful than those workers on the dock, so you can stay until you can no longer pay the rent."

After saying that, he added in a weird way thanks to his drunkenness:

"Even if you suddenly can't pay the rent, I will probably be kind enough to tolerate you for a few days. As I said, everyone is likely to encounter difficulties these days."

Hearing this, Sherlock finally felt relieved. It seemed that the bottle of wine was not in vain.

"Oh, by the way, I have a birthday soon, next month." Mrs. Hudson said, "Can you come and cut a cake with me then? I can't eat it alone."

"Of course, my dear landlady."

Dinner and wine can give people great warmth and satisfaction. Sherlock opened the door and found that the night wind after the snow was not as cold as he imagined.

The little Sanhua who has a nest should also be very warm.

This made him feel very good, so he walked up the stairs slowly, deciding to enter his dream for a while and randomly select a few lucky demons to play with his brain.

However, as soon as he lay down on the sofa, a sound of footsteps suddenly sounded, followed by a knock on the door, interrupting all his plans.

Opening the door, I saw that overly beautiful and feminine face.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked confused.

Watson's always smiling expression rarely showed a hint of helplessness.

"Kjadir is dead."

"who?"

"Lampard Kyadir is our colleague and one of the three operators in the field team." Watson said: "You have never met him, but you were recommended to the company after all. The thoughts of Priest Thompson It’s very old-school, he feels like he has to inform you about this kind of thing.”

"How did he die?" Sherlock frowned.

"Two eyeballs are missing. The death was very miserable. He must be a demon who had his eyes gouged out."

Half an hour later, at the end of Korbel Street, a carriage slowly stopped.

Sherlock and Watson stepped out of the carriage.

The snow melted on the ground during the day, and at night it formed a layer of white frost that made a crunching sound when stepped on.

Looking at the street ahead, the red and black cordon has been pulled up. Four high-brightness gas lamps are placed on the ground. The white lights intersect with each other. In the middle of the beam, there is a bloody corpse. Any shelter lying squarely on the road.

And around the cordon, there were some people walking back and forth. They took white lime and carefully sprinkled it on the edge of the corpse. There were also a few people holding heavy cameras, and they kept pressing the shutter on the corpse, without adding anything. The phosphorus-fired exposure lamp made a constant dull thump.

Sherlock walked over.

A dark-skinned man wearing a brown jacket saw him and reached out his hand angrily: "Hey, don't go any further."

Just as he was talking, he saw Watson walking over.

This person obviously knew Watson, so he was stunned and his eyes swept over the faces of the strange man in front of him and Watson.

"Who is this guy?" he asked.

"Sherlock Mary should have mentioned to you that you were not here the day he came to the company." Watson took on the responsibility of introducing each other very well, then looked at Sherlock and gestured to the dark-skinned man in front of him: "This This is Mark, from the field team."

Then, he looked not far away.

"Priest Thompson and Ms. Mary are over there, and Altoli needs to stay at the company, so he didn't come over.

As for him."

Watson turned his head and looked at the delicate body on the ground that was soaked in blood and illuminated by the pale light.

"Obviously he is Frank Lampard"