Thousands of waves surge
A cloud of doubt hung over the lady's brow, but recently her attention had been diverted by one thing: Sherlock was about to celebrate his coming-of-age ceremony.
As his siblings, Rose was supposed to prepare a gift for him. Therefore, she poured all the skills she had learned in her weaving class into meticulously knitting him a pirate hat.
His lifelong dream was to become a pirate, a somewhat unconventional aspiration that might seem absurd, but upon closer examination, its origins are not surprising. Under the Madam's airtight control, no one could help but yearn for and imagine freedom.
“What do you think?” Rose handed the hat to Mycroft, discreetly seeking his opinion. Mycroft took the pirate hat and shook his head: “Change it. If you don’t want to ruin his coming-of-age party.”
Yes, he reminded Rose. She didn't know if Sherlock would be overjoyed to receive the gift, but the lady would certainly go mad. She could only lock the finished pirate hat in the cupboard, abandoning the gift that hadn't yet been given.
When Rose presented Sherlock with the exquisitely woven scarf, he happily said, "Thank you." At the same time, Mycroft handed him a deed to a manor house with the best horse farm in all of London, where he could gallop freely across the endless green fields.
Strangely, Rose sensed something was off about him. His usually clear eyes looked somewhat confused, and his smile was no longer innocent; instead, it had a radiant and unrestrained quality.
It was like being immersed in some kind of illusory, dreamlike world. Rose looked at Sherlock with concern. Mycroft was almost certain that Sherlock had been injected with nicotine, and that the dosage was definitely too high.
“Mr. Holmes, it’s time to cut the cake,” the master of ceremonies handed him a silver knife. “And, please give a speech!”
Sherlock's expression turned serious. He walked to the cake with many candles, took a deep breath, but remained silent for a long time.
The lady sat before him, her brow furrowed. The guests fell silent; no one knew what he was hesitating about. Mycroft's expression was grave, his gaze fixed on her, but due to the angle, Rose couldn't discern the message Mycroft was trying to convey to Sherlock.
However, Sherlock couldn't see it, because at that moment, he was looking down, seemingly making a difficult decision. Suddenly he spoke, his already low voice becoming even more somber, but his speech was no longer as fast as usual, but hesitant: "Mother, please let me go, let me become a pirate."
He still uttered the words he shouldn't have, despite his willingness to risk everything. The guests gasped in astonishment, shocked by the unconventional and worldly-scorned dream of this young master from a prominent family.
The lady's face was darker than a rainy London night. Her brow was furrowed, and she trembled slightly. "Sherl..." she gesticulated frantically at the butler, her words barely coherent. This reminded Rose of a boiler about to boil.
This disgraceful coming-of-age ceremony thus came to an end, at the cost of Sherlock's ruined reputation in aristocratic circles. But he himself seemed completely unconcerned, for this was the thing his wife cared about most in her life. Destroying it, Sherlock even felt a sense of smug satisfaction.
But his dream of becoming a pirate was also completely shattered. The lady summoned the most renowned psychologist in London to the manor and forced Shylock to spend time with him. By the end, Shylock had become utterly terrified of the deep sea and would even avoid shallow waters.
One day, she and Sherlock were walking through a mudflat in the countryside. It was formed by farmers accumulating water in a low-lying area after watering their crops. It was extremely shallow, and even Rose, who was usually very observant, didn't notice it.
"No, no!" Sherlock grabbed Rose's hand frantically, trembling as if he had been electrocuted. He could no longer walk steadily, as if what he saw was not the shallow water of a field, but a poisonous pool with snakes.
He was the most radiant and carefree young man in all of London, exceptionally intelligent, and even possessed a gentle and pure personality.
Now he is listless and gloomy, and avoids even the smallest puddle for miles.
His long, curly hair could conceal his icy blue eyes, but it couldn't hide the sorrow and despair emanating from within him. When sorrow and despair intertwined, they gave rise to misanthropy.
It seems that her brother Xia Li was always prepared to leave this world.
So, what has sustained him to this point?
Rose dared not think any further.
On one occasion, when the lady attended a charity event, Rose, bypassing the servants, gave Sherlock the hand-knitted pirate hat she had originally intended as a gift. He said, "Thank you, Rose." It was the same familiar phrase, but this time there was no joy in it; instead, he was filled with regret.
