[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(God's perspective)

September 1888, 9, Port of London.

London was not peaceful at this time.Of course, London has never been peaceful, especially in the Whitechapel area where there have been frequent incidents in recent days. Theft, robbery, and murder are so common that on Easter Tuesday, a coal truck driver found a female body on his way from work. "London The Times didn't even consider giving it a single line.But if we open the magazine of Sherlock Holmes' clippings, we will see that on the page of April 1888, 4, there is a specially vacated space, and a line of words is clearly recorded in pen: "Emma Elizabeth Smith , 3 years old, widowed and forced to engage in prostitution due to life.” This is an insignificant detail that Scotland Yard does not care about, like an insect trampled to death on a busy road, it instantly turns into dust and blows away with the wind.But out of perhaps a subtle intuition, someone used mysterious strokes to record the name that was drowned in the file.

Flip back a few pages and you'll find a story from The Times of London for Friday, August 8.According to reports, in the middle of the night on the 19th, a woman was killed in front of the Greenfield Park building in the Whitechapel district. The deceased was stabbed 16 times. When a doctor was called to the scene, the victim had been dead for three hours. South East Division Coroner Coleile investigates.This was followed by reports on Saturday, September 39, that in the early hours of August 9, a police officer found Anne Chapman, a prostitute, with her throat slit and dead in Bucks Lane in Whitechapel.The police recalled that on August 1, a similar victim was found on the streets of the slums.The two most recent incidents occurred on September 8 and 30. The deceased were Marianne Nicholas, a street prostitute, and a woman whose name was unknown.The cases mentioned above were unsolved until September 8, 6.

We still return to the Port of London on September 9th.

The porters and sailors at the cargo port wharf couldn’t fail to notice that a plainly dressed but extremely beautiful woman panicked and ran anxiously out of the cabin of a cargo ship that was unloading on the shore with her luggage, stumbling straight Going to shore, maybe a little seasick.Someone asked her if she needed help, but she just ran over as if she didn't see it, or didn't have the heart to pay attention, without pausing for a second.It is rare to see such a passenger on a cargo ship, and she is so beautiful, blond hair, long face, sea blue eyes, sweet and lovely, even in a plain dun coat and seems to have lost her hat, she is not too beautiful. It is easy to get lost in noisy and chaotic environments.

She has to run.She didn't know when she would die suddenly on the pier, although she had tried her best to take the risk of taking the freight alone, and those people were unlikely to think of it.She has been careful to avoid the water's edge, because maybe when she is close to the water, a hand will push her unexpectedly from behind, and then the whole incident will be explained as an accidental overboard caused by crowding or weakness.But what she was most worried about was the poison, the insidious poison needle that took her brother's life, as long as it stuck into her arm when she passed by, she would turn livid and distorted, and fall to the ground dead on the spot.While people were clamoring to take her to the hospital, the real murderer had long since disappeared into the crowds of London.

"Isn't that thing in Baker's Lane broken?" Two sailors on the pier were discussing some London news.

"Bacchus Lane. No. The High Street Police Station is full of shit."

"Head cut off?"

"Pretty much chopped that fuck to pieces." One of the sailors used a vulgar expression, before spitting, "Damn, it's too bad."

The incomprehensible conversation overheard put a heavy burden on her nerves, and she subconsciously hugged the luggage in her arms tightly.A woman came to a strange city alone after a big detour in England, to another place of human hell, looking for the unreal light in the legend, she didn't know how she did it.But when a person is about to be trapped in the desert, the reason "there may be water ahead" is enough to support him for a while longer.She sent the letter when she set off, and only rushed to drop the letter when the mail truck reached the mailbox, which greatly reduced the possibility of being intercepted.Even so, she wasn't sure the letter would arrive on time.She described her situation in the most desperate terms, left behind the schedule of the boat, and unilaterally agreed on the time and place to meet, hoping that someone would come to pick her up, so as not to fail in the last step of survival.

There was a sudden heavy pause in her chest, and she put a hand on her chest with a pale face.Premature beats occurred again.Her heart function is weaker than ordinary people, which is usually not a big deal, but after long-term mental stress and exhaustion, it is a bit unbearable.She left the pier like sleepwalking, and stood at the street corner agreed in the letter, panting shortly and hurriedly.She may not even be able to pay for a taxi right now.She looked around, but saw no one she expected to see.Excluding street vendors and passers-by in a hurry, the only thing in the field of vision that is fixed in place is a young girl, leaning idly on the pole of a street lamp.

