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

When Sherlock solves the case, the suspect in the case is a tool man in his eyes. He already has speculations in his heart. The dirt is all to corroborate and correct his speculation.

His gaze is sharper than that of an eagle, and his slightly raised jaw and fingers resting on his temples represent his attitude.

Sherlock didn't question Wensty in the manner of interrogating a criminal suspect. He was lying on the bed and landed in a lake, staring at her without blinking. a white cloud.

Regarding the question he raised, Winsty gave an explanation before. He was William Scott, and she admired his knowledge and came here especially for him.

Apparently he didn't believe it.

During the moment of Wensty's silence, Sherlock felt that time passed very slowly. It was definitely not caused by time-space distortion, but his own subjective consciousness was at work.

Sherlock felt like a century had passed when she spoke.

"It's going to sound weird when you say it, and you might not believe it."

"I believe," the white cloud in Sherlock's eyes became softer, "tell me."

Mrs. Holmes has always hoped that her two sons would be less intelligent. The happiest people in the world are fools. Fools may lack the ability to discern lies, but most lies can make a relationship last.

Sherlock has already decided that on this matter, he might as well pretend to be a fool. If Wensty still maintains his initial rhetoric, he will not pursue it anymore, but the truth is still buried in the mystery, and he will not give up solving the mystery , One day when he solves the puzzle, he will quietly hide it and make it a secret, which will be placed in his memory palace forever.

Wensti seemed to have made up her mind. She took a deep breath, her chest heaved, and she said slowly, "I'm here to kill you."

This possibility appeared in Sherlock's predictive speculation, but it was quickly ruled out by him.

If she came to kill him, she had many opportunities to kill him. She could add poison to his coffee at breakfast, she could do it while he was sleeping, or she could take a knife and stab him in the heart while they were hugging. But none of these, she couldn't even fire a gun, but she stood here and said she was here to kill him.

After the hardest words have been said, it is much easier to say what comes next.

"I'm here to kill you," Winsty repeated, and continued, "You may not believe it..."

"I believe. Why did you kill me?"

Sherlock's tone sounded as normal as "why can't drink coffee at night and drink milk".

"This is my mission."

That's right, she has no grievances or enmities with him, and she has no direct motive for killing.

However, she came to kill him for a mission—who is the dispatcher of the mission? She has stayed in Broome for 18 years and has rarely had contact with outsiders. The first time she came to London was to kill him. The only possibility It was instigated by her family, but if her family had murderous intentions, he could do it when he went to Adams Manor, and it was impossible for him to come out with healthy limbs.

Under the warm light, Wensty's eyes looked extraordinarily crystal clear, shining like beautiful glass balls.Sherlock will not say some beautiful words to praise her beautiful eyes. His compliments are usually very straightforward, that is, staring into her eyes and looking for his own figure in her eyes, just like this moment.

"This is a ridiculous story. The person who asked me to kill you comes from the future..."

Winsty's eyes were full of Sherlock, and she read his thoughts from his expression. She guessed that Sherlock would say with a little sarcasm, "You read too many fairy tales" or "Your imagination So rich."

What she said was too ridiculous. If someone else told her like this, she would never believe it.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock didn't mock or doubt, the emotion in his eyes was very clean, and his eyes were still soft like a cloud of white clouds, he waited for her to continue talking.

Having come to this point, Wensty put aside her burden and told the ins and outs: "Actually, I am also from the future. I am a witcher, a branch of wizards, and it is our innate instinct to catch the undead that endanger the world." 50 years later, the world will not be the same as the current world. 50 years later, the undead and demons will cause harm to the world. The number and energy of demon hunters are limited, and the power of the ancient undead is too powerful. It is us I can't resist, the world is no longer the world, but a purgatory. What does all this have to do with you? If there is no ancient undead, the demon hunter can be in a delicate balance with the undead. The appearance of the ancient undead broke the balance point. The balance is tilted in the direction of the undead. The ancient undead has been sealed in a book of the undead, and you have unlocked this seal. We cannot resist the power of the ancient undead. We can only stop you from opening the seal of the book of the undead. The thing is in this way."

After saying all the words, Wensti breathed a sigh of relief, as if he had sprinted to the finish line in a 1000-meter long-distance race.

Her story was finished, but Sherlock didn't respond.

Winsty guessed that Sherlock had listened to this as a magical story.

