[Comprehensive] Mrs. Holmes Daily

How to buy a birthday gift for Leshiwei?

Ludwig was standing in front of a well-decorated but not-so-famous jewelry store.

Sherlock stood beside her with a blank expression, and with his fingers in his pocket, he unconsciously tapped on the small jade earring:

"Why are we standing in front of the jewelry store?"

"Of course I want to buy something."

Ludwig touched his pocket, and walked in resolutely with the expression of a strong man breaking his wrist.

Then, he walked straight to the... ring counter.

Sherlock's movements were unexpectedly slow, and he stood there for a few seconds before slowly following her.

He looked at the small and exquisite rings held on the dark blue velvet cushions, shining brightly under the bright high-power LED lights.

His expression...unfathomable.

He opened his mouth slowly: "You want...to buy a ring?"

"Ah."

Ludwig looked at the glass cabinet with interest:

"What do you think of this one?"

Sherlock turned around, leaning his back against the glass cabinet, took out his phone, but didn't do anything.

"It's too clean."

He didn't look at the ring Ludwig was pointing to, but from the frequency of her previous eye movements, he accurately guessed the style she would choose.

Sherlock pursed his lips.

"Although this kind of efficiency is not without it, to be honest, it's a bit surprising..."

Ludwig was baffled:

"A friend's birthday, just buy him a gift, there is always nothing wrong with getting ready early."

Sherlock leaned on the glass cabinet with one elbow, and paused for a while when he heard this.

He put the phone back in his pocket and said without emotion:

"Really...what friend needs a ring? And I thought you were a loner"

"I'm not you, and I still need to carry out daily human social activities. As for giving the ring, of course there are my reasons."

Because the ring - the smallest size.

Nouveau riche, we are short of money.

Ludwig bit his lip. Because of the great difference in aesthetics between Leshiwei and Leshiwei, he couldn’t decide which one to buy:

"You should have heard his name, Serge Gainsbourg, the one who often delivers food to me, and the curtains and carpets at 221B Baker Street are all sent by him."

Sherlock frowned deeply:

"That's our apartment, why did you ask him to send you the curtains?"

"Because he was so busy at that time that he didn't even write me a letter, and you obviously forgot to buy the curtains."

Ludwig seems to have thought of something, a smile appeared on his lips:

"He is my next-door neighbor and lives across from my apartment. With such a relationship, I feel too sorry for myself if I don't call him when he is busiest."

Her finger landed on a plain silver wide ring, and she said to the shopping guide:

"I want to see this one, thanks."

"Wait a moment."

Sherlock turned his face slowly, looking at Ludwig for a moment.

She was choosing a ring intently.

That focus, it looked like she was picking out a wedding ring for herself.

His face was made fairer by the light, and his slender fingers slid across the glass, row after row of gemstones.

Sherlock looked at her, the hand on the counter was knocking on the glass impatiently, but after hearing Ludwig's words, he unconsciously tightened his fingers.

He was silent for a while, and then slowly said:

"What did you say?"

"what? What?"

"You said, he lives... across from you?"

"Hmm." Ludwig held the wide ring in his palm: "What do you think of this one?"

"It's almost the same—how long have you known each other?"

"It's been a few years."

Ludwig raised his face and thought for a moment:

"It seems to be eight years... Oh, we have known each other for eight years?"

She said in surprise:

"No, even for the sake of my youthful years, I have to buy him a bigger one...Miss, I don't want this one, please help me to change this one...Yes, it's the one inlaid with garnets."

Sherlock took out his phone again.

As he tapped quickly, he said in an inaudible tone:

"Eight years...it's unbelievable. Did he live across from you eight years ago? Or did he just move in later?"

"It's always been living opposite me, but I only found out when I went to the back."

"Do you usually meet alone? At your apartment or his?"

Ludwig's tone became a little cold, and his expression faded.

"His father had a bad temper, so he was the one who came to my apartment, and we didn't have any other friends, so we had to meet alone."

"Then the letters and items he sent you..."

"Sorry, although you act like you're chatting..."

Ludwig stared at the ring in his hand, and interrupted him indifferently:

"...But I know all too well about your endless interrogation methods... Are you interrogating me, sir."

Sherlock paused, "No."

"It's not good."

Ludwig put down the ring without looking at Sherlock, and said to the shopping guide:

"That's all, please wrap it up for me."

Sherlock's hands naturally reached into his pockets.

