[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(God's perspective)

She breathed a sigh of relief first.If the other party's attitude is gentle, at least it means that she still has room for negotiation, and it sounds like she is a person who can still communicate in normal language, not a lunatic.But she didn't speak, because the other party obviously hadn't finished speaking.

"I want you to understand that I am happy to give you whatever you need. I am sorry to hear that you are not satisfied with your present situation."

The other party paused for a while, as if waiting for a response, but Nightingale still did not dare to speak easily.He took a few steps closer and stopped in front of her.

"What do you need now?"

She looked up at people she couldn't see clearly.

"Any questions?"

Nightingale watched in horror as he was less than a step away from her, bent down and whispered in a soft voice.He sounds like a middle-aged man, pure Queen's English, especially the vowels, which are mellow and melodious.It's not a pretentious approach, even though he asked a few words, he didn't feel forced.If she allowed herself to describe it this way, she even felt that there was a bit of pity and worry in this voice that shouldn't be there.

"They shouldn't have left you here alone without even looking for them," he said unhurriedly. "Holmes is a character of unprecedented indifference. Maybe you're so passionate about confiding in him that he turns away. Don't care, just pretend I haven't seen you."

"You are in too much of a hurry, sir." Nightingale said quietly.

"what?"

"It's a little too early to say these things about Holmes that make me hate him."

"No, that's not what I mean," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I don't mean to make you hate him, because you are hopeless. Holmes has a hard time influencing people, because it's hard for him to communicate well with them." If you're not Dr. Watson's easy-going, easy-going fellow -- and you're not -- it just means you're an unlucky one-in-a-million wretch who would fall under the spell of Sherlock Holmes' uncanny charm. You can't possibly understand him, Because as far as I know, there is only one person in this world who really understands him so far. His parents don't understand, his brother doesn't understand, and you can't understand. Still blindly and unswervingly worshiping in this situation He is the only person, or, in the case we are discussing, only one person who does not know how rough and mean he is being treated, and who thinks she is kind and understanding, one of the few One of those who open their hearts, who think they are wise, but are in fact trapped and unable to find their way out. Such a man is a lesser fool than mortals, because he refuses to admit and change a wrong decision, Ken asked the outside world for help, and was always lingering in the harm he imagined."

Nightingale and him stared at each other in the darkness.

"Are you trying to prove how much better you are than him?"

"No, I'm not for myself." He stood up, "There is no difference to me in this world with you or without you. But you have to understand that sometimes the confinement of space means the freedom of the soul. You need a time and a place to be free from his influence and to recover your own thinking powers. You need to be truly free."

"Sounds like witchcraft," she snorted.

"Maybe you don't believe in psychic power. In fact, neither do I. I believe in psychic power."

In this hopeless eye contact and rambling conversation, she seemed to understand what he wanted her to say.No matter how holy and noble the words were, they couldn't change the final fact: he wanted her to break down, to cry, to beg him to take her out of this room, even hell was bigger than this.Thinking of this, she choked up a little, her breathing became short of breath, and she could hardly make a sound.But she couldn't plead for anything, absolutely not.In this chaotic space where black and white are reversed, her self-awareness is the only island she can stand on. If she collapses, if she gives up her dignity, she will be trapped inside and have no way out.He wanted her to abandon Holmes and forget about Holmes, so she couldn't do that.Sherlock Holmes was the only one she could recall.Maybe she doesn't have the ability to confront the opponent, but Holmes is the only one who is strong enough to support her to confront this formidable enemy.What this person said made a little sense. She believed in spiritual power, and she also believed in spiritual power.

"Are you afraid of me?" Nightingale said suddenly.

This answer was so unexpected that the other party paused for a long time.

"No reason?"

"If you're not afraid, give me the gun back."

The other party let out a burst of peaceful laughter.

"Bad provocation, Miss Nightingale. Smart people don't use provocation, because it doesn't work on smart people."

So she stopped talking.

"Do you think I'll be angry, Miss Nightingale?"

She still didn't answer.

"Actually, I was really angry." The voice said softly and contrary to the tone, "I was almost irritated. First you showed passive resistance with weird behavior, and then you asked for weapons in an aggressive manner. You are not Understand, I don't need to entertain you so politely, it's all because I don't like to see others suffer."

She sighed sarcastically.The other party paused again.

"Don't you have any words of thanks, Miss Nightingale?"

"No," she said, "sorry, but I don't like to lie. Since I came in, I don't know where this is, why I am here, but so far no questions have been asked, and I think this performance has been very good." Docile. Asking me to thank you is more than I can bear."

"You don't need to know why you are here." The other party was still watching her, and she could feel it, "You just need to be here—to live, unless I change my plan and don't want you to live, so please don't be too arrogant, lest there be One day fell too hard."

"I've never been proud."

"That's good." He let out a soft breath, "Although it's admirable to be able to keep your head clear now, I still doubt whether you really understand what you said, or know what I just said .How long you can live depends first on me, and second on you. Remember this sentence, dear Miss Nightingale."

