Dusty glass

Rose took off her wedding dress and changed back into her simple, coarse cloth dress. The faint laughter of Aunt Mary and the tailor could be heard from outside.

Not wanting to spoil the mood, she smoothed her hair, quietly left through the side door, and returned to the restaurant alone.

Night had fallen, and the signboard had long since been taken down. But the thought that the wedding dress would be a burden on Mary's already struggling family, and the thought that she would eventually leave London and betray this kindness, kept Rose from finding peace.

She turned the kitchen lights back on, lit the fire, and hung up a simple handwritten sign: /Nighttime Set Meal: Hot Milk and Ham Sandwich/.

Soon, the occasional night shift workers and late-night pedestrians were drawn to this unexpected warmth, and several tables of customers gradually settled into the shop.

Rose bustled between the kitchen and the front of the house, using physical exhaustion to numb the turmoil in her heart.

Tom, who had finished work, quietly tied on an apron and helped wash the utensils by the sink.

Just as Rose was carrying her tray toward a table of newly arrived guests, her gaze inadvertently swept over a corner, and she froze on the spot.

Sitting alone under the dim gaslight by the window was Dr. John Watson.

At the same instant, as if sensing being stared at, Watson also raised his head.

His gaze was initially gentle as usual, then surprised, and after four or five seconds, it turned into a surging wave of shock.

“Ro…” He stopped abruptly as he began to speak, turning away abruptly: “…The menu has changed. I remember it wasn’t like this before.”

“It seems you’re a regular,” Rose forced a smile. “This is the evening set menu. Late at night is a good time to find inspiration, so the menu should change accordingly.”

"Your employer didn't stop you. If it were my employer, they would have been furious and searched the world for me, then given me a good scolding."

"Then it all depends on the kindness of all the guests, especially you, sir. Please be sure to give me a good review."

Watson gave her a deep look, then looked away and nodded.

Just then, Tom came over with a washed plate and enthusiastically placed the food in front of Watson: "I'm sure you'll give it a good review once you try our Annie's cooking."

Watson hesitated as she took the sandwich: "...Our family?"

Tom raised his voice slightly: "We're getting married soon, in three weeks! Everything in the restaurant will be half price then, you absolutely have to come and share in the joy!"

Watson froze again; he had just taken a bite of his sandwich, but now he had forgotten to chew.

The guests at the next table tapped their glasses impatiently, urging the food to be served. Tom smiled apologetically and quickly turned and went back to the kitchen.

Rose thought for a moment, then smiled at Watson: "Would you be willing to share a table? One person can't have the whole table to themselves unless a friend is coming over later."

“My friend is a detective. He has work today, but he’ll probably pick me up at the door after he’s done.” Watson’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Should I… recommend one of our specialties to him?”

“No!” Rose’s answer was almost subconscious. She took a deep breath and adjusted her tone: “It’s not necessary.”

Without waiting for Watson's reply, she practically fled back to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, her heart pounding wildly.

Watson sat silently and slowly finished the simple meal that was served to him.

———

Until half an hour later, until one of my eyes looked up.

Through the dusty glass, Rose saw the figure she had been longing for: slender and tall, casually wrapped in a black turtleneck trench coat, her curly black hair fluttering in the wind.

The man didn't come in, or even try to push the door open. He simply tapped lightly on the outer glass and smiled at the person sitting under the inner glass.

His smile was as always, his eyes narrowed, and the corners of his eyes turned up slightly.

It was a beautiful arc that she had remembered for eighteen years.

The room was noisy and chaotic, but the man's eyes were fixed on only one person. He watched that person notice him, watched him hastily swallow the last bite of his sandwich, and watched him stand up.

But today was a little different. He didn't leave the restaurant immediately, but instead cast a long glance into the kitchen.

That was his final act of perseverance, kindness, and hope.

However, he was met with the same long silence.

He lowered his head, silently pushed open the door, and left the restaurant.

———

"Why?"

Watson instinctively avoided the topic: "Why what?"

