Chapter 43 Not pretending to be more pathetic

Frey quietly baked bread, as if all these chaotic things had nothing to do with him. "Luna, do me a favor." He said easily.

"Want to see the bronze coffin?" He asked casually, "Please help yourself."

The gray-eyed detective nodded slightly to the old man and passed through a pile of strange creatures from the other world. His eyes quickly swept over their characteristics. Unexpectedly, he could clearly distinguish the producers and predators inside. They were the legendary fairies, elves or monsters, but they were indeed creatures that could exist, and there was a predatory relationship.

In fact, their world was very reasonable.

He came to Frey's back garden and saw the legendary bronze coffins.

They were quietly placed on the marble table surrounded by green grass. Each one had a name written on it in ancient characters, and the delicate reliefs recorded the great and glorious deeds of their lives, just like the bedtime stories his grandmother read to him when he was young.

"No one will believe in Santa Claus and believe that those stories are true after the age of ten." He seemed to hear his own voice, and his younger self was standing indifferently at the other end of time.

Staring at him.

The pale and thin boy tilted his head slightly, his gray eyes were like inorganic marble, and his brother stood not far away, holding a bright red Christmas stocking in his hand.

"Sherlock, you are such a boring person." Mycroft Holmes said.

"I am a person living in this world, not a person living in a fairy tale world." The boy said.

"But most people in this world will pretend to believe in fairy tales." Mycroft said.

"How pathetic is the word pretend." The boy said.

"It's even more pathetic not to pretend." Mycroft said, and hung the red stocking stubbornly on the fireplace, "Every human is special."

"Special stupidity is also a kind of special." He added.

Mycroft understands humans and uses humans. Holmes thought, of course, he can be regarded as understanding humans.

But why did he see his younger self? He remembered that in fairy tales, heroes would see their life stories when they walked towards the utopia.

Perhaps it was some kind of ability of Riel. He thought that if he made a rational decision, he should go back to find Frey, which meant that there were still protections set up by them around him, and he should find a way to let him pass.

But he couldn't help but look at the boy standing at the other end of the corridor of time, coldly examining the only bright color in the gray, the red sock in his brother's hand.

He suddenly felt that such a review could make him see clearly what kind of human being he was.

Mycroft walked forward with the Christmas socks. He said dissatisfiedly that if he didn't hang them up, he couldn't share his candy.

The boy lay directly on the bed. Of course, he knew that there would be no Santa Claus to give candy. The miracle person who made the Christmas socks swell in the middle of the night could only be his parents or grandparents.

He kept looking at the ceiling, then closed his eyes slightly, and waited until the early morning, when he heard a faint movement, probably looking for where he put the Christmas socks.

He opened his eyes, and his father held a box of candy in his hand, so the two of them sat in the gray morning light, fiddling with the tin can.

"Sherlock, life without expecting miracles is boring," he said.

"Are you waiting for a miracle too?" the boy asked.

"There's nothing else I can wait for except a miracle," the man said, looking at the painted figure on the tin can. "It seems that I should probably tell you straight out that your mother has tuberculosis."

"She'll get thinner, cough up blood, and then die," the boy replied. "Maybe it's only a few years away, right?"

"Yes," the man said, "unless there's a miracle, or there's a god."

"But there isn't," the boy said quietly, "or maybe humans haven't discovered it yet."

"Yes," the man said, "No."

"How long has it been?" the boy asked.

"It's been ten months since it was diagnosed," the man replied.

"She's still taking care of everyone every day," the boy said quietly.

"Maybe it's because my mother is one of the gods," the man said.

"Even if that's the case, Mycroft probably already saw it," the boy said quietly.

"He is different from you. He never reveals anything." The man said, "For example, I just passed by his bedroom and he was sleeping peacefully on the bed, and his socks were hung up neatly."

"I sound more cold and heartless." The boy said.

The man stretched out his hand and placed it on his head. "No, Sherlock, no, I don't think so."

"You are very enthusiastic." The father said, "When the fire first came to the world, it was also wrapped in a cold shell."

"Mycroft Holmes, so you create welfare for mankind?" He heard his own voice again.

"I don't know, Sherlock, time is a long flowing river." Mycroft replied, "I just try to give them the best they want."

"Do you think of yourself as a god?" Holmes asked.

Mycroft Holmes stared at him. The years had left their marks on him. He began to gain weight and become unfathomable, more and more like a politician in an oil painting.

"Sherlock, I only believe in one thing, becoming a god is an extremely painful and miserable thing." Mycroft said, "Although it is very likely that there has never been a god in this world."

"If there is, it would be even more tragic." Sherlock said.

"Indeed." Mycroft took a puff of cigarette, "Indeed, it is even more tragic."

The girl carried a large pot of soup and distributed it to various creatures living here in Frey. She smelled the rich aroma of longevity soup in the soup and couldn't help but inhaled it hard.

"Frey, is there such spring water flowing everywhere in our hometown?" Luna asked.

"Yes." The white-bearded old man said, he took out a spoon gracefully and participated in the distribution himself, "That's what the book says."

"Anyway, the hometown is more suitable for our growth." Frey said, his eyes fell on the girl's face, "It must be like this."

"That's great." Luna said.

"Even if you won't reach that utopia?" Frey asked.

"Alas," Luna sighed, "The Thirteenth King, as we all know, thirteen is a bad number. It only appears in times of change and disaster. Our hometown shouldn't have thirteen kings, right?"

"Just as there are only twelve months in a year and only twelve constellations in the zodiac, it's all natural." Luna replied.

Frey silently scooped up a spoonful of soup.

"Yes," he said, "but you actually arrived at your hometown."

Luna blinked, "It can be considered as such. I think that can also be considered as a kind of arrival."

"Speaking of which, will Frey miss me?" she asked, her voice innocent and simple, as straightforward as a child asking if he is willing to be my friend.

Frey blinked, and a certain expression emerged on his old and kind face.

"Of course I will miss you." He said, "Sometimes I think that we are indeed an unreasonable creature to humans."

"Like you are so young, you are obviously like our sister or daughter, but you are going to be a mother." Frey said.

Luna's heterochromatic eyes stared at the longevity soup, "Rabbits can get pregnant after one month."

"Aren't you afraid of pregnancy?" Frey asked, "Many believers of Lilith are scared to death by this kind of thing."

"You even look like you are running towards death happily." Frey said.

"We won't really die." Luna said, she handed the longevity soup to the fairy in front of her, her eyes fell on her belly, "We won't reproduce like humans."

"Naturally, we won't die like them." The girl said lightly, "So although we won't be able to meet again in the future, we can't stand together in this form."

"But we all live in our hometown, don't we?" she asked back, "So in fact we are not separated at all, there is no reason to separate us."

Frey breathed a sigh of relief.

Most of them have lived with humans for a long time. They

have an unshakable belief in their nature and mission.

But Luna still surprised them.

She is the thirteenth king who will lead them back to their hometown. She

is more iron-hearted than anything they could imagine.

"And by that time, everyone will return to their hometown." Luna said softly, "So we are not separated."

"What about Sherlock Holmes?" Frey asked.

Luna's hand stopped.

"Can't he also reach the utopia?" she whispered, "returning home with us like the heroes of ancient times."

"You won't stand with him anymore," Frey said, "will you regret it?"

The girl blinked, she remembered that Dr. Watson said they were friends, so he would not forget her, although she didn't know how Dr. Watson, as a human being, had the courage to guarantee this blank check.

But she really didn't want to be forgotten.

"I don't know," she said, "he didn't travel with me either, maybe it doesn't matter to him."

"Then it doesn't matter to me either, after all, humans are more fragile, aren't they."