Schopenhauer said,
The more developed one's wisdom was, the greater the degree of pain, which was proportional to each other. The more extraordinary a person's wisdom was, the more
He had a clear understanding, the more pain he would suffer.
This German philosopher, a genius,
Was known as,
The most painful person.
Perhaps Shylock was like that. Before everything happened,
He had already seen the final possible ending in advance. Therefore, the pain that followed,
Was accumulated in his heart earlier than ordinary people.
Anne did not have an outstanding IQ,
Nor was she a genius. She was just a "cheater" left out by death, forced to know the possible ending in advance..
.
When Mrs. Hudson ran up from downstairs in a panic, Anne was tidying up the kitchen on the second floor. The long dining table was almost filled with Shylock's experimental equipment,
Anne struggled to organize a small area on it to put the ingredients she had just bought.
"Oh, God, Anne! She's here! "Mrs. Hudson appeared in the living room,
She said in panic.
Anne put down the shopping bag in her hand,
She looked behind Mrs. Hudson. "Who's here?" She didn't see anyone else.
Mrs. Hudson didn't know how to explain for a moment,
She found the remote control on the mantelpiece,
She turned on the TV and switched to the news channel in one go.
"... Some people call this murderer the '21st century ripper',
So far, this murderer has killed two women,
The deceased were all stabbed dozens of times,
Their abdomens were cut open... "
Anne was stunned and walked to the living room. On the TV screen, a female reporter in a professional suit was still calmly describing the details of the victims.
Anne only felt a cold aura instantly spread through her limbs and bones, as if the cold rain that day had chased for more than two centuries and was pouring down again.
Mrs. Hudson grabbed her wrist and asked worriedly, "Is it her? That 'female ripper'? "
Anne came back to her senses and exhaled gently. She turned to look at Mrs. Hudson and patted the back of her hand comfortingly. She said softly, "Don't worry. Whether it is or not, Shylock will catch him."
"Ding!" A light sound came from the kitchen. It was the water she was boiling.
Anne pulled Mrs. Hudson to the sofa and sat down. She smiled and said, "I'll make a cup of tea."
Standing in front of the kitchen counter, the smile on Anne's face had disappeared. She stared at the steaming kettle for a few seconds, then calmly took out a teacup from the cupboard.
Shylock and Watson had been busy with this case for the past few days. That was why Shylock had been sending her to and from work more frequently. As long as she went out, he would definitely be by her side.
Anne calmly picked up the kettle, and the faint aroma of tea filled the air.
In the news just now, apart from the tragic deaths of the victims, what shocked Anne even more was the identities of the victims. Although the female reporter had only briefly mentioned it, Anne had heard it very clearly. The two victims in a row were both waitresses at the restaurant.
This was definitely not a coincidence.
"Ouch!"
Anne felt a burning pain on the back of her hand. She cried out in pain, and the teacup immediately fell to the ground and shattered.
"Anne!" Mrs. Hudson's worried voice came from behind her.
She had been distracted. Anne was about to turn around and tell Mrs. Hudson that she was fine when a pair of big hands suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her to the sink. A fair hand reached over and turned on the tap. The cool water flowed onto the back of her hand.
Anne's anxious mood instantly calmed down.
"Congratulations, Miss Deboer. You always have a way of making people see your clumsiness in a new light."
The low voice, mixed with the sound of running water, was light and dissatisfied.
Shylock stood behind her, and Anne was half-hugged by him. She couldn't see the expression on his face. She could only feel his warm breath sweeping over her head from time to time when he spoke, making her feel itchy.
Anne's lips curled up slightly, and she retorted softly, "I'm sorry to inform you, Mr. Holmes, that your favorite biscuits and Chinese food were made by this pair of hands that you despised."
Shylock snorted faintly. Very good. Not only was she clumsy, but she had also learned to talk back.
The cool water flowed on the back of her hand for a long time. Shylock lifted her scalded hand in front of his eyes and looked at it. He then turned around and walked into the living room, and began to rummage around with a gloomy face.
The cute landlady had already gone downstairs with a smile when Shylock grabbed Anne's hand and poured water on it.
Anne slowly walked over, bypassed his tall figure, and took out the first aid kit from under the bookshelf in the corner. She blinked her eyes and looked at the big tomcat that looked even more arrogant and cold because of its bad mood.
Shylock stopped what he was doing, pursed his lips, and looked at her for two seconds. He then took the first aid kit from her hand and sat down on the sofa without saying a word.
Anne held back her laughter, walked over, and sat beside him. She then reached out her scalded hand in front of him.
Shylock took out the burn ointment from the first aid kit and applied it on the back of her hand.
His movements weren't heavy, but Anne still took a light breath and frowned slightly.
Shylock looked up and glanced at her expressionlessly. Anne's face was pale, and she said softly, "It hurts."
