[Comprehensive Yingmei] Genius Lianmeng

Chapter11 special ingredients

There is simply no justice in this world, let someone like Sherlock, who invaded the earth in a flying saucer, have money, looks, brains, and such a nice voice... A good doctor who claims to be serious and responsible is full of acid, Bubbling like boiling.

"Sherlock is a star who never stops talking, Dr. Lecter, he will seize every opportunity to show that he is different, and he is even willing to live longer than God, just to say the last sentence..." Watson turned his head, With his left hand on his hips, his right hand pressed against his forehead, his lower lip was biting his teeth, and he spoke weakly.Then he tore a piece of quail with his bare hands like a thug tearing off a weak woman's clothes, and forcefully stuffed it into Sherlock's open and closed mouth, "I've washed my hands." I can't let this guy continue talking...

"The smell of flames, John, it's about to burn." Sherlock Tsundere Cat Shut Up or Die Sherlock Holmes said seriously and pointedly.

Watson snorted, and ignored him as usual: There is a type of person in the world, the more you pay attention to him, the more eloquent he is, the more hesitant and unreasonable he is.So John Watson allowed the quail to occupy his full attention, and he especially liked the foie gras stuffed in the belly of the quail and the crispy skin.

Hannibal's smooth face turned in Watson's direction, and the sound of metal clashing gently scratched his eardrum: "A fashionable young Englishman, with self-righteous and self-satisfied arrogance, and a love of adventure It is difficult for people to call it 'different'."

Watson's mouth was stuffed with quail, so that his brain, which had not turned much, worked more slowly, so that it took a long time to understand that the doctor continued the previous topic.

"Ah, as for a medical worker who has achieved amazing achievements, he struggled desperately, struggling for decades, but could never get rid of the fears, hatreds and shadows of childhood, which seems to be nothing to praise." Sherlock handed the drink to Watson, and said lazily, "Exposing people's bodies and stabbing people's scars is not your patent, Dr. Lecter. Unlike you, I don't take pleasure in other people's pain, and I don't rely on other people's pain. tears live."

Watson took a sip of his drink in a reckless manner, and said in disbelief, "Should I give you a thumbs up for your self-knowledge?"

Can't they just stop poking each other's feet and exposing their scars...

"Your teddy bear-like eyes are almost full of admiration." Sherlock turned his wrists outwards, separated his slender index fingers, and said chicly.Energy-saving lamps wrapped in ivy and white roses hung over his head, and the branches and vines matched Sherlock's curls.

"I'm not alone in the dungeons deep in the memory palace with indelible memories of childhood locked away, Johnny." Dr. Lecter placed the yellow crispy flakes on the bread, poured the sauce and cubed sliced ​​mushrooms, then added parsley, watercress and capers, and a pinch of watercress leaves.

It is said that Sherlock was deeply abused by Mycroft in his childhood, so that he developed an anti-social personality, and thus developed an unusual interest in abusing goldfish...

The cat raised its eyebrows, put its white paws on its nose, and tightened its jaw. Watson intuitively believed that if the conversation continued like this, there would be a disaster that even the British government could not control.

So the firefighter Watson was obliged to take on the important task of "changing the subject".

"What's... on the bread?"

"Tender fried brain slices, John, do you want to try it?"

"OK……"

"I suggest you pair it with a white Burgundy wine for a more unique taste."

"Sounds good... Well, it's really delicious. It's a pity that I lack words, Dr. Lecter, and I can't accurately describe how I feel at this time." Watson tried his best to maintain a straight back sitting posture, and put the fork on the outside. The tender fried brain slices trembled into his mouth, and while he was tired of dealing with Hannibal, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Sherlock staring at him, like a hungry cat staring at a mouse hole.

Watson touched his forehead to his nose and then slowly to his chin. He asked uncertainly, "...Sherlock...Sherlock? Is there something on my face?" He puffed up his mouth and spat deeply. Tone, the two lips that were shiny with oil smeared unconsciously pursed, and a pair of round and bright eyes slantedly looked at each other.

