In any case, during the following period, perhaps to verify sothing, the young great detective almost continuously engaged in conversation with this Miss de Bourgh along the way.
"It seems compared to Edward, you appreciate Monet more, Miss de Bourgh?"
"Yes, indeed!"
Seeming to perceive the other party's "good intentions," after a brief period of restraint, the young lady before them quickly relaxed.
Especially when discussing her most beloved paintings...
Bathed in sunlight, the young lady's originally clear sapphire-blue eyes seed to sparkle with fine, scattered starlight:
"Particularly his application of color and integration of light and shadow—this painter must be an extrely romantic person. It's a pity I haven't had the chance to et him yet..."
"But fortunately, earlier, my cousin and mother helped acquire quite a few of his paintings for to keep and appreciate..."
"Oh, that truly is a fortunate thing..."
Along the way, Sherlock spoke sowhat distractedly, while not forgetting to glance toward Mycroft beside him.
Especially when noticing the unmistakable affection in his elder brother's gaze toward the young lady, he quickly turned his head away.
Indeed, she possessed remarkable talent in painting and could effortlessly discuss related knowledge; the sa applied to music. But in other areas, particularly mathematics and politics—not to exaggerate—this young lady was severely lacking, even completely devoid of understanding.
An absolute, pure romanticist!
Perfectly aligned with the upbringing of a lady from this era.
A slightly domineering, extrely strict mother; a gentlemanly and exceptionally responsible cousin; a wealthy family background—raising such an innocent yet slightly rebellious character seed entirely reasonable...
Whether in speech and deanor or her exceptionally clear gaze, logically speaking, there were virtually no flaws.
If this were rely an act, could anyone truly pretend to such an extent? Sherlock couldn't help but feel suspicious internally.
Facial features could be disguised, but could a person's expressions and movents really be counterfeited to such a convincing degree?
And so, after chatting for over half an hour, and especially after personally admiring Miss de Bourgh's extrely romantic-style paintings,
Sherlock, this young Hols, finally had to reluctantly admit:
Mycroft, his elder brother—this man who had always been suprely rational and intelligent, who never praised so-called emotions and considered them re burdens—had one day, like most empty-headed goldfish in this world,
Fallen into this absurd river nad love, or rather, physical beauty.
However, when confronted with the young lady's exceptionally clear and radiant smile, Sherlock's expression grew uncharacteristically serious.
During the interval when Miss de Bourgh returned to her room to rest, he even pulled his elder brother aside with a peculiar expression:
"As your younger brother, I must ask—Mycroft, my dear elder brother, have you already made plans to propose to that particularly innocent and charming lady from earlier!" He deliberately emphasized the words "innocent and charming" with extra vocal weight.
As expected, the gentleman before him did not deny it:
"Yes, Sherlock! Please bless , my dear younger brother. Among thousands upon thousands of people in this world, finding a soulmate who truly resonates with one's spirit is truly not easy, is it?"
Admiring the freshly completed painting before him, Mycroft unconsciously revealed a trace of what could be called sweet amusent in his eyes at that mont:
Sherlock: "!!!"
Seeing that the other party wasn't joking, the sixteen-year-old Sherlock couldn't help but take a deep breath:
"Resonate?"
"Mycroft, my elder brother, if your esteed brain hasn't been completely corroded by the mudslide called love, you should clearly understand that—whether now or in the future—you and that Miss de Bourgh absolutely cannot be soulmates who resonate with each other!"
Whether in temperant or preferences.
In his view, this illusion called love, born from hormonal surges, cos quickly and fades just as fast.
But long-term coexistence requires compatible temperants.
It was difficult to imagine Miss de Bourgh daily enthusiastically selecting clothes, spending most of her ti maintaining her beauty, and appreciating paintings, while Mike could enjoy these boring matters with relish.
Similarly, he didn't believe Miss de Bourgh would genuinely appreciate the charm of mathematics, let alone logic.
They might not even share any common language after marriage.
At that mont, Sherlock almost confidently predicted his elder brother's future unhappy marriage: one is the epito of rationality, the other is pure romanticism...
"Mike, if I'm not mistaken, the number of tis you've t this Miss de Bourgh probably doesn't exceed the count of one hand."
Unfortunately, Mycroft beside him showed no intention of adopting his younger brother's advice. Instead, with the deanor of soone who had been through it all, he gently patted his younger brother's shoulder:
"Sherly, you wouldn't understand. In this world, so people only need one glance to see the resonance in each other's souls!"
Sherlock: "!!!"
One glance? Soul resonance? Could it be that what he saw at that ti wasn't Miss de Bourgh's excessively outstanding beauty?
Facing his confidently assertive elder brother, the sixteen-year-old great detective's expression beca indescribably complicated.
Oh, love, how terrifying love is—it could actually turn a Hols into an empty-headed fool who disregards logical consequences!
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