[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(Manuscript by Dr. Watson)

We had an untimely encounter with Gregson in the corridors of Scotland Yard.Lestrade and his not-so-friendly colleague exchanged glances for a while before speaking, each wishing to burn the other to ashes with their gazes.

"Good luck, Lestrade." Gregson's gaze quickly turned around the three of us, and he grinned, "Our friends in Baker Street are suddenly interested today, so we don't need to ask for help." Come here with you. I hope you have not been ridiculed too much in Baker Street, dear fellow."

Holmes looked indifferently and made no intention of answering.Nightingale looked down at her shoes, it was not her turn to speak on this occasion.

"I don't quite understand what you mean, Mr Inspector." I pushed back the brim of my hat. "I've never spoken ill of any member of Scotland Yard. I've always been on call."

Lestrade smiled.Nightingale pretended she didn't hear anything, but she almost laughed and covered her mouth in time.Grayson stared at me for a long time.

"It has nothing to do with you, Dr. Watson."

"Really? But I think you are the only one who can be regarded as friends here. You don't think you can call yourself a friend of Holmes, do you? I sincerely admire your self-confidence."

"It seems that you were the one who was ridiculed by the 'friend' on Baker Street, dear Grayson." Lestrade, who was still languid just now, cheered up, "There is no time to waste bickering, please let us go into the reference room look."

"McMurdo might still be around," said Grayson, "I haven't seen him come out."

"Is this the American detective?" I asked.

"Yes, Jack McMurdo, Pinkerton."

Grayson's unwarranted complacency must have disgusted Holmes.Although he was like Lestrade, it made the difference to Holmes whether to consult him or not to consult him.

"I wouldn't mind meeting my colleagues across the ocean," he said delicately.

Lestrade looked anxiously at the detectives beside him.He didn't know whether Holmes really wanted to meet the American detective, or whether he was looking for an opportunity to confront him—the two usually existed at the same time.

"Well, Mr. Holmes," said the police officer at last, "we will meet with Mr. McMurdo, and perhaps an exchange of ideas can speed up the progress of the case thought flashes across his face). Grayson, go to the office."

"What? Aren't you going to the reference room?"

Lestrade glanced at me.

"Fight first, then get down to business," I said.

How can the reference room be a place where colleagues and friends clash fiercely, and a safe place must be found for individuals with a lethality beyond ordinary people to attack each other.Not just Lestrade, we all thought so.Grayson first went to the legendary McMurdo.Lestrade talked about the various vices of this American detective along the way: smoking inferior cigarettes, making Scotland Yard smoky; lacking basic etiquette, calling him by his first name without any transition from surname; joking without taking lightly It's not serious, and he often utters bad words... I have reason to believe that Lestrade has too much opinion of him, so it is inevitable to add embellishment.We've had a lot of dealings with casual Americans, and I think it's a bit of an exaggeration.In the end, I reminded him that he will be at the door soon and will be heard by the person concerned.

When the detective opened the door, the legendary impolite American detective was leaning on the desk, with one hand in his pocket, staring at the door.

I was a little taken aback when I saw the young detective, because I couldn't quite connect him with the vulgar American Lestrade described.He looked to be about the same age as Holmes, maybe a year or two younger, with short cropped brown hair, a long face, a broad forehead, a wide mouth, generally rough but correct, and brown eyes that looked like a tough guy.The clothes are also simple and rough, just a dark coat and a bowler hat.Seeing us coming in, he gradually showed a sophisticated, even a bit oily smile.

"Let me introduce," said Grayson, who was also in the office, with a sad face. "This is Jack McMurdo, the Pinkerton detective who once uncovered the assassination organization in Gilmerton Hill Canyon."

"Good morning, gentlemen," said the man from the detective agency. "I think this is the Mr. Sherlock Holmes mentioned by Gerry! This must be the equally powerful doctor."

McMurdo's voice was at odds with his imposing appearance.He spoke with a raucous accent, slightly hoarse, with every vowel squished and elongated, and it sounded harsh until you got used to it.Sherlock Holmes, who strictly obeyed the Queen's English, frowned when he heard him speak.

