[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(God's perspective)

So Nightingale walked down the dark stairs with the dinner plate every day under the supervision of Moran, until he reached the door of the terrible room and put down the latch.Although the only exit was guarded for a long time, Moriarty still worried that she would become a breakthrough for Holmes to escape.Then Moran closed the door behind her and listened to what they had to say.It was very dark in the room, for the windows were nailed up.Every time she saw Holmes standing in the middle of the room, facing the door silently, white shirt, black coat close-fitting, unbuttoned, as clean as a cat, with bright eyes.She always had the illusion that she opened the door of room 221B by herself.They never tried whispering.

She still brings afternoon tea to Moriarty every day.Although it seems to her that the professor has always been invincible, in fact, James Moriarty is going through the biggest crisis in his life at this time.His lines all over London were disappearing faster than he had anticipated.Pollock agreed to cooperate, and Scotland Yard acted in record time.Moriarty was quite professional, and the high-level personnel were not inferior, but with accurate intelligence, things were very different.Almost all members of the next level of the core members are under the jurisdiction of Pollock, and this is a clean sweep.In the subsequent actions, the strict discipline of the professor caused a lot of trouble. On the one hand, most of the middle and high-level officials were loyal to the organization. Identity cannot provide much reliable information.Scotland Yard still felt that the progress was too slow despite the highly directional intelligence. Lestrade launched a large-scale smoke-free war all over London in a rage, digging out all possible clues, Refuse to bear any losses, and allow all police officers to use any violent methods of evidence collection.Interrogations without violence are fantasies, and now is the time to really show them off.When the line extends to the lower level, the quality of the members is far inferior to the upper level. In order to be able to cover every angle of London, Moriarty can only compromise on this issue.The seasoned Scotland Yard is good at dealing with such people, and the childish concealment and resistance of insiders are vulnerable.What they need is to find the same point of a line, and then find them out one by one by coaxing, coaxing, intimidating, luring, punching, and so on.The constables later agreed that it was the happiest month in Scotland Yard history.As for whether there are a few of them who have been mistyped, we can only say that it all depends on the ability of Scotland Yard to verify.If an outsider spoke directly to Lestrade in this way, he would definitely receive serious rebuttals, but if placed inside them, these were just a little proud gag.When Moriarty thought about it casually, this image appeared in his mind: his pawn stayed up in Scotland Yard for several days and nights and refused to confess his accomplices. The police officers said helplessly to Lestrade: " The guy just said he couldn't understand what we were saying."

"Then he might need his ears fixed, right?" Lestrade said, taking two steps forward and giving the man two solid punches.

"But, Inspector..."

"I'm going to hear him talk this afternoon."

So that person spoke in the afternoon.

With a dark smile on his face, Moriarty took the teacup from Nightingale.

"Scotland Yard are a bunch of bastards."

She gave a barely visible smile.

"What are you thinking?" The professor stirred the tea with his hand. "Thank God, I didn't use the medicine spoon as a spoon this time."

"I'm thinking that if you wanted to achieve the same thing, you'd do it in a much more refined way than Scotland Yard."

"I hope you said it without irony, Angie. I like humor, but I don't like malice."

"Maybe it's because you study mathematics, and I study literature."

"I appreciate that."

Nightingale glanced outside the door intentionally or unintentionally.Moriarty knew she was thinking of the room she had been in before.

"Scotland Yard is good at using violence and our habit is using our minds. That's the difference. It remains to be seen which one is more effective."

"I don't know how many colleagues in this world dream of the brains of Scotland Yard, Professor." Nightingale continued.

"I'm so glad you haven't been affected by the disgusting pride of the Holmes family." The professor said coldly. "I don't know if you have figured it out after all this time. The reason why Sherlock casually swears at Scotland Yard is simply because they are standing on the ground." On the same standpoint. If I used to talk so casually before, and now I encounter this kind of loss, Moran and the others will laugh at me for the rest of my life."

Nightingale seemed to want to say something, but after thinking about it, she swallowed it back.

"Still unwilling to hear about any of Holmes' faults? Or—unwilling to admit that I once admired even his faults?"

She didn't answer, she turned her face away.

The professor smiled.

On the morning of the 8th, when she opened the door and came in, he was pacing back and forth in that small space, with his back to the door all the time. He didn't know if he heard someone coming in, and he didn't respond.She put the tray on the table and stood in the doorway without saying a word.Because she saw that the window sill, desk and bed had suffered physical damage to varying degrees, as if a mentally abnormal person had been imprisoned in this room.Nightingale recalled the sound of people falling and struggling in the house in recent nights.She vaguely remembered that the doctor had hinted ominously that there were two states in which a drug addict was most dangerous: when he had just taken the drug and when he needed it but had no drug.

"Nightingale." Holmes finally stopped, but still did not look at her, "Let's go if you have nothing to do."

She didn't act right away.

"Didn't he ask you anything about me?"

"No. I don't think so."

Holmes said no more.

