"The Widow" Bertha

Bertha always felt that things were not so simple.

This type of criminal case is directly related to her past career, so Bertha has a more keen sense of this type of murder—let’s say that the Thornfield Manor murder was normal before, so Martha Garrison’s death brought a lot of pressure. There are many confusing places.

They don't have many clues now. After investigating the scene, Holmes didn't give any response, which proves that the dignified detective has gained very little.

So the only thing that can be confirmed at present is that the murderer who killed Martha Garrison has quite professional knowledge of anatomy. He not only understands it, but is also extremely skilled.This almost straight-forwardly circles the scope of the murderer - he is likely to be a doctor.

From ancient times to the present, no one can learn anatomy knowledge. The price of supporting a doctor is not low, and the murderer is at least from the middle class.

So the question is, why does the middle class have contact with the prostitutes at the bottom of society?

Britain is a country with quite solidified classes, even more so in the Victorian era.There is an unbridgeable gap between those who can afford medicine and the residents of Whitechapel, and this Miss Martha Garrison is neither beautiful nor young, and she has no ability to bridge this gap.

There are tricks.

Secondly, this murder case did not happen sooner or later, but it happened after two events: first, Holmes just started to investigate whether the Truth Society was related to the famous medical journal "Medical and Scientific Research"; second, in the Whitechapel District, Some people are secretly provoking the relationship between Thames and the White Pigeon Gang, and even spreading rumors about Mrs. Thames in private.

Although on the surface the murder had nothing to do with these two events, Bertha had doubts when it happened so coincidentally.

"Your assumption is correct, ma'am," the man sitting on the sofa in the bedroom put down the book in his hand, he rubbed the space between his brows, "As you said, this case happened very strangely, and it probably wasn't a simple vendetta or love to kill."

"It's a pity that it can't be proved that it is related to me, or to the Truth Society." Bertha sighed.

"Why do you say that?"

Mycroft turned his head to the side, and said unhurriedly: "The murder happened in your sphere of influence. No matter what the murderer's motive is, this case is related to you."

Right.

Seeing that Bertha figured this out, Mycroft continued: "Shelley mentioned that there is a high possibility that the murderer also subscribed to "Medical and Scientific Research". He's pushing it with me, and it looks like we've got to pick up the pace."

Bertha raised her eyebrows: "Brothers are of the same heart, and their benefits can cut through gold."

Mycroft smiled when he heard the words. Of course he understood Bertha's subtext, and he took the initiative to answer: "I rarely cooperate with Shelly. He doesn't like the posture of me sitting behind the scenes and instructing others. Acting style. But please rest assured, ma'am, this will not affect our efficiency. Leave it to me to track down the publications, and you still have to rely on your people to catch the murderer."

Bertha: "Naturally."

Mycroft nodded slightly, then frowned suddenly as if remembering something.

"Why?" Bertha asked sharply.

"Never mind," said Mycroft, "it's just—"

He pinched his brow again.

Bertha paused as she undid her bun, and then she understood: "Are you uncomfortable?"

Mycroft: "..."

The man still seemed to want to refute, but seeing Bertha's surprised dark golden eyes, he knew he couldn't avoid it, so he could only sigh: "Maybe it's because of the wind blowing when I came back, and I have a headache. It's not a big deal."

"What do you mean it's no big deal?"

Bertha got up upon hearing this, and the tall girl walked slowly to the side of the sofa in the bedroom. She lightly stopped on the armrest, half sitting and half leaning, her posture quite intimate.Bertha raised her hand, her fingertips paused in mid-air, and with Mycroft's tacit approval, they landed carefully on the man's temple.

She massaged Mycroft's forehead: "How strong is it?"

It wasn't until this moment that Mycroft completely relaxed.

As the man leaned back, the center of his brows could not stop being locked tightly, apparently enduring the pain for a long time.

"Just right, ma'am."

The girl next to her offered to help, and Mycroft didn't insist anymore, and couldn't help but be grateful: "I deserve it."

"You must not fall down, Mike," Bertha laughed. "I still have to rely on you to track down the publications. The Truth Society is not easy to mess with, and it is even more troublesome without you."

"Where is it."

Mycroft smiled and enjoyed it with peace of mind: "But..."

"Ok?"

"Let the postman follow you from tomorrow, ma'am," he said, "although there is no shortage of bodyguards around you, it doesn't matter how many people there are. If Scotland Yard or some officials attack you, you and I can contact you in time. "

Bertha knew that Mycroft would never have uttered such words if her fingertips had not rested on the man's forehead.

It's not because he doesn't care, but because Holmes knows very well that the placement of people will not make Bertha happy, but more like an offense-is there no one around the majestic Mrs. Thames, and she has to rely on others to provide protection?

Mycroft would not do such offensive things.

"Okay."

But it is different in such a situation. It is more like the personal words of "Mr. and Mrs. Smith", as if when the husband and wife are intimate, the care and care from the husband can be ignored.

Bertha moved her fingers along the man's brow bone to the root of his mountain, exerted a little force, and rubbed the man's tightly locked brows: "What about you? I have to do something for you too."