We shook hands with him.Compared with Holmes' elegant movements, McMurdo is quite casual, just like seeing an old friend.At this time, he noticed the existence of Nightingale behind us.

"Gerry, you didn't tell me that this lady would be here." He took off his top hat. "It's a rare thing in our line of work to see beautiful sex. Mr. Holmes, I sincerely envy you."

It was an ill-fitting joke.McMurdo saw from the expressionless faces of Holmes and Nightingale that he had failed to please the audience, so he did not continue to gag.

"Gerry, what do we say?"

I just realized that this friendly "Gre" was referring to our Greson, and I couldn't help laughing.Grayson coughed.Maybe he got along with his detective partner, and it was a different kind of burnt-out.

"Well, Mr. McMurdo..."

"Just call me Jack."

"So, Jack, let's discuss the murderer who bears the same name as you."

"I really want to know who named this guy. The whole Scotland Yard is talking about 'Jack' and I don't know when to answer."

"Didn't I show you that letter?" Grayson said, "The one signed 'Naughty Jack' is just a fake one, and we've already caught the reporter who was just looking for trouble."

"Oh, of course I know, just joking."

"McMurdo, please be serious."

Two unofficial detectives working on the same problem at the same time is a disaster.Holmes' face was frosty, and McMurdo was talking and laughing freely. The two sat facing each other across a desk, and the air between them froze.I sat down next to Holmes, and Nightingale was still hesitating.

"I would like to sit with the lady, Miss Nightingale," said McMurdo lazily, "so that the work will not be too dull."

"It is necessary to remind, Mr. McMurdo, that Nightingale is not here to amuse anyone. She is our second and half detective."

Having finished speaking, Holmes lowered his eyes again.

Nightingale sat down icily beside the stunned McMurdo.Lestrade and Grayson respectively took out their materials.

"McMurdo and I have just discussed a plan," said Grayson. "He thinks our investigation is going in the wrong direction."

"Scotland Yard is nearly full of bums you've captured from Whitechapel to testify against, I hear," said McMurdo briskly. You're almost crowding out your people. The thing is, the murder of a prostitute in Whitechapel isn't necessarily the work of the lowly scoundrels. They may just be a screen for the murderer. Because you're focusing on them Only the real culprit can get away with it.”

"That's a novel idea," I said.

"Thank you, doctor. Now that we have expanded the scope, the next step is to roughly determine the occupation of this person." McMurdo happily snapped his fingers at me, "Judging from the incisions left at the scene, I have reason to believe that It was done by a professionally trained individual, with at least a few months of training."

"That's unrealistic," Lestrade said. "We've had the injuries done, and the knife was rough and casual, not like a professional."

"If he had been so foolish as to have left behind a delicate surgeon's knife, he would not have been caught by now," said Holmes suddenly. "Gentlemen, please time the crime. Mary was last seen by all at eight o'clock in the evening. The body was discovered at [-]:[-] this morning, about ten hours before the death time according to the forensic medical examination, which means that the murderer and the body were dismembered for at most two hours. Everyone here should know how much effort and time it takes to dismember a person. , not by brute force. Jack used a knife (no offense, Mr. McMurdo), not an ax to chop it into pieces. As long as you have the ability to dissect people, and then destroy the knife edge to make it look like violent tearing, how much It can be concealed. I am of the same opinion as Mr. McMurdo, but I think it was done by a good surgeon, not simply by a trained man."

McMurdo whistled, and the whole room stared at him in amazement.He smiled sheepishly.

"Excuse me. Mr. Holmes, please go on."

"No, please continue."

"The range is narrowed again now, and it's more precise than it was at first," McMurdo said. "Targeting all professionally trained people in the vicinity. Probably not limited to this range, I know, but start here."

Grayson and Lestrade exchanged glances, and the former was obviously provocative.

"I think this trouble is coming to an end," Grayson said.