Mr. Holmes snorted coldly, but his movements became gentler. Anne felt a comfortable coolness. She couldn't tell if it was because of his fingers or the white ointment.
Anne's light green eyes slowly looked up and fell on his face.
He lowered his head, and his white face was in the light shadow. His lips were still pursed unhappily.
"Shylock," Anne said, "I saw the news."
"It's obvious." His eyes were still on the burn on the back of her hand, and he replied calmly.
Anne's long eyelashes closed.
"Are you scared?" Shylock still didn't look up and asked calmly.
After a few seconds of silence, Anne said softly, "A little."
She wasn't afraid of the "Ripper," nor was she afraid that she might be listed on the "Ripper" list.
Compared to that, she was more worried and afraid that all of this indicated that Moriarty was coming.
That was what she was afraid of.
Shylock didn't reply immediately. Instead, he found gauze from the medical kit and wrapped it around the back of her hand twice. Then, his slender fingers clumsily made a knot in her palm.
Anne looked down at him. He looked serious and focused, as if he was doing a scientific chemistry experiment. The soft curly hair on his forehead fell. Anne's gaze moved slowly on his face. The tip of his handsome nose, slightly pursed lips, slender neck … Then, from his well-ironed suit, to his hands.
Even now, Anne couldn't help but feel surprised when she looked at him silently.
She couldn't help but feel surprised. This man was Sherlock Holmes. But he played the violin for her, hugged her, kissed her, got angry at her, acted shamelessly, and acted coquettishly …
It seemed like the good-tempered Anne had always spoiled him, but Anne felt that she had been spoiled by Shylock. Now, she couldn't leave him at all, not even for a day.
After treating the wound on her hand, Shylock's palm landed on her other wrist and pulled her closer to him.
She probably never realized that every time she looked at him like that, it made him want to do something.
Anne came back to her senses from her thoughts. She looked up and saw his well-defined face right in front of her.
Her arm was still in Shylock's palm. His deep eyes were locked on her. He lowered his head and his cool lips fell.
Her mouth and nose were filled with his hot breath, but Anne could sense that Mr. Holmes was expressing his dissatisfaction. He even dragged the tip of her tongue over and bit her a little hard.
She whimpered in pain, but it was met with even harder grinding.
After a long while, Shylock finally let go of her. He pressed his forehead against hers and his deep voice was a little hoarse.
He asked, "What are you afraid of? Or do you think I'll lose? "
Anne didn't know that Shylock had already asked her this question when she was asleep. The haughty Mr. Holmes could not take it to heart.
Anne looked at his fair and cold face and chuckled.
"Of course you won't lose."
She looked into his beautiful gray eyes and repeated, "Of course you won't lose."
But … Anne leaned over, put her chin on his shoulder, and hugged him gently. After making sure that he couldn't see, the smile on her face faded bit by bit.
But what was the price of winning?
Shylock really couldn't do it for a day, let alone …
.
Anne didn't know if Shylock was waiting for something to happen like her.
They had been spending a lot of time together recently, and Anne was more clingy to him than ever before. Other than when she was at work, the two of them were together almost all the time.
Shylock looked back many times and found that Anne was staring at him in a daze. When she was caught, she just smiled and turned back to do her own thing.
On this day, Shylock rarely left the laboratory in Bartz Hospital. The two of them stayed in the living room of 221B.
Anne tidied up the bookshelf in the living room. There were more professional books on it, as well as the case files that Shylock and Watson had worked on.
Anne had seen some of these cases on TV in her previous life, but she hadn't seen most of them before.
Anne looked through them one by one with great interest. When she didn't understand something, she would look up and ask the detective who had already solved it.
Shylock was wearing a white shirt and trousers with a dark blue silk robe. He wasn't wearing shoes. He sat barefoot on the sofa, and the long robe hung down to the red carpet.
At first, Anne stood next to the bookshelf. When she encountered a problem, she would look up and ask from afar, and Shylock would answer.
In the end, Anne walked over with a thick stack of case files and sat on the carpet next to Shylock's feet. She flipped through the files and found a case that interested her. She asked him to tell her about it.
Shylock looked down at the girl who was curled up at his feet like a little animal. He said expressionlessly, "If you want to read a story, I suggest you read John's blog."
"Oh." Anne chuckled. She looked up at him and asked softly, "Is this woman really the murderer?"
Mr. Holmes frowned. "Of course not. If the case was so simple, why would I take it? Would it be an insult to my intelligence?"
"Mm, I knew you must solve the most complicated cases." Anne looked at him proudly. "But this woman does look suspicious! She has a good motive to kill … "
"Please use your little brain, Miss Deboer. This case is obviously …"
Then, Mr. Holmes talked passionately for more than an hour …
Every time he stopped, Anne would ask a question at the right time, and Shylock would continue.