Then he turned and went out, stepping unhurriedly, closing the door gently behind him.

Nightingale's sense of uneasiness grew stronger.

Fundamentally it had nothing to do with her reaction.He wants to wear her down, no matter how she behaves, as long as her spirit is not broken, sooner or later he will use all kinds of tricks.

She just didn't know what tricks to expect.

She learned quickly.

After that person left that day, no one brought her food again.

She quickly discovered this problem. Based on the previous conversations, she judged that the other party was going to force her to hand over her gun and surrender by cutting off food.Afterwards, someone came to bring her water twice a day. This frequency was roughly estimated by her, and it was enough to sustain her life, but it completely cut off her way of talking to herself, because she had to be silent to barely guarantee that she would not be thirsty.She began to adopt a hibernation strategy, sleeping as long as possible to reduce consumption.

After two to three days, she no longer had the strength to sit up and drink water by herself, so the person who delivered the water had to drag her up and feed her directly into her mouth.In addition to the hunger that can devour her internal organs, not to mention the overwhelming darkness.Hallucinations took up most of her time, and after three days she couldn't estimate how much time had passed.In her vision, she saw herself walking into Baker Street, seeing Mrs. Hudson cleaning the table over and over again, Holmes lying on the sofa smoking endlessly, Watson walking up and down in the living room and opening all the windows... And her family, she saw her mother crying until she was unconscious, and her father woke her up by calling her name desperately.Her brother carefully buried himself in a pile of books, pitifully trying to hide from the mess of reality... and Sergeant Lestrade, she heard him keep saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" in her ear, Accompanied by Hilda Hopkins' soprano background music.She saw Iris smiling sweetly across from her, and handed over a glass of beer. The glass of wine began to ripple, expand, twist, and finally swallowed the entire space...

The last bit of sweetness pulled her back from her reverie.

sweetness.The taste of white sugar.Or brown sugar, she never could tell.Sugar mixed with water, the moist and warm breath, getting stronger and stronger, was just around her mouth.Normal people in good health do not have such keen senses.She raised her head as if suddenly electrified, and bit down, biting the rim of the cup with her front teeth. If it wasn't made of glass, she could have chewed off a piece of it.After making sure no one took the cup back, she raised her head slightly, and the sugar water flowed down.The person holding the water tilted the cup a little, allowing her to swallow the sugar water easily.She didn't dare to stop or slow down for a moment, until the last drop of water flowed through her jaw.

Only then did she fully wake up, and opened her eyes to look around the dark surroundings.She was lying on the ground, and the man squatted opposite her holding a cup.It was the last person she had spoken to, she was sure.

"Almost thought you were dead," he said softly, with a slight smile, "but I don't think you'll surrender so easily."

She still doesn't speak.

"I just want a word from you," he said at last. "It's easy. Just say it, and nothing will happen. I'll take you away, give you a room, give you books, and everything will be the same as when I was in Baker Street." Same."

She doesn't speak.

"Don't get me wrong, I never meant to insult you. It's very simple, there is no derogatory sentence, and no harm can be done. I just need you to say: 'I was wrong.'"

Nightingale looked up at him suspiciously.He smiled at her surprised look.

"Yeah, it's as simple as that, saying, 'I was wrong'. It doesn't hurt your self-esteem, it's not a big deal."

She lowered her head again.

"If you don't tell me, give me a reason."

"If you ask, I will do so, which means I obey."

There was a brief silence, and something in the air began to pressurize and freeze.

"I understand, Miss Nightingale." When the other party spoke again, he was gentle and calm, "Obeying is not something to be ashamed of, on the contrary, it is the only way to survive. Everything is sacred for survival, isn't it? "

"Maybe."

"Originally, it's delusion to use gentle means to solve you." He stood up, "I appreciate unyielding fierce horses. Just remind, Miss Nightingale, if we don't accept it this time, it will be very difficult for both of us."

"I have no room to speak, sir." Although her voice was weak, there was anger.That "fiery horse" metaphor is implicitly offensive to women.

"I'd rather you call me Professor."

Nightingale was silent, not very surprised, but not optimistic either.

It wasn't any verbal threats that really terrified her.But when he reached the door, he said two succinct words to someone waiting outside:

"The water is cut off."

The author has something to say: The author has never studied sociology or psychology, and attaches a few characteristics of Stockholm syndrome copied from Du Niang. It cannot be said to be accurate or authoritative, but it can still be used for reference:

1. The hostage must truly feel that the kidnapper (assailant) threatens his own survival.

2. During the hostage process, the hostage must realize that the kidnapper (assailant) may do little favors.

3. The hostage must be insulated from all other viewpoints (usually without outside information) except the kidnapper's single viewpoint.

4. The hostage must believe that escape is impossible.

One thing is for sure, not locking up the hostages will definitely lead to syndrome, in fact, the result is likely to be the kind in "The Collector", where the hostages resolutely resist until their death.