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Chapter 365: What Makes Me a Jerk?
Chapter 365: What Makes Me a Jerk?
Sherlock looked at the headline on the newspaper with a shudder, feeling an inexplicable chill run through his body.
Dumbledore, standing beside him, clearly saw the headline as well. However, his attention was more focused on Borgin.
Then, the surrounding scene began to fragment, as if being sucked down a toilet, and both Sherlock and Dumbledore were swept away by a rapid vortex. They reappeared in the Headmaster's office.
The flickering candlelight cast the room in alternating light and shadow.
The portraits of former headmasters on the walls seemed to be genuinely asleep, their snores steady and long.
Dumbledore did not speak first. He sat down in his chair, interlocking his fingers, as if deep in thought.
Sherlock then spoke in a grave tone.
"Connecting these four memory scenes, it’s clear that Borgin suspected Riddle after seeing the news of Mrs. Smith’s death. From the arrangement in the shop, it seems Riddle’s resignation and Mrs. Smith’s murder were very close in time."
Sherlock's words triggered a memory in Dumbledore, who replied softly.
"Hepzibah Smith, I knew this witch. In the early 20th century, she was privately rated by some small newspapers as the wealthiest witch in the British magical community. She loved collecting valuable antiques, the older and more famous, the more she cherished them. She also claimed to be a descendant of Hufflepuff."
Hearing this, Sherlock's expression became more thoughtful.
"The Hufflepuff Cup that Voldemort used to make a Horcrux—did he get it from her?"
Dumbledore gently tapped his fingers on the desk.
"Hepzibah's death caused quite a stir at the time. The Ministry of Magic concluded that her house-elf, Hokey, accidentally mixed poison with sugar into her cocoa, leading to the tragedy. However, it seems that Hokey is still alive."
Sherlock's eyes lit up.
"If the house-elf is still alive, that makes things easier!"
Dumbledore nodded, looking somewhat weary.
"We now know that Voldemort has four Horcruxes: the Diary and Hufflepuff's Golden Cup have already been destroyed. There's also the Ravenclaw's Diadem, which we learned about from the Grey Lady, and the one you sensed in the Room of Requirement. Of course, the Diadem and the one in the Room of Requirement might be the same."
"I hope we can find new leads from Hepzibah's story. It's late, and you’ve worked hard today, Sherlock. I’ll handle the matter with Hokey and contact you if there's any progress."
Sherlock indeed felt exhausted. It was well past midnight, and he bid Dumbledore farewell. Fawkes helped him return home directly.
He chose to land outside his house to avoid disturbing Silke's rest.
However, as he approached the door, he noticed a light still on inside the living room through the window.
Sherlock paused, then sighed with a mix of amusement and resignation. He quietly opened the living room door and walked in.
The TV was still quietly playing an advertisement. Silke was curled up on the sofa, a blanket draped over her, as if she had fallen asleep after waiting for a long time.
The food on the dining table was still slightly warm, clearly reheated several times before she realized that someone wasn't coming back.
A gentle smile appeared on Sherlock's lips.
No matter how late it was, there would always be someone waiting for you with the lights on, always trying to prepare a hot meal for you whenever you returned.
Creating a sense of home for a man can be both difficult and simple.
Sherlock didn't go to eat. Instead, he quietly entered the bedroom and took out a thicker blanket to cover Silke with.
However, as he cautiously approached the girl, the faint, unique fragrance wafted to his nose, and Silke stirred slightly.
"Sherlock."
She was clearly not fully awake. Upon sensing the familiar presence, she remained in a half-sleep, half-awake state.
Seeing that he had disturbed the girl on the sofa, Sherlock simply threw the blanket aside and whispered in a gentle, persuasive tone.
"Want to go back to the bedroom to sleep? The sofa isn't comfortable."
Silke, still drowsy, shook her head childishly.
"Don't want to get up."
Sherlock gazed at her pale, delicate face, with features so perfect they seemed almost otherworldly, and a sudden urge welled up within him.
He slid one hand under her knees and the other around her back. At this moment, Silke, seemingly acting on instinct, wrapped her slender arms around his neck.
Sherlock gently lifted the girl.
Silke was surprisingly light, almost unnaturally so.
But Sherlock's face was redder than ever, his heart pounding as if he were drunk.
Despite this, his steps were steady as he slowly ascended the stairs, heading toward Silke's bedroom.
When he was about three meters from the bedroom door, the slightly ajar wooden door silently opened on its own.
The journey from the living room upstairs to the bedroom took about two or three minutes, but it felt to Sherlock as if it had only been a few seconds.
Before he knew it, he was already carrying the soft, supple body into Silke's bedroom.
He could swear that he used the greatest willpower of his life to gently place her on the bed.
Just as Sherlock was about to leave, Silke's arms remained around his neck, showing no sign of letting go.
Her tender, porcelain-like face blushed slightly, and the eyes hidden behind the black ribbon were unclear—whether they were open or closed.
Seeing her lips, soft and petal-like, and her nose, as smooth as jade, Sherlock's breathing became heavy.
The air seemed to stagnate for a few seconds.
Finally, he slowly kissed her flawless forehead and whispered softly.
"Stop fooling around. Go to sleep, it's very late."
Only then did Silke's arms loosen, allowing Sherlock to break free and flee from her room.
Returning to his own bedroom, Sherlock closed the door as if he were a thief, leaning against it and breathing heavily.
He subconsciously scowled, raised his hand, and made a motion as if to slap his own face.
"Damn!"
But before his hand could touch his face, he suddenly realized something and his tone became unusually assertive.
"Huh? We've already broken up. What's so damn about that?"
(End of Chapter)
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