Chapter 46, Episode 32: They are lovers
Episode 32 "They are lovers"
Perhaps sensing that I wasn't entirely honest and that I habitually exaggerated, Holmes eventually gave up on continuing to entangle me.
If he gives up, I'm more likely to take advantage of him.
My immediate instinct was to press him for answers, to see the awkwardness and unease he couldn't quite articulate. But Holmes didn't even stop; he merely turned his face slightly to the side and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. I instinctively backed down.
That glance contained neither indifference nor reproach or disgust.
On the contrary, his gaze was very calm and restrained.
This clearly makes me feel like a sugar enthusiast, and I feel a sense of awe and distance when I see sugar-free milk tea. I don't know what others think, but every time I see Jenny choosing milk tea with me, I subconsciously avoid her unsweetened milk tea.
It's like Sun Wukong meeting Buddha, or a cat meeting a cucumber.
In short, I turned around, pressed my shoulder against Watson's, and obediently followed him: "Watson, I want to walk with you."
Watson glanced down at me, smiled, and then naturally placed his other hand on Mi Er Shi, gently stroking its back.
Mi Er Shi squinted and snuggled into Watson's arms, making gurgling sounds in his throat. He was so relaxed and unguarded that I was extremely envious.
I don't want to walk either; I want to be carried.
Of course, I'm not saying I want to be taken care of for the rest of my life; I just hope I have the freedom to choose a comfortable life.
However, to be fair, although Holmes suspected that I might deliberately muddy the waters or even protect others, he never showed any intention of sending me away.
I guessed that it was probably because, in his eyes, ordinary people like us couldn't possibly fathom the true intentions behind his actions. Even if we were brought along, we would only be insignificant variables.
In fact, when I followed behind Sherlock Holmes, I did feel a strong sense of powerlessness—
Like a headless fly, not knowing where it will be taken, not knowing when it will be able to stop and catch its breath, and not knowing who it will meet or what it will hear next.
I secretly asked Watson, but he just shook his head helplessly.
He was also unaware of Holmes's plan.
But that doesn't matter, Holmes won't say.
I can ask Watson.
Are we going to the room where the crime scene is now?
After all, the initial state of the deceased could almost be determined as natural death—cardiac arrest.
But there was a piece of shi ning under his tongue.
This in itself constitutes a contradiction. If it was a sudden, natural death, he wouldn't have had the opportunity to sublingually take the medication. But if he took the medication while conscious, the presence of the pill under his tongue cannot explain his death.
Moreover, the crime scene structure is just as inconsistent as the cause of death.
The crime scene presented a bizarre double-locked room.
On one side is a room from which the murderer theoretically cannot leave;
On the other side was a room that the deceased should not have entered under normal circumstances.
The former likely involved some kind of technical tampering with the security lock on the door;
The latter, however, seems more like someone obtained Ivy's room key through some means, thus gaining access to a space that didn't belong to him.
Therefore, if both conditions are met, then this case is no longer simply a "locked-room mystery." It seems more like a structure deliberately created to mislead judgment.
When I asked this, Watson slowly replied, "You haven't been to Miss Blackwell's room, have you?"
My eyes twitched slightly, but I didn't respond immediately.
Watson simply looked at me calmly, his gaze so clear it seemed he had seen through everything: "You can memorize the definition of Abelian numbers and complex topics at a glance, but you can forget the path you've walked?"
That sentence was like a spotlight, leaving me, who was hiding in the shadows doing bad things and harboring ulterior motives, nowhere to hide.
I had a whole speech ready, but Watson hadn't finished. His gentle voice continued in my ear: "You're so smart, it would be so unlike you if you didn't remember."
Since Watson said so, I must admit it.
Because I need to maintain my image as a smart and clever person.
London: "You're so easily provoked..."
"That makes you seem incredibly narrow-minded," I said matter-of-factly. "I'm just playing along. If I didn't engage, it would be so boring! A good interaction is based on mutual consent, like Zhou Yu and Huang Gai, you understand?"
London completely rejected my suggestions and criticisms: "I don't understand, and I have no interest in understanding."
It doesn't matter.
Because I am a patient teacher, I will give London a lot of room for improvement.
Next, I will focus on Watson.
"I have never been there."
After I finished speaking frankly, I couldn't help but lean towards Watson, cover Mi Ershi's ears, and start whispering bad things about Ivy.
After all, children grow up following in their parents' footsteps. If Mi Ershi learns to speak ill of others, it will be very difficult for me to re-educate him.
My love for it isn't great enough for me to change my own temperament for it.
"Let me tell you, after we met at the math salon, she inexplicably invited me to her room for a chat, and she even had an invitation delivered to me. I always felt that she had some bad intentions."
