Chapter 5 First Meeting Please Be Gentle

  He walked up to the girl: "Some coffee?"

  "Two sugars, thank you."

  Sherlock hooked up the corner of his mouth, threw two sugar cubes into the cup and pushed it in front of the girl.

  "It doesn't seem like a French habit to drink coffee with sugar."

  "It's just keeping up with the times, that kind of thick and muddy black coffee had been forgotten in the dust after the French Revolution."

  Sherlock brought the coffee to his lips and took a sip, furrowing his brow: "The sweetness of this sugar is not standard, do you want some more?"

  "Never mind." Because she never intended to drink it anyway. Just look at the eyeballs in the sink and that pile of bloody coffee cups!

  Damn it, is this person really not the boss of the mafia or something? How does she think there was just a murder in this room...

  ……

  Another ellipsis is justified.

  They all heard the screeching sound of a car braking suddenly at the bottom of the building, followed by a knock on the door.

  "Excuse me for a moment."

  Sherlock set the coffee in his hand on the table, with elegant and classical movements that were impeccable. This formed a strong contrast with the messy and frightening living room.

  That's why I ignored his room description earlier...

  Ludwig looked at this room with a tired heart, and I, as the writer, also feel tired of describing this room's heart.

  Downstairs was a hubbub, she heard the black-haired man speaking rapidly as he came up from the stairs.

  "Time? Victim?"

  Another voice came over, with a hint of majesty, but very casual towards the black-haired man: "Around 1:30 this afternoon, it was discovered at 2:10, the location is..."

  "Stapleton's golf course, Reigate. Don't answer questions I haven't asked." Sherlock interrupted impatiently.

  Rastread stretched his neck, he felt the buttons on his shirt were a bit tight.

  "Your knees have grass clippings on them, and your pant legs have yellow mud stains that haven't dried yet, indicating you knelt on a newly mowed sports field. You arrived by car, and the mud must have gotten on before you got in, judging from its dryness it should be about half an hour away...half an hour away from Baker Street, at the entrance of the construction site with grassy sports fields, Saburi Golf."

  "......okay." Rastread put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled cigarette.

  Ludwig sat on the sofa and furrowed his brow - Resterd? This name seems to have been heard somewhere...

  Sherlock said and went upstairs, Lestrade followed closely behind him.

  When he saw Ludwig sitting on the sofa, having taken off his coat and wearing a black waistcoat with a drooping skirt, blowing his hair contentedly, Retsuko fell silent for a moment before turning to Sherlock and saying: "Unbelievable, there's actually a woman in your room, Sha..."

  "This is obviously my living room and not my bedroom, if your common sense and judgment are equally hopeless, Rested."

  "No... sorry, miss." Ressler seemed to be used to being hit by Sherlock and turned his head to smile at Ludwig: "I was just too surprised... after all, in this guy's living room, I expected to see a motionless woman's corpse full of whip marks, not a living woman."

  Sherlock sat in an armchair opposite the sofa, his long fingers interlaced: "I assume you didn't come here to flirt with me, Rastus - the victim?"

  "The brother of the owner of the Sabury Golf Course, had his legs broken and was shot in the abdomen. When they found the body, it was holding this -" He handed Sherlock a newspaper wrapped in plastic.

  As Rastread stood beside Ludwig, handing the white paper to Sherlock, he naturally passed by Ludwig's side.

  "This newspaper is no longer needed." Ludwig suddenly said as Sherlock stretched out his hand to take the white paper.

  "Why?" Rhett's hands were thrust into his pockets as he turned to stare at her in surprise.

  "It's been rained on." Sherlock opened the bag a bit, sniffed it under his nose, then directly pulled out the newspaper with his hand and shook it open.

  "So why?" Lestrade looked at Sherlock and then at Ludwig, but Sherlock seemed to have no intention of answering him, he was holding a miniature magnifying glass that had appeared out of nowhere to examine the newspaper.

  Ludwig's hair dryer hummed in his hand, and for a moment the only sound in the room was the hair dryer.

  "It's because of urine." Ludwig turned off the hair dryer and explained to Rastreador, who looked a bit embarrassed.