There were few living things left in the garden this season. On the marble lounge chair, under the moonlight, they huddled together. A tear from Sherlock fell onto Rose's neck, warm as her body temperature, before gradually cooling in the chill of the air conditioning.
Several years have passed in the blink of an eye, and Rose has grown into a young woman, just like the "flower bud" in the lady's words. Thanks to the excellent living conditions, the marks left by her orphanage life have gradually faded. Her cheeks have become fuller, and she is no longer as thin as a sapling that could be broken by the wind.
The balance of power in the household was subtly shifting. The lady's health was deteriorating, and she was increasingly mispronouncing Rose's name as "Eurus" when they were alone. Sherlock grew more melancholic and cynical, even showing signs of antisocial tendencies. Mycroft, on the other hand, was clearly adept at navigating this secular system, and at the same time, the servants hesitated longer and longer when his orders contradicted the lady's.
But in the moments when the lady was lucid, the way she gazed at Rose changed. Especially when Mycroft appeared in the oppressive manor, her gaze would often drift to Rose.
Those old, cloudy eyes held a warning, a resentment, an unwillingness to accept the scenario, and fear.
Rose initially thought her disguise was sophisticated enough, but when she met the lady's warning gaze again, she finally accepted the fact that her hidden crush had been exposed. Late at night, Rose tossed and turned, recalling every detail of her interactions with the lady, still completely baffled as to where the lady had seen the signs.
What exactly aroused the lady's suspicion? Did Mycroft himself know? He was so perceptive, almost frighteningly so. If Mycroft knew, how would he view himself?
Under this double torment, Rose suffered from insomnia for several days and had to rely on sedatives to fall asleep. But suddenly one day her sleep returned to normal, even more peaceful and serene than any of the previous nights.
Because she began to eagerly anticipate the day when everything would be exposed, revealed, erupted, and destroyed.
Rose is now being forced by the lady of the house to associate with a young man from a prominent German family named Owen, the only son of a close friend of Sherlock Holmes. Every German lesson she had as a child had been excruciating, but now she finally understands why she was required to learn German.
“You must like Owen, Rose,” the lady said to her.
Driven by this command, Rose kept moving closer to Owen. He was a good boy, timid but not bad at heart. When they went horseback riding together in the countryside, Owen suddenly sighed and said to Rose, "It's so sad. We're all powerless."
He began to recount his past. It turned out that he and the imprisoned youngest daughter of Sherlock Holmes were childhood sweethearts. While everyone at school called Eurus a monster, he alone treated her as a normal person. Mrs. Holmes was very pleased with this youthful affection and had already arranged a marriage between them in her heart.
He didn't say the second half, but Rose already knew perfectly well. Now Eurus was gone forever, and Rose, the imposter, was laid out in the open. The lady wanted Rose to live exactly as Eurus had originally done, to fill the void of her guilt and maternal love, and naturally, her marriage was no longer her own decision.
"And what about you, Owen? You love Eurus, so why do you insist on marrying me?"
"Rose, I'm not marrying you, but my family is marrying the Holmes family." It turns out that the Industrial Revolution has brought about changes in the industry, and the Owen family, which made a living from the traditional shipbuilding industry, has been declining. They have to find a suitable support again, and marriage is undoubtedly the most stable reassurance.
Rose looked at this pitiful person who was also helpless, wanting to say something to comfort them, but didn't know how to start.
As time went by, Rose gradually accepted the fact that she was going to marry Owen. Sometimes she would even comfort herself, thinking that among countless couples, how many could still maintain love at all times? They were extremely rare.
What does it matter if something is destined to disappear sooner or later, or even if it existed in the first place?
One afternoon, when Rose went to keep his wife company as usual, he heard a heated argument coming from inside the room.
“Don’t attribute everything about Eurus to her. Deceiving Sherlock wasn’t enough, are you going to deceive yourself too?” Mycroft’s deep voice was already suppressing his anger: “Mother, what do you take Rose for?”
“Mycroft, your question makes me feel somewhat wronged.” The lady seemed to laugh. “That’s a question I should be asking you. What do you take Rose for?”
Almost instantly, Mycroft stopped talking.
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