[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(God's perspective)

The invitation turned out to be rather odd.Hilda Hopkins' dinner was absurdly absent only by herself, since she doesn't appear in public before the show.Nightingale cautiously announced the news that Holmes had already known through some channels, but Watson reacted violently.Things are not over yet.Getting off the taxi, they saw the carriage of a famous violinist parked at the door. Holmes and Watson looked at Nightingale at the same time:

"You didn't say in advance that there is this one."

"What I was going to say was interrupted by you." She said helplessly, "Is this strange? Regardless of what I said, Hilda has a very good relationship with her, otherwise how would you invite this distinguished guest to the birthday party? Could it be that with her here, you are not so sure of winning?"

Holmes suddenly lifted the back of her neck by the collar of her coat and pulled back more provocative words.

"Sorry, just wanted to strongly advise you to speak when the time is right."

Nightingale could not wait to shoot herself—although under Holmes' order, she didn't bring a gun at all this time.

The awkward atmosphere in the private room can kill.After greeting the unfamiliar tablemates, the three people in 221B looked at each other for a few seconds, and found the most acceptable seat in a tacit understanding.Next to Hatty is Nightingale, then Watson, Holmes.Even so, the table was silent.The other guests were also aware of the subtlety of the situation, and they just let it go with a few polite words, and no one brought up the topic.Both men were dressed in crisp black dresses, top hats, and were very personable.Holmes is elegant without sloppyness, Watson is gentle and uneducated - or so it seems.Only Nightingale, who had stayed in Baker Street for a long time, knew the danger of hiding a needle in the cotton.The ladies at the table were not very familiar with Holmes' temperament, and stared at them for a while.Hattie was a frequent visitor to high-end social occasions, all kinds of fancy dresses are available, and her hair is gorgeous and delicate.Nightingale watched her sit at the dressing table for more than an hour - Holmes' pupil himself took less than 10 minutes.On this occasion where the average female decoration level can be said to be fancy, Nightingale's simple to simple dress has achieved a thriving comedy effect.

Ronald Clovis and Balin Reginald exchanged a sullen look as soon as the quirky foursome took their seats.There was nothing too serious at first, but now the central figures of the rumors appeared at the same table one after another.As a result, they did not pay attention. Holmes and Nightingale exchanged glances across Watson.

"Put on your glasses." Holmes leaned a little sideways while straightening his clothes, whispered something in her ear, and then immediately returned to his original position.

As soon as the appetizers and wine were served, Clovis's lazy and raspy voice broke the cold balance.

"I have great faith in the sumptuous dinner that Miss Hopkins has arranged for us, though she was sadly not present. But I am afraid I will refuse any food or drink today."

"Why?" The junior whom he had single-handedly raised asked intentionally.

"Haven't you heard the saying? Don't eat with the enemy."

This sentence stunned the audience.

"That's a little vague, Ronald," said Della Hopkins, one of Hilda's cousins, gently. "Who is your enemy here? Could it be me? Really never had dinner at the same table."

The punch line elicited a low chuckle.Clovis didn't know whether she deliberately avoided the atmosphere from getting worse and gave him a step down, or she was just joking, so it was sad that she didn't stop her pace towards tragedy immediately.

"Of course not, Miss Hopkins, I would never mistake a pretty lady for an enemy. I mean, at least I cannot bear to dine with burglars."

Everyone involuntarily looked at Nightingale.Although the ladies almost immediately realized that this was a bit rude and quickly looked away deliberately, and Clovis looked away as if nothing had happened, but the brief silence was equivalent to forcing Nightingale to express his position on this.Watson stole a glance at Holmes.The detective didn't respond.Nightingale pushed his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"That's right, Mr. Clovis, and I quite agree with that," she said with a broad smile. "No decent person would tolerate such a thing. Dinner—but tolerance is a virtue, so I'll pretend I didn't see that little wine stain on sir's shirt collar. No, sir, it was there before the aperitif was served. It's very light, but it hasn't been cleaned up much, see It happened not long ago. Mr. and Mrs. did not come in the same carriage, nor did we come from the same direction. We all saw it. I would like to know where she thought Mr. went. Mrs. Clovis, show me that It's not a lip print, it can't be mistaken. The lady's mouth is smaller than this. Of course, if a lady likes to put too much powder on her hair, there may be something left."

