[Comprehensive] Mrs. Holmes Daily

When it comes to this matter, there is no way to continue talking.

Because if it continues, maybe she will really use the inheritance of the male owner of the coffee shop...and then use the old lover's money to redeem herself from her fiancé.

Oh, this is so ridiculous, it must not be allowed to happen.

"Well, if you insist on not 'actively' participating in the ceremony."

Sherlock turned around:

"Now that you have money, you naturally don't care about a contract with me, even if your employer only needs you to say one or three words at the oath ceremony."

Ludwig raised his eyebrows:

"Don't pretend to be pitiful, sir, the trade unions in the 360th century approved maternity leave, but I am [-] days a year, they are much more humane than you."

Sherlock put his hand under his chin, staring at the void motionlessly:

"If you're on maternity leave, then I'll approve it too."

Ludwig: "..."

Sir, hehe, how do you look on your face?

"In view of your cruel refusal of your own job—no matter what kind of job it is, and your refusal to cooperate with your legal spouse's reasonable request, I can only..."

We can only take tough measures to force cooperation.

Ludwig was leaning against the window.

Originally, she turned her back to him, but when she heard this, she turned her head and said with a smile while holding the coffee:

"Only what?"

Sherlock: "... I can only call for legal and reasonable coffee treatment again, Vichy, I haven't had coffee with normal ingredients for a long time, you can't treat me like this."

Ludwig didn't say anything, just smiled, turned around again, and looked at the endless night sky outside the window.

The sky is like a curtain, hanging down from the end where the edge cannot be seen.

"gentlemen."

Ludwig rested his elbows on the window frame, staring intently at the starless night sky:

"What do you think will happen in [-]?"

"It's [-], Vichy, and I'm not interested in the murders that will happen five years from now. They won't solve the deep hole I'm bored with right now."

"Well, I understand that there are only living and dead in your life, just like a dog's world is only black and white."

"Sorry, I didn't see the point of your comparison of me to a canine mammal."

Sherlock was used to her unexpected venomous tongue, so he didn't care, and just responded lightly:

"Given that we're together, if you prefer to call making love to me 'mating,' then I don't mind that innocuous analogy."

"..."

Well, compared to Sherlock Holmes with a sharp tongue, she completely failed.

Ludwig conveniently put the coffee cup on the window frame. The cup was crumbling. She took out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, opened the pack with her little finger, took out the cigarette with her index and middle fingers, took out one, and put it in her mouth.

Sherlock: "..."

She is familiar with the movements and is by no means a novice.

Sherlock looked at her, paused for a moment before saying:

"I never knew you could smoke."

"I only smoke a few cigarettes a year. It's no different from not smoking. It's normal if you don't see it, not a mistake in reasoning."

The action of her smoking is very beautiful.

There is a kind of elegant down-and-out feeling that can only be seen in old movies.

But that doesn't hide the fact that she's only just started smoking hard.

Sherlock: "Miss Ludwig, I think you remember that your lungs were severely damaged a few days ago. It is obvious that you are aware of the damage that nitrogen oxides in cigarette smoke can do to your respiratory tract, and The amines in it will greatly poison your cells, and the possibility of cancer cell mutation will increase from the average value of normal people to..."

Ludwig took a sip of his cigarette and held it between his fingers.

She leaned down and smiled:

"Sir, borrow a fire."

Sherlock: "..."

He reached out his hand to take out the lighter from his trousers pocket, leaned over to help her light it, and said lightly:

"Only one."

Ludwig smiled and turned to look at the dark night sky:

"Sir, I have to say that on certain occasions, you really look like my father."

"It's a terrible thought, Miss Ludwig."

Sherlock quietly watched her back, and said softly:

"Fathers and husbands have similar responsibilities but are completely different roles and you can't confuse them."

The starry sky in London is sparse, and the night is like a fog, and the light gray smoke curls up from her fingertips... Indeed, as she said, she has no addiction to cigarettes, and with her smoking method, she can't smoke many cigarettes mouth.

……

When she smiled at him, she was eighteen or nineteen; when she was silent, she was twenty-three or four;

When she drinks from a glass, she gets old all at once.

