What life is all about. Pen × fun × Pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 info People will have questions about this matter, more or less.

Born, raised, experienced different childhood and youth, or carried out simple work, life, or had enviable opportunities and adventures, entered middle age, got married and had children. Like the life that everyone goes through, when enough things have been seen, this question comes to mind. Many people must already have the answer in their minds, and for me, finally one day we will die, and the complete end of this life is the interpretation of life. It's okay to get by, day after day, ordinary life, ordinary life.

I'm sure not everyone wants to be an enviable hero, like...

The purple oily ink left a few dots on the paper, not written symbols, just messy dots of ink that she was distraught about how to continue. The lingering shadow in her heart made her feel that maybe her life was wrong, she shouldn't have embarked on this path, and she shouldn't have picked up a pen. I always feel that I am full of wealth and talent, but when I lift the pen, I can only write some nondescript things.

Smiling self-deprecatingly, she grabbed the manuscript paper and crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. Waste paper like this manuscript paper was everywhere, and in the room with a strong smell of ink and books, only the half cup of cold black tea exuded a different smell. With her ink-stained fingers and the back of her hand looking a little decadent, she sighed, went into the bathroom, looked at herself in the mirror, and straightened her messy hair—it was long hair dyed a faint blonde, and she had beautiful black hair, so she didn't get much attention, and the black-haired people could only be noticed by them in the distant Eastern Empire.

Anyone can remember the black-haired, black-eyed Ming Empire, and no one can tell the difference between the French and the British before they open their mouths and before they eat. As British, blondes always get more attention than brunettes, simply because blondes are more dazzling.

Suddenly, a powerful knock came at the door, and her already haggard heart couldn't help jumping. However, she soon came to her senses, and her rent had already been 'paid'. Tidying up her appearance, she took some contrived steps and opened the door.

There were two people standing outside the door. Just the first time she looked at it, she felt a little dazzling. Unlike her, these two people must be the kind of people who can make people look at everywhere they go. The girl who knocked on the door was wearing a white multi-layered ruffled dress, her slender figure looked like it could be blown down by a gust of wind, and her sideburns were braided with blue ribbons, and her blue eyes of the same color as the ribbon looked like she was chilling. It was supposed to be fear, a warning from human instinct when she was targeted by some carnivorous animal.

The other, on the other hand, wore a more ornate gothic dress, which did not match her little house no matter how you looked at it. She should have appeared more at aristocratic mansions and parties, with curly brown hair tied in a double ponytail and a gentle smile. These two coin-like men appeared in front of her house, and she didn't think it would be a good thing.

"Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you, Julianne Francis, I'm Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend, Dio Connor. ”

Those two names... Isn't it really an ordinary person? She nodded slightly, but still occupied the doorway, and said in a cold voice:

"What's the matter? I'm writing and I don't want to be disturbed..."

"I thought all of London knew me, what do you say?" said Dior," Sherlock smiled lightly, "and since I'm here, I think you know why we're here." ”

"I don't think I've committed a crime," Julianne pouted, "even if the police investigate a case, it takes formalities, and I think I have the right to deny you entry into my house." ”

"Of course you can, but I don't think any detective would come out dressed like this," Sherlock said, lifting her skirt and looking helpless, "You know what? This is the second time I've worn high heels in my life, the first time was on my 16th birthday, I fell hard at a party, and I haven't touched it since." ”

"Doesn't that slipper in your house count, Cinderella," Dio said with a teasing smile, and then reverted to his usual poker face and said to Julianne, "We have the right to suspect you, dear Julie, you are the only author in London who writes on manuscript paper with a ballpoint pen, and of course we just want to ask you something... Having two ladies do it outside is not something that an upper-class person should do. ”

“... It's me who is slacking, please come in. ”

Julianne sighed and opened the door for the two to walk inside. The furnishings of the room make Dior's eyes light up, the bookshelves placed in the living room, the scent of ink in the air, it can be said that every bit of the furnishings of this room can conform to the image of the so-called 'writer' in people's minds. But... Sherlock gave Julianne a strange look. She didn't say anything, but everyone could tell that she had a big opinion of the house.

"I'm sure you've heard of the recent high-profile killings," Dior said straight to the point as the two sat down on the couch, "I have to say... You hide it well, my dear Julianne. ”

“... What are you talking about?" Julianne paused, shook her head helplessly, and made black tea for the two of them.

"Holding a very good subject in your hand, but not being able to write an article, is very difficult for you who love writing. ”

“......”

"You know who we are, Julianne, and when we entered, you weren't surprised to see us coming, but you still had a 'I expected you to come'. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Julianne frowned, she wanted to kick the two out.

"'Julianne Francis' is left-handed, you know that," Sherlock stood up abruptly and grabbed Julianne's right hand, who had put down the coffee pot, "but can you explain how the little metacarpal muscle on the side of your right hand came from?"

“......”

"You write with your right hand, that's why the little palmar muscles are stained with ballpoint pen ink, my dear Julianne, your acting skills are not bad, but I have to say that your wisdom is almost none. ”

"Honey, I'm still a vampire, I felt the familiar smell of blood before I even entered the door," Dior sat leisurely on the couch, squinting his eyes, "That's someone I've seen lately, but not anyone I've seen regularly." People who have had blood in front of me, who don't meet often, who are still alive and who are not my acquaintances ... Female, I didn't expect our second meeting to come so quickly, so I see, you are "Jack the Ripper". ”

“... Can that be called evidence?" 'Julianne' finally shed that disguise, and she withdrew her hand from Sherlock's palm, revealing the same smile that Dio had ever seen, "There is no doubt that I am Julianne." I can just write with the right and left hands, so what else can you say?"

"Handwriting, my dear Julianne," Dior looked up slightly, "have you forgotten that you once sent a letter to CNA written in ballpoint pen." Although the handwriting is mediocre, the evidence here seems to be more or less. ”

“... And then what? You can't do anything, everything is done. ”

yes, if this Julianne wasn't too stupid, she wouldn't have revealed anything about it. Dior and Sherlock still can't find any evidence, but...

"You seem to be mistaken, we have proof that you are Jack the Ripper, and aside from this letter, I think... There may be similar evidence in this room. I don't have any interest in the success of Future Eve, Julianne, I just helped Sherlock arrest Jack the Ripper, and it doesn't matter to me any shady scenes, any stories after that. That's the law, my dear Julianne, you've sinned, so you're going to go into the bureau and squat for a while, that's all. ”

“... I don't understand, there's no point in doing that," Julianne took a step back, "and you won't get any good... Dio Connor. ”

"I don't need any good, I just need to make that idiot John understand that I know everything, especially that idiot himself revealed so much information to me and wanted me to fall headfirst into his trap. But... Don't even think about it. Well, at least tell me your real name before you say goodbye, 'Julianne'. ”

“... I have a lot of 'real names', and Julie Anne is one too, and any name you look up from a dictionary of names could be my real name. Are detective games fun?"

Julianne said with a sneer.

"Since you want to know, let me tell you, I've never had my name, I don't have any identity record, I can be anyone. "He" gave me a new meaning, and I just did these things at "His" command. Unfortunately, you will never have a chance to find any trace of him..."

"So, let's take a gamble, the next person to come here is the one who knows your identity..."

Before Julianne could reply, there was a sharp knock on the door.

"Here comes our 'witness,' Julianne, and I'm guessing your next sentence is, 'How do you know?'"

"How do you know...?"

Silence permeated them.