[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(Nightingale's notes)

All people agreed unprecedentedly, for the sake of Holmes' health, he should leave the smog of London as soon as possible, retire to a place far away from the hustle and bustle, and never return, and there is no delay.A sea-shaking decision came so suddenly that we all felt groggy as we prepared for him.Holmes appeared much more relaxed, and the neuralgia that occasionally recurred before was almost gone.He thought we couldn't see it because he tried to look as if nothing had happened every time.

Packing Holmes' things was a disaster.There are some things that he will not allow others to touch, such as a few boxes of work notes, newspaper clippings, miscellaneous things in locked drawers, and various handwritten papers scattered around the room.These things are packed and packed by himself.We're just in charge of all the books and instruments, and some odd necessities.The doctor searched every corner in detail without saying what he was looking for. This behavior has already revealed that he never trusted Holmes 20% to quit his addiction, no matter what he said.For the first time in 221 years, Mrs. Hudson was able to clean the room thoroughly, once and for all, but she didn't look all that happy.The finishing work lasted for a week and is not over yet. [-]B's consulting work ceased entirely, and Holmes and I were no longer taking cases.

At the same time, somewhere in my heart, there was a secret pain.

On the evening when the packing was almost done, Watson and Holmes went out for a walk, while Mrs. Hudson and I stayed at home for a while.I was surprised to find a small box that I had never seen before on top of Holmes's pile of boxes.I thought it wouldn't matter if I opened it to take a look at the contents, so I opened the lid.Inside is a layer of notebooks of different colors and about the same size, neatly stacked.This was a rare occurrence for Holmes.When he has inspiration, he will write anywhere, so there are not only notebooks, manuscript paper, and letter paper in the box, but also envelopes, notes, scattered banknotes, and even napkins.But that's okay.It didn't take long for me to realize that these weren't his, they were mine.

"Mrs. Hudson, what's this?" I whispered.

The landlady came in on tiptoe, not realizing that she looked like she was afraid of breaking something.

"That's all your notebooks, Angela."

"I thought it was where you were."

"It was at my place... After you came back, didn't you say..."

I feel a little hot in the face.After I came back, I thought of the nonsense I wrote before and felt embarrassed, but I couldn't bear to abandon it, so I didn't take it to Manchester and gave it to Mrs. Hudson for safekeeping.The landlady jokingly said that it was a pity to write so many piles here, and asked if these "literary works" of mine could be used as books. I thought about it seriously and announced that it was only allowed to be opened to residents of 221B.What's inside is no longer a mystery to me, but at least it still contains some of our memories.In fact, only Mrs. Hudson watched it a few times to relieve boredom when she was free, and even joked with me in private.Watson didn't care.I'm also quite sure that Holmes won't read.He doesn't even pay much attention to Shakespeare's writing, let alone my rambling.

"I mean why it's in his stuff."

"Mr. Holmes asked me to go," said Mrs. Hudson. "He asked me if I still needed it. I thought it didn't matter, so I told him that as long as it didn't damage it, I would be fine with him..."

I dropped the case and the notebooks fell out of it on the floor.Mrs. Hudson leaned over to pick it up, but I blocked her, knelt down on the ground, picked up each copy and quickly flipped through it.The writing on the pen has faded a lot, but it doesn't affect the reading.I had no trouble finding soot in one of them, which I couldn't quite get rid of.Another contained a half-torn blank check, no doubt used as a bookmark.A few pages were slightly dog-eared, which I never do with notebooks, and Mrs. Hudson read them in random order, turning pages one at a time.Almost all the blank space is penciled with the words "curious", "ridiculous" and "weird", and there are some fragmented sentences, which seem to be a reflection of my own personality. analyze.Pencil for sketching, with some characters once written with a freshly sharpened nib, with lead dust printed on the opposite page.I finally found the original one, the one I was most worried about, and then the page I was most worried about, I wrote several pages of Erin uncharacteristically.But that's not the point.I remember every page and even every line of every book.

What can never be ignited is the rain in London.

I sneered bitterly.devil.the devil.An unsharpened pencil drew a heavy line under that sentence, with three trembling question marks next to it, as if he couldn't stand still because he laughed so hard.

I closed the notebook just in time, and a tear fell only on the cover.

"Angela, it should be all right?" Mrs. Hudson said in a panic, "You said it's okay to give 221B a few. I thought..."

"It's all right, Mrs. Hudson, you didn't do anything wrong," I said with difficulty, because I might choke when I let go of my throat, "that's what I said. There's nothing wrong here."

"But you..."

"I'm sorry for making you, always worrying you. Please avoid it."

Mrs. Hudson didn't object or try to lift me off the ground.She closed the door softly from the outside.I heard her soft footsteps leaving.

"Weird...weird woman...weird..." I said weakly, reaching for the notebook on the floor, "ridiculous, nothing is more ridiculous than this, stupid woman, you are the stupidest woman in the world, I hate you ..."

I suddenly couldn't control myself.I slammed my notebook on the pile of books, and they collapsed to the floor.I smashed them on the floor over and over, over and over, until they were all scattered around me.eccentric.absurd.weird.Unreasonable.baffling.Ridiculous.I found myself chanting the words, louder and louder.I was furious to tear these notebooks to shreds, but it was impossible.What a ridiculous scene, I tried desperately to think which one could be destroyed and I could afford the consequences, but no, I couldn't lose any of them.Boxes of Sherlock Holmes's manuscripts were with me, and I left them untouched.For the same reason, I couldn't do it, even if I hated all of it.

