BBC Sherlock Howard, Misplaced - Survive

child.

—Mrs. Hudson wants him to take in a drug addict?

The landlady was covering up for Sherlock, yes.

He should have expected the landlord's familiarity and tolerance for such a case - no, he couldn't have expected it, because he never thought Sherlock would have such a vice.

self-destruction.

His cell phone was on the sidelines, and the last recorded call was Mary's number.

"Did you forget, John?" The woman on the other end of the phone seemed a little surprised, "The last time we met, I said I had two bottles of [-] vintage wine at home, and I wanted to give you one, so I told you You asked for your address. I went to find you today, and the landlady told me that you were out.”

"Look at my horrible memory," the doctor smiled wryly, "I'm so sorry."

"She told me about you. Are you okay? You don't sound good."

"It's a mess. But I can live with it."

—Can he really survive it?

John couldn't help but wonder, what if the Sherlock he knew wasn't Sherlock - so what were those seven years?

This is crazy.

Why did Sherlock want to be close to him?He was just a poor army doctor with a limp at first.

"Future roommates should first know each other's worst habits."

Sherlock knew from the beginning that John was looking for a roommate, and also knew that he wouldn't say no.

— worst habit.But he hid it from him.

John came to Sherlock's room.He told himself that he stepped into his roommate's private space because it was a big deal, but when he pressed the doorknob, John threw in the towel.

He just misses him so much.Those high-sounding reasons are just added value.

There was no denying it - after all the unpleasant news, he still missed him.

He didn't even know why he thought of him that way.

He pushed open the door.A few dust particles were flying in the faint light, the sheets and quilt were still not in the correct position, only one corner was still clinging to the mattress.His coat was hanging on the back of the chair, and the scarf was casually placed on the armrest, half hanging to the ground.

Everything is so vivid and alive.

Like he never left.

John picked up the quilt from the floor. Sherlock used to keep him warm with that quilt - the military doctor once had a bad cold and a high fever, and Sherlock just let him do it all night.

"Sherlock... cold." John mumbled, tucking his arms and legs under the covers.He has been feeling unwell since the night before, but he still bites the bullet and goes to work.It ended up like this.

"Would you like something to drink?"

John closed his eyes and shook his head, "Cold."

As if he could only say that one word.

He heard the detective's eager footsteps going downstairs.Soon, he brought another quilt to cover him, "Is it better?"

"Um."

Sherlock touched John's flushed cheeks with the back of his cool hand, and the doctor backed away a little displeased. Sherlock was still unwilling to let go, insisting on pressing his palm to his face.

But John didn't fight back.

Just when Sherlock was wondering, the man spoke:

"……do not go."

"what?"

May be fainted.the detective wondered.

"Pull up a chair and sit down next to my bed, please."

He did so.

John closed his eyes, breathing regularly. Sherlock was watching him by the standing lamp, the doctor had asked him not to leave, so naturally he did not leave.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.The detective just listened to the military doctor's turbid and laborious breathing, watched his eyelashes tremble under the light, and his thin lips occasionally murmured something like a raving.

He'd never looked at him so closely and quietly, seeing the firm lines of his features and the subtleties that fascinated Sherlock.

"I rarely tell you about... my family."

John said softly. Sherlock couldn't tell if this was a dream or the beginning of a conversation.

"Yes. What's wrong?"

"My mother died when I was eight. My father left me and Harry and remarried. We spent our childhoods in nurseries. I haven't been this sick for a long time, and it's been a long time. . . no one To be able to accompany me like this. Harry is not that kind of person, you know that. She always gives me a few pills to swallow and then go about her own business."

John's eyes suddenly became blank, "I still think about those things sometimes. A long, long time ago, there was always someone in this position, watching me sleep soundly..."

Sherlock felt a burst of moisture with his fingertips lightly resting on the medic's cheek, "It's okay. I'm just... damn out of control..." the man said hurriedly after meeting the detective's eyes.

"John, can you sit up?"

"good."

He lifted him up and sat him on the bed against the wall.

"Look at me," the detective commanded. "Keep your head up."

——I'm already sick and you still want to instruct me like this? John thought Sherlock would understand him - just for a day.

The military doctor turned his head, a little unhappy: "What?"

His thoughts have always been fuzzy, and now even the face looking at Sherlock is blurred, kind of soft and warm.

It's like a sunset city.All the hustle and bustle and vitality are bathed in the orange-red hue, which is harmonious, gentle and charming.

"Concentrate on me."

"I'm watching...Listen, Sherlock, I'm tired. Don't play tricks."

"Quiet."

Sherlock's hand rests on John's cheek again.The medic felt his breath stop. Sherlock was looking at him, looking at him without distraction.

"Listen to me, John."

Sherlock pulled him into his arms and whispered in his ear, "Listen to me. No matter what your past is, or what your future may be, I'm here. You won't be abandoned or left out. Never again." meeting."

The doctor's arms returned to the man.Perhaps it was the fluctuating emotions that made him forget where he was and who was in front of him in an instant. Sherlock tightened his grip, like holding on to the string of a kite, refusing to let go. John closed his eyes and let himself lean against his roommate.

He whispered his name: "Sherlock..."

Perhaps since then, he has fallen into an abyss of tenderness.

He still misses him, even after the deception.

He just couldn't help himself.

Memories are a frightening thing, and John doesn't want to think about them anymore.

He looked around and finally left sadly.

John's footsteps stepped on a ground, and he found that the floor seemed to be loose.

