[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(Nightingale's notes)

For a short time afterward it looked like business as usual.

August has been full of ups and downs.I basically gave up my job in Manchester because I didn't dare to leave London for a step.Mrs. Hudson gave me Dr. Watson's room before, and since I saved her most of the trouble, she didn't have the heart to ask me for rent.During this time Holmes seemed more reassuring when he was in high spirits, and more terrifying when he was down.Watson was on the verge of breaking down running between his house and Baker Street, and Mrs. Hudson and I could not persuade him to leave Baker Street.

It seemed to me that I had lost all confidence that things would be all right, and a certain unspeakable spirit.When he is in that inexplicable depressed state, he will still inexplicably reject our care, or rely heavily on our care, switching between the two extremes for no reason.At night, I lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling in the dark, feeling the detective curled up on my chest in pain like a sick cat, feeling like I was dreaming, and it was an absurd, endless dream.All around us are vague images of almost everyone in Baker Street life or memory, looming and haunting like ghosts.

I couldn't help telling Watson, though he had enough trouble.Including these paintings that make me uneasy.The doctor first expressed his astonishment that the detective would draw him, and then he began to think seriously.

"It's hard to say why, Angela."

"Hard to say."

"I can't answer it now, but no matter what happens, please believe that he...he didn't feel sorry for anyone, Angela, I hope you understand."

"I wish you'd made it clearer, but that's all right, I understand."

"Of course, even if you don't believe it, I can understand, after all..."

"For God's sake, doctor, please stop talking."

Watson later consulted a doctor.It may sound ridiculous, but it is true that he is not good at this aspect.Holmes resented this.In September, he also solved a "crawler" case, and was once again written by Watson as a story. It seems that the old days have come back.I also don't really believe that it is necessary to call a doctor, because I feel that he is more like hiding something worrying, which usually doesn't attract attention, but he doesn't know when he will suddenly wake up from memory and invade his mind, catching him off guard. , irresistibly addicted to it.

I try not to think about what it might be about, or who it might be about.

When he is happy, he still likes to talk to someone, everything is fine.He stopped laughing at women's intelligence, but he persisted in mocking Mrs. Hudson's ability to keep her secret.At this time, even Watson will be temporarily liberated from his sad face.He was still afraid to bring Merry to Baker Street.

But the language exchange between the two of us is decreasing at an incredible rate.

It is October that really poses a deadly threat.

Holmes did not take a case for a month.Since the end of September, he has entered an unprecedented state of depression, and there is no better trend.Watson and I precisely blocked every client who came to consult, and I took all the ones I could handle, and occasionally I had nothing to do but let it go. The gate of 221B is closed, and the four of us are isolated from the world.Watson persisted in calling for a doctor, and the person who came only suggested sedative injections, attention to rest, and avoid emotional agitation.However, Watson has ordered that cigarettes and all drugs, including sedatives and sleeping drugs, be banned.The final conclusion is: the human body cannot withstand Holmes' mental work intensity and living habits for a long time.Compared with ordinary people, it is unbelievable that he has supported for so long.Those irregular health problems in the past were nothing but precursors.Everyone knows this problem, and everyone has nothing to do about it.

I cannot describe the torment Watson and Mrs. Hudson suffered during this time.Watson had the foresight to let the frail Merry stay at home and not participate in the care of Holmes.When years, pain, and disease had worn away his sanity, only inconsistencies and melancholy remained.Sometimes he would not utter a syllable for days on end, wrapping himself in a melancholy darker than a London haze.In this situation, we don't know why and dare not speak out loudly. No one has tried what will happen to the consequences, which may be unbearable for us.We try to avoid talking, or whispering.When they really can't bear the dead silence of Baker Street, they take turns to be on duty, one person stays at home, and the other two go out to get some fresh air, or to accompany Meili to relieve boredom.After a week without stepping out of 221B under the heavy curtains, I saw the sun again. I actually felt that the rainy weather was a bit dazzling.A familiar peddler on the road greeted me beside the carriage. I opened my mouth but failed to make a sound.Once I came back from the window and heard Mrs. Hudson making a scene at the next-door landlord, probably for no reason but because she couldn't stand the depression any longer.For the first time in two months I heard her actually speak with her voice open.Standing on the sidewalk, I looked up at the upstairs window. The curtains were drawn, but there was no Holmes standing expectantly at the window.

At times he was unbelievably violent, unprecedented even for him.Once he was reminiscing with Watson about the hound case, when I interrupted him with tea, he almost uncontrollably snatched my tea tray away, as if about to drop it, and the tea spilled out.At this moment he froze, and I saw the blank look on his face.He gently placed the tea tray on the coffee table, and sat down on the sofa without making a sound, his face was pale, and the whole set of movements was as gentle as on a stage.I know he's doing his best to suppress it.He didn't want to hurt any of us.

