Chapter 26, Episode 18: You'll be happy to meet...
Episode 18 You'll be happy to meet me
I got home at 9:31 p.m.
My dog, Mi Shizi, has already gone to sleep, but even with its eyes closed, it still gets fussed over in order to entertain guests.
Even from the living room, I could see Albert half-squatting on the floor, messing with Mimi. But since he did buy Mimi toys and cat food, I didn't say anything.
After all, I got a great deal.
Furthermore, just as I don't like others going against me, I also appreciate it when others go along with me and like my British Shorthair.
For this reason, I even poured Albert a Coke, and even added ice.
I think I was really polite and courteous.
The only odd thing was that I thought Albert was an I person and would feel a little uncomfortable suggesting visiting a stranger's home, but he just walked right in.
After adding the ice, I beckoned Albert to the kitchen island. "Albert, I've poisoned you. Come and have a fresh sip."
As soon as he finished speaking, Albert gave me a sharp look and said, "You drink it yourself."
I was secretly delighted, thinking, "I've treated you to a meal." After saying that, I enjoyed it myself.
The pie at the restaurant was so salty it made me sick.
I do like strongly flavored food, but I also love drinking water. I often drink at least four or five cups of water with a meal, so it's surprising that they wouldn't refill that expensive Coke.
After I took two or three sips, the respectful butler Herbers looked back and forth between Albert and me, and finally asked me, "Mr. Milverton, who is this gentleman?"
“Albert knows I have cats, he just came over to rub against them,” I said matter-of-factly. “He’ll be gone in a bit.”
I glanced around at the security cameras in the house; there were basically no blind spots. If he did something bad in my house, he would definitely be caught very quickly.
I wasn't afraid Albert would hear me, and continued to say to Herbers, "If he does something bad here in my house, the next day the whole internet will be full of his illegal videos and screenshots, and it won't be able to be wiped clean for a hundred years. The internet will remember it all."
I bet he's the kind of person who can't stand losing face like that.
Albert's gaze lingered on Herbers for a moment, his tone remaining calm, "What is this man's identity?"
"He was wearing a suit, but he always wore an apron."
“When you’re not here, he can stay at home alone, as if he’s long been used to this routine and didn’t expect you to bring someone else back.”
As he said this, his gaze fell lightly on the apron, as if it were just a casual glance, "And, his name was embroidered on it."
Albert's words made me glance at Herbers' apron.
His name was indeed on it.
Herbers was momentarily stunned, but his professionalism allowed him to quickly regain his composure. While tugging at his apron, he asked, "Mr. Milverton, should I take this off?"
Why take it off?
It's just that my name is read aloud; it doesn't mean my weaknesses will be exposed.
Don't be afraid of him!
He's checking household registrations!
I countered, "Mo Lan is still with you, and you're even answering his phone for him. What's your relationship?"
“We’re roommates,” Albert said with remarkable candor. “And you?”
I won't tell you.
London: "Are you a primary school student?"
Albert's pupils flickered, then he calmly said, "Okay, I understand. Next time I want to see the kitten, I can just ask him to open the door, right?"
Herbers: "..."
I looked at Albert, who had bought a bunch of toys and snacks, and then I looked at Albert again.
I asked, "Is it forbidden for him to keep cats at home? Why is he staring at my cat like that?"
London: "He certainly had ulterior motives."
I asked again, "So he's going to kill me?"
London: "He thinks the same way as Mycroft Holmes."
I understand now.
So I corrected him: "Its name is Mi Er Shi, or you could call it Young Master."
Upon hearing this, Herbers seemed to think that I had allowed Albert to enter the house.
I raised my hand to calm him down.
I know he's very tired from doing housework right now, and if he's entertaining guests, he definitely won't be able to take good care of me and the young prince.
"You can't just come to my house."
I can also use the young prince to control Albert, saying, "You have to see how I feel."
I had a feeling that he wanted something from me. But as long as it wasn't about money or murder, I could "bully" him a little from time to time.
After all, I'm the cat's hostage.
However, the name "Moriarty" has always made me suspicious. In my mind, Professor Moriarty is a chess player hidden in the center of the spider web, rather than a pawn that personally goes out to hunt its prey.
Albert's actions in chasing the criminals last time were swift, but they were more like efficient execution than overall control.
A thought flashed through his mind. Could it be that the title of Moriarty did not belong to him, but to his father?
Professor Moriarty is his father?
As I pondered the question, I asked, "What do you think?"
As soon as he finished speaking, Albert strode over.
Almost instinctively, Herbers stepped forward to block our path. His movements were swift and decisive, without a single unnecessary movement, like a stone tablet suddenly erected.
Albert remained unmoved, picked up his phone, and calmly said, "Give me your contact information."
Herbers said, "You have to go through me first if you want to contact Mr. Milverton."
I sipped my cola, gave Albert a smug smile, and wondered what he would do next.
He probably doesn't know that I am a very, very important person.
Even for an "ordinary person" like him, who carries the name "Moriarty," it's not so easy to get in touch with me.
Albert immediately noticed my smile, stopped, and after pressing a few buttons for a couple of seconds, my phone rang.
"Have you forgotten that you called Moran?"
Albert said, "I was just going through the motions."
"..." I turned off my restless phone.
Me: "This guy's really putting on airs. Why didn't he just honestly bend down and ask for my contact information?"
London: "He's a hereditary earl; he wouldn't do something like bowing down."
Me: "What does this have to do with me?"
I disagree.
After Albert finished speaking, he said calmly, "That's enough for today. See you another day."
I hate that kind of attitude the most.
Before leaving, Albert said again, "Thank you for the chocolate."
As soon as he said that, I was delighted. "This is so sweet!"
He'd feel like dying and want to curse if he took a bite.