Mrs. Clovis did not fulfill Nightingale's instructions satisfactorily, for as soon as all eyes turned to her, she fell back unconscious.Clovis hurriedly leaned her on his shoulder, shouting and clapping, but the woman's eyes were closed, her face was pale, and she didn't respond.People gathered, and Watson passed.Only Sherlock Holmes and Nightingale were very shameless and remained motionless.

"Why isn't she awake?" she whispered.

"I don't have any symptoms of heart disease or encephalopathy, and if I don't have a history of epilepsy, it's very likely that I don't want to wake up." Holmes also replied in a low voice.

"I dare say the lady is much wiser than her husband. I'm sorry to let her suffer with it. I think the Clovis family is going to be shot tonight."

"Please smile and be reserved. You will be seen."

Watson made up his on-the-spot diagnosis of "low blood sugar, need to rest" with a straight face.Critics listened to the advertisement of Dr. Watson's clinic in a cold sweat, but rejected his suggestion to continue the treatment.Because of Mrs. Clovis' sudden abnormality, the couple had to leave first, and several gentlemen helped to carry Mrs. Clovis out.Mr. Critic poked countless knives in Baker Street with his eyes.Watson sent the two of them out, hailed a taxi, and saluted politely when they arrived.Holmes seemed to be wandering away, picked up his wine glass inadvertently, and secretly made a toast to the doctor who was standing at the door of the private room smiling relaxedly.

"Still so faithful and reliable." The detective put the cup back on the table steadily.

With the loss of a central figure, the table was quiet for a while, and the atmosphere deteriorated.Reginald has no allies, but that doesn't mean the flag is dead.Before everyone was seated, he observed his opponent again, then chuckled and said:

"Why, Mr. Detective, is it over like this?"

"What else does Mr. Reginald want?" Holmes just glanced at him bluntly out of the corner of his eye.

"I thought Mr. Holmes would stop all of us, go over the scene, and then, by the brand of perfume that Mrs. Clovis dusted today, would classify it as a rare murder."

Although the accident just now caused the guests to be a little nervous, after hearing this witty remark, some people still laughed softly in an ignorant manner.Holmes looked at Nightingale casually.In response, she reluctantly took off her glasses and put them on the table.Holmes could not help smiling.The guests, who were quietly and closely following the miraculous figure, were baffled by this sudden modesty, but he immediately turned his gaze to Reginald again, and changed his icy countenance.

"I don't know much about the field of medicine," said Holmes calmly, "and I am therefore not at liberty to attribute other people's professions to my own. But Mr. Reginald may rest assured that if some impudent boy Losing a few pennies to shoot his brother in the club, or change his body and make up rumors about others at the dinner table, I am still confident that I can catch him at a glance."

Everyone present knows that Reginald has a disgraceful past, and offending a rookie on stage seems to be less expensive than offending an eccentric consulting detective, so there are obviously more people laughing this time.Reginald was speechless, wishing he could just pass out and get away with it.As if they knew the program schedule, the audience couldn't help but look at Neluda, who hadn't spoken.

"This restaurant isn't what it used to be," Hatty whispered, hoping to steer the conversation in an insensitive direction. "The vintage isn't good."

Neluda really lived up to expectations and stopped her with a blunt tone. "Miss Dolan, you'd better be like me and not touch their drinks."

"Where's your personal bartender, ma'am?" said a young gentleman who knew the violinist well, half-jokingly.

"Don't mention it, Mr. Flynn. She resigned. Some people are still very interested in her sudden departure, as if they can dig a murder case out of the girl."