Just as he was about to take out his credit card, he heard Ludwig say coldly:

"I don't have to pay for the gifts I gave my friends, because I think you can't take care of yourself..."

Sherlock kept his hands in his coat pockets and turned to stare at her.

"Two days ago you were either solving a case or doing an experiment. I didn't want to disturb you, so I didn't say... You burned half a carpet for replacement, you used aqua regia to corrode the corner of the table, and you repaired the wall for bullets , all kinds of people still owe..."

Ludwig snapped his fingers:

"There's also the water, electricity, and internet bills at 221B Baker Street this month. You said you'd pay for me... and most importantly, a pile of fines and noise complaint compensation sheets as thick as bricks."

Sherlock stared at her expressionlessly: "... fine?"

"That's an amazing amount of money, and I've always admired the UK's regulation of noise... trust me, it can put you out of business for at least three days."

She smiled, full of malice:

"I've posted the list on the door of your room, hand it in all at once."

She turned around and said with a smile:

"Also, I know you don't bother to make friends with ordinary people, and you probably don't bother to ask your family for money...but I'm poor, and I'm especially poor these three days."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "So?"

"So, please, don't ask me to borrow money."

"..."

On a good morning with no cases.

The scent of flowers permeated the air, and a bird landed on the window, tapping its tiny beak on the edge of the flowerpot, swiping left and then again, cleaning up the food residue around the beak.

The sun shines through the curtains, and Ludwig wakes up in the morning filled with the aroma of bread.

Her roommate Sherlock had already made her bacon rolls.

...this must be a joke.

The last sentence is especially funny.

The actual situation is.

Three o'clock in the morning, Baker Street.

Ludwig sat up abruptly from the bed, and the sound of an out-of-tune violin could be heard intermittently outside the door.

…It’s really a euphemism to say that it can’t be tuned, it’s like the feeling of a cock being pinched by the throat and being ground on a stone.

"For your God's sake, Mr. Holmes, I've only slept two hours!"

Sherlock squatted on the sofa and changed his position.

Ludwig opened the bedroom door, and was immediately overwhelmed by the messiness of the living room.

"...What happened to the living room? Was it swept away by someone?"

"I'm looking for some information."

"...Stop playing the violin, do you want to be ticketed again?"

"I'm looking for some information."

"I didn't see you looking for information, I only saw you destroying your violin."

"I'm looking for some information."

"..."

Ludwig held his forehead with a headache:

"Even if you think you don't need to care about me, please consider Mrs. Hudson. She is no longer a young man, and she can't stand your trouble."

Except for the hand sawing wood, Sherlock still stared at a point of nothingness in front of him without moving.

But at any rate, I said something human, and I no longer repeat the machine.

"She won't mind. Mrs. Hudson put the thickest sound insulation on the walls of the room in the first week of my stay."

"...she's really wise."

Ludwig leaned against the door frame with his arms folded for a while, then simply went back to the room and began to change clothes.

"Where are you going so late?"

"Obviously, find a place to sleep."

"But we still have to go buy a mobile phone together today You promised me yesterday."

"Knowing this, you shouldn't disturb my sleep."

"You're not going to the hotel?"

Sherlock actually stopped the violin in his hand, and came to discuss with Ludwig these ignorant problems that he had always dismissed.

And the tone is very serious:

"Don't tell me you're going to spend the night with the owner of that cafe, you've only met a few times and he has ulterior motives for you."

"Who drove me out of my own room?"

Ludwig said as he put on his shoes:

"Don't say it as if you care about me. It's fine if you continue to solve your case."

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, and the light shone beside him, stretching his shadow very long.

He paused, and said with some difficulty: "I... am not solving the case."

Ludwig stopped and looked at him in surprise.

"It's amazing that there are times in your life where you don't solve crimes or do experiments."

His eyes are like pools of water.

And the warm-toned light floated in his eyes, like little by little fireflies.

This pair of overly shrewd and penetrating eyes, at this moment, reveals an illusion of gentleness.

Yes... an illusion, Ludwig thought, she was in an illusion.

"I wanted to focus on the experiment, but I couldn't concentrate, and then I tried to compose the music... still couldn't concentrate."

He looked at Ludwig with a look of confusion she had never seen before:

"It's never been the case before, and I just can't find the answer."

Ludwig looked at him even more strangely:

"The hunger of not eating for two consecutive days can't shake your concentration in the experiment... Now you actually say you can't concentrate?"

He angrily buried himself in the sofa.