On the morning of the 9th, when Nightingale walked down the stairs, he faintly felt that the air was full of ominous omens.She came alone this time, and the professor arranged for Moran and others to pack up. Only one person guarded the gate and forbade anyone from leaving the villa.Perhaps according to the changes in Holmes' symptoms, he felt that they would move their base again soon, and that Holmes was no longer worthy of Moran's guarding.Nightingale did not immediately unbolt the door, but put her ear on the door and listened quietly for a while.There was no sound in the room.There was silence in the corridor.She put the tray on the ground temporarily, removed the latch, went in, and closed the door behind her.

The first thing she saw was the lonely silhouette of Holmes sitting on his knees leaning against the table, looking up at the ceiling, motionless.Beside him was the wreckage of various things, torn curtains and sheets, chairs that were cracked and falling apart, and the wall covering was peeling off piece by piece, with blood stains on it.

She still approached and put the plate on the table.

"You have come alone today." Holmes turned slightly to her, with a feeble smile.He had always been pale, but now his face was terrible, and his scarred forehead was covered with fine beads of sweat.He heard her set down the tray at the door.If someone was at the door, they would unbolt it for her.

Nightingale nodded slightly.

"They're already packing things up. The black and white documents are first packed into boxes and sent to the carriage, and sent to the new stronghold. Even if Scotland Yard can find this place, they won't find too valuable evidence."

"Will they let you live, Nightingale?" Holmes continued after a moment of recovery. "The Professor has done everything for you to catch me."

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"The professor doesn't think I can last two days. He doesn't even have a guard at the gate anymore."

"The gate is still guarded. It has always been there. Of course, if there is an accident, such as someone finding here, they will still be the first to guard your room."

"Then after today, it will probably be a farewell. At least you will still think about what we said in the last two days."

There was another silence.The detective frowned, raised his head, and closed his eyes, as if he was sitting on the sofa in 221B thinking about something quietly.Nightingale looked down at him for a moment.

"I don't have a chance, you know, and you don't have much time," she said suddenly.

When Holmes opened his eyes, she saw her dark eyes suddenly approaching, not three inches from his, as if striving to see all the details.Holmes did not move, did not speak, and did not even express surprise at what she had just said inexplicably.He could even feel her breath as she spoke the last words.

"I want you to live."

In the afternoon, Nightingale delivered afternoon tea to the professor's room as usual.Moriarty is using a pencil to tick off the completed preparation items one by one on the draft paper, including the general roster of the organization, all classified here, as well as financial income and expenditure records, property title deeds, action plans, etc. .Seeing Nightingale coming in, he happily put down his work.

"How is our friend Sherlock?" he asked.

"Everything is fine except it won't last two days."

This answer satisfied Moriarty, it was witty and harmless to his own people.His frown was furrowed, and a smile appeared in his piercing eyes.

"Didn't he say anything to you?"

"Some sentimental words." Nightingale said, casually picked up the teacup, lifted the lid and blew on the hot air, took a sip, and then put it back on the tea tray.

"Looks like it didn't succeed in moving you."

"Do you remember who wrote poetry, me or him, Professor?" Nightingale smiled sarcastically.

"You underestimate him now. Sherlock thinks he is not good at words, but in fact, few people can speak better than him." The professor picked up the teacup, "Don't you feel it?"

Nightingale was silent.She turned and looked out the window.Moriarty watched her with interest as he sipped his afternoon tea.

"He asked if you would let me live." Nightingale whispered.

"Ah . . . as I expected," said the professor cheerfully. "To sow discord. Sherlock is a lone hero, and he doesn't quite believe in our mutual trust."

"Maybe."

Nightingale's melancholic state did not attract much attention from the professor.For a short time he allowed himself to bask in the elation of his imminent success.The only person who had ever dealt with him with contempt and single-handedly caused his current predicament was about to disappear from this world in the most painful way.He has been angry and frustrated, but at last he sees one thing clearly: no matter how terrible the loss, as long as there is no Sherlock Holmes, he can always regain his strength.A London without Sherlock Holmes, but a London with James Moriarty!Unfortunately, this could have been their London, but as long as Moriarty's name is on it, what does it matter after all?

The professor's ambitious imagination was interrupted by a sudden dizziness and nausea.He began to think that it was the result of being too nervous during this time, so he reluctantly put down the teacup, and turned around to think about what to say to Nightingale.When he vaguely saw her sliding down the table slowly, the professor was stunned for an unprecedented time.When was the last time he was so surprised, Moriarty couldn't remember.

"An Jie, who else has served afternoon tea?" the professor gritted his teeth.

"I don't know. I don't think so." Nightingale reluctantly replied.

The author has something to say: The author who did not save the manuscript slashed the American literature reading homework during the Mid-Autumn Festival holiday, and was scared to death when he almost missed the DDL due to negligence.Hurry up and give everyone a belated Happy Mid-Autumn Festival!

(PS The dialogue between Sherlock Holmes and Nightingale actually hinted at their overall plan. It will unfold later)