[Comprehensive Yingmei] Genius Lianmeng

Chapter 18 Watson's Secret Diary

March 2010, 3 Secret Diary of Unable to Name

My life is pretty miserable right now.

"Disastrous" is not an adjective, but has evolved into a fixed vocabulary to describe the life of John Watson.

How nice, how nice, that after months of living in 221B Baker Street, I can still sit in front of my old laptop with parts intact, complaining about the weather in London, about my flatmates, about my life, Complain about the three vigorous and charming beasts that fell from the sky and intervened in the life of John Mortal Watson.

Center for the Study of Abnormal Humans, what the hell is my life?What the hell is going on with my life?

I’m in my late thirties, living in isolation, spending about five hours a day doing healthy runs in the streets of London with my roommate, and spending the remaining five hours in expensive taxis.Spend two hours preparing breakfast, lunch, dinner, and supper for a picky cat and pouring them by the neck.In this way, there are only twelve hours left in the day.In the only twelve precious hours, I need to finish eating, bathing, shaving, shopping, looking up information for my roommate, checking the refrigerator and microwave for prohibited items... By the way, what did I forget?That's right, I forgot the most insignificant item, a detail that is still essential to being a human being, sleep-if there is any time left, I will use it to sleep.

But most of the time, the only time I have for myself will be occupied by a roommate who has no concept of sex and private space——

See, since we moved into the same bedroom - Mrs. Hudson's expression can only be described as "happy" - Sherlock has developed a bad habit: he will sleep next to me, clinging Me, tightly circled me, pressed me firmly with his arms that are good at boxing, cudgel and fencing, and rubbed my face and neck with his fluffy, nose-itching hair.

I strongly suspect that "Redbeard" was tossed to his death in this way.

Of course, in fact, there are not so many things to complain about in life. After all, I chose the battlefield and the adrenaline rush, so I have to pay a price.In fact, I just want to say, although I was sent from China to the UK by the Abnormal Human Research Center, can you not let me continue to live in China time...

After doing some solid psychological construction—if this goes on, maybe I can open a psychological consultation clinic to make extra money—I firmly faced Bruce Batman Wayne and sent him a message to visit us. ask.

The billionaire, whose worth is proportional to the number of masks, pulled a mask and put it on with ease and joy (I strongly suspect that the name of this mask is "Brucie Baby"), with a frivolous and gentle yet gentlemanly style like a playboy Said in a gracious tone: "'The whim' is not the province of Dr. Lecter, my valiant, unjustly invaded medic."

"I don't believe it." I said dully, suppressing the desire to tear off the other person's mask - you see, Bruce belongs to the cat family, but Bruce is much more difficult to deal with than Sherlock, he is more complicated, more changeable and more pessimistic, "Bruce Playboy Wayne may have a whim—such as buying a hotel to get wet in a fountain with a female star, but Batman's every action is planned and purposeful. You still have At least three alternatives, right?"

The man with the deep, peacock-blue eyes lifted his eyelids, and this tiny movement made him take off his playboy mask.When he spoke again, he became more like a proud man who fit his status: his every move was so cultivated, more modern than Dr. Lecter's, and more casual, making people feel relaxed and comfortable. A sense of oppression... In short, just like Sherlock is good at changing faces, Bruce does not need to use external objects to completely become another person, and it is damn cute: "Thank you for the cookies, Mrs. Hudson, they are cute Terrific, I swear by my butler's cooking skills, even he can't bake such crispy and just-right biscuits."

"I'm so glad you like them, dear," said Mrs. Hudson, beaming. "And I'm so grateful you brought Aff along, who taught me several secret recipes. You're a lovely My child, unlike Sherlock and John, looks like they only intend to let me go at Christmas, how cruel to an old man with a bad hip..."

"In fact, I'm nothing more than a miserable old housekeeper who has been abused and abused by a harsh young employer for a long time." Eyes in the sun are exactly the same.High cream and yogurt mixed with plenty of jam - what appears to be blackcurrant and cherry jam - I'm sure there's enough for about ten people.Creamy white, purple black and cherry red are piled with chopped shortbread, cheese, chocolate chips and tiramisu cakes... the piles are so high that people will whet their appetite at a glance.

"It's wonderful, Mr. Penny Watson! I think I must be dying, otherwise how could I have seen the gate of heaven? If the researchers of the Abnormal Human Research Center are here, they must also I can't resist grabbing a few spoonfuls from us..." I quickly snatched a small piece of cake, and said contentedly, trying to put Sherlock's ridicule behind me.

Mr. Steward looked at this group of boys (except Dr. Lecter) lovingly, and distributed small plates, forks and spoons to our hands, followed by a less orderly storm.

Until the billionaire from the other side of the ocean puts on the tone of Batman and begins to make indiscriminate assessments of 221B and its residents—more precisely, after indiscriminate personal attacks—my mind is still immersed in the satiation of ice cream. Swelling, sluggishness, and satisfaction.

"There are eight cameras in the living room and dining room - and many more in the corridors, stairs and bedrooms - all by MI221, and Holmes knows them all well and dismisses them, yes, it's you and the British government One of the mediums of fighting wits and fighting spirits; eyeballs are in the microwave oven, fingers are in the butter box, and human heads are in the refrigerator. After Little Holmes finishes the experiment, Dr. Lecter will help make the best use of everything, although the freshness is not so perfect Satisfactory, after all, chatting is better than nothing; as for John, you must have a lot in common with Alfred." His voice is hoarse, deep, cold, serious and undeniable, but there is no malice, "Abnormal human research Why did the center gather us at [-]B Baker Street, London, England? Oh, God, you sure didn't bother to think about it!"

