[Comprehensive] 221B's dead house girl

The pattering light rain kept falling, hitting the street, and the crisp sound accompanied by the breeze floated into the wide-open windows, and a strong flame was still burning in the fireplace, just like the branches that never lose their vitality in spring , Branches germinate, blossom and bear fruit.

Usually in such weather, there will always be a melodious violin sound in 221B. Mrs. Hudson will sit in front of the window, make a cup of hot coffee for herself, and read fashion magazines on the single sofa—if If Henry is not at home, but Henry is rarely not at home.

John will be writing a blog about Sherlock's last case, listening to the melodious music, maybe biting his nails and wondering how to give the case a nice and realistic name.

Probably only Lestrade would work hard in the rain—after all, the possibility of homicides in such weather is always higher than that in sunny days.

But in 221B at this time, there is nothing, no melodious piano sound, no vibrant flames, not even a single figure, only silence.

With a "click", the door lock downstairs suddenly opened, and outside the door, a footstep wearing red rain boots stepped in.

The footsteps moved slowly, as if exploring every inch of this apartment, groping carefully, like walking through a maze.

On the other hand, people who should have been at home have all gathered in the Holmes mansion.

"Sherlock, you should take a break." John walked into Sherlock's room with a bowl of spaghetti—to be precise, this was Connie's room, Sherlock's former study, which was later remodeled for Connie to live in Yes, it has been kept the same for five years, and Bruce, the housekeeper, will always clean it regularly.

Last night, he heard Bruce tell some stories about their past, which he had never heard from Sherlock, and while feeling novel, he also felt closer to Sherlock.

After all, as a friend, he has always felt that he is not the same as Sherlock. He is like a machine. Even if there is a slight human emotion, it will not last long. Bruce's narration made him see another vivid Xia Locke. Locke.

A Sherlock with human emotions, his childhood, his Connie.

Connie was like a switch for him, the last link between him and society.

John didn't know whether to be happy or worried about it, but he was definitely happy for his friend.

Sherlock was still sitting on the sofa, he didn't sit on the edge of the bed and looked at Connie, he looked more like he was in a daze, but John just knew that all his thoughts were on that bed.

"Let's eat something." Even though he only slept for a few hours, John's energy was not bad. Judging by Sherlock's appearance, he must have stayed up all night, even though he who stayed up all night and he who didn't stay up all night looked There won't be much difference.

Sherlock raised his head, his eyes seemed to focus for a moment, glanced at John, took the bowl of spaghetti, and started to eat slowly mouthful by mouthful.

This surprised John.

He opened his mouth, not knowing what to say, paused for a while, and then spoke again: "Do you want anything else?"

Sherlock's hand stopped suddenly, John was taken aback for a moment, seeing his head turned to Connie who was on the bed, he put down the plate in his hand, and immediately sighed: "You eat first, the doctor said she might still fall asleep ..."

"Hmm..." The moment Sherlock stood up, Connie murmured faintly.

The corners of John's mouth froze, and when he looked over, he found that the person on the bed had already stretched out his hands outside the quilt, stretching out a long waist, as if he had slept for a long time.

He looked at Sherlock as if he had seen the devil.

"How do you know?!" Has Sherlock's reasoning ability been so terrifying?

Sherlock's dark eyes glanced at the surprised John, walked towards the bed, and saw the satisfied little face, flushed and tender, like a newly ripe red apple.

Connie seemed to have slept for a long time, and she sighed contentedly as soon as she felt conscious.

#A never-before-satisfied feeling#

She closed her eyes blissfully, not yet fully awake, squinting her eyes and curling the corners of her mouth, suddenly felt a warm touch on her cheek, opened her eyes slightly, and saw a pair of gentle eyes, beautiful emerald green With the light behind her back, there was still a strange brilliance, which made her sigh in her heart.

Such beautiful eyes.

#Then I found out it was Sherlock#

Connie was stunned, and looked at Sherlock who was close at hand, with a dull look in her eyes.

The whole person looks even more stupid.

Sherlock looked at that face, pursed his lips, stretched his right hand caressing her cheek, and slipped through the gap between her slender neck and the pillow, one hand was enough to support half of her head.

The moment Connie sat up, the door was pushed open, and the fragrant seafood porridge was pushed in on the dining car. The person who pushed the door came in with a pair of reading glasses and a smile on his face.

"The porridge is ready."