Watson advised me to leave Baker Street. "Let another house and open your own firm," he said. "You can't imprison yourself here. I can handle it now."

I say no every time.I can't leave him alone in the rain to go to the new world.

Late October was a total meltdown.

It was still raining that day, damp and cold.I was sitting on the desk reading with my overcoat on, and Holmes sat on the sofa like a meditating statue.We didn't speak a word for two whole hours.He suddenly spoke dreamily.

"I give up."

"What did you say?" I put down the book and looked at him.But he didn't move, and I almost suspected that I was so eager for him to talk that I had hallucinations.

"I've decided to give up." He repeated as before.

"Give up what?"

"Work."

I slowly climbed down from the desk, put the book on the table silently, and walked in front of him.

"Holmes, what did you just say?"

"I've decided not to work."

"Are you saying you're retiring?"

"Yes. I admire your understanding."

"You're out of your mind," I said, trembling. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know. I have been wide awake." Holmes raised his eyes and gave me a quiet glance.

God behold, I wouldn't be so surprised if he said he didn't love me, or that it was all in the head.The most unlikely thing in the world has happened.Holmes, who was in vain no matter how much we tried to persuade him to rest, suddenly decided not to work.Excluding the influence of ability - he really can't hold on this time - I can't think of anything that can make him despair to this point.Sherlock Holmes voluntarily giving up his job is almost equivalent to giving up his life.He is as calm as a pool of stagnant water now.

After a moment of distraction, I turned and rushed out of the room.Mrs. Hudson was sweeping the stairs, and seeing my bewildered look, she thought that Holmes had made some trouble again.

"Is the doctor there?" I seized her arm before she could speak. "Is Watson in Baker Street?"

"Of course not, my dear," said the landlady, a little frightened. "Merry must be accompanied. You don't look well, Angela. What's going on?"

"Go to Dr. Watson, Mrs. Hudson, please," I squeezed her hand, "you go and stay with Mei Li for a while, and exchange him. I have nothing to do, only he can help us , I have no choice."

"Don't cry, dear, please don't," said Mrs. Hudson as she frantically wiped my tears. I realized I was in tears. "I'm going now and everything will be all right. Dr. Watson knows what to do Do it, Watson always knew how to deal with him..."

I hate this world.

Holmes finally confessed to Watson, who was on the verge of collapse.Sooner or later he was going to tell Watson, and I never doubted that.

"He has a letter." Watson looked at me.The calmness and gentleness of the doctor and the determination of the soldier belong to a different style from the appeal of Sherlock Holmes.He tried his best to keep his expression calm.

"Would you like to say something?"

"He didn't ask for secrecy."

"That's up to you."

"It's up to you exactly, how you judge the matter."

Watson and I showed the same wry smile at the same time.

"I must confess one thing, for him," said Watson, "that he cannot predict your reaction."

"I thought he could predict everyone."

"You understand that's not how his set works. Things are unpredictable without evidence, clues, or logic. Maybe everything is meant to be in the big picture, but there are always little things that are genuine accidents and Random. This kind of thing may, often, not be very important, but no one can predict it. This is why Holmes hates the imagination that there is a person in this world who can fall in love with him. Unreasonable, unpredictable, he will lose here .”

"You are priceless, doctor." I sighed. "I think it would be better to leave it to you."

"Are you sure you don't want to know what that letter said?"

"...What did that letter say?"

Watson was silent for a while.

"I found out his source. From the first he was in touch with Mrs. McMurdo, who told her sister about her going away, and a letter or two here and there after that. The news came from there. It will take about a month to come here."

"It's something that keeps him on edge."

"I think so."

"221B did not accept his letter."

"The address is Mr. Mycroft Holmes's. It's reserved for him at the Pall Mall club, and he'll get it back when he's in a good mood. You didn't find it either?"

"No. I wasn't conditioned... It never occurred to me to analyze him."

"Then, it makes sense."

"What did that letter say?"

"Mrs. McMurdo sent it from New Jersey. It was signed at the beginning of the month, which means he received it in these two days. The most important thing is only one thing." Watson took a deep breath, "Mrs. Norton, once upon a time Erin Adler, who died on October 10 in Trenton, New Jersey."

The author has something to say: 3 minutes of silence for Goddess Irene.

And I was going to change the BGM of this volume, but the author suddenly couldn't remember what the song was called, so I will look it up again today.