[Comprehensive Yingmei] Genius Lianmeng

Chapter44 Unexpected milk tea

"Thank you for your compliment, Sherlock, this is the first time I've heard beautiful words from you." Watson said solemnly and righteously—otherwise he might not be able to control his heart from beating out of his chest, "Actually, I don't Too willing to think about it, or I'll be sure to spend the rest of my life in Arkham Asylum in a few years' time."

Watson tried to look away from Sherlock's bright, bright eyes, and saw Dr. Lecter over his shoulder.The doctor's left hand is behind his back, and the scarred right hand is holding the wine bottle steadily. He straightened his back and paced up and down near the sofa and the fireplace, adding food to the empty goblet. Drinking after drinking is like a king entertaining foreign envoys.

The fireplace favored by Hannibal, Sherlock, and Bruce stood upright, and the firelight quivered substantially in the golden liquor. The smell of firewood and wine mixed together, filling everyone's nostrils.

"There's nothing to worry about, little John. Although your nerves are not delicate enough, you are good enough to understand yourself. This is the nemesis of mental illness." Hannibal's purple-brown eyes sparkled like candlelight, and he Staring straight at Watson, who was in a state of distraction, Watson's face burned in his eyes.

The socializing and talking were almost over, and the guests took their leave and went home--just went downstairs, really.

And Watson was able to continue writing his blog that he hadn't updated for a long time.

Then he went to hell.

A cup of milk tea is placed on the table to the right.

Watson looked up along the porcelain mug, and then a slender, thick, white hand jumped into his eyes, competing with the mug to see who was less pigmented...

Sherlock made him a cup of milk tea.

Sherlock brought the milk tea to the table.

Sherlock took two steps to the kitchen, it was harder than killing him Sherlock Holmes, not only painstakingly made him a cup of milk tea, but also condescended to bring it to the table at hand...

This horrifying realization shocked Watson (Teddy), and almost knocked the cup of hard-earned tribute to the ground.

"Why don't you write about the case of the melting laptop?" He propped up the cluttered desktop with one hand, and rested the other on the back of Watson's chair, with blue veins snaking across the back of his hand ups and downs.

"I'm going to finish writing this case first, it will be more entertaining." Watson replied dully, he only moved his mouth and didn't move his mind at all.

"Well, glad to hear our purpose was to entertain. I thought we were solving crimes." Sherlock smiled brightly, and broke down again.

"...This is the normal mode of Sherlock Holmes." John Habitual Masochist Watson secretly heaved a sigh of relief, "Can I ask you sincerely, why are you suddenly interested in the content of my blog? ?”

"Well... I think I'm trying to chat." The creases on his face seemed to be ironed out by an extra-long iron, Sherlock pursed his lips, and said coquettishly, turning his head to the other side, leaving The cohabitant has a pretty side face that looks not long at all, and is particularly childish.

Before Watson had time to react and express, Sherlock quickly moved to the French window and said in a typical Sherlock tone: "Lestrade, a new case."

The Inspector ran upstairs, panting—Watson suspected that Lestrade was exercising regularly with Sherlock's help—and handed a portfolio to the world's only consulting detective.

The excited child opened his pocket and flipped through the pages quickly. The excitement gradually faded, and Sherlock said like a machine gun: "You are looking for a man about five feet eight inches, left-handed, strong and muscular, addicted to exercise and fitness, Decent, wealthy, well-fed, and wearing false teeth. Now, get out of 221B before I say anything to embarrass you, Lestrade."

"My God!" The detective quickly took over the rummaged file bag and exclaimed, "There were three forensic doctors present! They didn't even find that the bite marks were left by dentures!"

"The presence of three forensic doctors does not mean that three pairs of eyes are useful. Your eyes can't see more than your brain, and your brain always refuses to turn..." Sherlock's chattering success insulted the IQ of the whole Scotland Yard, "This kind of simple and boring case is left to 221C's Bruce, the hero with a sense of justice, Wayne, my tolerance for stupid pretending to be deaf and dumb has reached the limit."

"..." The poor inspector nodded slightly to Watson and Hannibal, and stood at the stairs for a while at a loss—maybe he was thinking about where to put his hands to save his respect—then he walked hurriedly. He ran down the seventeen steps of 221B with heavy steps.

"Be polite to the Inspector, young Sherlock," said Hannibal in a lilting, persuasive tone. "Everyone in this world, in our country's vast bureaucratic and police apparatus, is guilty. Lestrade." Detective Inspector De is one of the few model workers who are devoted to their duties and exhausted. A small inspector who is on the front line is sometimes not as good as a police dog in the police station or a screw on a large machine. He will inevitably suffer various injustices Treated like that, insulted in a grand-sounding way, and a police dog would never be treated like that."

Sherlock stretched out on the sofa in a lack of energy, and then curled himself up into a small ball like a cat. He replied out of boredom: "Wrong, Dr. Lecter, since five years ago, Gavin has rarely received any attention." Unfair treatment from superiors. Before any director bullies Jiawen, he has to weigh whether he can afford to be targeted and threatened by MI[-]."

"Jiawen? Who?" Watson looked at the cohabitant who was moving slowly like a lazy cat, and asked in puzzlement.

"Jarvan, Gavin Lestrade." And Sherlock answered as it should.

"Greg... Greg Lestrade, if you want to know." Watson left the chair, his short, soft upper lip pressed against his lower lip, and the corners of his mouth were slightly raised. Locke has a head full of curly hair.

Sherlock turned his head with a "thump", the movement was so large that Watson was extremely worried about the health of his cervical spine, and the look of fatigue faded from his light blue-green eyes. At this time, he was like a young, energetic bird. An exuberant cat, whenever Watson beckons, he will pounce on him to play.

Watson shook his head, shook "Sherlock Meow" out of his head, and went to bed early with an evasive mood.

Then he tossed and turned, unable to sleep, until the familiar hot head was arched between his neck and shoulders, and the familiar strong arms and thighs pinned him firmly to the bed.

John Watson dreamed again.

Dreams are tangled and tangled, a jumble of sounds, colors and words.

Watson vaguely recognized one of the words: SCANDAL, scandal.

He vaguely heard a familiar voice, mature, steady, elegant and intimate.

The voice said, "By the way, Doctor, I will need your cooperation."

And the "doctor" was obviously referring to himself, because Watson heard himself answer seriously: "I am very happy."

"Aren't you afraid of breaking the law?" The voice asked with some hesitation.

"Not at all." Watson answered emphatically.

"Aren't you afraid of being arrested in case?" The final confirmation.

"For a noble goal, I'm not afraid." Watson was sore by his own words, but his tone was sincere and sure.

"Oh, that's a noble aim."

"Then, I'm your man."

The author has something to say: God-level P-picture!

Another one~

The last chapter is a transitional chapter, and the next chapter of the plot begins~ Please sprinkle flowers~