And when she looks out the window with a cigarette in her hand, her age is a blur.

……

"Based on the fact that you smoke five cigarettes a year, it will take at least five years to reach your current level of proficiency. That is to say, you started smoking at the age of 13."

Sherlock put away the lighter:

"It's not a good habit, my lady."

"Because I didn't think I was 12 at the time, I thought I was 22... You know, I have an extra decade of experience in my memory."

ten years.

"what about now?"

Sherlock stared at her and said flatly:

"How old do you think you are now?"

A piece of soot fell completely from her fingertips, like a pale ghostly shadow.

"Now? Now I can't tell."

Ludwig turned around, facing Sherlock sideways:

"You see, I've had 27 years of stuff in my head, and I can't tell what's true and what's not. And after they've changed my experience and my outlook on life, I've discovered those extra stories , like reading a book, in fact my life has only passed 18 years."

She crossed her arms and slowly brought the cigarette closer to herself without putting it in her mouth:

"In this case, tell me, how old am I?"

……

"of course."

Sherlock's fingertips touching... This is a sign when he intends to brainwash people with logic, but Ludwig doesn't know this.

"By your logic, after reading García Márquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude", I should be 120 years old. Mycroft walked in one year what most people take a lifetime to walk. Will be glad to be a vampire."

His tone is light:

"We judge age by time, not by experience. With all due respect, if you want to measure by experience, you are still a baby compared to Mycroft."

"...I didn't know you had such a high opinion of Mycroft. Your brother would definitely be moved to tears when he turned on the monitor."

Ludwig feels that the three views are not good:

"And when did you read my book?"

"I have nothing good to say about Mycroft. Using him as a metaphor is purely to maintain the virtue of modesty. After all, self-praise is bad taste."

Sherlock waved his hand:

"As for books... there's no reason you can look through my bookshelf, but I can't look through yours."

……

I have even started to read Spanish novels. It seems that Mr. Holmes's literary attainments will continue to advance.

……

The red spot on the fingertips was on and off, and it was about to burn the fingers.

There are no ashtrays on Baker Street, so Ludwig directly put it out on the window frame.

……

She didn't speak again, but Sherlock didn't seem to intend to let the subject pass like this stubbed cigarette.

"You only smoke a few cigarettes a year, and one wasted today."

Sherlock watched her throw the cigarette butt into the trash can:

"You are restless, Vichy, what happened?"

"Nothing happened."

She took another cigarette from the pack and leaned her back against the window.

There was no light in the room, and her hair seemed to melt into the night:

"I just had a really bad feeling that something was going to happen tomorrow."

... Of course something will happen tomorrow.

Like getting married.

For example, the first bride in London who knew nothing about her wedding before she got married is about to be born.

Her instincts are sometimes sharper than those of the beast.

only……

He has already missed the best time to propose, if he says now "we will get married tomorrow", he will probably have to spend one night tying her up in Baker Street and watch her into church the next day without blinking an eye .

So he took on the bride, Mycroft on the queen... who would take on the rest of Atum's party?

……

Sherlock wisely chose to remain silent.

……

"But it's not something that really upsets me."

Ludwig stared at the flame at his fingertips, and his black eyes became even darker:

"Last night, I had a dream."

But she didn't continue talking about the content of her dream, she just turned around, looked out of the window again, and asked the question again:

"Sir, tell me, what will happen in [-]?"

……

She always likes to stand in this position, looking out the window.

It seems that she is looking into the distance... In fact, she is just staring at the cafe that the cafe owner left for her.

……

"There are a few things that I'm sure will happen in [-]."

Sherlock's eyes were a little dark:

"Mycroft's hairline would recede, he'd gain five pounds, Lestrade would break up with Mary, and Mrs Hudson would fall in a new relationship with a married man and experience a brutal betrayal. "

Ludwig: "..."

Five years later, [-] was really dark.

"And what's more certain is that where your eyes are at the moment, the roof garden of the coffee shop left for you by the coffee shop owner will be overgrown with weeds, if you don't plan to ask someone to trim those semi-evergreen shrubs."