Anne was tired from sitting, so she leaned on his lap.
With his eyes closed, his voice sounded even better. It was low and slightly hoarse. When he mocked people seriously, he sounded arrogant and a little cute.
She couldn't count how many "stories" he had told. Mr. Holmes paused at the end of his story. This time, Anne didn't continue to ask, and the two of them didn't speak for a while.
Anne leaned on him lazily. Shylock looked at the little head on his lap. Her blond hair was longer than before, and thanks to her exercise in the past few months, her dry hair looked more lustrous.
Shylock stretched out his slender fingers and rolled a strand of hair over with his fingertips. Mm, it was cool and smooth. It was very comfortable.
Anne didn't notice his little movements. She suddenly thought of something and sat up straight. She looked up and asked, "Shylock, do you have any old photos? Photos of when I was a child and when I was in school. "
She thought of the newborn Blessedcurls, and the young and childish Blessedcurls …
Ah, she really wanted to see them!
Annie looked at him with burning eyes, her face full of anticipation.
The blond hair on his fingertips was pulled away.
Shylock retracted his hand and looked at her.
Photos?
He didn't like to take photos, but he still had some old photos.
Shylock nodded and said, "My parents probably have them — if they didn't throw them away as junk."
Which parents would think that old photos were junk? They should be the most precious memories.
Anne was a little disappointed. She stretched her head forward and lowered her chin to rest on his lap.
She really wanted to see them.
Shylock glanced at the person lying on his lap and said calmly, "I'll take you to see them later."
Anne was stunned for a moment, then the corners of her eyes curled up and she said with a smile, "Okay."
Annie, who was lying on his lap, tilted her head and looked at him from below. From this angle, his facial features had extremely sharp lines, especially his high nose and cheekbones. Coupled with his unusually white skin, it made him look even more like an exquisitely carved statue.
Anne blinked and suddenly said, "Shylock, let me draw you a picture."
Shylock looked down and looked at her calmly.
Anne's soft voice had a rare hint of pride. "You still don't know that I can draw, right? Let me tell you, my paintings are better than the piano. "
Shylock glanced at her slender white fingers. Did she think that he couldn't tell that she could draw?
Hmph! Not only did he know that she could draw and play the piano, but he also knew that she could dance the boring 19th century palace dance.
However, Mr. Holmes didn't say anything, which was rare. He just nodded casually and agreed.
Anne hugged his leg happily. This was really hugging his thigh. Then, she ran downstairs to get the drawing tools she bought a few days ago.
Shylock listened to the hurried footsteps on the stairs and frowned slightly. Of course, he was keenly aware that Anne was abnormal these days. Sometimes, she would suddenly become very active, just like now.
Shylock thought that he knew very well why she was like this.
Anne quickly ran back and set up the drawing rack in the living room. She looked up at him and then looked at the violin by the window. There was a very gentle smile on her face.
Mr. Holmes sat still proudly.
Anne ignored him and lowered her head to start mixing the paint. After a while, she peeked out from the corner of her eyes. The tall blue figure stood up from the sofa, walked to the window, and bent down to pick up the violin.
In the quiet living room, a melodious and soothing music sounded.
Anne smiled silently.
But as she smiled, her nose felt a little sour.
She suddenly remembered that Shylock had never rejected her. Although he was still arrogant, bad-tempered, and childish … he had never rejected her.
At this moment, he was standing with his back to her. The afternoon sun shone through the window, covering his body with a faint layer of golden powder.
The gentle music slowly flowed in the air. It was a violin piece by Bach.
"Can you record it for me?" Anne suddenly asked.
The sound of the violin stopped. Shylock's right hand that was holding the strings dropped down. He slowly turned around and looked at her.
"What is it?"
The sun shone from behind him and his face was hidden in the shadows. Anne couldn't see the expression on his face, but he could see her clearly.
He knew what it was.
Anne maintained a gentle smile and said slowly, "Your violin piece. Can you record it for me? "
Shylock stood in silence for a while, then said softly, "Of course, Anne. As long as you want it, no matter what it is, it's fine. "
… As long as you want it, no matter what it is, it's fine.
Anne's heart trembled violently and her eyes moistened instantly. She was indeed in a bad mood and had just said those words casually. But she had never thought that he would suddenly become so gentle …
Annie lowered her head and looked at the color palette in her hand. She tested the colors on the canvas.
When she looked up again, her expression had returned to normal. She looked at him with a smile and said, "Please continue, Mr. Holmes."
On this ordinary afternoon, the weather was covered by thin clouds. The sun moved behind the thin clouds, sometimes hiding and sometimes coming out, basking in the quiet sunlight in the corner of the living room.
Duras said, I met you, I remember you. This city was born to be in love. You were born to be in my soul.
Was this kind of love like theirs?
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