[Comprehensive British and American] Those years when I opened a dessert shop on Baker Street

When Mycroft and Sherlock were brainstorming, Wensty helped Mrs. Holmes clean up the dishes and was free, leaning against the door and staring out of the house in a daze.

There is the sound of Mrs. Holmes and Mr. Holmes talking in the room, and there is a clear night outside the room, and the light joy washes away the roughness of the sand and dust in the daytime.

Mrs. Holmes came up to her and said to her, "Sherlock's room is upstairs, second on the left."

Mrs. Holmes and Mr. Holmes have the habit of reading at night. This habit has been maintained for nearly 30 years. After dinner, after finishing their work, the two of them will go into the room to read their favorite books, and then at 10:30 Falling asleep, if there is no special situation, will not go out of the room.

Their schedule is like this, but it doesn’t mean that everyone has a schedule like this. Young people are always very energetic. After Mrs. Holmes informed Wensty of the exact location of the room, she planned to leave. By default, Winston and Sherlock will live in the same room.

But Winsty didn't think so. Although Sherlock told her that sooner or later they would sleep together in the same bed. After 32 days or 35 days, this period of time was enough for their relationship to make a new progress, but now The progress bar isn't fully loaded yet, sharing the same bed in a motel because there's only one bed, no need for hypocritical shoving.

Winsty asked, "Are there any other rooms?"

"There is a spare room, but I haven't had time to tidy it up yet," Mrs. Holmes replied. "I thought you and Sherlock had reached this point. You two used the same kind of shower gel."

Mrs. Holmes' "this step" was vague. When Sherlock and Winsty entered the door, she noticed that the body wash on both of them had the same smell.

"This should be the general brand of shower gel for motels." Not surprisingly, everyone in the motel used the same shower gel.

"Oh, but you're supposed to be sharing a room at the motel."

"Yes."

"Then if you don't particularly mind, you'd better sleep in Sherlock's room today. That spare room hasn't been cleaned for a long time. It's been many years. It should have accumulated a lot of dust."

There was a trace of sadness in Mrs. Holmes' eyes. She seemed to be trapped in the past. That spare room seemed to hide something that made her feel sad. Because of this layer of sadness, she suddenly looked a little older .

Wensti didn't want to see Mrs. Holmes like this, so she hurriedly said, "Okay, I don't mind."

The progress bar of her sharing the bed with Sherlock has obviously been sped up a lot.

"That's good," Mrs. Holmes gave Winsty a hug. "Good night, my dear boy."

After she finished speaking, she went upstairs to her room.

Winsty stared at the back of Mrs. Holmes leaving. The hug Mrs. Holmes gave her just now felt like Morticia, and their hugs were full of mother's love.

Mycroft and Sherlock spent far longer than the eighteen minutes it took to run the three kilometers. The two brothers waited outside in the yard until the smell of cigarettes had cleared from their bodies before returning.

The two of them did not "fight against each other" at the dinner table at all, but helped each other to smell the smell of smoke on their clothes. If Mrs. Holmes smelled a trace of smoke on their clothes the next day, neither of them could avoid it. Nagging, when the stand is the same, Sherlock and Mycroft can present a harmonious scene of brothers and sisters.

The two also struck a deal outside.

"Are there any cherries left?" Mycroft asked Winsty as soon as he entered the door.

Winsty nodded.

"Then make me a cherry tart." At dinner today, the cherry tart in front of Mycroft was like a curvaceous siren. seabed.

Didn't Mycroft want to lose weight? Could it be because Mrs. Holmes was about to go to bed, so he wanted to take advantage of this opportunity to steal a meal?

Wensti subconsciously looked at Mrs. Holmes and Mr. Holmes' room, the lights in the room were still on.

It was not that Winsty was unwilling to make cherry tarts for Mycroft. It was not a laborious task, and making desserts would have been a pleasure, but Mrs. Holmes was particularly concerned about Mycroft's figure and weight. It's important, she hasn't slept yet, will stealing the kitchen to make things alarm her?

"You can rest assured about this," Mycroft saw what she was thinking from the direction of her gaze, "this is mother's night reading time, as long as she sinks into the ocean of knowledge, her sensitivity to the outside world It will be lowered, and if we are careful enough we won't disturb her."

Winsty looked at Sherlock again.

Sherlock said lightly: "Make him a cherry tart."

After speaking, he went upstairs to the second room on the left, his room.

Every step Sherlock took upstairs was like a leaf in water.