……

In Anhe's coffee shop, there are small shrubs planted in the roof garden. In March and April, purple flowers will bloom. She had seen those flowers when she first came to London.

At that time, she didn't know that Ai Ruixi was An He.

...wait a minute, a semi-evergreen shrub with purple flowers?

Isn't hydrangea also a semi-evergreen shrub with purple flowers?

As if a flash of lightning flashed through her mind, what Sherlock said just now, and the last words Ann and Torre Shakespeare brought to her, two things that couldn't be separated, were suddenly connected by her.

……

——"He said, if you still go to my store to buy things in the future, let me tell you that his favorite Japanese writer is Junichi Watanabe, but this writer's writing style has not been honed yet, if you give him In five years, his work will exceed your expectations."

— "Mrs. Hudson will fall into a new relationship with a married man and experience a brutal betrayal."

……

[-].Watanabe Junichi.married man.New romance.betray.

And... hydrangeas.

Sherlock's words are the introduction, and once all these are linked together, the last words left by Anhe will no longer be difficult to understand.

……

In the common memory of the two of them, five years later, in [-], which has not yet begun, Junichi Watanabe published a novel about extramarital affairs-"Hydrangea Diary".

What An He thought hard to leave her was neither a book nor a new password.

It is hydrangea.

……

Hydrangea is loved by Orientals, but this hydrangea-shaped flower is rare in the West.

Why did he say hydrangeas?

Where in Europe, in what corner of the world, had she seen hydrangeas?

……

"Oh, Vichy, I just reminded you to tidy up the garden, your expression is too shocked."

She looked shocked, but Sherlock didn't look surprised at all.

It's just like it's normal for her to suddenly think in the middle of their conversation, and then show a surprised expression after thinking.

……

Sherlock smiled slightly:

"Did you think of anything?"

"what?"

Ludwig's thoughts were interrupted by him, but she quickly reacted:

"No, nothing, nothing."

Of course she thought of something... She remembered that she had seen hydrangeas somewhere in Europe.

Not so long ago.

Not in her repeated, incredible dreams, but under the Louvre, in Napoleon's secret passage.

Both sides of the tunnel are also carved with exquisite patterns, but it is no longer Napoleon's memorabilia, but various flowers.

Daisies, roses, herbs, and... hydrangeas.

She was following her mother at the time, wondering why this kind of flower that the Japanese like appeared in Napoleon's secret room?

Thinking about it now, the cluster of hydrangeas on the mural may not be a relic of hundreds of years ago at all, but a pattern painted by An He himself on the mural later, and it was made to look like it was hundreds of years ago to deceive people.

Hydrangea is the landmark left by An He.

And under the landmark, there must be something buried.

……

What is hiding?

"...your father and I completed the lost part of the Rosetta Stone, and found that there is a sentence in it that says 'the names of the gods are hidden from humans'..."

The names of the gods?

What her mother said in the tunnel echoed in her mind like an echo.

……

"...This is what Napoleon got from Egypt, and it is the real treasure guarded by this secret room. Those fakes outside are just a cover-up..."

"...that is a string of black necklaces, engraved with fourteen gods..."

……

She remembered.

Ludwig stood where he was, feeling cold all over his body.

……

In the last two days of An He's life, she paid attention to something he briefly mentioned, but in the end she deliberately ignored it because of An He's death.

That is a necklace.

"A friend who studied archeology in Japan invited me to go to Upper Egypt to be an interpreter. I met a jewelry seller on the street and saw that he had a pair of beautiful necklaces, so I bought them from him by the way... I will come here, probably as an addition to the necklace. effect."

When An He said this, his tone was indifferent.

He just lay on the hospital bed, looked at his pale fingers, and smiled softly:

"After all, it was a necklace worn by the pharaoh, and the names of fourteen Egyptian gods were engraved on it. It should be more expensive... There are so many things in the world that cannot be explained. If you think about it, it's not surprising."

……

She remembered.

When the clues were connected together, when the truth opened the dusty gate like a boat lock in the water...she remembered everything.

The treasure that was really guarded by the Napoleon Chamber, buried by her parents with their lives, was a necklace.

A black necklace engraved with the names of fourteen Egyptian gods.