Anne rarely got angry, but that didn't mean she didn't have a temper. Especially when facing the person in her heart who was different, she would be more concerned about his attitude and words.
However, Anne also knew that when that person was Shylock, the standards of ordinary people obviously didn't apply to him.
Besides, he didn't know that she liked him.
Even if she turned around and left angrily, he would probably only think that he was baffled and wouldn't think that he had done anything wrong.
From his point of view, he didn't do anything wrong.
In addition to being angry, Anne was also a little disappointed in herself. She was disappointed that she would get angry.
Everyone knew that one would only get angry at someone they cared about. As she spent more and more time with Shylock, especially after their conversation in the garden that night, Anne did think that she was different to Shylock.
However, it was obvious that Shylock's direct and calm attitude told her that she was overthinking everything.
Anne closed her eyes gloomily.
His smooth and pleasant voice continued to be heard. As long as he was immersed in the case, he would be fully immersed and excited to the point of being a little neurotic.
The curtains in the living room were drawn, and the room seemed dark and deep. Anne didn't expect that she, who had always had a poor sleep, would fall asleep while they were discussing the serial murder case.
When she woke up again, Anne found herself lying on the sofa with a thin gray blanket covering her body.
She sat up and saw Shylock sitting at the kitchen table that was used as a lab bench. His eyes were staring at a beaker on the table with a focused expression.
Lestrade and Watson had already left, and only the two of them were in the room.
Anne didn't immediately walk over to him. Shylock looked up at her, then lowered his head and continued to focus on the beaker.
Having just woken up, Anne's thoughts were still a little scattered, and her head was groggy. She seemed to have slept for a long time.
After a few seconds, Anne finally stood up from the sofa and walked to Shylock. She glanced at the beaker in front of Shylock and wanted to know what he was doing. However, looking at the experimental equipment on the table, she finally decided to give up.
Anne took out the Time Gem, which was still persistently emitting a faint green light.
"It has been glowing since last night. I don't know why." Anne's voice was still gentle and soft. "I'm here to tell you this."
Shylock looked away from the beaker and looked at the glowing gem in her hand. He then looked at the dark circles under her eyes and suddenly said something that had nothing to do with the current topic.
"What kind of dream did you have?" His deep voice was seventy percent casual and thirty percent curious.
Hmm? Anne looked at him in confusion. "I'm not dreaming."
"Is that so?" Shylock glanced at her indifferently. His big hand held the straw and dripped two drops of an unknown light blue liquid into the beaker.
His attention returned to the experiment on the table. Anne, who was a little dazed by the question, stood next to him, and could only see his beautiful side profile.
He lowered his head slightly and put his hands on both sides of the table. His serious and focused expression made it hard for her to look away until he said something in a relaxed and pleasant voice.
"You called my name when you were sleeping just now."
Shylock stared at the beaker in front of him and didn't even look up. His tone was natural and calm, as if he was just stating an unimportant fact.
Anne's heart stopped beating.
But Sherlock added unhurriedly, "Three times."
Anne's fair cheeks instantly blushed.
His gaze was focused on the table, and Anne couldn't tell if he was telling the truth or just teasing her.
However, why would Sherlock Holmes make such a boring joke with her? Even if he wanted to, he definitely couldn't do it with his low EQ.
So, it was true? She called his name when she was asleep? And it was three d * mn times …
Annie felt like she was about to be burned, but the culprit was still paying attention to her experiment with an indifferent expression.
She smiled bitterly. She should have known that her shyness and throbbing were completely unnecessary.
Anne put away her shyness and imitated his indifferent tone. She said softly, "Is that so? Maybe you dreamed of the case you told me about before. "
This time, Shylock finally looked up. He leaned back in his chair and looked at her thoughtfully. His handsome eyebrows were slightly furrowed, as if he wasn't satisfied with the answer.
Anne smiled at him gently and put the time stone on the table next to his hand.
Sherlock's slender fingers tapped on the table as usual. He lowered his eyes to look at the Time Gem beside him.
"I've been holding on to it for a month," Anne said slowly, looking for the right words. "I think I really can't help … I'm sorry."
"Okay." Shylock raised his eyebrows impatiently, turned around, and returned to his experiment. "How many times have you apologized for this boring thing? I'm not in a hurry. Take your time. "
Anne resisted the urge to sigh. She knew that with his EQ, she would be making things difficult for herself if she said it tactfully.
So, she said directly, "I'm leaving, Shylock."
Although she had been telling herself to hold it in and treat it as a farewell between ordinary friends, when she called his name, she still couldn't help but feel nostalgic and sour. Of course, he definitely wouldn't be able to tell.
