[Comprehensive Yingmei] Genius Lianmeng

Chapter 64 Butterflies and Spiders

"He must get something from the girls... What the murderer wants, and only by killing them can he completely belong to him... What is it?" Sherlock occupied the spacious space inside the Lamborghini with a big face, unconsciously Clinging tightly to Watson's body, as if by doing so, he could draw the power for him to solve the case from the non-genius but genius-inspired brain of the cohabitant.

"Why do you so swear that the murderer must have a purpose? Maybe he just had a whim." Watson opened a pair of round eyes that said "I'm stupid and cute, but I'm proud" and asked seriously.

"Oh, poor little John." Sherlock raised the corners of his mouth high and pulled out a wrinkled and wrinkled smirk, "Even if he has a whim to the point of Dr. Lecter, he kills for food. Think again The most puzzling little Jim ever..."

"I know, did he spend a lot of money, just to show his love to you in a local tyrant's way." Watson complained sullenly.

Then, the lines on Sherlock's pale face slowly unfolded, he discarded the mask of a fake smile, and laughed uncontrollably and said, "You are so fascinating, John."

Alfred, who was driving, turned his head and gave them a tacit and friendly smile - at least the crowd watching them was not a London taxi driver, which has to be said to be a huge improvement.

It's really strange that after a year of cohabitation, the roommates in 221B have lived together in a real way, and none of the relatives and friends around him expressed shock, surprise, disbelief, etc. Watson Still a little frustrated.

A yellow cordon broke into their eyes brightly through the windows of the Lamborghini.

"I'll give you 10 minutes, no, 15 minutes." Lestrade pushed open the door of the police car, raised his wrist and looked at his watch.Police officer Sally Dovano raised the cordon for them with a mocking and malicious smile, but uncharacteristically did not persuade Watson to stay away from that "freak"-obviously, Sherlock and John's peach The sex incident has become tacit and word-of-mouth gossip at Scotland Yard.

It was a car park, cleared by Scotland Yard.But Watson could still feel the faint cries echoing over the parking lot—of course, there could be no cries, the murderer's wrist was strong enough to kill them with one blow, and the girls would definitely have no time to react, and they would die forever. Leaving the world of flowers and flowers that had just unfolded before them.

"I know you can hear me, Bruce, like that ubiquitous, manipulative spy chief, and I have to tell you that your deduction is wrong!" Sherlock lay on his back like a sniffing hound. On the ground, completely disregarding his scarf and coat, he raised his voice, even a little smugly, "Footprints! See, footprints!"

"If you make it clearer, I think Bruce will be very grateful." Watson pleaded weakly.

Sherlock threw him a look of "a smart man who sees a little and has no observational goldfish has to bother him to make a long speech", with his arms open, his eyes sparkling: "The murderer stepped on the lawn and left footprints!"

He pointed at the footprints and shouted happily several times, facing the cold scene that no one echoed.Enticing everyone's appetite—except Bruce, obviously, the really smart people have reached a consensus—Sherlock condescendingly explained to the goldfish: "It's obvious that the forefoot is exerting force, it's too obvious! Few A man has such a small foot, the murderer must have a higher heel!"

"A murderer who wears high heels? Could it be that our target is a woman?" Watson said in horror, "Do we want to witness the birth of a female serial killer?"

"No, John, don't let your romanticism go. You see, it's been twenty hours and thirty-four minutes since the incident, and the man weighed between 34 and 153 pounds, heels off, depending on how the lawn and dirt have sunk. The height of this person is about the same as yours, a woman who is five feet seven inches and weighs more than 155 pounds? (153 meters, 1.7 pounds)" Sherlock waved his beautiful hand in hollow leather gloves like a conductor in the air , "We're looking for a sharp fighter or a strong gym-goer, not a heavy expectant mother."

After getting used to the other party's venomous tongue, Watson took great pleasure in holding his respect: "Did you find any oil stains on the ground, Sherlock?"

"No, the ground is too clean. I tend to believe that the murderer spread cloth or plastic on the ground. He either didn't want to leave a little bit of clues, or he didn't want to waste a little bit of grease..." Turning around like a Sherlock Hound , He put his slender fingers together under the tip of his nose, frowning and muttering to himself.

"I don't think the corpse smells right, Sherlock..." Watson scratched his head and said uncertainly.

Sherlock pressed the cohabitant's shoulder, his sharp eyes looked a little aggressive: "Why didn't you tell me in Scotland Yard?"

"I thought it was the mixture of lamb's kidney fat, tallow and lard that affected my sense of smell..." Watson tried his best to break free from the opponent's clutches, "But after all, I have seen and smelled many corpses, They do smell a bit out of place..."