"I really need your help." Mycroft said with a low smile.

"Just say it."

"Charlie Berry and they lent me."

"..."

Little Charlie?

Bertha raised her eyebrows slightly in surprise. She thought that even if Mycroft borrowed someone, he would also borrow Mickey the coachman.

But when he said it was useful, it was really useful.Bertha didn't say much, just nodded: "Just ask your coachman to explain to little Charlie, he is very familiar with those children."

After finishing speaking, she lightly touched Mycroft's forehead with the back of her hand: "Fortunately, there is no sign of fever, it should be just a slight wind chill. You have to be careful, Mike."

"That's enough, ma'am."

Mycroft Holmes was not indulging in tenderness. After a brief enjoyment, he reminded: "There is absolutely no reason for you to serve me. Just go to bed early tonight."

"Okay," Bertha smiled, "then I'll go ahead and undo my bun."

"Please."

Mycroft originally thought that Bertha would stand up and return to the dressing table, but he didn't expect that the girl next to him just withdrew the hand resting between his brows. pulled down.

The hair she tied herself was always loose, and when she pulled it casually, her long black hair slanted down.

— Bertha had discovered, back at Northfield Park, that Mycroft Holmes liked her long hair.

To be precise, it's not to the point of "liking", but whenever she looses her hair, men will always take a look or two more.This is quite obvious to the big devil in front of him.

Especially after meeting Lambert Byrne yesterday, Bertha had already had a bad molesting mentality.

"One thing just occurred to me, Mike."

The Jamaican girl raised her hand, and leaned half on Mycroft's shoulder, her voice seemed to be coquettish: "It was really wrong to say that you are the same as Lambert Byrne yesterday."

Mycroft turned his head sideways.

Bertha's hoarse voice was almost whispering: "You have seen me let my hair down many times."

The man laughed out loud.

He nodded seriously: "You are right, ma'am, after yesterday, I also thought of the same thing."

"Then tell me."

"Madam has always done her own way. She dared to set fire to Thornfield Manor and fake her death. She also dared to set up a scheme against members of the Truth Society. She never cared about the opinions of the world."

Saying this, Mycroft's palm fell on the back of Bertha's head.

A few strands of hair fell into the man's palm, and his eyes were slightly lowered, but he did not look at Bertha.

"Lambert Byrne and others can't get into Madam's eyes, Madam naturally doesn't care how he thinks of herself."

The eyes were staggered, but Mycroft narrowed the distance with Bertha.

"Then, why do you care so much about how I view this matter?" The gentleman's voice sounded in Bertha's ear, still cold, but with a somewhat hot smile, "My dear Bertha?"

When the words fell to the ground, Bertha was slightly taken aback.

The elder Holmes didn't give Bertha time to react, and the next moment the ambiguous temperature disappeared with the distance.Mycroft got up, first rubbed his aching forehead, and then he recovered his normal tone when he spoke again: "I'm going to send a telegram to the postman."

It was time for Bertha to wash and dress.

It was not until the man left the room and the bedroom door opened and closed that Bertha recovered.

Why do you care so much?

Of course because the man was Mycroft Holmes.

She raised her hand to touch her hair, and the back of her head that he seemed to touch just now was slightly swollen.

They slept in the same bed for many nights, but nothing happened.Even apart from the kisses related to etiquette, Mycroft's proactive contact was no more than that, almost touching, but still keeping a distance.

Bertha curled her lips.

What an anti-general, Mike.

***

The next morning.

The postman who had received the telegram in advance came to the door on time. He rang the doorbell, and after a long time, he heard Mr. Holmes say "come in".

It's nothing, the housekeeper is not here, and the apartment is small, so he didn't surprise the postman by answering the door himself.

What really surprised the postman was that when he stepped into the living room of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, he saw his always decent, calm and rigorous young master, who didn't even change his pajamas, just sitting on the sofa in a dark nightgown, He let his neat black hair scatter on his forehead, and was leisurely reading a newspaper.

"Just in time," said Mycroft, without looking up, "the lady will be leaving in a moment, you follow her."

"...Okay, okay."

As soon as the postman answered, he saw the well-dressed Mrs. Thames coming out of the kitchen with a teacup.She nodded to the postman first, then thrust the teacup into Mycroft's hand.

The gentleman in nightgown frowned immediately after taking the teacup: "Did you put ginger?"

"It's not negotiable," Bertha said in a firm tone, "otherwise you'll have a headache all day long."

Mycroft: "..."

In the end he chose to surrender, and the man sighed: "I just drink it."

Bertha smiled happily, and the Jamaican girl leaned over and kissed Mycroft on the forehead: "Rest well, don't go to the club today, don't make me worry."

After she finished speaking, she got up and looked at the postman again. The intimacy just now subsided, and she became the decisive and indifferent Mrs. Thames in the memory of the postman.

She said politely: "Let's go, Mr. 'Postman', please forgive me."

postman:"…………"

Damn, I was shown a face of affection early in the morning!