Sherlock glanced at him. "You're not good at lying. Why are you looking over there?"

"It's nothing, I just ran into an acquaintance. She's very kind, and she's had a tough time."

“Her?” Sherlock caught the subject: “It seems this beauty hiding in the kitchen has already bewitched Dr. John.”

Watson turned to Sherlock and said seriously, "Would you like to meet her? I mean, maybe you'd be interested in her."

Sherlock pulled his collar up: "No way."

———

The following days were spent in a state of tension for Rose.

Watson's appearance and Sherlock's fleeting glance through the window lingered in her mind.

She became even more silent, and when she came to the outer hall to serve the guests, her eyes would always unconsciously sweep towards the door. Any ringing of the bell or any unusual footsteps would make her heart jump.

Despite knowing Watson's honest character, she dared not entrust her fate to someone else's promise. She knew she had to leave as soon as possible; every moment she lingered increased the danger.

During the day, she worked even harder, hardly allowing herself a moment's rest. She volunteered for the dirtiest and most tiring jobs, trying to numb her chaotic thoughts with exhaustion and to fill the void of guilt she felt towards Mary and her son with diligence.

Besides the labor, a strong impulse tormented her day and night. Countless times she hesitated, almost blurting out everything, but reason pulled her back.

She couldn't say; the more she knew, the more dangerous it would be for them.

In the days since leaving the manor, she has made rapid progress and become increasingly efficient. The only time she becomes uncontrollably slow is when cleaning the glass on the outside of the gate.

Sherlock once stood here, tapping on the glass. He smiled through the glass, his expression radiant. In that instant of raising his eyebrows, everything else faded in color, leaving only the blue in his eyes.

"Are you unhappy lately?" Tom thought for a moment, "Maybe we can splurge and go to Italy for our honeymoon!"

Italy? Rose exclaimed in surprise, "But London isn't..."

“The lockdown has been lifted,” Tom said, scratching his head. “The goods that were piling up at our factory can finally be shipped out.”

That night, as she lay on her bed in the attic of the shed, listening to Aunt Mary's contented snoring and Tom's occasional murmurs in his sleep downstairs, a bittersweet feeling welled up in her heart again.

She quietly got up and took out the money bag wrapped in rags that she had hidden under her pillow. Inside were her advance wages and a little bit of tips she had saved up over the past few days.

She leaned close to the window and, by the faint moonlight, carefully counted the coins of various sizes. She was just a little short of having enough to buy a boat ticket to a remote town in the north.

———

“Annie, don’t overwork yourself,” Aunt Mary said the next day, noticing her dark circles and patting her back with concern. “You’re getting married next week, you need to take care of yourself.”

Rose could only smile, unable to utter a word. Looking into Aunt Mary's expectant eyes, she couldn't imagine how that warmth would shatter when she left without a word. She had betrayed a trust that had offered help in her time of need.

After Mary finished speaking, she went to the kitchen to cook. Rose picked up a tray and moved among the rough laborers and noisy cooks.

"Your stew and dark beer," she said, handing the food to a woman who had taken orders. Then she walked to a corner table that had just been vacated, and, head down, quickly wiped the tabletop, preparing to welcome the new guest.

A figure sat down opposite her.

Rose didn't look up, and habitually asked, "Good evening, what would you like to order? The meat pie was pretty good today..."

"The new hair color is nice too."

Time seemed to freeze at that moment.

That familiar, calm, detached voice echoed in my ears.

Rose felt her blood run cold instantly. In her panic, her arm bumped into the tray, which fell to the ground with a piercing cracking sound.

Soup and porcelain shards splashed everywhere, the surrounding noise instantly quieted down, and all eyes were focused on it.

She slowly raised her head.

Mycroft Holmes sat there. He was still wearing a clean and neat dark suit, which seemed out of place in the dirty and greasy environment around him.

He didn't even take the menu; he was just looking at her.

“It seems you’ve been experiencing a… completely different life lately. I didn’t expect you to have such a strong desire to serve others,” he seemed to smile. “How selfless, Rose.”