Connie's misty eyes suddenly lit up: "Grandpa Bruce!"

"Connie." Bruce called Connie with a smile, his voice full of kindness.

John petrified on the couch.

#I probably lived in a fake Sherlock Holmes house#

#And talked all night with a fake Bruce#

If Sherlock deduced the exact time of Connie's awakening, how did Bruce know?

After thinking about it, John still couldn't help asking.

Bruce smiled slightly: "It's just a coincidence that I will prepare all three meals."

John was numb.

#He doesn't believe it#

#This must be a lie#

Connie was helped up by Sherlock and fed the first mouthful of porridge, and the memory began to come back.

Ugh? !

Connie thought of those blue eyes, and suddenly pressed the porridge that Sherlock fed with both hands: "What happened after I passed out?"

Sherlock looked at her silently, without saying a word.But that look made Connie feel a little dangerous, the danger of silence.

"Sherlock?" She scratched her head, looking straight at him with innocent eyes.

He pursed his lips, blinked his eyelids lightly, and the drooping eyelashes showed a shadow under the eyelids, like a dark cloud in winter, cloudy and sunny.

In an instant, Connie felt his unhappiness.

That kind of unhappiness from the heart.

She asked in a hurry, looking at Sherlock worriedly: "What's the matter? What happened?"

Is it a tragic event?

But then she thought of the blue-eyed girl, and thought it was impossible. Since she recognized that sentence, then she probably wouldn't... Thinking of this, she was taken aback, and suddenly asked worriedly: "Is she alright?"

Sherlock looked over suddenly, but still didn't say a word.

Bruce realized the stormy atmosphere and silently exited the door.

John, on the other hand, does not have as much life wisdom as he does.

"Molly is fine. As for you, the doctor said you just had a mild concussion and you can rest for two days." Connie said "she", so John took it for granted that Connie meant Molly.

But Sherlock knew that was not what Connie was asking.

"They're gone." Finally, Sherlock said.

Connie breathed a sigh of relief, it was fine.

But when he thought of that girl with Moriarty, he unconsciously became worried about her.

The strange silence between the two of them made John puzzled again.

Connie obediently drank a bowl of porridge, and her whole body came alive.

"The chef's craftsmanship is still so good..." She slammed her mouth and lay back down again.

Sherlock went out with the tray, Connie glanced at his back, turned around after he had gone far, and said in a low voice cautiously: "What's wrong with him? I've been acting weird since I woke up... "

John shook his head speechlessly: "I don't know, he's been weird ever since he came back..." He thought he would be happy when Connie woke up, but he still looked neither sad nor happy, and the atmosphere was gloomy. heavy.

#Sherlock Holmes is probably the person he never understands all his life#

Connie looked at his tired look and tilted her head.

After resting for two days, Connie got out of bed alive and well.

#I still don’t know how a slight concussion is done#

Fortunately, in the past two days, Sherlock's mood has improved a lot, he is no longer gloomy, and has returned to his original facial paralysis, letting Connie make coffee every now and then.

Although he was accused by everyone of ordering the newly recovered patient, he still insisted on going his own way and refused to drink coffee that was not made by Connie.

Connie, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief!

#She doesn't understand herself#

During her afternoon nap, Connie finished her routine coffee and was about to lie down on the bed to read a book, when she suddenly heard the sound of whirring outside the window.

It was the sound of an airplane flying by.

But obviously, that plane didn't fly "over".

After arguing for 2 minutes, Connie felt that something was wrong. Why did the voice get louder?

She got up and ran to the window to have a look, only to see a helicopter landed on the wide lawn, and a shiny bald head was getting off the plane.

No one but Mycroft.

She lay back on the bed and continued to read. Anyway, when McCoff came back, he would either find Sherlock to handle the case or find John and Sherlock to handle the case. It had nothing to do with her anyway.

#FLAG stands too early to eat jujube pills#

Half an hour later, Connie was moved to the living room like a statue by two men in black one after the other.

#麦雅夫 This temper is getting more and more anxious...#

"B!" Connie heard Sherlock complain as she opened the door.

And he was holding a bunch of photos in his hand at this time, the first one was a very coquettish woman, wearing a black lace sexy underwear, holding a black whip in her hand, and the other one was being captured by her biting red lips in mouth.

It looks like a sexy woman will be tempted.

Looking at the man in black who brought her over again, she suddenly realized something.