Upon hearing the girl's words, Russell was slightly startled. Then a relieved smile spread across his face.
"Of course," he laughed. "Just think of it as Moriarty paying the bill."
Mary's face lit up with a satisfied smile.
"Then it's settled." She took two steps back. "Saturday afternoon, sa ti as last ti. Being late is strictly forbidden."
"Got it."
Russell stood up and followed her out of the now-empty classroom.
The afternoon lecture was as boring as ever, yet the professor's voice remained soothing. For so reason, though, Russell couldn't fall asleep today.
He lay slumped over the desk, body exhausted, but his mind was unusually clear. He could clearly hear the rustling of leaves swaying in the wind outside the window and even sll the faint white-tea scent drifting from the girl sitting beside him. He could sense her occasional smiling glances in his direction.
He silently shifted his posture and buried his face deeper into his arms.
All of it was witnessed by the girl next to him.
Mary watched the man toss and turn at his desk, the smile on her own face growing wider and wider. She picked up her pen and began doodling again in the blank space of her notebook.
This ti she drew a stick figure lying on the table. Unlike before, however, this figure was surrounded by swirling lines that represented irritation. After finishing the drawing, she added a pair of fluffy, drooping cat ears on top of the stick figure's head.
Hmm, perfect.
The girl gazed at her masterpiece with satisfaction, then slowly closed her notebook.
The mont the notebook shut, the smile that had filled her eyes vanished instantly. In its place was a layer of ice, as if it had never lted.
Why do so people always feel the need to add dramatic elents to their lives?
Can't we just live a good life?
…
The afternoon class ended with everyone lost in their own thoughts.
The two of them stood up as usual, packed their things, and left the school building. The setting sun cast long, slanted shadows of the two figures. Those shadows swayed gently on the stone-paved path covered with fallen leaves—sotis separating, sotis overlapping—until they finally ca to a complete stop at a fork in the road.
The twilight light slanted across the intersection, clearly dividing the two diverging paths into bright and dark sections.
"Well then," Russell stopped and spoke first. "See you tomorrow."
"Mm."
Mary also stopped, standing in the dim path as she looked at him. Her eyes reflected the afterglow of the setting sun like a burning sea.
"See you tomorrow," she replied softly in her usual gentle voice.
Russell smiled and nodded, then turned around and walked toward the warm, sunlit path ho.
Mary stood there, watching his figure until it completely disappeared around the street corner. Only then did she slowly turn her gaze away. She took a step onto the deep, cold path that belonged to her.
The mont he turned his back, the smile vanished from her face, leaving only deep silence.
…
Russell returned to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was busy in the kitchen, and there was no sign of Charlotte downstairs. He went upstairs and pushed open the door to Charlotte's room.
The young woman, who was careless about her appearance, was sunk into an armchair, flipping through docunts one after another. She had used that morning's newspaper as kindling and tossed it into the fireplace. The newspaper had burned to a crisp, its edges crumbling.
Russell watched the paper twist and turn into ash in the flas, then looked at Charlotte. For so reason, he thought he sensed a trace of anger on her face.
His mind filled with various thoughts, but in the end he made the most appropriate and safest decision under the circumstances. He didn't speak imdiately. Instead, he skillfully circled around Charlotte and headed toward the coffee table. He picked up the Buckingham Palace teapot and shook it gently. Confirming there was no water inside, he turned around, grabbed the kettle, filled it, and quietly waited for it to boil.
Throughout the entire process, he didn't say a word to Charlotte, and Charlotte never once looked up.
The room was eerily quiet. The only sounds were the faint whistling of the kettle on the stove and the rustling of pages being turned. Occasionally the firewood in the fireplace crackled, sending sparks flying and quickly reducing the crumpled newspaper remnants to ash.
Russell leaned against the coffee table, arms crossed, quietly waiting for the water to boil while staring at Charlotte's profile. The girl's brows were relaxed, her gaze fixed on the file in her hands. Her posture was leisurely, as if she were simply enjoying an afternoon read. If one ignored the fact that the book she held was actually soone else's private file, it would have been a rather pleasant sight.
For a mont, Russell even wondered if he had misread the situation. At this mont, Charlotte showed no signs of anger at all.
The kettle's whistle rang out at just the right mont, breaking the heavy silence.
Russell picked up the kettle and gently poured the boiling water into the white porcelain teapot bearing the royal crest. The tea leaves unfurled and rolled in the water, releasing a rich aroma. He didn't pour the tea imdiately; he simply held the kettle and waited quietly.
Sure enough, a few seconds later, Charlotte's voice rang out. Her tone was flat and even.
"Watson, do you plan to stand there like a pillar forever?"
"I'm waiting for you to speak first," Russell replied. He placed the kettle back on the stove and turned to walk slowly toward the sofa, where he sat down comfortably.
Hearing this, Charlotte finally lifted her eyes from the boring docunts. The girl raised her head, and her gray-blue eyes seed to carry the heavy weight of an impending storm.
Are you the type of person who can't settle down unless soone asks you for sothing?
"Honestly, I don't want to admit there's sothing strange about , but for so reason, hearing your voice suddenly makes feel very relieved."
Russell said this as he handed her the brewed tea.
"So, did you find anything, Miss Detective?"
If it turns out my neighbor is actually a psychopath who enjoys verbal abuse, would that count?
Charlotte picked up the teacup, gently blew on it, and took a sip.
"Fabricating facts does not count as fabricating facts."
Russell shrugged lightly and poured himself a cup of black tea as well.
"Then it doesn't exist."
Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Twenty-seven people is by no ans a small number. I hope you understand."
"Of course. I wasn't rushing you, was I?" Russell avoided giving a direct answer.
"But you didn't help either."
After voicing her dissatisfaction, Charlotte stated her conclusion.
"It's impossible to produce results in a short ti."
"So?"
"So we can only take it slow," Charlotte said. "By the way, I asked Lestrade about the next visit schedule."
"Who are we visiting? Charles Brown?"
"Who else could it be?" Charlotte replied. "According to Inspector Lestrade, the man has recovered. Barring any unexpected events, he should be able to return to normal life within this week. If it's convenient, let's et on Saturday."
"Sunday," Russell interrupted her. "We'll go on Sunday."
…
…
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