"We can begin." Mycroft smiled.

For an excellent dessert chef, it is easy to make a cherry tart for one person, but Wensty can't let go of his hands and feet. The reason is that Mycroft, he is like a bird hiding in the deep forest The lion in the picture is watching every move of its prey.

The last time the two were alone, she was the suspect in the violence in Newman's private hospital, and he was the interrogator. The interrogation was not over until the results of the interrogation came out.

When Wensty was making cherry tarts, Mycroft had the time to chat with her, and she was careful about every sentence. The last experience told her that every sentence of Mycroft might be a minefield.

"Where's my umbrella?"

"In the car," said the umbrella, which had many bullet marks on its surface and was already uneven, "but it might need a refurbishment."

"This kind of umbrella cannot be refurbished, it can only be remade. The design idea of ​​this umbrella comes from Sherlock, a veritable umbrella, which has protected me many times."

What should I say next, praise the performance of this umbrella?

"It works really well."

Wensty was still unable to communicate freely with Mycroft at this time, who knew if there was a hidden trap in his ordinary words.

Mycroft chuckled lightly: "You don't have to be restrained, I really don't have anything to talk about with you, except for what you did in Newman's private hospital and your purpose, these interrogation topics are the only things left. Sherlock. I made a deal with Sherlock just now, you make me a cherry tart, and I won't bring up any interrogation topics, so we can talk..."

Only Sherlock was left.

Wensty didn't stop making fruit tarts, but her mind had already froze.

"Although your craftsmanship is good, a plate of food will not make me compromise. The one who can really make me compromise is my brother."

Mycroft pronounced the word "brother" hard.

His next smile was one-third relieved and three-point helpless: "Since he has recognized you, in time you will become a member of the Holmes family, and I will protect my family with my life."

Mycroft's words were like a mountain rising from the ground, and Winsty's throat was blocked. At this moment, she should have politely thanked her, but the words were stuck in her throat, and her eyes were slightly sour.

It didn't take long to make the cherry tart. After Mycroft took the tart away, Wensty sat alone in the living room, and Mycroft's last words kept lingering in her mind.

Mycroft took off the appearance of a lion, and said to her majesticly but kindly with a brother's eyes: "He treats you with sincerity, and I hope you will do the same."

The man who stirred up the situation cared about his younger brother just like most ordinary elder brothers.

It was late enough that Winsty went upstairs to Sherlock's room, the second from the left on the second floor.

He was lying on the bed, his gray-blue eyes were looking at the ceiling, silent and quiet, hiding thousands of emotions.

His sheets are lake blue, and his whole figure falls into the lake.

"Your mother said that the spare room hasn't been cleaned yet, so let's sleep in the same room first."

Sherlock moved aside to make room for her.

This is the room where Sherlock grew up. There are not many childish decorations, but there are some imprints of the years. There are several photo frames on the bedside table, which are all of him when he was a child.

There are no photographs of Sherlock at all in the Baker Street apartment, so seeing Sherlock here - and a miniature version of Sherlock as a child - is like finding a treasure.

Winsty picked up the frame and looked at it carefully.

"Was it your childhood dream to be a pirate?"

One of the framed photos shows Sherlock dressed as a pirate, wearing a black wide-brimmed hat with the pirate logo printed on it, and a skull armband pinned to his clothes.

"Yes." he replied.

"Why do you want to be a pirate?"

"Freedom, excitement, full of unknowns, courage, rationality, and wisdom are indispensable."

Through his answer, Winsty could see a man standing amidst the stormy sea.

There was a smile on her lips that she didn't even notice.

In the next frame is a miniature Sherlock with a large dog.

"Is this your pet?"

"It's called Redbeard. I really thought he was a stupid kid until I met other kids...he was my playmate."

The mini Sherlock in the photo is smiling. This big dog should mean a lot to him. She didn't see it, maybe it passed away.

"Put this picture frame down."

The photo of the smiling miniature Sherlock made him feel stupid, and he didn't want to see it, but put it in plain sight.

"It's so cute." Winsty liked the photo very much, "Why don't you give it to me?"

"Okay." Sherlock looked at the photo, then at her.

Winsty stuffed the photo happily into his pocket.

"I have a question for you."

The amount of time he spent alone in his room was enough to solve twenty math problems, enough to crack a complicated case, and enough to pull him out of the puzzle game and push him straight to the right answer.

"What is your purpose in coming to me?"