"Not necessarily." Lestrade squeezed through his teeth, "This is just a plan. Although the direction has been corrected, it is still far from the result."

"Has Mr. Holmes nothing to add?" Grayson turned to Holmes.Staring at the desktop in a daze, the detective raised his eyebrows without moving his eyes.

"No. Mr. McMurdo's judgment is sound, and the plan works. If there is anything else to say, it is to wish you all the best."

Grayson patted the stunned Lestrade.

"So easy to talk to. Come on, old chap, you can drink your coffee now and wait for us to catch Naughty Jack. It's a false name, of course."

Lestrade stared at Holmes desperately.The detective lowered his eyes and ignored him.Probably because he also felt the silence for too long, so he said calmly:

"It's all right. Watson, Nightingale, we can go."

"I said what's wrong with you?" Lestrade became angry as soon as he went out. "Do you really have nothing, even a little bit, that can overwhelm that American?"

"I don't need to overwhelm him," said Holmes flatly, "because we are not going the same way, and there is nothing to compare with."

"Do you have a solution?"

"There's never been a time when you can't help it."

"But you didn't..."

"That would disturb Mr. McMurdo's train of thought." Holmes straightened his collar somewhat sullenly. "Just as I don't need his advice, he doesn't need mine. It's just that he needs time and manpower, which is Scotland Yard." What is most lacking right now."

"Time is always on our side."

"I know, but the longer it drags on, the more victims there will be."

"Then you plan to..."

"I'm not going to say it here. It would be a little cruel."

The author has something to say: Your short-term partner is online, please check it.

McMurdo is actually the one in the real uncanny valley. This is his alias, which was taken directly.The character image is a bit of a reference to Humphrey Bogart's detective image in the Maltese Falcon, well, I accidentally included bootlegs, my favorite from my favorite movie

☆, Interlude Mei Li's Notes

John and Mrs. Hudson were away, and I witnessed the conflict throughout.It's so sad.If John is in 221B, he must have a way to ease everyone's emotions.Even if the landlady is here, it will be better than now, and she will force the house to be quiet.

I don't know exactly how the quarrel started.The situation got out of control when I heard the voices from upstairs getting louder.I heard Angela's high voice and Holmes's low voice, which he was trying to calm down.This is the first time I've heard that the two of them will quarrel, and it will reach an unmanageable level.Fearful, I crept upstairs and stood in Holmes' room listening for a while.Under normal circumstances Mr. Holmes could have judged exactly who was coming within ten feet of the door, but today he was not at all aware that anyone was at the door.

Nightingale's sudden roar made me shiver.

"This is your idea? The genius idea of ​​Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the only greatest consulting detective in the world! Well, since you are the only one, of course it is the greatest."

"Nightingale, I don't mean that at all."

"Unfortunately, that's what you mean."

"Let us be clear." Holmes' footsteps were pacing up and down the room. "Even if you are really allowed to go, it is only a task in line with your abilities."

"Shouldn't I be extremely honored that you trust my abilities so much? Because I'm going to be wandering around in Whitechapel alone at midnight with my eyes closed, greeting Jack the Ripper, the legendary murderer, and there's still enough The 'ability' to retreat without hurting a single hair?"

"You are now speaking from imagination, not from logic," said Holmes, in a tone harsher than hers. "Please don't exalt yourself."

"I survived because you turned the tide?"

"I resent you for saying that, Nightingale."

"This is the last straw!" Nightingale cried out, but Holmes did not answer.His silence is ironic, not submissive, a contempt for a lunatic talking to himself.

"Perhaps you don't remember, Mr. Detective, but I do, because I happened to be involved in several disasters. From the day I arrived in London, I watched your superb deduction skills, being fooled and laughed at. , was kidnapped with a knife on his neck, put a revolver on his heart in the house of an opera star, was shot in the street, was treated as a thief and murderer, was hunted down, had a throat choked, pretended to be suffocated and went into shock, for half Zhang Zhi is beaten and made a fool of himself in the public, and sometimes he takes a small problem that you can solve in less than a minute, or conversely chokes other people's throats. Now Mr. Holmes's imagination is getting richer, and he wants me to Face painted like a hag, put on a cheap dress and go down the streets of Whitechapel to pretend to be... in order to have a chance of meeting someone who cut me to pieces without saying a word, and he 'could' catch his Ripper Bring it to justice. Is this my last case you have planned? A brilliant night at the Baker Street Nightingale? The end of the student detective?"

