007

A trip to Whitechapel

The moment Davis left, Libella woke up. To be precise, she woke up when Davis put the warm mashed potatoes in her mouth. She missed the congee with pork and century egg in her hometown.

At this moment, Ribella really wanted to scold the author for being too cruel to his own daughter. Not only did he make the female lead dirty and skinny, but he even added a setting where she hadn't eaten for two days …

Fortunately, Davis's mashed potatoes were like rain after a long drought, successfully alleviating her hunger.

Libella moved her fingers and found that she was still weak. She could only accept her fate and continue to lie on the bed, but her thoughts flew to other things.

Well, according to the conversation she heard in a daze, it seemed that Davis was neither the victim nor the murderer, but someone who lived in Whitechapel. Then, who was Davis?

A priest?

A priest?

She shrugged. Anyway, she knew that Sherlock Holmes was in contact with the people of Whitechapel, and it was through a group of silly young beggars.

The Ripper!

Sherlock!

These scenic spots were waiting for her to visit and leave a sentence, "I was here!"

But now she could only lie on the bed, which was very infuriating!

But …

Although this place was called Whitechapel, it didn't look like a church.

There was not only one bed where she slept, but a row of beds. The beds were covered with all kinds of fancy bedsheets and quilts, and there were also strange toys on the bedside table. It looked like a student dormitory, a relatively poor but cozy student dormitory.

Libella tilted her head and thought for a while. At this moment, her eyelids began to fight again. She yawned, and tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. She rolled up the windbreaker on her body and silently closed her eyes.

Libella finally got a good night's sleep, but on the other side of Baker Street, Mr. Sherlock Holmes had just entered the zone.

His roommate packed up his things noisily, while Sherlock sat on his sofa with a cold face, staring straight at John's bedroom door until a few knocks came from outside their apartment.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

Judging from the rhythm and strength of the knock, it was definitely not Mrs. Hudson.

It was definitely not Lestrade. The new case in Whitechapel hadn't appeared yet, so he definitely wouldn't come looking for him now.

The person outside the door was relatively gentle, but there was a sense of rhythm. It was like a four-four beat song. After three beats, there would be a pause, and the next four beats would be continued.

Hmm …

Could it be that music teacher?

John shouted from his bedroom, "Sherlock, open the door. I'm pushing a box. God knows how I dropped a pound inside. I suspect that the pound flew in by itself."

"Oh." Sherlock was expressionless. "It's your new girlfriend outside the door."

The sound of a heavy object falling to the ground came from Watson's bedroom, followed by the sound of him inhaling a cold breath.

Obviously, Mr. John Watson was so excited when he heard that his girlfriend had come to the door that he accidentally let go of the so-called box, causing him to fall on his foot.

Sherlock glanced over and saw John limping out with a frown.

It was all because of this strange feeling.

Was being in a relationship more interesting than solving a case?

John looked back at him, and Sherlock stood up and reluctantly made a gesture of welcome.

The lady outside the door came in. She was wearing a long dress, long brown hair, rimless glasses, and chalk dust under her fingernails.

Without a doubt, he guessed right again. He could even guess the content of the conversation between the two — a few mushy words of love, and then the music teacher would go in to help John pack up.

However, John would certainly not let his new girlfriend know that he had just fallen on his foot for a pound, so the pound would definitely be left under the box.

Hmm … The next time John needs money, he could remind him.

Sherlock didn't consider the circumstances under which his good roommate would move back in. It must have been a breakup, and to bring up the interesting things that happened during their honeymoon period after the breakup was undoubtedly a crazy act of adding insult to injury.

Of course, all of this was in the future. At this moment, there was something else that was beyond his expectations.

Of course, John did as he expected, murmuring meaningless greetings and sweet nothings like "Hey, why are you here?" and "Did you have a good day at school?" But the music teacher was not blinded by love, and she immediately noticed Sherlock's presence.

"John," she blinked, interrupted Watson, and asked, "Is this your magical roommate?"

Sherlock moved his gaze slightly towards Watson, and his eyes became colder. Magical roommate?

Oh, please, could it be that John and his new girlfriend got together through that blog again?

It was the blog that recorded the process of his solving the case. John would give it some fancy names, such as Pink Research.

At this moment, he really wanted to say everything in his mind, but on one hand, John would definitely not be happy about his interruption. On the other hand, he felt that his speech was still too slow and could not keep up with the speed of his brain.