I sat on my knees among all the notebooks, hands resting on the floor, blank.I don't even know why I'm crying, I obviously don't feel anything, but the tears keep coming out.Angela, you are not young anymore, you have cried too much these days.

"I give up." I whispered.There was silence in the room, and nothing could answer me.

"I give up, okay? Give up! I throw in the towel now, I don't try anymore!"

I heard my own roar with a cry.Then I choked up and couldn't say anything, didn't have the strength to think, didn't have the strength to get up and walk out.I frantically wiped my tears from falling on my notebook.

The next day I knocked on the door of Holmes' room.The room had been cleaned quite a bit and looked a bit empty.He was flipping through the manuscripts on his desk, stacking them up in categories, without looking at me.

"Holmes, I have something to say to you," I said.

He paused, put down the things in his hand, and turned to face me.He didn't know that this neat signature move made me almost give up all my previous preparations by accident.

"I'm sure you already know what it's about. After all, I didn't even bother to remember where things were originally placed."

A look of hesitation flashed across Holmes' face.

"I'm here to talk about the arrangements for the future. Yes, it's now, because my things have been packed, and I'm about to catch the noon train. Time is tight, please don't ask any questions before I finish speaking."

I didn't leave the room door.He didn't try to get close either.

"I asked my brother to help me find a small secluded village in South Sussex, where the environment is ok, and absolutely no one bothers you. You can do whatever you want. Keep bees, or write books, it's up to you. Pack it up Afterwards, Mrs. Hudson will accompany you."

"She told me," said Holmes, looking at me quietly with gray eyes.

"Of course she told you. We didn't ask her to keep it a secret. She didn't want you to live alone, so she decided to leave London with you, so as not to be too sad to part with you, and went there to be your house——to be a housekeeper Well, it's the housekeeper this time. She sold 221B, and now the room is still not cleared. Dr. Watson will continue to open a clinic here. He hasn't decided whether to send you to Sussex. If he does, he will We need to hire someone to take care of Mei Li. She won't go, we don't worry about letting her be exhausted."

His eyes were plainly asking something.

"I won't go. I won't send you off either. I just said that I'm leaving soon. If nothing else, this is..."

According to the original plan, I should say "this is the farewell".But there was something touching in the eyes he was looking at me that kept me from saying that.

"My work in Manchester will continue, you know. I will visit you from time to time if need be, like Watson. That's all."

Holmes thought for a moment with his head bowed.I heard him chuckle.

"I should have expected this," he said softly.

This sentence inexplicably touched my nerves.I can't calm down anymore.

"I should have known this would happen," I said. "You cannot understand, Holmes, that you are perfect and that my whole life has been a mistake. Back in Sussex old Mr. Nightingale and I Said things that should never have been told to me. He thought I would have figured it out. They gave me up from the start. They used to send me to school and learn things that girls would envy, and I still Delusion can go to Literary School, but obviously they will regret it later, and send me to London to fend for myself, or fend for myself. I was brought up as a weird kid, even absurd (I can't help the sarcasm on my face here look), my father said, when I was 14 they knew no one would marry me. It was over. My mother said I could just be thrown to Scotland Yard as a beggar and a waif, Old Mr. Nightingale still hopes that someone can take care of me. Lestrade, a poor honest man, can have a hundred ways to deal with it, but he actually entrusted me to you. I also want to thank you, Mr. Holmes , the only person who didn't throw me away, is supposed to be the one who should throw me away the most.

"You know what my most normal fate is. Be a tutor, find a normal person to marry, and everything will go well. But I insist on squeezing into an industry that I don't understand and have no talent at all, and I barely persisted until now. Nothing So logical. If this was a story I'd love to know who wrote it. I must have gotten into the wrong script. All this just because I love you, Holmes. It's the most out-of-the-ordinary thing of all.

"So I'm not surprised that I didn't have anything in the end. What I saw in the notebook and what you were thinking these days, I don't need to repeat it, and I don't want to repeat it. The only thing you don't want is this pair because you read it Eyes dimmed by too many books. Oh, and I miss her, Holmes, more than you can imagine. I don't use her gun anymore, but I always have it with me. Thought we were alike, turned out to be wishful thinking. She is the same kind to you, but I admire her.

"There's nothing else to say just yet. Do you have any questions now?"

"Nightingale, we made an oath." He said without moving.

"Yes, sir. But that oath is imprecise," I said. "Death cannot separate us, at least nothing can separate you from my heart. The two of us have always been apart. Now I must go. So, Goodbye, sir."

The author has something to say: The title is French, meaning "Friend, Goodbye," and it's also a film by Alain Delon.The Amway movie is not very suitable here, but it is really good-looking... The author finally found the BGM, but he forgot to say when it was updated, don’t read the lyrics of this song, I still don’t understand what the lyrics are saying What... When I encountered this soundtrack in a TV series, the plot had nothing to do with the lyrics.

Today is really the countdown to the end.Tomorrow, the main text will end, and then there will be an end according to the barber's habit, so this article is considered to be over.Although writing such a long time really exceeded the original plan, but at this time, I still feel helpless—it came sooner than I imagined.