Chapter 14: The Difficult Life of Co-habitation (Part 5)
It was as if in the blink of an eye that Sherlock had donned his black Inverness coat and stood before Ludwig.
Ludwig gazed at Sherlock's... clothes with a look of reverence.
I have been dreaming of this dress for twenty years!
May I touch it? (☆_☆)
But on the surface, Miss Ludwig wouldn't show such a shameful and infatuated expression. She just smiled calmly and politely handed over her phone with both hands.
。
"Your phone."
"Here you go."
Sherlock barely glanced at Ludwig and strode past her towards Lestrade.
Ludwig: “……”
What does this mean? Lord Formosa, what did you mean by putting your phone here with me?
I'm getting more and more anxious about my IQ, I really can't compare with your brain that has an IQ of over 200...
Sherlock walked to the door and stopped for a moment, then turned back to Ludwig who was still sitting on the sofa with a puzzled expression and said, "Why haven't you changed your shoes yet?"
Is this rhythm... going to drag her to a murder scene?
Swallowtail butterfly!!!!!
Where is your integrity?
How dare you put John Watson's invincible male match plot on me!
Why can't she just be a quiet cannon fodder in the corner of Mr. Holmes' life...
Unfortunately, before Ludwig could express her feelings, Sherlock had already descended the stairs.
Ludwig chased after her, wearing his cat slippers on his feet.
My heart is completely unwilling to go, but I am hesitant.
What if, because he didn't have a mobile phone, Mr. Holmes missed some important information and delayed the case?
At least return his phone and then firmly refuse his request for accompaniment... The UK also has laws protecting minors.
Ludwig ran downstairs with a thud, but Rastread and Sherlock were already gone.
Cars came and went, she stood on the street of Baker Street, unconsciously clenched her fists.
The phone felt cold in his hand, its metal casing as aloof and unforgiving as its owner.
Are you going or not? Are you chasing or not? Do you want to take a taxi?
If I don't go, will something go wrong? If something goes wrong, will there be more victims?
If there were more victims, isn't it her responsibility for not sending the phone over?
No, it's not like that.
This is the world of Sherlock Holmes. If someone dies because of her, she will be responsible - then Conan Doyle should also be responsible!
This world has so many more murders than real-life London. Should Conan Doyle be held responsible?
In "Detective Conan", so many people have died, should Gosho Aoyama take responsibility?
If the person who writes a book is not responsible, does the person who reads the book need to be responsible?
If a reader doesn't have to be responsible for the death of characters in a book, then what does it matter to her if a few more people die today?
Yes, it is like this.
It's like this, none of these things have anything to do with her.
She stood in the wind of London, on the bustling streets of Baker Street, with pedestrians and cars flowing past her like a river.
Across the street, under the street lamp, an old man sat on a long red public bench, holding an umbrella despite the fact that it wasn't raining. He wore a woolen double-breasted coat and held a copy of The Wall Street Journal in his hand.
A child carrying a small cowhide backpack with a sign that reads "help"
A placard telling every passerby about the war and famine in southern Sudan, asking for a pound of love.
And while she was waiting for Mrs. Huddleston at the coffee shop, the young owner wasn't behind the counter, the whole cafe was filled with roses, a young boy knelt on one knee, holding a dazzling ring in his hand.
He stood facing his girlfriend who was at a loss and blushing, while the guests beside them smiled, applauded, and the atmosphere was warm.
……
What a lively world.
People come and go, every corner has a story.
……
It's just like... it's true.
……
She stood still for a moment in the cold wind, pulled her coat tighter around her neck, turned and walked slowly back to 221B Baker Street like an old man with slow movements.
On the other side, at a street corner not far from 221B Baker Street.
"Sherlock, it seems your little girlfriend doesn't want to join you on your fluffy little adventure."
Rastread and Sherlock hid behind a fruit stand on the street corner, their bodies half-concealed in the shadows.
"This sculpture is really well done, much more exquisite than the replicas I've seen in Rome."
Officer Ressler exclaimed:
"It's even more incredible that this is a perfect surveillance spot, from the polished shield in Agrippa's hand, one can indirectly see everything happening at 221B."
"This bronze statue was put up after I moved into Baker Street."
Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the magnificent bronze statue of Agrippa standing proudly in the center of the crossroads.
The copper man's shield reflected, distorted yet clearly, the entrance of Baker Street and Ludwig's thin figure.
He scoffed at Ruskin's aesthetics: "barbarous symbols, devoid of beauty in combination."
"Your brother?" Rastread asked
。
"It's obvious, who else in the British government would have nothing better to do?"
Given that the person Sherlock was referring to as "idle" was his superior's superior's superior, Inspector Lestrade wisely chose to ignore the remark.
"Did he install a surveillance device on the bronze statue? Just to monitor you?"
"Don't be silly."
Sherlock withdrew his gaze from the bronze statue, and Ludwig had already walked into the house, looking as if he didn't plan to come out again.
"That monitor thing can be destroyed in one second, and I can even interfere with it just by using my mobile phone... MacGyver wasn't that stupid."
"How did he manage to keep an eye on you? Don't tell me he's got a spy planted in Baker Street!"
"The whole of Baker Street is MacTavish's eyes and ears... isn't it, Jennie?"
The fruit stand's plump owner smiled awkwardly with her tobacco-stained teeth.
Rastread's mood was probably like this:
I think I got a shock...
Baker Street is indeed a special zone in my jurisdiction!
"By the way, if I were you, I would lodge a protest with MacRae."
Sherlock casually picked up a pre-washed cherry from the fruit stand.
"As a frontline agent of British Army Intelligence Six, Alfie Ross, the porter at Goodward supermarket, has much less workload than you, but he has spare money to date girls every day. From the useless fat on your chin, it seems like you haven't been to the gym for ages."
Lester calmly reassured the bloodied boss lady with a steady gaze: "Don't mind him, he's always like that."
Landlady: I don't mind, really. Compared to what you go through every day with Inspector Lestrade, this is nothing - we see it all the time.