Tsk, forget it.

"Hello, ma 'am."

Sherlock smiled politely at the woman, took a few steps in her direction, and nodded slightly. "I'm John's roommate, Sherlock Holmes."

"I've heard a lot about you."

The music teacher's eyes were overflowing with joy, and then she took half a step back in her delicate flesh-colored leather shoes, facing the detective directly. It could be seen that she was well-educated. She introduced herself, "Hello, I'm Nina Hathaway, you can call me Nina."

"No need, Miss Hathaway." Sherlock immediately interrupted this familiar self-introduction.

Forget it, if I don't end it now, they'll talk about my violin. God knows why these people paid attention to my violin as soon as they came in. Miss Hathaway is my roommate's girlfriend, why is she so eager to talk to me?

"Sherlock," Watson seemed to know what he was thinking, and explained helplessly, "Nina just saw you appear in front of her from the blog, so she's excited. Don't be nervous."

Nervous?

Who?

I'm nervous?

Sherlock quickly glanced at Nina Hathaway next to him, and then smiled at her. "Hello, in fact, those blogs were made up by my roommate. He's actually very creative, isn't he?"

"Sherlock —"

"Hahaha …" Hathaway couldn't help but laugh out loud. She looked very interested, and didn't feel embarrassed or frustrated by Sherlock's unapproachable attitude at all. She said gently, "You're very similar to the children in my class."

"You flatter me, how can I be compared to your students, who have enough patience to endure your meaningless chatter?"

"Sherlock!"

Watson felt as if he had fallen into a dilemma. "This will make me very embarrassed."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Oh, then quickly invite Miss Hathaway into the room to help you find the spirit pound."

"What spirit pound?" The music teacher seemed to be interested. She turned to look at her boyfriend. "Sounds interesting."

"Nothing …" Watson said helplessly. He looked back at Sherlock with a warning look, and then took his girlfriend's hand into the room.

People always liked to tie up their thoughts with meaningless feelings and conversations. They would rather drown in such comfort than find something meaningful for their minds to do.

He sat back on the sofa and glanced at the lovers one last time. His eyes paused for a few seconds on the light blue dress on the music teacher. Finally, he looked away and continued to read the news he found on the newspaper and the Internet.

The Internet?

Yes, the Internet was not to be underestimated.

Nowadays, people were so obsessed with things like Facebook and Instagram that they couldn't wait to express their feelings on anything. What if someone saw some strange traces near Whitechapel and took a blurry photo?

These were all important clues.

As for Mr. Davis in Whitechapel, the news from there was not urgent.

Thinking of this, he remembered the strange dream he had while waiting for the beggar boy.

The unsolvable cause of the baby's death, the thick fog, and the brand-new collar …

Forget it.

One thing at a time.

He continued to focus on the information in front of him. Perhaps because he was too focused, he didn't notice that it was getting dark outside. He also didn't notice that his roommate had packed up and was ready to leave. He hesitated for a long time before leaving, but in the end, he didn't disturb him.

His Mrs. Hudson carried some prepared dinner and also hesitantly moved away from his door.

After all, the whole apartment knew that Sherlock didn't like to be disturbed when he was thinking.

The night was getting darker, and the lights of London were on. It gradually became lively, but there was no lack of pedestrians who were in a hurry to go home.

In Sherlock's eyes, this was the right thing to do. The reason for patrolling dangerous places at night was often because of some shameful desires, and desires could easily lead to crimes.

… So this is the reason for abstinence?

Of course not, the great detective didn't have the concept of abstinence.

He was by no means a person who would abstain. His desire to solve mysteries was always in the air. He had never restrained his desire in front of anyone, but no one understood it.

And Libella, who slept until she was hungry in Whitechapel, was awakened by the smell of various food. When Libella opened her eyes, she found that the door was opened a crack. There was laughter outside the door, and coupled with the smell of food, it was particularly tempting.

Li Bella swallowed her saliva and silently got up from the bed. She walked out barefooted.

"Libella is awake!"

Davis was the first to notice her. Although Libella didn't know his appearance, she remembered Davis' voice. After all, it was so gentle and loving.

But except for Davis who welcomed her happily, the others closed their mouths the moment Libella came out. Some children even rolled their eyes quietly.

Well …