Sherlock, who can send text messages and never make phone calls, star Holmes picked up his iPhone, and hurriedly dialed the phone. His movements were fast and unquestionable: "Have you checked the ratio, Tony Stark? No, I don't want to bicker with you now, we are not 12 years old. Well, 2:5:3, ok, give me a ratio immediately, take it to the morgue at Barts Hospital quickly, and find a man named Molly Amber's medical examiner..."

"You should say thank you." Watson looked helplessly at the cohabitant who was a head taller than him, with a sense of frustration that "my brat is disobedient and rude, and I don't have the authority to control him".

"No time." Sherlock tapped the screen cracklingly, and Watson couldn't help feeling sorry for his poor phone, "Now let's go back to 221B, John, think and wait quietly, and deal with other clues by the way. Eligible corpses, as a comparison to the victims."

"If I'm not mistaken, you plan to establish an experimental group and a control group so that I can smell the difference in the smell of the corpse?" Watson asked tentatively, puffing his cheeks.

"I'm completely at a loss without my blogger and live-in boyfriend, my dear John." Sherlock lowered his head, rubbing his delicate nose against his forehead.

Watson was so shameful that he couldn't make complaints or rebuttals.

Afterwards, the two hurried back to 221B—almost crazy, as if the footsteps of fate were chasing after them.

"What a miraculous symbiosis!" Before the two even touched the door frame of the living room, they were shocked by the aria from inside, "Perfect, harmonious, regardless of each other, just like the little Sherlock Holmes couple! "

Watson staggered on the soles of his feet, struggled for half a second between the wall and the forehead, and finally held Sherlock's arm.

The scorching and firm touch, through the thick coat, was transmitted to every sensory cell of him.

"You don't need to prove my wonderful metaphor." Tony raised his eyebrows at the door of the living room, with a knowing expression on his face, "But I still suggest you take a look, this dark gray and black moth with a broken cocoon, and parasites— —No, the gray-gold spider that lives under its wings."

Watson stabilized his body and walked towards the sofa curiously.

"Look, what a huge, beautiful moth, and how fragile it is!" Tony Stark said in the enthusiastic tone of a scientist, "Although my major is not biology, it is difficult to ignore its powerful, beautiful and fragile nature. Combined. Its wings are so wonderful yet brittle, its mouthparts so slender and sharp and brittle...and look at this spider, John, I've never seen a spider in that color, and I never thought But besides hunting, spider silk has other uses!"

"Huh? You mean, a dedicated spider?" Watson took the tweezers and took the flapping moth from the scientist's hand.

"Bingo~" Tony snapped his fingers, "this kind of gray-gold, round and furry little spider will make a web under the wings of moths, forming a thin and light web. This layer of web will strengthen the moth's fragility. The strength of the wings adds little to the weight, and I have never seen an arthropod with such a unique devotion...”

"Have you studied them?"

"I used a variety of high-tech rays to irradiate them. I have to say that the structure of these two symbiotic organisms is really wonderful." Tony pressed a button on his wrist, and a huge moth was projected in three dimensions in the air.He casually clicked on a certain part, and the internal structure diagram of the spider also appeared out of thin air.The blue lines kept turning, and the strong sense of futuristic science fiction made Watson feel a little uncomfortable, so he shifted his attention to the physical creatures.

Watson tried to turn the fluttering moth over so he could look at the protective membrane-like webs that formed under the wings.The hopeless struggle of moths, with their thin, delicate and shining scales, coats the air with a different atmosphere and color.

"Ah!" Watson's hands trembled, and the tweezers fell out of his hands. The huge and fragile moth rolled around on the carpet for a few times and stopped moving.

On his wrist, he was bitten viciously by a spider that suddenly attacked, and a white spot visible to the naked eye swelled up at an unimaginable speed.

The gray-gold spider let go of its sharp fangs, and hit the ground with a "snap"—to be exact, on the dead moth, and then also froze.

The spider hit the soft moth's wings, and logically there shouldn't be a "pop" sound... He must be hallucinating.

Watson rubbed his increasingly heavy head, opened his mouth with great effort, and smiled at the stunned Tony: "You won't just watch 'Dr. Watson' die under the mouth of a new species of spider, right Tony... "

Hearing the sound, those who rushed into the living room of 221B also had three-piece suits and red and blue bodysuits... Well, the living room of 221B Baker Street is once again overcrowded.

Watson's increasingly drowsy head was leaning on a pair of familiar, slender and powerful hands, his translucent and anxious eyes blinked desperately, and his pale and bloodless lips opened and closed... and then completely I don't know about personnel.