"I'm not interested in the paranormal, Bruce the Pessimist Wayne, it won't help me solve the case." Sherlock squatted on the sofa with his arms around his knees, and raised his nose in the direction of the billionaire.

Hannibal picked up the ice cream scoop with a steady hand accustomed to manipulating scalpels and cold weapons, the scar after the amputation of the sixth finger reflected in the shower-like light: "The research center helped me achieve my wish , thinking of its purpose does not contribute to the taste and quality of life."

"I'm not afraid of your jokes, Bruce," I said, beating my head with the handle of a spoon, "I was sent by the Special Physique Sub-Center of the Abnormal Human Research Center... As for how special the physique is, it remains to be seen."

"Oh God..." The new neighbor rested his thumb, index finger and middle finger on his forehead, with a look of "what can I do to save you, my pig teammate", he said in a low voice, "I kind of miss that juggler from aliens What a big fool."

Then he continued in a flat tone: "I think the research center wants us to work together, neighbors, especially today when crime is globalized even beyond the galaxy. Think about it, there is a general practitioner who invaded Afghanistan in 221B , and at the same time an all-round fighter with special training, a psychiatrist and psychologist who knows everything about cold weapons, a self-proclaimed 'consulting detective'-of course, as a guy who is too arrogant to avoid, he will definitely give Give a name to the profession I invented..." In those eyes with a hint of sarcasm, "idiot" was clearly written.

It's over.I covered my eyes in horror.From what I know of him, Sherlock doesn't care if people think he's a psychopath or a lunatic, but he absolutely can't stand being considered "wrong" or "stupid"...

Sure enough, Sherlock showed his fangs and claws, and aggressively rushed at another of the same kind, and the two (meow?) desperately wrestled together through verbal back and forth.

It is obvious that the cat is biting for a ball of yarn, but it just pretends that it is like two male lions fighting for territory, insisting on fighting to the death.

If Teddy doesn't show his power, you will treat me as a toy!

"Enough, Sherlock! This is not how to treat guests!" I jumped up after triggering the berserk mode, and grabbed the thinner one among the cats, even if three buttons in a row fell off. No hesitation, "Go back to the bedroom and sleep, immediately, now, immediately!" I used the posture of escorting a prisoner, twisted his arm from behind, pressed his shoulder, and escorted the cohabitant back to the bedroom.

"Another family dispute! I see three or four times a day." Mrs. Hudson said with a knowing smile.

The former MI221 agent even nodded in agreement!Even invited us to visit [-]C!Well, I am really looking forward to seeing how the moss-covered basement will turn decay into magic after being transformed by the billionaire and Wayne Technology, but the immediate priority is still not being able to control myself Sherlock's mouth was pressed back to sleep.

"Be careful, John." Someone who was being escorted slightly tilted his head and said playfully, "Otherwise you will have to put my arm back."

"I'm a doctor, professional, with a doctor's degree." I threw this sentence at him coldly, just as I threw him on the bed.

The consulting detective changed into the purple pajamas while muttering "John you're getting rougher" under his breath.

I don’t know if it’s an illusion, or I’m just thinking too much, but I always feel that ever since I showed a special affection for his purple nightgown—whether he deduced it from my eyes or movements—— The blue one was discarded by Sherlock.

As for the purple nightgown that needs to be washed (of course I wash it for him, although I use a washing machine), Sherlock will choose to sleep naked^.

I have to admit that even from the perspective of a straight male, the figure of my cohabitant is very eye-catching.Different from the bodybuilder-like muscles of his peers, Sherlock's body is thinner, but the agility and explosive power contained in it cannot be ignored, just like the difference between a cougar and a jaguar...

In my head full of imaginations about cats, I gradually fell asleep.A strong and slender arm came up, a muscular and powerful thigh came up, and I was locked on the bed with a click, and a hairy head came up... In the familiar feeling of oppression, I fell asleep.

dreamland.

That familiar dream surrounded me again.

I stood in front of the familiar door in a trance, and was blocked from entering for a while.The Victorian gas lamps flickered on and off above my head, and the fog filled the air.

Then, like all dreamers, I suddenly gained power beyond the laws of nature in the dream, and I floated over the obstacles in front of me like a ghost.

Seventeen steps, stretching before my wide-eyed dreaming eyes.

In the living room, a tall and thin man was sitting peacefully in an armchair. His profile face protruded with a high aquiline nose, and his whole body was as pale and haggard as a long-starved vampire.

I approach him.

This man exuding a familiar atmosphere was wrapped in purple pajamas, silently looking at the crackling firewood in the fireplace.I looked around and the old objects were still in the same place.Papers and open books are scattered on the desk, a dirty butter plate is placed on the dining table - there must have been unknown chemical reagents in it, a violin is leaning on the floor by the wall, or on the carpet Drafts or reference indexes, miscellaneous things piled up on the mantelpiece, pocket knives with letters in them, exquisite ivory boxes, snuff bottles inlaid with emeralds, eye-catching "VR" and Moroccan boxes on the wall, put Tobacco Persian slippers...

This is a messy house, like 221B Baker Street, so messy that I feel like this is a "home".

His face seemed to be shrouded in a London mist, save for the light of his gray eyes, which were alert and active.

He said: "My good man, the strangeness of life is far beyond people's imagination. We may not even dare to think about an ordinary thing in reality. If we can fly out of that window hand in hand, in this big Wandering above the city, gently lift the roof to peek inside, you will be able to see the wonderful things happening there..."

Now that Batman has appeared, it must not be far from the day when we fly around...

I spoke unsuspectingly to this warm smiling man in my dreams, as sticky and sweet as melted milk chocolate.