Countdown all over the world

He propped himself up on the window sill and landed gently on the floor.After thinking about it, the half-open window was convenient for him, so Watson shrugged and decided not to complain about it anymore.

Turn around and go all the way through the neighbor's room.

Facts have proved that the speed of this magical movement is faster than that of those few people.Although not much, it is enough.

When Watson set off with the sleepy-eyed Mary, wrapped in a dark brown cloak and coming out from the back door, the few people over there barely reached the door.

"What's the matter?" Mary asked softly.

She was only wrapped in a cloak outside her nightgown, but she still couldn't help shivering.However, Mary is not like those ordinary women.In times of crisis, screaming and nervousness are not only not helpful, but can even cause more trouble.

Watson covered his figure, poked his head out slightly and looked outside.

During this short period of time, those people had already unlocked the door.He walked into the house lightly, as if he had entered the land of no one.

Watson watched helplessly, feeling sad in his heart.

That was the door he bought specially.Not only the style is Mary's favorite gothic style, but also the chain core has been carefully replaced by Watson for a long time.

Although, upon inviting Holmes over to try it, it didn't take him long to open it.However, Watson always thought that there would be so many people like Sherlock Holmes insisting on picking the lock to enter the door.

Facts have proved that there are quite a lot of people who do not take the usual path.

Watson sighed fiercely: "When I come back, I must redesign the lock cylinder."

He muttered in a low voice, but Mary beside him couldn't hear him very clearly.Just be quiet, stand aside and wait.

When Watson came back to his senses, he showed a gentle smile: "Let's go?"

Watson blushed a little at the sight, deeply feeling how naive he was just now.He took Mary's hand and nodded deeply: "Go."

The two of them soon left following the way Watson had come.At this time, he didn't pay attention to the mess behind the house that the two had just finished, but was turned over by those people.

Things fell to the ground, and the sound of being smashed was heard once or twice.

Watson looked at Mary in his arms with pity, and comforted softly: "It's okay, they are just decorations. After I go back, I will buy you some better ones."

Mary, however, looked terrified, and with the strength of Watson's support, she turned out of the window.

She turned around, and there were already two or three wipes of dust on her normally fair face: "Let's use that money to strengthen the walls... This time, it's really terrible."

Watson looked at her, and his heart softened.He wanted to reach out and help her wipe the dust off her face, but found that his hands didn't seem to be very clean either.

Withdrew his hand resentfully: "Okay. Buy this, I'll listen to you."

Mary pulled him to a quiet corner, and then stopped, panting lightly.She held Watson's hand, as if she hadn't seen the dirt on his hand at all, and held his hand against her face.

Rubbing in a cuddly posture, he looked at Watson with a smile: "I still need to buy a door."

"Okay, okay." Watson nodded quickly.

Mary continued: "The windows also need to be strengthened."

Watson: "Okay, okay."

Mary blinked and added, "Ask Sherlock to make our locks a little harder."

Watson was about to nod habitually, and the word "yes" was about to come out.

He forcefully forced him to go back: "Okay... this is not allowed! You don't know, if Sherlock does it, wouldn't it be easier for him to break into the door in the future?"

With Mary in his palm, she raised her eyes faintly: "Do you think that even if you ask someone else, Sherlock's speed of coming in will be much slower?"

Watson stopped for a moment, feeling more and more sad in his heart.This was so true that even he himself could not refute it.

"Okay." He sighed, and helped Mary tighten the cloak again, "Let's go, I'll take you to Mrs. Hudson."

……

Jack took the people and returned without success.

A group of people used to have no disadvantages before, but they are used to going smoothly.This time, he clearly made thorough preparations.Even when searching, the sound didn't really come out much.

But nothing was found.

"Boss, when we went, the bed was still warm." A man frowned, "Should have just left not long ago. It was just a little short!"

Jack turned his head angrily, raised his hand and slapped him on the head: "You know? You are the only one!"

Just a little bit!

This is simply more infuriating than a direct failure.

However, this cannot be his excuse at all.Moriarty would never treat her differently because of this difference in details.

After all, in Moriarty's words, it's—

"Did you bring it back?"

"If not, is there any difference?"

Jack threw the group of people into the basement, and someone underneath helped them with extra meals.And he himself, with a dejected look, turned and went upstairs.

The people below howled miserably, as if they had experienced some horrific training.

But if you ask Jack, he'd rather go straight to the basement with them now.Fortunately, I went to find the professor, but I don't know how he will react.

Then he turned around and was thrown into the basement again for a meal.