For a moment, the customary smug look on Sherlock's face was replaced by something Watson had never seen before - more bewildered, more bewildered and more dangerous - but only for a moment, Before Watson tried to confirm whether he was suffering from persecution paranoia, Sherlock put on his original face that wanted to be punched.

"You've got too much oil on your lips, John." The lake-like eyes blinked, and the eyelashes were so long and thick that they were so thick that they fluttered, and before the doctor dropped his jaw, he re-directed the fire on Hannibal , "The trickiest thing about dealing with an absolutely fresh brain is keeping it from melting into jelly, Dr. Lecter, how do you deal with it?"

"According to classical gastronomy, the brains are soaked, squeezed dry, and then frozen overnight. Fresh brains are placed in ice water, which contains lemon juice to acidify and harden the slices."

"Then what?" Watson's interest in food and memory were amazing, and he immediately started the mode of memorizing recipes.

"Put the frozen brains on a plate, blot them dry with seasoned flour, and blot them with freshly baked bread." Hannibal put down his knife and fork, and made a gesture of waving his hands, as if waving his memory. It's like being pulled from a memory palace.

"Where are the seasonings?" Watson was even more enthusiastic.

"Have to crumble up a fresh rye mushroom, put it in the sauce, and squeeze some lemon juice in."

"You do have an obsession with truffles, Dr. Lecter." Watson ate another slice of fried brains that were golden on both sides and had a tangy aroma.

When he was eating to his heart's content, Sherlock's lingering voice rang out: "Sure enough, the Mr. Ivan I put in the refrigerator is gone."

"Wh... what Ivan..." Watson said with his last sliver of hope, his throat froze and his eyes darkened.

"Steve Louis Ivan, 37 years old, died in a car accident. I just brought his head back from Barts Hospital to test the speed of saliva coagulation. It seems that I will need another head tomorrow." Sherlock Like a child experimenting with ants and a magnifying glass, replied Innocent.

"Uh..." This was Watson's choked voice.There was a rattling sound in his throat, a spasm of the resonance cavity caused by the acidity of the blood before death.

"Drink some frozen juice to refresh your throat, Little John." Hannibal said nonchalantly and considerately.

He used his throat as a bucket, and took a big gulp of fruit juice, not to lose his temper with his new roommate, so he turned his head, deliberated for a long time, and yelled heartbreakingly at Sherlock: "Don't put your brain and The internal organs brought back to 221B! Unless you expect them to appear on the dinner table in a cooked state the next day!"

The detective didn't respond or promise. He just shook his companion's hand and concluded through Watson's rolled-up eyes: "You're afraid."

"... What kind of experiment is this again? Wait, the word 'fear' will never appear in Watson's English dictionary!"

"Your hands are getting colder, John. The temperature is at least 2.5 degrees lower than usual. When people are afraid, they will have a physiological flight response: blood flows back from the limbs back to the legs, and they are ready to flee. The hands will become cold first." The big warm hand didn't move away—maybe he was so proud of his argument that he forgot to hold his companion's hand—Sherlock's well-shaped nose pointed at Watson, his eyebrows raised, "If you are willing to let If I touch your legs, I will be more sure of this fact."

Watson's eyes were wide open, his eyebrows were drawn down, his upper eyelids were raised, his eyes were tight, his lips were tight, his nostrils were dilated, and he was about to launch an attack on the scale of the British invasion of Afghanistan...

The detective shook his fluffy curly hair, like a coquettish big cat, squinted his eyes slightly, and leaned close to him, and held his companion's veined wrist with the other hand.

Watson powder kegs seem to have been flooded.

Dr. Lecter carefully observed the subtle harmony between the two.

There was a warmth in their every move, a solid friendship that flowed naturally and without artificiality, a touch of light in this weird world that was neither civilized nor savage enough.Their relationship is intimate and troubled, and their personalities are not diametrically opposed but absolutely complement each other.The huge difference in personality did not become a hindrance, but made them more compatible.They are each other's lost other half.