The girl, who had just arrived in London, looked at the girl.She looked no older than 20, but the clothes and the look on her face were totally inappropriate for her age.Her gray coat was too long and fell to her knees over her skirt, and was too masculine in color and pattern for a girl to wear.She put one hand in her pocket and looked around absently, now looking up at the sky, now running her fingers through her wind-blown hair.She has a simple hairstyle without any hair accessories. She has a relaxed look on her face. She is not beautiful, her face is too thin, and she has no makeup.There was none of the femininity expected of her age.The lone traveler had not yet understood the meaning of the gesture of keeping one hand in the pocket, let alone deduced her possible identity from it.Weird attire and sloppy manner, like a street bum wearing clothes picked up or given away by others, but too clean for a bum.It is conceivable that when he was thinking this way, he suddenly saw that girl walking straight towards him, how much the poor female guest was astonished.

"Ma'am, looking for a hotel? I can lead the way."

The girl's clear Queen's English stunned the passengers.This is quite different from the series of guesses she just made.

"No, thank you." The woman replied, calming down a bit. "I have a date with someone else."

"Waiting for someone, Miss?" The girl changed her address calmly.

"Correct."

"Miss can find a place to settle down first, and then meet people. I live on Baker Street."

The place name made the tourists startled.She seemed to see the girl wink at her when she spoke.

"You live in Baker Street?" she repeated.

"Of course, someone shares the rent with me."

"Please lead the way, thank you very much."

"I'll help you with your luggage, miss. What's your name?"

"My name is Morstan."

"Of course, Marilyn Morstan."

Miss Morstan was not surprised for too long, and handed the luggage to the girl.She took the package with her left hand, and with her right hand still in her pocket, she walked naturally to Meili's right.

"What should I call you?"

"Angela. Angela Nightingale."

The two women walked in silence for a while, and Mei Li tried to change their positions midway, but Angela carefully avoided this possibility.

"Is that hand of yours injured?" Meili hesitated for a while and asked in a low voice.

"No." Angela also whispered.

"Then why..."

"It's actually like this. My teacher asked me to pick you up, but I actually forgot to bring a gun. But you said the situation is so bad in your letter. There is no way but to pretend."

"Pretend what?"

"Generally speaking, people who follow you—if there are any—see you inseparable from a person who always puts their hands in their pockets, and they probably won't let go of their courage."

"why?"

"Sorry, I forgot that you are not this passerby. Putting your hand in your pocket means that there is a gun in your pocket."

"usually?"

"Uh... just average. If they were a group of desperadoes, it's hard to say whether they would give it a go. Judging from your letter, they seem to be. But don't worry, desperadoes also act more cautiously. "

Meryl Morstan, who was just grateful for the fact that the legendary London detective Sherlock Holmes lived up to her high expectations, realized that it was necessary to have a comprehensive understanding of the residents of Baker Street because of this first meeting with Nightingale.

At the same time, an anti-drug battle between acquaintances is taking place at 221B Baker Street.

"What's today? Mor/coffee or co/ca/ine?" Watson, leaning on the door frame, asked in a drawn-out tone.

"I hope you don't ask any more questions." Holmes lay flat on the sofa and raised a hand to cover his eyes weakly. "I won't touch coffee."

"If this makes you feel less guilty. Didn't that Miss Morstan say that she could go to London today? Angela will bring her back in a while, so you don't have to worry about not being mentally stimulated."

"So you think they will come back soon." Holmes closed his eyes and thought for a while, then suddenly raised something and pointed it at Watson.

"Is this... her revolver?"

"Yes, my dear Watson, so thank goodness if they both make it to Baker Street unscathed."

Not long after saying this, both of them heard the downstairs door slam open, the two hurried footsteps, and then the door was slammed shut again.A female voice full of energy, with traces of a child's voice, argued with a gentle and beautiful female voice.

"I said you were wrong!"

"No, I'm sure that's the guy! He's found us!"

"God, Miss Morstan, even the Baker Street Squad doesn't have such a high tracking efficiency!"

"Well, it seems that I have miscalculated." Holmes still closed his eyes quietly. "Ready to welcome guests, Watson. But I doubt that Morstan is her real name."

"I will go down to see them first. As for you, Holmes, it is better to intervene in this matter when you are sober."

"I'm asber as ever. Lady in distress asking for help, old nonsense," said Holmes, rubbing the space between his brows.

Watson shook his head. "Actually, not necessarily. According to experience, there will always be some special gains in helping women in distress. I can't say exactly what it is."

Author's Note: Please note in the text that the flamboyant news paragraphs at the beginning are not original, they are taken from "Sherlock Holmes on Baker Street", with a little editing and processing by myself, such as Sherlock Holmes' clipping album or something, The book doesn't say that directly.

The author has something to say: On weekends, he did translation homework, wrote literature class homework, reviewed the second foreign language, went to the cinema to watch Zootopia, and produced food for the students on the spot... I sneaked a chapter in my busy schedule, so as not to disappear for too long, but what next time? When the time comes, it will not be made again. . .

A new volume has begun~ In order for Rameli to join the team, this volume should be very short.Dr. Watson, what is that special achievement, I won't say much~