When I heard her say that, I suddenly felt sorry for these two people.Although I haven't been with them for a long time, I can feel the sincerity of the two.Mr. Holmes was such a good man, so courteous, and never said anything out of character.I didn't understand most of what Nightingale had just shouted at the top of her lungs.Maybe there are angry words, maybe there are many things she hasn't told me, I can't judge.Thinking of this, I was about to open the door and go in, but I took my hand back.

"You've been thinking about these inexplicable things?"

Holmes' voice was a little downcast.Then there was the sound of a chair being moved and a gasp, as if Angela was sitting on the chair and crying.

"No," she went on, "no 'thinking' is needed. A genius needs no one's help, but someone must do all the drudgery for him except thinking. Not even his closest friend, Dr. Watson Didn't go through hoops like that? Someone who, for whatever reason, would do anything unconditionally for a genius, and dreamed of becoming a genius in a way that didn't require thinking. Everyone knows that a person who isn't a genius can never be a genius, Except her, this naive fool, convinced of her glorious future!"

All I heard was a sneer from Holmes.

"At that time, you still had a little fantasy, hoping that this girl with no background would have a little value in training. Later, you stopped fantasizing, and the facts are in front of you. I am just an ordinary person, without intelligence, without special skills, but I have The conceit, indifference and cranky thinking that everyone including you can't understand."

I never thought Nightingale would define herself that way.But one thing I sadly admit is that Sherlock Holmes wanted students who were as gifted as he was.I wish Mr. Holmes could say a few words of consolation, as he does to other women, but the nightingale is a delicate creature to Holmes, not on his equal footing, and above those who never hear him tell the truth. Groups, that is, they have to bear the same reality as men, but they cannot get any comfort like women.

"Nightingale, you'll never get the point," he said. "Now we're discussing how to catch the murderer who's terrorizing London. That McMurdo might find Jack the Ripper before we do."

I thought he had always believed that Nightingale could do the right thing at the right time.

"I've been saying it all the time," she said, "I'm afraid you're only doing it to prove that you're the best detective in the world."

"When there are competitors in any field, competition is at least one of the purposes, if not the main purpose. This is natural."

"For people at the peak level, it is true. Sorry, my attitude is very clear, I will definitely not go this time."

"I didn't say it had to be you." Holmes' voice suddenly relaxed. "I have someone better."

"So you decided to go to Iris?"

"Do you think I'd be as stupid as you to give my gun to a courtesan?"

"Holmes!"

The sound of something falling heavily.I thought one of them had dropped something, so without hesitation I opened the door and rushed in.

"Angela, stop arguing."

Both people in the room looked back at me.Holmes stood at the window, without concealing a look of contempt.Nightingale sat on the chair, looking even more surprised.What really made me feel ashamed was the stack of books in her hands and one or two books at her feet. The sound just now was that when she was talking and moving the books, she accidentally dropped the books on the ground.

"I am surprised that you have come in now, Mrs. Watson," said Holmes, speaking to me with rare sarcasm. "I thought you would not be interested in listening to such a quarrel for long."

"I'm not interested in hearing my family quarrel." I pulled Angela closer to me. "Yes, I've always thought so. You don't have to sneer, Mr. Holmes. I understand. You shouldn't have such an idea." , this is not your usual style."

"She didn't understand." Holmes slowly put his hands in his pockets and leaned back on the window-sill. "It's just that she didn't understand."

"Sorry, I don't understand the lingo of you detectives."

I pushed the reluctant Angela out of the room, and she went downstairs dejectedly without my telling.