Just as Jack opened the door, Moriarty's voice came out: "Go directly to the basement."

Jack's face brightened. Are you going to let him go?

Unexpected and reasonable.Moriarty continued: "Then, come back. I have something to explain."

Jack had a bitter expression on his face: It's better to say it first!

Inside the door, Moriarty squinted his eyes involuntarily as he looked at the portrait in front of him.

The rumors, who don't know where they came from, made Seinmut and the others believe that the oil painting was sent by Moriarty on his own initiative.At this time, he was relentlessly blocking him.

Although, they are all flies that can be knocked down with a few strokes.However, it's annoying to always be so "buzzing", isn't it?

Moriarty frowned slightly, and sighed impatiently: "Mycroft... Sherlock's move is very interesting."

He raised his head and looked out the window: "However, this can't delay her much time."

Moriarty smiled, and picked up the portrait on the table appreciatively, the curve of the corner of his mouth was daunting.

"Do you think this woman can escape?" Moriarty smiled, "I want to exchange the fake for the real one to fool those lunatics. This oil painting has been in their hands for decades. In these few hours, if you can copy it, how similar is it?"

The portrait in Moriarty's hands clearly resembled Anne's.

However, the woman in the painting is not as old as Anne at this time.Between his brows and eyes, there was also a little bit of sadness from the rubbing of life.

Anne above is still in her teens.

Counting the days, she should have just left the orphanage at that time.The days when I decided to ask for a living by myself were not good.Only then, there was a little more melancholy in the eyebrows and eyes that did not match his age.

I'm afraid that even Anne herself didn't think that someone had left her a portrait so early.

Moriarty looked at it with a smile, keeping his hands some distance away, as if caressing the non-existent barrier on the portrait.

"Anne Huigent," Moriarty said to himself, as if to chew the name once or twice.

His eyes were a little empty, as if through this portrait, he could see through the barriers of time in these years.Straight, looking at the young girl.

"What's so special about you? Let them never forget you..."

……

Anne had been sitting at her easel all morning.

Beside her, there were five or six abandoned paintings.Most of them are semi-finished products, and they are put aside with just a few strokes.

"Don't worry too much." Holmes came over and sat down beside Anne.

Put your hand gently on Annie's shoulder.Holmes' hands were not very heavy, but still warm and strong.These are the hands of a detective.

Those clues, one or two strange things can be found in the light touch of his fingertips.

Annie pursed her lips and smiled, then turned her head away.

"I just..." She said helplessly, "It's just that this is too difficult to copy."

Holmes followed the paintbrush in the girl's hand and looked over.On the specially imitated old paper, the pigment does not stay firmly.Even Holmes, a layman, had to admit that it was difficult.

A painting decades ago, even hundreds of years ago.Although it has been preserved with extreme care, the traces left by those years and years are still light and shallow, covering the entire painting paper.

This is exactly what Anne is worried about.

They only have one day to paint, copy and add imitation.Even, it is necessary to see through the information that may not be known in this small scroll.

"It's just to distract them. You don't need to put such a lot of pressure on yourself." Holmes sighed, looking at Annie with a bit of worry in his eyes.

It was rare for him to straighten Annie's head firmly, and press her firmly onto his shoulders.Holmes turned his head and kissed Anne lightly on the top of her hair.

The warmth that is as light as a butterfly's wing is gone in an instant.

Holmes smiled: "You do your best, and I will do the rest."

He looked at Annie: "Trust me, little Rebecca will come back. I promise!"

Annie leaned on his shoulder, as if she wanted to turn all the fear in her body into that one or two weight, all relying on this man.She closed her eyes, and a very crystal teardrop slowly slipped from the corner of her eye.

Anne, she was really scared!

Rebecca was the only friend she recognized before she met the group of Baker Street people.

She had thought about countless times and couldn't stop the parting.But every imagination is because of Rebecca's genetic disease.Rather than such a sudden disaster.

Annie blamed herself uncontrollably.If she hadn't been involved in these things, would Rebecca still be able to play happily on the lawn with a bright smile on her face?

The girl showed a rare weakness, but Holmes was relieved.Full of pity, he stretched out his hand and gently wiped away the teardrop.

Since last night, Anne has been like a tight string.With such a calm face, even Mycroft was taken aback.

Holmes knew that the tears were the breath of relief at last.He has always been a person who is afraid of trouble. Speaking of which, this is the first time he has taken the initiative to take everything on himself.

It's just that he accepts this trouble willingly.