Ludwig leaned against the door:

"Although this is a normal situation for ordinary people, you are definitely not in the category of ordinary people... Would you like to see a psychiatrist? By the way, treat your anti-social personality."

"I've revisited Jung, Freud, Karen Horney all psychoanalytic books."

He buried himself in the sofa, and suddenly sat up again:

"Wait, you just said that this is normal for ordinary people?"

Ludwig was baffled:

"It's normal for your mind to drift occasionally, it just means that you can't control its influence on you."

Sherlock stared at her strangely, like a hawk staring at a rabbit:

"No kidding, I have total control of my mind and nothing can distract me without my permission."

"I'm also surprised by this...but it's like that for ordinary people, especially when it comes to love."

"Love? No, Vichy."

He raised his chin:

"Don't confuse me with normal people, love is nothing but hormones, I'm in love but can control it - totally."

Sherlock folded his fingers and sat on the sofa, which was his usual thinking posture.

Ludwig dismissed the assumption that he was "in love."

Seeing that he was in a state of meditation, she put on the other shoe lightly, and just about to go downstairs, she suddenly heard Sherlock say:

"Help me get two books, one fell fifteen centimeters from the floor on the left side of the fireplace..."

"Sorry, can't you take it yourself? I've already put on my shoes and don't want to take them off again."

"...I threw the other one next to the floor lamp on the right side of the refrigerator, under the "Principles of Legal Philosophy."

Ludwig sighed, took off another shoe he had just put on, and tiptoed to help him find a book:

"If you have time to memorize the specific location of each book you throw away, can you put them back in their original place?"

"I don't have to spend time remembering."

He presses two fingers to his temple, which makes him look like an antenna:

"When they occur, they are automatically stored as a picture, like a photoreactive negative."

"Where is it... fifteen centimeters away..."

Ludwig ignored him, facing the scattered books on the ground, completely unable to start:

"Fuck, "Medical Molecular Biology", "Inorganic and Analytical Chemistry"? These are all messy books... There is even "On Irrigation and the Growth of Wheat"?!...Mr. 123 Is romance farming?"

Sherlock turned his head: "123 Romance?"

Ludwig: "...It's just a small town in the remote east that often suffers from convulsions. Don't pay attention to these details."

Sherlock turned his head back: "Some basic bibliographies I read in the past two days can already be thrown away."

... If I remember correctly, "Medical Molecular Biology" is a doctoral level book...

"Sorry, I don't feel the basics at all... Ah, are these two books?"

Ludwig picked up the two books lying on the ground, which looked like they hadn't been opened for a long time, and were extremely embarrassed——

Then she was shocked...

""Selected Poems of Verlaine"? "Anthology of Moore's Poems"!? Isn't this a love poem?...Mr. Holmes, I can understand that you go to plant wheat, but why do you have such a book that is not Sherlock-Holmes at all? ?”

"I bought it at the airport to learn the local language before I went to Ireland five years ago. When I got off the plane, I threw it in the trash can and was sent back by the staff with a strong sense of responsibility or passion according to the plane ticket in the book... "

He was still immersed in his thoughts, so he was a little impatient to answer.

Although it is not obvious from the expression, Ludwig can find it from his faster than usual speaking speed.

"A completely cumbersome way of explaining, I really don't know why such a worthless thing as literature can exist for so long."

Ludwig flipped through the Irish in the poetry collection and said with great interest:

"Literature aside...I've thought about learning Irish too, how long did it take you to learn it?"

"From getting on the plane to getting off the plane."

Ludwig felt that he couldn't be more tired: "...forget it, let's talk about literature."

"About literature?"

He finally moved.

"No, it's too boring."

"Since it's boring, why do you turn them out and read them?"

"Because of the truth!"

He jumped up from the couch and started flipping the pages quickly.

That's right, flipping.

That kind of speed can never be called flipping.

"I need to know the truth about my inability to concentrate!"

"But Moore wrote mostly love poetry, nothing to do with psychoanalysis..."

As Ludwig was talking, a flash of inspiration suddenly appeared in his mind.

But immediately after the flash, it went black, like a big pot lid that "slapped" to cover the world.

Is it...

Is it! !

Emma, ​​this is so impossible!The probability of encountering this kind of thing is as rare as Halley waiting for Halley's Comet, waiting until death may not necessarily wait!

but……

The so-called truth, there is only one.

Overthrow all, the remaining one, even if it is impossible, is the truth.

So, after all these impossible conclusions, she came to the conclusion that——

Mr. Holmes, Lianlian... in love?