[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(Nightingale's notes)

I don't know if it's my imagination, Baker Street is much quieter than before.Afterwards Mrs. Hudson said it was all because neither Holmes' violin nor I spoiled the piano any more.Now I just laugh off the joke.Strictly speaking, at that time I could still spoil it twice, but now I can't even knock it.

I can only sit at Holmes' writing desk in his room and worry now.Mr. Detective himself has not yet received a recovery diagnosis from Dr. Watson.So at best, you can just sit on the sofa and watch.Being stared at by a pair of eagle eyes is so uncomfortable, it is almost impossible to work.I barely read the materials all morning, then stood up and walked to the window with my back to him, looking at Baker Street.

"Paganini No.20 Four Caprices." He said suddenly.

"What?" I looked at him from the reflection in the glass.

"I've practiced."

"What is it again?" I turned around, and Holmes on the sofa wrapped the blanket tightly around himself, only this time he still looked sick.

"Once I asked you what song you wanted to order, you said Paganini No. 20 Four Caprices."

"I can't remember." I said, "Maybe it's just to see what you don't know."

"I suppose so," said Holmes, "and in any case I do not think you have taste for it."

"Including when you practice?"

"Including when I can't practice well."

I couldn't help laughing. "Why didn't you tell me earlier, I'd rather admire your frustrated appearance than the finished product."

"I should really like to see Mr. McMurdo now," said Holmes, frowning slightly sadly. "I ought to ask him about my profession."

"Professional questions?"

"His profession, not mine."

"What are you talking about?" I leaned on the window sill and asked.

"How to deal with femme fatales."

"It's so unfair to Iris, my dear Sherlock Holmes," I crossed my arms, "she looks like a thorn on the surface, but she is actually as tender as water. Jack complains every day that he has fallen into the clutches of the devil than he won ten thousand. Pounds are happy."

"That suits you very well," said Holmes lightly, habitually raising his hands to touch the pipe and matches on the tea table. "You look like a girl who is a bit stupid in reading, and she doesn't even have eyes when she hits hard." blink."

I walked over and pressed his hand to strike a match.

"What did Watson say?"

The penetrating gray eyes flicked back and forth between me and the tobacco.With great reluctance Holmes put down both, and pulled the blanket up again.

"What did I just say?"

"Holmes, I can't stand the smell of cigarettes when I'm thinking. Even Jack is going out to smoke."

"At least he doesn't have to sit here and watch." The detective said irritably, brushing aside the hair that had grown a little during this time, and lying down on the back of the sofa resignedly, turning his head, leaving only a silhouette of me.Many times I wished I could sketch like Holmes, so that I could describe his high aquiline nose and thin lips.If only he knew he was still as beautiful as when he was young.I grabbed the comb from the end table (God knows why the comb was on the end table) and tried to straighten his hair, and he roughly pushed my hands away.I ascribe his recent moodiness and erratic moods to the double effect of mental exhaustion and lack of mental activity, two paradoxical symptoms which can be perfectly explained in the simultaneous presence of Holmes.

"Holmes, if I can gather my energy, I can get this matter out of the way sooner. Jack is already urging me."

Holmes raised his eyebrows, did not open his eyes, and freed his hand to brush his bangs with exaggerated elegance, his expression was as calm as when he was asleep.

"You're quite familiar with the name 'Jack'."

Oops!

I didn't expect him to say such a sentence, but I immediately understood the meaning.

"I've been used to McMurdo being able to call strangers by their first names after a long time. Do you think I ever called a doctor 'John'? Never. I'd find it odd myself. As for you , sir, you..."

I thought about it for a while.

"I also refuse to call you anything other than 'Nightingale' until you call me."

"That's easy. Nightingale, non-biological term."

"That's very helpful, Mr. Holmes," I said sternly, sitting down beside him, and sighing. "I've never been this ineffective. Congratulations, you're almost there, I'm probably going to spend my life here."

Holmes was silent for a long time, and I almost thought he had fallen asleep at an incredible speed.However, just when I wanted to get up and go back to the desk, he suddenly said in a raving voice:

"Would you like to visit the manor?"

"where?"

"They won't want to see me, but maybe they'll have a better impression of you."

"Who?"

"It's hard to say," he went on vaguely, "that even Sherinford doesn't appreciate iconoclastic women."

"Holmes?"

He opened his eyes and smiled back at me.Maybe a person who has always been as solid as a rock occasionally shows a soft side that is unprecedentedly moving. This expression moved my heart, and I resolutely put my hand on his pale fingers and grasped it tightly.Holmes made no objection.

