Anne felt like she was hallucinating at that moment.
Because she couldn't be sure whether Shylock was saying, "You're important," or "You're important to us."
Or was it really, "You're important to me."
She knew in her heart. No matter which one it was, it was the same. There was only one reason why Shylock would say this — she was important because she was related to their opportunity to return to the 21st century.
It was strange for her to be so conflicted.
The afternoon passed infinitely slowly as Anne was thinking about meaningless things, making her anxious. But when dusk fell, it made her feel like time was slipping away too quickly. It was as if she had just sat down in the chair, and before all her thoughts could be sorted out, a peaceful afternoon had passed just like that.
Soon, it was evening.
To Anne's surprise, Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson arrived on time.
Shylock didn't come. This was within Anne's expectations, so she didn't want to ask.
But Watson took the initiative to explain that Shylock was still busy with the case. The doctor had an apologetic and guilty expression on his face, which made Annie smile knowingly.
Well, she should have known that even if there was no case, Shylock wouldn't have the patience to have dinner with these people who had nothing to do with him.
Mrs. Hudson liked Bentley and Darcy very much. Except for Caroline, who expressed her dissatisfaction when Bentley asked Watson about the case, everyone had a good meal.
After dinner, everyone chatted for a while in the living room, and Georgiana played the piano for everyone. On a quiet and warm night, Anne even secretly drank a little wine behind Darcy's back.
Mrs. Hudson and Watson didn't leave until very late. In the villa, everyone gradually dispersed and went back to their rooms to rest.
Anne stood in front of the bedroom window. Looking around, the whole world was a blue night. There seemed to be faint lights flickering in the distance, but most of the houses had already turned off the lights.
Anne took a few deep breaths and felt a burning sensation between her breaths. The alcohol from dinner fermented in her body, causing her heart to beat faster and her breathing to become heavier.
It wasn't that she hadn't drunk alcohol before. In her previous life, even after she fell ill, she and her father drank together once or twice behind her mother's back. She had never drunk it in this life. She was really happy at dinner tonight, so she drank a little.
He wasn't drunk, and his mind was very clear. He only felt that his limbs were sometimes light and weak, and sometimes heavy.
He didn't know how long he had been standing in front of the window. The wind seemed to have picked up as it blew through the window, gently lifting the curtains on one side of the window.
Anne closed the window but pushed the door open. She walked out of the bedroom. She went downstairs, through the living room, and out into the night she had been watching through the window.
Under the moonlight, the garden was silent. The wide and flat grass seemed to have grown to the end of the world. A white swing was quietly parked in the middle of the grassland.
Anne walked over and leaned into the hanging chair. She closed her eyes, and her body swayed gently as if she was in the undulating sea.
Anne thought that she had fallen asleep, but in fact, it had only been a moment. She opened her eyes. Above her was the velvet-like dark night sky, and the soft velvet was sprinkled with bright diamonds.
She leaned back in her chair and stared at it for a long time. It was such a pity that she was the only one in such a beautiful starry sky.
Then she tilted her head and saw a tall figure standing on the grass not far away.
Anne smiled. "Mr. Holmes, is this considered trespassing?"
Shylock walked over unhurriedly. The cold moon above his head shrouded his tall figure.
Anne moved, and the hanging chair swayed with her movements. In the end, she simply retracted her legs into the chair. Her thin arms hugged her knees, and she looked at him with some satisfaction and joy.
She was wearing a loose white nightgown. Hugging herself like this, she looked like a small animal hugging herself into a ball.
Shylock glanced at her and said, "If I remember correctly, I was invited by the master."
Anne said, "You're late."
Shylock raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything.
Anne didn't mind. She asked softly, "I asked Mrs. Hudson to bring you some snacks. Have you eaten?"
This time, she received a cold "Mm."
Anne smiled even more gently.
He was tall. Sitting like this, she had to tilt her head as far as she could to meet his gaze. After a while, her neck started to ache.
"Are you going to stand the whole time?" Anne patted the seat next to her hanging chair. "Do you want to sit down?"
Shylock looked at her and sat down.
Anne, who had been curled into a ball, only took up a small corner, but the man's tall body squeezed in, and the originally spacious hanging chair immediately looked crowded.
Annie wanted to shrink her body further, but when she saw the cold face of her 'companion' sitting next to her, she decided to give up.
She returned to her previous appearance, resting her head on the back of the chair and looking up at the night sky.
"Is your case going smoothly?"
