[Comprehensive Yingmei] Genius Lianmeng

Chapter6 Mutated kitchen

Not long after he moved into 221B Baker Street, Watson had a deep experience and comprehensive understanding of the creativity and destructive power of Sherlock, the death-killer Sherlock Holmes.

The jackknife used to fix the letter, the knife marks on the table, the noise, the gunshots at 01:30 in the morning, a pile of bloody specimens in the refrigerator, corpses with food, and all kinds of fights... Watson couldn't Trying not to cover up the unique walls decorated with bullets, explaining (editing) explaining (making) the origin and reasons of various scratches to Mrs. Hudson. dragged his body with every cell clamoring "I really want to sleep for another 500 years", walked heavily downstairs, and questioned the culprit, Xingshi...

Abnormal Human Research Center, things that ordinary people will never touch in a lifetime, almost become an indispensable adjustment in life!

In fact, after John Watson's vigorous reminder and transformation, 221B is not like what they first moved in, with all their belongings spread out on the ground and thrown everywhere.It's become a place to really hang out, and it's cluttered and orderly, though Sherlock still crookedly dates books by the thickness of the dust (and uses that as an excuse to refuse to do the housecleaning), though Sherlock's still unrepentant Stuffing horrible things into the refrigerator, such as fresh internal organs and human heads—at least the messy piles of chemical reagents and instruments on the dining table are gone. More creatively, the kitchen was transformed into a laboratory by Sherlock:

The microscope competes with the bread machine and juicer on the same stage, the knife and fork and the test tube rack are close to each other, the iron stand hangs above the electric stove, and near the sink, a large stainless steel shelf accommodates them. Test tubes, droppers, beakers and Erlenmeyer flasks... The atmosphere in the kitchen is so weird and harmonious that even if you open the butter box and find a severed finger, there is no sense of disobedience... It is really a typical Sherlock Holmes kitchen.

His influence is everywhere, covering the house like moss, invading the lives of roommates, occupying John's time and space.

"No matter how bitterly you look at my experiment, Doctor John, I hope you can realize that my attitude is extremely scientific and rigorous, never more lax than the moment you pick up the scalpel and gun. The regulations are for I don’t need to be restrained by them.” Sherlock was wearing a crimson nightgown, looking more lazy and casual than in formal attire—to put it bluntly, he looked more like a lazy big cat basking in the sun.

"Then explosions will inevitably become the norm in 221B, Sherlock, can you please buy an oversized shirt? The fabric is tightly wrapped around you, and it feels like the button will pop out at any time and shoot someone in the face... Even if you try to show off your well-developed chest muscles and abs in every possible way, there is no need to resort to such extreme terrorist methods?"

"Admonish the great devil Mycroft, John, he prepared all my clothes for me."

Glancing at the high-puffed shirt, Watson resolutely denied the possibility that he was envious or jealous, and went out shopping—after staying in 221B, shopping and cooking were completely taken care of by him as a matter of course.

An hour later, Watson returned home empty-handed, wanting to cry but without tears. What he saw was such a beautiful and frightening picture:

With the curtains wide open, the living room is filled with a burst of warm orange—soft, warm, bright, and appetizing.

Sherlock Holmes is wearing one of his typical outfits: a white shirt over which a crimson nightgown is casually draped.He was leaning on the low gray-green sofa chair that belonged to him, with his slender and strong right leg resting on his left knee, lazily looking through a notebook.The lumpy sun hit the plaster cast-like profile of his face, and the fluffy curls were stained with golden maroon.

He didn't move the eerily calm face from his notes, just lifted his eyelids, opened his X-ray eye mode, and moved his mouth like a bee flapping its wings: "You helped me when I was shopping." A woman you're interested in, about five feet eight inches tall, with short blond hair and elaborate makeup, may be bothered by some too slippery ground beneath her feet, and your warrior instincts explode in a heroic rescue. Mei... can this explain the reason why you came back so late?" He put on a proud face, waiting for John's exclamation and praise.

"No. In fact, I prefer black-haired, plain-looking, petite women, who are shorter than me." Watson expanded his lungs and answered with difficulty.

"Oh, my condolences." Sherlock said quickly, "You didn't finish your shopping."

"Because the automatic recognition machine got into trouble with me." Watson said dejectedly, with his hands on his hips and his lower lip pouted.

"Did you quarrel with the machine?" He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Basically, I don't say a word and the machine chatters, wish the staff would turn it down. Hey man, it's your turn to shine as a roommate - have cash?"

"Takemycard." Sherlock looked at the dining table, his eyes, which contrasted sharply with the dark red nightgown, flickered in the sunlight like a lake blown by the wind.I don't know if it's the effect of light and shadow, but the slightly raised lines on the corners of his mouth seem to incorporate the meanings of "I knew it would be like this", "I can't help you", and "I've prepared it for you a long time ago". The roommate bloomed for a moment, and then was neatly hidden by the contracted muscles at the corners of his mouth.

These expressions are obviously my patent!Watson shook his head, and reached for his roommate's wallet.

After pulling out Sherlock's credit card, Watson went straight to the supermarket again.He bought a bunch of things, carried four big plastic bags, and went upstairs one step at a time, filling the space in the refrigerator that hadn't been poisoned by unknown items—or, more terrifyingly, well-known items.

Watson had grown tired of the head, eyeballs, and fingers that kept appearing in refrigerators and microwave ovens.But he has to be thankful, if the person living with him is not Sherlock Holmes but Hannibal Lecter, maybe the head, liver and pancreas will not be placed in the refrigerator, but will be turned into food and served on the dining table as soon as possible up.

He resigned to his fate and put up a sign, which read: Sherlock and aliens are not allowed to enter the kitchen.

Originally intended to be written as "Sherlock and Dogs Not Allowed", thinking of the deep nostalgia and love Westerners have for pets—it is hard to say whether the Pet Protection Association will protest his act of comparing perverts with cute pets—Watson deliberated and wrote The "dog" was replaced with a harmless, non-troublesome "alien".

Even knowing that Sherlock will still go in and out of the kitchen in a big way, and conduct chemical experiments in various occasions and misplaced places, it can't stop Watson's determination to hang up the sign.