  The black-haired man was clearly familiar with this person called Lestride, and if she was going to live in this apartment for at least a year in the future, it would be better not to make things too awkward with her neighbor's friend.

  Especially when the neighbor's friend is a policeman - in the future, when encountering hoodlums on the street, you can at least stand up straight and say: "I have someone backing me now".

  Thinking about it is kind of exciting (╯▽╰)

  Baker Street's brutality has reached new lows.

  She just arrived and there were cases of severed arms and murder again. She wasn't afraid, but that doesn't mean it's not scary, does it?

  The real Death God's physique of Holmes has yet to arrive, and the main Holmes is here, can people still live here?

  Given her understanding of Uncle Mikala, she would not let go without getting a Ph.D., which means that she may have to stay in London for seven years or even longer.

  Before the events of BBC Sherlock began, she persuaded her new guardian, Uncle Mikael, to let him move back in.

  She now thinks that she just fought with a bloody severed arm for a hair dryer and feels very tired...

  "Urine?"

  "In the absence of formal invisible ink, urine can serve as a substitute for invisible ink. What was written on this newspaper with urine, but later it rained and urea and water completely dissolved."

  She paused, feeling that her tone was too harsh, and switched to a regretful tone: "I overheard your conversation on the stairs. The victim was killed at 1:30, and it started raining in London at 1:50. That means before you found him, the body and newspaper had been rained on for 20 minutes, and the information left by the deceased on this newspaper has disappeared."

  Sherlock had put down the newspaper in his hand, apparently having listened for a while.

  He put his hand under his chin and raised the corner of his mouth to Ludwig: "But what I'm interested in is - how did you know there was urine on this newspaper?"

  I smelled it.

  "There is no smell left on the outside of the plastic bag, I have confirmed this."

  "Not on the plastic bag, but on Mr. Rested's body."

  "Me?" Rastread shook his head in dismay and sniffed at his own sleeve: "How did I get a smell of pee on me?"

  "It's highly likely." Sherlock this time genuinely raised the corner of his mouth: "For example, when solving a problem, did you think of Inspector Donovan walking off in a daze?"

  "What's so funny? I was thinking of Mary too!"

  "If she wasn't with a sports coach over the weekend."

  ……

  "Alright." Ludwig coughed - had she heard some family scandal?

  "Do I still need to go on?"

  "Of course you are, carry on." Sherlock turned to her at once: "I need your mind."

  “？！”

  Rath was taken aback by the words and looked at Sherlock with a shocked gaze.

  Ludwig didn't seem to think anything of it: "If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Ratchett has a habit of putting his gloves directly into the pocket of his trousers after leaving the scene of the crime?"

  Ludwig shrugged: "The smell was coming from Mr. Rested's pocket, and then when he handed you the newspaper, I saw that the headline had a pale yellow inner circle and a dark brown outer ring - that's what the urine of a man who stays up late, smokes, and is dehydrated looks like."

  To be exact, it's the urine of a male dog that often stays up late at night and has internal heat.

  But Ludwig thought it would be better if Mr. Restarick didn't know this truth.

  "Oh, Sherlock." Lestrade's face was full of admiration: "Until just now I didn't believe you'd have a romantic relationship, but now I'm 100% sure she's your girlfriend."

  Sherlock, uncharacteristically, didn't take the bait and make a snide remark, instead he crossed his fingers, narrowed his eyes, and gazed at the girl in front of him who, apart from her slightly more pronounced facial features, looked nothing like a European French girl.

  Ludwig was already in a daze from being too shocked and had no idea what to say.

  What did she just hear? What terrible thing did she just hear?

  Sherlock! Sherlock! Did you hear that? That black-haired and black-clothed rascal with the curly hair is called Sherlock!!

  Does Sherlock who lives on Baker Street and has a good friend named Watson have option b?

  Who's going to tell her why Sherlock Holmes would appear on Baker Street in 2003? The plot, your integrity is gone!

  If she had reacted earlier and known who Rastread was, she would have fled without hesitation!

  Mr. Conan Doyle! Your son was born prematurely! Hurry up and put him back in!