Shylock's fingers suddenly stopped tapping on the table. His beautiful gray-green eyes turned, and the emotions in his pupils became quiet and sharp.
"You're leaving London?"
Anne keenly sensed that he was a little unhappy, although his tone still sounded cold and arrogant.
But what was there for him to be unhappy about? Did he want her to stay here forever? Anne was a little depressed. Who was she to him? How could he be unhappy about her leaving?
The sourness in her heart continued to expand. Anne felt her eyes burning. This was very bad. She knew from the beginning that she shouldn't have liked this person. She didn't control her emotions, and now she couldn't blame anyone.
Don't cry, Anne. It's too embarrassing.
She lowered her head, searching for a suitable reason in her mind, and then said very softly, "The recent murders have made Darcy very worried. He hopes that Georgiana and I can leave for a while …"
But her words seemed to make him even more unhappy.
Anne heard him say coldly, "Oh," and then said quickly in a cold voice, "Darcy is worried, Darcy wants. Are you his accessory, Miss Deboer? Where are your own thoughts and willpower? Are they eaten by you as dessert? "
Anne calmed down with his series of accusations.
She let the tears in her eyes slowly calm down, but there was still a touch of redness at the corners of her eyes that hadn't faded.
Anne looked up and tried to look at him with a gentle smile. She reasoned with him like she was talking to a child. "Shylock, I've been in London for almost a month. I have to go home eventually."
Shylock met her gentle smile, and his eyes flashed. Of course, he didn't miss the redness in her eyes.
"23 days." Shylock looked at the gentle light in her eyes and said in a low voice.
"What?"
"To be precise, it's 23 days, 11 hours, and 7 minutes." Those beautiful lips fluently spat out a series of precise numbers.
Anne was speechless.
She wanted to laugh, but she was also a little sad. Shylock, if I'm not different to you, why do you remember these times so clearly?
But Anne knew very well that the person she liked had a super strong brain and couldn't be judged by ordinary people's standards. She didn't doubt that Shylock could instantly calculate the time since Watson stayed in 221B until now. Not to mention that it was only 23 days.
The two of them didn't speak for a long time. There seemed to be a slight crackling sound coming from the glass window not far from the living room.
Is it raining?
Anne didn't know how to continue the topic. And she had said everything she needed to say.
"When are we leaving?" Shylock suddenly asked.
Huh?
"When are we leaving London?" Shylock repeated expressionlessly.
"Tomorrow," Anne said softly.
She thought she heard a soft snort.
When she looked again, Shylock was ignoring her. He stood up from his seat and walked behind her coldly. He walked to the sofa in the living room and sat down. He picked up a book, flipped it open, crossed his legs elegantly, and started reading.
Anne, who was left alone in the kitchen, was speechless.
She was saying goodbye. Couldn't he make their parting more pleasant?
Anne walked out in defeat and stood a few steps away from him. He held the book very high in his hand, blocking his face, so she couldn't see his expression.
"Then, I'm leaving," Anne said softly. The cold aura on him was too obvious, and she couldn't say anything else.
"Okay." His deep and indifferent voice came from behind the book. "I wish you a pleasant journey."
Annie froze for a moment.
She exhaled softly and finally said, "Goodbye, Sherlock."
Then, she turned to the door, opened it, and walked out.
Shylock put down the book in his hand and stared at the closed door with his deep gray-green eyes. There were hurried and unsteady footsteps outside the door, and she was in danger of falling at any time. Finally, on the last two steps, there was a soft thud.
Those gray-green eyes that seemed to be stagnant trembled, and he almost stood up from the sofa immediately.
"Oh my god, Anne, are you okay?" Mrs. Hudson's voice came from downstairs.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson." It was the same soft voice, with the same gentle smile as always.
Then the door of the apartment opened and closed. Everything was quiet.
Shylock hated silence. He threw the book on the table irritably, pursed his lips, stood up from the sofa, and walked to the window.
A large hand with distinct joints pulled open the curtains. He looked down and saw the slender and weak figure at a glance. She stood in front of 221B in a daze for a while, then looked up at the window on the second floor.
Shylock didn't move. The light in the living room was dim, and he knew she couldn't see him.
But he could see her clearly. It was raining outside, and she didn't have an umbrella or a hat. The fine raindrops fell on her face and flowed down her white cheeks like drops of tears.
After a while, she looked away, opened the carriage door, and leaned in.
You've already exceeded your reading limit for today. If you want to read more, please log in.
Login
Select text and click 'Report' to let us know about any bad translation.