Sherlock's slender fingers tapped on the arm of the swing chair, and his voice was as light and pleasant as a spring stream. "I don't mind describing the progress and details of the case to you, but I think that in that case, you can completely say goodbye to tonight's sleep."
Anne was a bit helpless. It seemed that he really cared about her sleep. Every time they met, he would attack her with her sleep problem.
Anne turned her head and looked at his handsome side profile.
She said, "You can only answer with two words."
Sherlock also turned his head when he heard her voice and met her gaze.
He was sitting very straight, so his gaze was still above her. The pure white moonlight glided over his curly hair that rested on the tip of his eyebrows, his handsome nose, and his thin chin. That pair of gray-green eyes appeared even more deep and cool in the night.
He only looked over and didn't ask what the two words were, but Anne still told him with a smile, "You just have to say 'smoothly', and that's enough."
Shylock looked at her expressionlessly for a few seconds, then looked away. Anne knew that he was making fun of her for being bored.
But she didn't care at all. She was really happy tonight. She was happy to have dinner with her friends, and now she was even happier to see him.
She just didn't understand why she was so happy that she wanted to cry. Perhaps this was what people meant by crying tears of joy. But Anne wouldn't let herself cry. She just wanted to keep this joy.
The distance between them was actually a little too close. Annie felt that she could almost smell the refreshing scent on his body. Anne looked at his broad shoulders under his suit. They were right in front of her. As long as she slid her head down, it would fall on his warm shoulders.
She wanted to do that so badly.
But she couldn't.
This was really sad.
Anne felt her heart beating violently in her chest, as clear as a drum in the silent night.
"Shylock."
"Yes."
He looked straight ahead. Anne didn't know what he was looking at, let alone what he was thinking. Maybe he was still thinking about the case.
But why did he come to the garden of the Hôtel de Boer to think?
Anne wanted to ask this. Why did he come here? But after she opened her mouth, she changed her mind.
She didn't want to ask.
Shylock didn't wait for her to continue. He turned to look at her again.
Anne thought for a while, trying hard to find a new topic, but it was obvious that she wasn't good at it. In the end, she could only smile at him quietly.
Shylock naturally defined her calling his name as some kind of boring action. He was about to look away when he suddenly seemed to notice something and frowned.
Anne, who had been watching him, naturally noticed his expression.
She was about to ask when Shylock suddenly leaned over like an agile and elegant panther.
He hadn't moved since he sat down. When the two of them talked, he had only turned his slender neck around like a robot. But now, he suddenly leaned over and looked at her with his cold and sharp eyes.
He had one hand on his leg and the other on the back of the chair. From afar, Anne, who was huddled in the corner of the swing chair, looked like she was in his arms.
Anne felt that her heart, which had just been beating violently, suddenly stopped.
He was too close, so close that she could see her reflection in his gray-green pupils. He was so close that the tip of his nose almost touched her. He was so close that she could even see the faint lip lines on his light-colored lips.
Anne didn't dare move. Even her thoughts and breathing were stagnant.
Sherlock didn't care about her reaction at all. He tilted his head slightly and moved closer to her, sniffing her nose gently.
"You drank." It was a statement.
His warm breath gently swept across her lips and cheeks.
Huh? It took Anne a long time to realize what he had said.
She had drunk a little, so?
"It seems that I misjudged you before," Shylock maintained this threatening posture and said in a cold voice, "It's not just because of the accumulated sadness of the meaningless past. Should I add another one now — suicidal tendencies?"
Anne's eyes froze.
Suicidal tendencies? Was he talking about her? How could she commit suicide?! She …
Anne suddenly realized that he was accusing her of drinking.
Alcohol could induce asthma. Anne didn't expect Shylock to know this. Her behavior tonight was indeed a little willful.
"I didn't want to commit suicide," Anne explained softly. "I only drank a little because everyone was in a good mood at dinner …"
Sherlock had already sat up straight again. Just as quickly as he had approached, he immediately stood up.
His slender hands adjusted his suit jacket, and his elegant London accent seemed to echo in the empty and quiet garden. "Good night, Miss Deboer. I hope you can survive tonight safely. "
Annie was startled by his sudden action of standing up.
Mr. Holmes lowered his noble head slightly and glanced condescendingly at the frightened kitten in the corner of the swing chair. Then, he was ready to leave with his long legs.
However, he didn't succeed.
Sherlock stopped in his tracks and glanced coldly at the hand that was holding the corner of his shirt. His suit was black, which made the hand look even more fragile.
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