【British and American】My miserable life studying abroad

"Where are we going now?" Wei Shengling looked ahead. "Isn't this the way back to 221B?"

"Go to other crime scenes." Sherlock looked out the window. "There are too few clues over there and too many limitations. I need more information."

There were police guarding the other crime scenes. Sherlock's face was already very famous, and everyone knew that he was the detective consultant of Scotland Yard, so they let him in.

"In the past, Sherlock and I would have had to use some special methods to get in." Watson couldn't help but sigh.

"what?"

"Like climbing over windows and walls, luring the tiger away from the mountain, disguising himself, or he simply stole Greg's police ID."

Speaking of this, he felt a little tired.

It has been said that Sherlock Holmes can be a detective with insight into people's hearts, or he can be a thief with superb skills.

"..."

They... every policy has its own countermeasures.

The apartment still retains its previous appearance, with a human figure drawn with white lines where the deceased had been.

"This shape, this posture..."

Sherlock was trapped in his own world. A network of information spread out before his eyes: footprints on the floor, dust on the furniture, purple petals in the corner...

"No," he whispered.

"No? What do you mean?" Wei Shengling was puzzled.

"Footprints...footprints! There are no footprints of the victim himself here. There are only marks of the police wearing shoe covers around!" Sherlock's eyes were sharp. "Go to the next place!"

I went to all the crime scenes, and except for the latest scene, all the rest were cleaned up.

They stopped at the spot where the first victim died and began to collect their thoughts.

"What does this mean? Was it the murderer's provocation, or was it the last one that he didn't have time to clean up?" Watson lowered his head to think, and Wei Shengling blinked, "Did the police come too quickly, causing the murderer to not have time to clean up the latest traces?"

"No," Sherlock said firmly, "There is no sign that the ground at the latest scene has been cleaned, and the footprints left behind are not hurried, and the footprints are only from the entrance to the kitchen."

"A repairman?"

The cell phone rang, and Watson looked down at the message. "It's a message from Greg." He handed the phone to Sherlock, who looked at the message thoughtfully.

"Plumber? Johnson Pardo, 31 years old... Everything matches. This is the owner of the footprints."

"It was a crude cover-up, good enough to fool Scotland Yard."

He threw the phone to Watson. "He's not the murderer. He's just trying to sow doubts. However, we should be able to get something out of this guy. John, send a message to Greg for me. Ask him what he saw when he came to Coron's house, whether there were other people, and most importantly, what his condition was at the time."

Watson was already used to helping Sherlock send messages. Wei Sheng Ling looked at Sherlock who was ignoring the people around him and was brainstorming, and saw the purple petal in his hand.

"Could it be... the language of flowers?"

"The language of flowers in many places is different. This is unlikely. Purple tulips, winter jasmine, poppies... no matter how hard you try, these flower languages don't have any meaning."

Sherlock answered subconsciously.

"Red poppies, yellow jasmine, purple tulips, blue forget-me-nots, pink roses, white daisies, there must be something missing in between..."

I don’t know what I’m lacking, but it must be brains.

Wei Sheng Ling let out a breath, and her mental power spread around. The first victim died outdoors, which meant that she had fewer clues. Moreover, half a month had passed, and it was always raining in the UK, so it would be difficult to find anything now.

what is that?

Wei Sheng Ling tilted his head to look at the lush grass in the distance. A withered flower was hidden in the taller grass, and some of its petals had rotted. What kind of flower was this and why was it here?

There are lush trees and grass all over this place, with only a few small flowers here and there. This flower obviously didn't grow here, but was thrown here... Hasn't this place been blocked off?

While she was thinking, a pair of hands wearing disposable gloves reached out from behind her and took the flower. She turned her head and looked over. Sherlock looked at the flower intently. "It's a rose."

"Rose?"

"Red roses."

"What are you looking at?" Watson came over. When he heard that the flower in Sherlock's hand that looked different from its original shape was actually a red rose, he fell into thought, "Red rose... I remember there is a very popular superstition."

"what?"

"When the red rose you wear on your chest falls to the ground, it means bad luck is coming." Watson said, "I forgot where I heard this."

"Bad luck," Wei Shengling frowned, "Did the victims wear red roses on their chests when they were alive?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. He only knows how to deduce, not magic. "But someone will know."

He opened his phone and pulled out the electronic version of the information Lestrade had sent him. "Contact information for the victim's family and friends...here."

He flipped through the contact information and dialed one of the numbers. His face was expressionless, but his voice did not match his expression. "Hello, is this Mr. White's family? I'm a police officer from Scotland Yard... I'm sorry to bring up your sad story, but we all have some common goals - to bring justice to the deceased, don't we? Yes... We have something to ask you..."

He is very good at impersonating others.

Sherlock made six calls in a row, and when he looked up, his eyes were dazzlingly bright.

"The deceased had all received red rose corsages before they disappeared. The difference was whether they were exposed to the public or not. Four of the victims hid this fact, and the family members just found it after searching the victims' rooms... The red roses were a warning."

"We're going to Scotland Yard!"

Taxis were still readily available in this remote place. Sherlock kept muttering something. As soon as he arrived at Scotland Yard, he couldn't wait to get out of the car and went straight to the morgue inside.

Looking at Wei Shengling and Watson following Sherlock, the policeman who was about to make a few sarcastic remarks swallowed his words.

Wei Shengling's previous performance at the crime scene had already spread. They were not interested in provoking a Chinese person who was good at swearing, because not only would they be scolded by her, but they would also be attacked from both sides by Sherlock who could see through what you eat, wear, and do.

This Chinese guy is quite good-looking, how could he be so blind as to fall in love with Sherlock?

Wei Shengling sneezed suddenly.

Who is cursing me behind my back?

When they arrived at the morgue, Anderson was standing outside with a dark face, obviously being kicked out. He snorted and left, "A pretentious detective, an accomplice to the evil, and an Asian with bad eyesight."

Wei Shengling didn't want to spoil him. "What are you talking about? Why don't you just say it out loud so I can hear it?"

When it came to a head-on confrontation, Anderson was scared and left quickly. When Watson opened the door, a foul smell came out and Wei Shengling took a step back.

"Otherwise, I won't go in, right?"