"To put it simply, I am from the future. I am a demon hunter. You have opened the seal of the Book of the Dead. I will kill you."

It turns out that such a long story can be summed up in one sentence.

Compared with this strange and mysterious statement, it is obvious that her first statement seemed normal and reasonable.

How does Sherlock feel?

Wensty looked at Sherlock. He is not a person who writes all his emotions and thoughts on his face. The more complex emotions he hides, the better he can hide them. She can only see calmness on his face, his expression is like a ripple There is no surface of the lake, whether there is a whirlpool or a water monster hidden in the lake, she can't read it at all.

Winsty: "Maybe you don't believe it, but the real situation is like this."

"I believe." Sherlock said.

From the moment he asked the question, she made many assumptions, and she always expected that he didn't believe her, but Sherlock told her "I believe" firmly every time.

He can easily see that she is lying, and the more genuine her look and the more urgent her tone is when she wants you to believe her story.

But this time, her tone was very flat, just describing an event that had happened, the same tone she used when she told Mrs. Hudson the dessert recipe.

She wasn't lying, it was all the truth.

The story is indeed too fantasy, but all the impossibilities can be discarded, and the remaining one, no matter how bizarre, is the truth.

"I believe, but I need proof."

"Do you have paper in your room?" Wensty asked.

Sherlock pointed to the cabinet in the right corner of the room: "It should be there."

Winsty brought the scratch paper that Sherlock used to write Oxford math problems when he was a child, and began to fold butterflies, while Sherlock watched her quietly.

Winsty is very skilled at folding butterflies, and within a minute, a paper butterfly appeared in her hand. She held the paper butterfly to Sherlock, like a magician who always asks the audience before the magic trick begins. Check the same.

Then she closed her eyes and silently recited a spell. The paper butterfly was brought to life, its wings began to flutter, and the paper full of calculation drafts gradually turned blue.

A blue, fluorescent butterfly appeared in Sherlock's room, exactly the same as the butterfly that greeted him uphill in Broome and the butterfly that flew into 221B Baker Street at night.

"This is a spirit butterfly. It is used to find people. Every time you see it, it is not by chance. It is a signal that I am looking for you."

The butterfly flapped its wings and landed on Sherlock's shoulder.

"In the 13 years since I came here, Lingdie came to my door with you, but when you said you were a flower picker, I thought Lingdie was also greedy for the fragrance of flowers just like ordinary butterflies."

She misunderstood Psylocke.

This is really fortunate, if she is 13 years old, she will not hesitate to do it when she meets Sherlock who has no half-cross.

Then the story came to the finale. She would not know another Sherlock who was completely different from the one in the history textbook. He was not cruel, violent, heinous, and he did not regard human life as nothing. He is such a lovely person.

Sherlock spread out his palm, and the butterfly flew to his palm, his touch was so real, what was in his palm was a butterfly, not his mathematical calculation paper.

"How do you prove that you are from the future?" Sherlock held the butterfly in his hand, "This can only prove that you are a witcher."

"Uh... the UK will leave the EU in a few years' time."

What can prove that she is from the future is to say something that will happen in the future.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and dialed Mycroft.

If the UK will leave the EU in a few years, there should be a plan by now, and his brother, a small civil servant working in the government department, cannot possibly not know.

Mycroft had just finished his fruit tart and was sorting out the crumbs on his clothes and in the room, where he didn't have a secretary to do everything himself.

"We're just separated by a wall, you can come to my room and find me," said Mycroft.

"It's still more convenient to make a phone call. Let me ask you, is it possible for the UK to leave the EU in the next few years?"

Sherlock is a person who doesn't care about politics. He may not even know who the current Prime Minister is, but he suddenly asked such a thing.

Mycroft's tone became serious: "Who revealed it to you?"

This was supposed to be a government secret, and they were just discussing it among themselves, and they haven't made a final decision yet, but why did Sherlock know about it?

From Mycroft's tone, Sherlock knew that Winsty was right.

"Goodbye." Sherlock hung up the phone.

The blue spirit butterflies flew around the room, and his room turned into a garden, and the little girl in the garden... probably the most amazing little girl in the world.

The author has something to say: I was talking nonsense about the time of the European Union, please don't take it seriously.

When I was writing this chapter, I suddenly thought of writing a lily essay about Dongfeng’s sister, and the other heroine was the heroine of Stokeli, so I will write it when I have time.