Watson, clearly unconvinced, shook his head and chuckled at my paranoid expression, saying, "Miss Blackwell is just an ordinary woman. What can she do to you?"
"A cornered dog will jump over a wall, and a cornered rabbit will bite."
I met his deep blue eyes, my voice lowered to a whisper: "What might that person do if they panic?"
As I spoke, I slowly raised my index finger and pressed it against my temple.
Watson's smile froze at the corners of his mouth, and his face turned slightly pale: "...She is, after all, a person of social standing and reputation, and she wouldn't go to such extremes. Besides, this is a public occasion."
"As long as no one sees it, nothing is impossible."
My fingertips slid down my temples as I stated, "The current cruise ship accident data is not yet available, but the New York Post published a report nine years ago. A Canadian professor once conducted a 17-year study on cruise ship accidents, finding that an average of twenty people fell overboard from cruise ships or ferries each year."
I looked up and said in a tone that said, "I'm not exaggerating," "Theoretically speaking, the survival rate after falling into the sea is 10% to 15%. But I can say with certainty that on the vast ocean, if you disappear from a cruise ship and no one notices you've fallen overboard..."
Watson, as an excellent writer, certainly did not lack imagination. He now silently pursed his lips.
I continued, "Unless you encounter a group of friendly dolphins, or a huge, elderly sea turtle that cares about humans, or a young and beautiful mermaid who longs for humans, you're basically doomed."
When he got to the last sentence, I laughed. I really wanted to see Watson's expression, but he was still stuck on the previous part, his expression extremely serious.
So I clapped my hands and said in a light tone, "You have no idea how many people want me dead. So you don't know how malicious other people can be. I have to be careful. If I'm unlucky enough to fall into the water, I don't think I have the willpower to drift in the sea for more than ten hours in winter and wait for someone to rescue me."
Watson neither refuted me nor comforted me. His usually sincere and warm blue eyes were now like two lakes covered with thin ice, clearly reflecting my overly calm, even indifferent expression.
"You..." he began, his voice hoarse and tinged with disbelief, "Have you always been going through all this alone?"
I think he's overthinking it.
Isn't it normal for Milvolton to be hated to the extreme, even to the point of wanting to kill him?
But his gaze didn't waver. For the first time, he tried to look beyond my usual banter and rants, wanting to see something beneath—a cold and hard foundation he had never touched before.
In a flash, I suddenly got the answer that Watson hadn't said before.
He will sympathize with me.
In fact, I didn't feel happy or moved.
I don't think there's anything to be happy or grateful about when you're treated as a weakling.
But because he was Watson, I knew that his reaction was just a soft-hearted one and that he didn't mean to disrespect me, so I wasn't as resistant as I had imagined, and there was no sarcasm in my words.
"Yes."
I sighed heavily. “Every month I have to spend millions to buy myself a luxury car just to make myself happy. When I’m in a bad mood, I buy properties all over the world, add private yachts, collect limited-edition watches, buy an entire private island, and casually acquire a few startups. I also have to hire top chefs every day to develop a few healing dishes just for me.”
"In the gaps between these busy schedules, I also need to have high-end suits custom-made, collect antique paintings, and invest in private equestrian clubs. Only by using these elaborate and luxurious means can I relieve the fear and anxiety deep in my heart."
"But I spend money like water, and I earn money even faster. Alas, I'm so incompetent!"
The final supplementary sentence was filled with self-mockery about my own cowardice, powerlessness, and insignificance.
The corridor fell silent for a few seconds.
This silence wasn't just simple speechlessness; it was a kind of exhaustion caused by Watson's genuine belief that I had the financial means.
"So, why do you think Professor Belfast and Miss Blackwell switched rooms?"
Holmes' voice slipped into our conversation in a very cunning way.
He didn't turn around immediately, but merely glanced slightly to the side, his features appearing unusually sharp in the cool light streaming through the porthole. His high, straight nose was defined by the interplay of light and shadow, and his lips were tightly drawn together.
London's voice came out without warning: "They are lovers."
My mind went blank for a moment: "...What?!"
Holmes's profile remained frozen in the calm daylight, clearly awaiting my reply. I swallowed the gasp that welled up in my mouth, maintaining a composed expression as if pondering the case, and then, quite naturally, repeated it word for word:
"They are lovers."
Watson turned sharply to me, his trembling blue eyes filled with shock: "Wh-what?!"
ah!
Seeing him like this makes me truly happy.
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Author's note: 20 random small red envelopes, thank you!! Good evening! Go to bed early!
Think about it, the protagonist of this book has a completely different personality from the protagonist of my other book. The other protagonist is positioned as a "saint" who "has seen the vastness of the universe, yet still cherishes the green of grass and trees," while this one is a "villain" who "comes from hell and is heading towards the human world."
However, I feel like this character design has gone a bit astray [laughing and crying emoji]
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