Albert actually smiled slightly, though it was only fleeting, like a strange illusion. Then he replied, "I know."
"..."
I don't understand why he reacted this way.
Before falling asleep that night, I realized that I had accidentally rewarded him!
This really made me furious.
"London! London! London! "XN
London: "...Go to sleep."
"I'm so miserable, I'm so angry, I was tricked by Albert!" XN
London: "You weren't fooled."
The next day, I woke up feeling refreshed, but London seemed listless all day for some reason.
*
Half a day had passed since I last met Mycroft, and a vast and pure sense of boredom overwhelmed me. The days had become like stale Coke, so bland that not a single bubble would rise.
I was originally quite able to endure the time I didn't have to interact with Sherlock Holmes, but the appearance of Mycroft rekindled my great interest in Sherlock Holmes.
If Moriarty has become an aristocrat, is Sherlock Holmes still the same Sherlock Holmes?
Perhaps we can also discuss the troubles of having curly hair.
In my past life, I never had the problem of curly hair, but in this life, after inheriting Milvolton's identity, I also inherited his troublesome hair.
After washing my hair at night, I can't rely entirely on a hairdryer, otherwise my hair will become even drier and turn into all sorts of weird shapes.
It defies gravity, did you know that?
Every morning, I wake up with a different hairstyle. Just combing my hair takes me half an hour. I suspect my hair could hide things like a cartoon character, because there are many times when I can't get my comb out of my hair.
Herbers would cut my hair while I was eating.
Before he was around, I sometimes couldn't get my hair in place, so I would just wear a hat when I went out.
Because wearing a hat saves a lot of trouble from combing my hair, I've even started to indulge in wearing different hats in my walk-in closet.
London then told me, "Wearing hats all the time will make you bald."
I immediately threw the hat aside.
...
I think I could definitely start a conversation with Sherlock Holmes.
So, I had a brilliant plan in mind: I would head to 221B Baker Street after get off work.
"I'm going to knock on their door and then run away."
Just as I was enthusiastically making plans, near Baker Street, I spotted a blond young man with a cane limping along the road.
"Follow him."
I whispered to Moran.
The car moved slowly along the side of the road. Only when the person noticed the strange look and turned to look at me did I leisurely roll down the window.
"Sir, where are you going?" I asked in a gentle tone, with just the right amount of politeness and eagerness. "Would you like a ride? Do you live around here?"
As soon as she finished speaking, I caught a glimpse of Moran's undisguised gossip out of the corner of my eye.
In fact, it was less than five meters away from 221B Baker Street. But that didn't stop me from striking up a conversation.
The blond youth stopped in his tracks because of my voice, turned around with his cane, and looked at me with a restrained and distant gaze.
“I don’t live around here,” he said. “I don’t need you to pick me up or drop me off.”
After saying this, he continued walking, but this time he went in a different direction, clearly not wanting anyone to know his address.
Moran also took the opportunity to glance at me, her tone cool: "Don't humiliate yourself. They rejected you."
You don't understand.
I responded softly.
I have another ruthless trick up my sleeve.
I turned in his direction and casually asked, "Afghanistan, or Iraq?"
For a moment, he stopped in his tracks.
The blond youth frowned slightly, his gaze sharpening with a wary look, as if he had been precisely provoked.
He asked, "Who are you?"
I smiled, my tone relaxed to the point of being almost casual.
"I know you."
“John Watson, right? Someone told me that.”
Watson's gaze visibly shifted.
At the same time, that expression successfully pleased me.
He even subconsciously took a few steps closer to the car, lowering his voice: "You know Sherlock?"
So I took the opportunity to continue the conversation.
“In fact,” I said slowly, raising my chin, “I am Holmes’ brother.”
After he said that, Watson was silent for a second.
Those clear yet not naive eyes scrutinized me, and then Watson gave his serious assessment: "You look like his younger brother."
Me: "London, is he insulting me? He said I'm a little brother."
London: "..."
Me: "You're ignoring me now."
London rallied again: "He didn't insult you."
I nodded: "It's okay, I like him, I can tolerate it."
London raised his voice and said, "He really didn't insult you!"
London is so energetic, that's great!
I feel like I'm its power bank.
On the other hand, Watson noticed my brief silence and clearly realized something was wrong, so he couldn't help but ask, "So, who exactly are you?"
I then extended my hand in his direction, my posture polite yet relaxed.
“Mr. Watson. I am Charles Milverton.”
Watson looked at my outstretched hand, hesitated for a very brief moment, and finally shook it.
He said, "I'm sorry, I haven't heard of it."
"It's okay, you'll be happy to meet me."
I grabbed his hand and shook it up and down. "You don't know, I also have an absolutely adorable cat."
After hearing this, Watson smiled in my direction and replied gently, "I can tell, because you are very cute too."
As soon as he finished speaking, Moran and London both gasped in horror.
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Author's note: 20 random red envelopes are given out as a thank you for your support! Also, thank you to everyone who recommended this to you.
This story does not follow any extra update mechanism, so there's no need to give it any nutrient solution. If you like it, just leave a comment!
The next chapter will be told from a third-person perspective. Whose perspective would you like to see?
>>In the previous chapter, a reader asked, "If Albert didn't want chocolate, what would He Ji give him?"
I answered: Cat's paw (hand).
Subtext: (A sudden, unexpected punch)
>>The chocolate mentioned in the previous chapter, as some readers have guessed, is Kinder milk chocolate.
Actually, I didn't find it bad to eat, but it was really sweet (at least for me). I was also surprised that I couldn't get the chocolate to work the first time. Later, I found out that it had too high a sugar content.
Later, I bought Uji matcha chocolate, and everyone happily ate it.
Yeah!
I knew I wouldn't fail.
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