No one spoke at all.Neluda was sour and astringent like an unripe fruit, Nightingale lowered her head to deal with her own dishes, Holmes was lazy and cold as ice, only unrelated guests felt like sitting on pins and needles, wishing to leave immediately.

"It's a pity." Hattie bluntly avoided the violinist's insinuations. "She has mixed drinks for me, and her skills are very good."

"At that time, she was hired largely for this reason." The violinist squinted his eyes and said, "Sorry, I have a picky taste. There are not many that meet the standards."

"It's actually not that rare."

When Nightingale spoke suddenly, the guests at the table were startled.Maybe she was silent just now not because she didn't want to talk, but because she was patiently lurking in the depths of the grass like a cat, and didn't move until the most suitable time.

"What did you say, Miss Nightingale?" The violinist couldn't believe his ears for the first time.

"For example, I can adjust, and I can do it on the spot." Nightingale said clearly.

Watson shook his head desperately at her, but she pretended not to notice, and asked the waiter to fetch the missing materials on the table.The doctor turned to Holmes with winks, but it was of no avail, for the detective was enjoying the spectacle.

"She doesn't have to!" Watson silently lip-synced to Holmes.

"But she is," replied Holmes, equally silent.

The equipment is ready.Nightingale's operation method was like adding reagents to a test tube and then stirring, Holmes could not help laughing.The violinist's face turned green.Nightingale watched her secretly through the glass, with a serious expression, worthy of being an actor taught by Holmes.

"Madam, please." She gently poured half a glass and pushed it to Neluda with a smile on her face.The violinist's unknown anger was about to burst out, and he pushed the cup back hard.Her original intention should be to grab the cup and smash it directly on the edge of the table.Nightingale was as calm as cold water, but Neluda was furious.

"I'm sorry, Miss Nightingale, you still don't understand what I mean. Bartending is a precise art. You can't call it bartending by mixing several things of different colors together." The violinist raised his teeth Squeezed between the cracks and said.

"Angela, can I have a try?" Dr. Watson resignedly came out to ease the atmosphere.All he wanted to do now was to escape back to Baker Street after dinner, not to the opera.

"Yes." Nightingale handed the cup to the doctor.

"Did you know that your student has a talent for being a bartender, Holmes?" Watson said, barely pretending to be in a good mood. "If you don't make professional requirements, this tastes pretty good."

The detective shook his head.

"Considering that she often mixes up the caps of the reagent bottles when doing experiments, I don't quite..."

"what is this?"

Nightingale interrupted Holmes unconsciously.She saw through the glass a white shadow on the plate brought up by the waiter, so she moved some wine glasses away.

In the middle of the plate lay five orange pits.

Nightingale gasped.Almost at the same moment, Holmes sprang from his chair as if hearing a fire alarm.At this time, no one has time to care about him or Nightingale.Dr. Watson suddenly blushed terribly, and convulsed in his chair. He tried to put the glass back on the table, but his stiff fingers pushed the glass over, and it rolled to the floor and broke.After a scream, the ladies at the table passed out.The men all stood up dumbfounded.Before Holmes had time to grab Watson's shoulders, he had fallen off his chair, covered with cold sweat, and lay trembling on the ground, looking down at the detective who was looking down at him in amazement.

"Plants... lily of the valley..." the doctor managed to squeeze out two words.The pupils dilated, and the terror in the blue eyes began to spread.Holmes crouched down beside him, his face pale.

"Just spit out the poison and everything will be all right, I promise," snapped Holmes, pushing the doctor by the shoulders and pushing him up to sit up.

"Mr. Flynn, get the doctor. Nightingale, stop the waiter, he may have run away. Nightingale?"

Holmes raised his head angrily and glanced at Nightingale who was still sitting on the chair and did not respond.Hatty, who had stood up at this time, let out another hysterical scream.

Nightingale's complexion was already the same as that of a dead man.

The author has something to say: It's not enough to take the heroine's life to death, but also to get a Watson to help her forehead...

It is necessary to issue a warning that the following plot may be a bit ridiculous, I will try my best to make it look serious_(:з」∠)_