"Mycroft Park," he said, "where Mycroft and I were born."

It took me a few seconds to react.

"You want to go back to the manor?"

He didn't speak.I wanted to ask when he and his family would reconcile, but now it seems that there is no need to ask.For many years, the Holmes family has never forgiven this misguided child, at least his parents think so, so even after he became famous, the Holmes family still refused to restore their family relationship with him.Apart from Mycroft and Sherringford, who rarely communicated to Holmes through Mycroft, he had no contact with any member of the family.Mycroft was certainly not a family favorite either.As long as you think about it, until now, only the boss, Sherinford, has started a family and managed the family property, and the other two are misogynistic celibates. It is not difficult to understand when they go to London and are obsessed with dealing with decent people.But believe it or not, for me these are part of the charm of Sherlock Holmes, without which there would be no him.

"What happened?" I directly came to this conclusion, which was also a question.

"Something happened to Sherringford." He suddenly regained his energy, broke free from my hands and sat upright on the sofa, pulled off the blanket that was in the way and pushed it away, and sat cross-legged next to me.Startled me.

"You have not seen him, but anyone who knew Sherringford would never have dreamed of accusing him of murder. It would be as absurd as accusing a deer of eating any other animal." Holmes unconsciously pressed his fingers together, and then closed his fists. But the voice was still flat, "Of course old Mr. Holmes disdains to ask for help from his youngest son who failed to add luster to his family name, but Mrs. Holmes quietly wrote a letter to Mycroft, hoping that he can think of a way. The important thing is of course Implicit."

"Understood," I said, "but what if..."

"Old Mr. Holmes will still be angry when he sees me," Holmes snapped his fingers, "although he probably won't have so much trouble with Mycroft anymore—he never has any trouble with Mycroft."

The difference I can think of between Mycroft and Sherlock, maybe only Mycroft faded out of the family from the beginning, while Sherlock assumed the family's expectations from the beginning, so the family's resentment when it was shattered It was also completely pushed to him alone.Mycroft Manor has been in a downturn, but Holmes has completely disappeared from the family and is indifferent.As far as I know, his relationship with the eldest Sherinford is far from being close to that of Mycroft.

"You'll be even angrier when you see me," I said.

"That's natural."

I sighed.

"I believe you can solve the problem alone. Do you still need me to go?"

"Maybe I can do it on my own, maybe I still need a little help, like—are you still interested in witchcraft?"

This sentence awakened a little distant memory in me, a thrilling story that happened in a certain witchcraft shop.I still keep that metal pendulum with profound meaning.The quality of the goods of that so-and-so lady is not flattering, and it has long been out of use, but in fact I have never used them, and I don't believe in these things.

"To be honest, I have long forgotten."

Holmes changed his sitting position and put his thin arms around his knees.

"I didn't believe that there was such a thing as black magic in the [-]th century, or that there were still people using it, but it is said that it has appeared again now."

"It's about your brother?"

Holmes hesitated for a moment, then nodded.Sheringford and him have always been estranged, and I've only ever heard him call the boss by his first name.But I understand the feeling.Although my family has completely given up on my disappointing daughter and is now almost a stranger to me except for occasional anxieties about the state of my marriage, I will never stand by and watch if any trouble happens to my poor little Mr Nightingale.I hope the kid is doing well now.

"I hope you haven't forgotten the work you did when you were at the...professor's place."

He still hesitated to say.This is the first time he's brought it up again since it was over.I have always avoided recalling such events, including Holmes.It's just that Watson wanted to record what happened at that time as much as possible, so I will forcefully mention a little bit, otherwise, personally, I would prefer to forget them completely.

"Remember," I said, looking at him, "forgive me, Holmes, but that was no work, just a complete accident."

"I know," he said despondently. "Trust me, it's not forced to. But whoever implements the plan has to—can we talk about that later?"

"No problem." I put an arm around his shoulder, "It's unbelievable, Mr. Holmes, that you have such a day."

"I've said it before."

"what."

"I've come to seek your protection."

A low and calm voice like ice wine flowed into the room.Holmes turned his face to look out the window. I don't need to look to know his forbearing expression at the moment.I hugged him tightly.

"You don't know you've been like rain to me."

"And you are like fog," he whispered.

Maybe he never analyzed me the way he looked for clues.there has never been.

The author has something to say: the last sweet chapter is about to enter a new investigation. What this chapter implies is the original case that will be updated next, and the specifics need to be carefully conceived.According to the setting of "Sherlock Holmes on Baker Street", the case of Sherringford Holmes took place from the end of 1895 to the end of 1896. It is called "the missing year". ……Right!