He squatted down to check, while thinking about the reason for the looseness of the wood chips on the floor—expansion with heat and contraction with cold?Maybe.He'll remember to fix it next time.

He lifted the piece of wood with his hands and found a groove underneath.

Inside lay two syringes and some unlabeled bottles and jars.

John felt very disturbed.He made a phone call.

"Molly, is Butz's lab still open? I think I need your help."

"John, there's a letter in the mailbox downstairs."

Mrs. Hudson was still cautious in speaking to him, for fear that a mistake might cause the doctor to break down emotionally.

"For me?"

"No, there is no signature. I haven't opened it, and I don't know what the contents are."

John glanced at what the landlord had brought, and gasped in surprise—black envelope, unsigned!

He took the envelope from Mrs. Hudson, as he expected, inside was a card with printed words.

"I think I'm about to die."

"Oh God..." John murmured, swallowing, "Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry, I think I need to be alone."

"Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you."

The man nodded, turned his head and stepped into the stairwell.

John needed a place to think about all this - the printed envelope had arrived twice:

——Goodbye, John.

——I think I'm about to die.

Then there's the unknown solution found in Sherlock's room.

what else?How many more?

John sat down on the sofa, his mind still not as flexible as Sherlock's.But this mystery, he must solve.

"What the hell is that stuff in your head? It must be boring."

—God damn it, Sherlock, I've got you in my head right now.

What have they been talking about in the past days?Reading the morning paper, discussing the case, discussing Mycroft's weight-loss success, complaining about dinner, deciding who was going to the supermarket for milk and beans, talking - between the two of them.

"Do you envy me, John?"

"Of course, I'm extremely envious!"

Sherlock was very disdainful when he heard John's answer.It seems that he is very dissatisfied with his current situation.

"Isn't it good to escape from your original life once in a while?"

Why escape?What's wrong with living like this?

"John, don't miss this opportunity!"

Why investigate suicide?He'd never done that before, never.

"Why do you think a man commits suicide?"

As if a night of ridiculous behavior at the casino was just to ask this question. Sherlock raised an eyebrow when John remembered that he had said the word "for love".

what else? John's rolling Adam's apple symbolized his restlessness.He saw a dead leaf caught between the pages—it was Boccaccio's Decameron.

——Miserable and painful encounters are an aspect of life shown by the endless cycle of fate.

John closed his eyes in pain, "No..."

Everything seems to make sense.

Their assumptions and perceptions are not absurd.

"I want to kill myself, I want to die."

His roommate - Sherlock Holmes, maybe really...

Every time Sherlock showed that look - that fake, armed look, it was when "suicide" was touched.

If it is said that his posturing is to hide something, what is it?

Sherlock.

I don't understand you more and more.

"That's... the solution. The weight percentages of the two bottles of solution are [-]% and [-]% respectively." Molly said with embarrassment.

John was lost in thought.

He now had to accept Sherlock's death as an acceptable hypothesis.Even though John didn't want to think so, his stubbornness would bring everything to a standstill.

"Do you think this has something to do with his...death?"

Molly looked at the doctor in surprise, "He's not dead... isn't that what you believe in?"

"Scotland Yard came to see you," John smiled wryly, "I hope he's still alive, too."

"They did come to me to discuss something," Molly's eyes darkened, "to discuss the cause of Sherlock's death."

"Why didn't they find me for such an important matter? This is too much, I'm him—"

best friend?the most important person?

"——'s roommate, seven years' roommate." Time is the most favorable evidence.

Molly's expression became a little embarrassed, "It's better if you don't go."

"why?"

"You definitely don't want to hear their conclusions."

"What did they say?"

Molly's face paled even more under the fluorescent light.For a split second, John found he couldn't read the girl's emotions.

"Actually, have you ever thought about it—if he really died, it was because of you?"

"I killed Moriarty."

Sherlock finally picked out only one sentence from the mixed memories, which was short and heavy.

"I seem to know something - oh, Sherl, oh!"

Irene's shrewd eyes were full of joy, "After Moriarty died, Moran has been leading the hunt to kill you—in fact, you want to fake death, right?"

Sherlock decided to fake suicide in order to get rid of Moriarty's remnants.

Everything he's doing is a foretelling, and maybe that will lessen John's pain, make his suicide less of a surprise, and change his testimony before the police to say "Sherlock seems to have been implying, It implies that he is bored with life and wants to die." Not "I trust Sherlock Holmes, that bastard must be hiding somewhere now and avoid seeing me."

The behavior of those remaining parties almost threatened the doctor's life.Detectives couldn't sit idly by, Sherlock would give them what they wanted.

"Interesting, it all makes sense now."

"so what?"

"It's not that good. I've already exposed your scheme. It's not very clever."

"The world's demands on me are always inexplicably high."

Irene chuckled, "But I'm not one of them.

I have already released the news, and everyone outside thinks that you are dead, which also happens to be in line with your plan.Also, you can rest assured that Moran and I are not in the same group. I have never gotten along with him, so I am reluctant to let you die. "

"Thank you for your mercy."

"Then, we can proceed to the next game with peace of mind."

Irene picked up the phone and glanced at the screen above.

"We somehow contacted your doctor and sent some messages..."

"What did you say to him?"

"A message that might make him a little uneasy." The corner of the woman's lips raised, "Then, the game begins.

Tell me, what ruined Dr. Watson? "

Everyone has weaknesses.She was convinced.