"But I understand what she means." Assure that she was not listening, I continued, "Mr. Holmes, your request is going too far this time."

"I asked her nothing," said Holmes.He wanted to light a cigarette a little bit, I could see it, but he was so scrupled that he was in front of me, so he just glanced at the cigarettes on the table and didn't do anything.

"To be precise, I don't know how this quarrel started. At first, I proposed a plan and wanted to hear what she thought. She recommended Iris to me. I refused, and she suddenly lost her temper. No matter the answer She is not satisfied with anything. Perhaps you can understand her, but I must confess that I am defeated. As for what you have just said, Mrs. Watson, I can assure you that no such dangerous demands were made of her. I wouldn't send someone who couldn't defend himself against the Ripper."

"You are right, Mr. Holmes, I do understand," said I. "What she just said was not true. She was just trying to remind you."

Holmes was growing impatient.He is patient with me.But I decided to finish my talk this time.

"She's really not saying what you want to say, because she's not thinking about it. Maybe on purpose, maybe subconsciously, to remind you that she's done a lot, she's not that useless. Not that smart, but she's what Dare to do it, she can work hard, I hope this can bridge the gap between you two."

"You're smarter than she is, Mrs. Watson," said Holmes. "We both know that doesn't make up for it."

"We both knew she wouldn't go any other way."

"There are not too few ways for a woman who has read to earn a living. If she doesn't want to teach, she can also copy or type, or simply marry."

"I know why, and with all due respect, Mr. Holmes, you cannot understand at present," I said, looking at him.

"Then please go ahead. I have no time to speak to her now. You must calm her down." Holmes reached for his cigarette at last. If I didn't go out, he would lose his temper with me.While striking a match, he said casually:

"You should understand, Mrs. Watson, that if a man wants to acquire what he is not born with, he will go through hell."

"I understand, Mr. Holmes," I replied.

"Why, Angela?"

I asked the nightingale who was looking out the window with her back turned to me.She didn't answer.I approached her and put my hand on her shoulder.God, it's a normal body temperature, but I feel like I've touched a piece of ice.

"I know." I said.

"what."

"You to Holmes."

Her first reaction was to stare back at me sharply.Seeing my strange expression, she turned her head back in embarrassment.

"Mr. Holmes is indifferent. John is a fool. Men don't pay attention to this. If Mrs. Hudson hadn't been clouded by Mr. Holmes' bad tenant impression, she would have realized it."

"I'm a fool."

"None of that. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because there is no hope."

We both fell silent for a while.

"If you mean he's not in love with anyone, I doubt that. Anyone can confidently express contempt for being in love when they're not in love with someone."

"There is a difference in how you say this." She looked out the window and said, "He didn't pretend to be a tough guy, and he said that just to laugh at others. Those who just spoke on the spur of the moment can say it without guilt as soon as they finish speaking." No one would blame them for pursuing the first pretty girl he saw, and forgetting all the previous words. But for Holmes, is there anything more terrible in this world than the loss of logical thinking? Is there anything more boring in this world than a woman pleasing him, or vice versa? Compared with those chemicals, those guns and bloodstains, what are these trivial matters?

"Merry, I'm fine. It's been a long time since the first time I thought I liked him. It suddenly dawned on me that it didn't make sense. He was always a flat image to me. He never tried to know what I was thinking. What, I never know what he is thinking, what is his heart like. We have never understood each other. If this is the case, my previous wild thoughts are meaningless.

"So I can just end it like this and it won't be too sad. I'm done with love stories with stupid women. They're not like me, like us. If one day I can stand before him as an equal, I'm Will reconsider this. If you are okay, Merry, I have to go out, my gun is still in someone else's place."

"He wanted me to tell you," I said, "that if you want to be anything other than yourself, you're going to go through hell."

"I'm sorry about today," she said, "but he's not quite right. I'll still be myself."

The author has something to say: I just finished the oral test of the fourth grade of junior high school this morning, and I am having fun~~~

To give a little hint, it will take a long time to "go through hell" before flying solo. . .