On the freshly turned page lay a simple stick-figure doodle, just like before.
The figure had its back to the viewer, standing in front of what looked like a sink, slightly bent over while holding a cup of water and washing away coffee stains. Beside him, another stick figure with long hair and wearing a bathrobe sat on the sofa, watching him with interest while holding several sheets of paper that resembled official docunts. Despite the simple lines, it conveyed a warm, everyday atmosphere.
It was like a snapshot of a daily mont unique to 221B Baker Street.
Mary stared fixedly at the suddenly appearing doodle. In that instant, the smile completely vanished from her face.
If the previous drawing could still be interpreted or dismissed as a minor mistake, this one was clearly an act of provocation.
No—it wasn't just provocation.
It wasn't that subtle.
This was a declaration of war.
The Sarajevo Incident was sothing unique to these two geniuses.
The girl's fingers instinctively clenched tightly around her pen.
The pen tip pressed hard against the smooth paper, leaving a dark ink mark like an unhealable wound.
After a mont, she slowly relaxed her grip, and her usual polite smile returned to her face.
"Interesting."
She said quietly. "That's truly fascinating."
Mary took a deep breath, slowly regaining her composure, then picked up her pen again and began sketching on the paper.
"If you want war, then let's fight."
Let's see who has the better hand.
…
"Achoo!"
221B Baker Street.
While deeply focused on her work, Charlotte suddenly sneezed without warning.
She didn't pay much attention to it, thinking it was due to the dropping temperatures in London.
The girl rubbed her nose, furrowed her brows in confusion, and then wrapped her robe more tightly around her body.
Interrupted by the sneeze, Charlotte set down the docunts in her hand, took a sip of the warm milk beside her, stood up, and closed the window. The morning's investigation had narrowed down the suspects to a fairly manageable range—quite easy for her.
However, Charlotte always felt sothing was missing.
It might be that Scotland Yard's investigative capabilities weren't sufficient, or perhaps Hannigan had hidden his misdeeds too well.
In short, the existing list alone wasn't enough for Charlotte to convict any of them.
"I still need to examine that ledger…" Charlotte muttered to herself.
"Enough. Let's head to Fleet Street."
The girl stood up, gulped down the remaining milk in one go, took off her bathrobe, and changed into her trench coat.
But just as she descended the stairs and was about to leave, Mrs. Hudson stopped her.
"Charlotte, where are you going dressed like that?"
"I'm going to Fleet Street. I'll be back soon." Charlotte said without turning around.
Just as she opened the door to step out, Mrs. Hudson hurriedly chased after her.
"Wait, child!" She grabbed Charlotte's arm. "You're planning to go out like this?"
"I don't see any problem with my attire." Charlotte looked down at herself.
"It's not about whether it's appropriate. Don't you realize how shabby that trench coat of yours looks?"
As she spoke, Mrs. Hudson led Charlotte back upstairs.
"I won't stop you from going out, but at least wear sothing warr. London is freezing right now."
"Oh, I can't imagine how you went out in winter before."
"I hardly ever went out before…"
"It's a good thing you don't go out." Mrs. Hudson said, then entered Charlotte's room.
"Change into sothing warr."
"But…"
"No excuses." Mrs. Hudson's tone left no room for argunt. "If you don't, don't even think about leaving the house. If you need anything, wait until Russell gets back and have him do it."
"No… I an…" Charlotte scratched her head. "I don't have any thicker clothes."
"Are you teasing ?" Mrs. Hudson didn't believe it at all. She walked straight to the wardrobe standing against the wall and opened the door.
And then she froze.
The closet had almost no clothes hanging in it, so everything was visible at a glance.
Aside from a few identical shirts, everything else was bathrobes.
Bathrobes of different colors, materials, and thicknesses were neatly hung, occupying nearly 80% of the closet space.
Mrs. Hudson fell silent.
She turned around in disbelief, looked at the innocent-looking girl, then back at the closet full of bathrobes.
"Charlotte, be honest," she took a deep breath, "do you have so special preference for nightgowns?"
"No." Charlotte shook her head calmly. "It's just that robes are more convenient and comfortable than other clothes."
"You can't just wear bathrobes all the ti!" Mrs. Hudson felt her blood pressure rising slightly.
"I have a trench coat." Charlotte corrected.
"Can that even be considered clothing?" Mrs. Hudson said irritably.
"It's at best a coat!"
She placed a hand on her forehead, pacing back and forth in the room while muttering, "Oh, God… This child really worries ."
Finally, she stopped, looked at Charlotte, and sighed in resignation.
"Fine, wait here for a bit. I'll find sothing for you."
With that, she turned and left the room.
Shortly after, Mrs. Hudson returned holding a thick, dark brown wool coat.
"Here, try this on."
She handed the coat to Charlotte.
Charlotte glanced at it. It clearly wasn't to her taste and had a sowhat old-fashioned feel. She frowned almost imperceptibly but obediently put it on. Then the two looked in the mirror together.
The coat was warm, but very large.
Wearing it, Charlotte looked like a child who had stolen an adult's clothes. The sleeves were too long, the shoulders baggy—it looked sowhat comical.
"Um…" Mrs. Hudson also noticed sothing was off.
She coughed awkwardly. "It seems… it doesn't fit."
She took the coat off Charlotte and began rummaging through the closet again.
"I should prepare sothing else."
"Mrs. Hudson," Charlotte finally spoke.
"Maybe just forget it. I'll wear this trench coat and head out. I'll be back soon."
"No!" Mrs. Hudson's attitude was unusually firm. "If you catch a cold, what am I supposed to do? How would I explain it to Mycroft?"
"I'm not that fragile."
That wouldn't work either.
Mrs. Hudson searched the closet for a long ti but ultimately found nothing.
She looked at Charlotte's helpless face, then up at the gloomy sky outside the window, falling into a dilemma.
Suddenly, as if an idea struck her, her gaze shifted to the far end of the hallway and stopped on the firmly closed door opposite.
"Got it." She clapped her hands.
"There should be sothing in that boy's clothes that you can wear!"
…
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