221B Baker Street.
Charlotte, who had been lounging on the sofa, heard the phone ring—sothing that hadn't happened for a long ti. Not many people knew this number. Lestrade was one of them. Mycroft was another. And... Russell Watson was one, too. But since that man should still be in the middle of class at this ti, it was unlikely to be him. As for Mycroft...probably not. He was still busy with the Ethan Roy case.
That left only Lestrade. It seed they'd run into yet another case they couldn't solve.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Charlotte got up from the sofa and walked over to the phone. But before she could speak, a voice ca from the other end. At that mont, she heard a familiar, inappropriate, and incredibly annoying voice.
"Good afternoon. Is this Miss Charlotte Hols, resident of 221B Baker Street and student at Imperial College London?"
"..."
Charlotte was silent for a mont. She finally spoke, her tone uncharacteristically perplexed. "Why...? Aren't you supposed to be in class at this hour?"
"I skipped for a variety of reasons," Russell replied brightly and cheerfully from the other end.
"So?" Charlotte asked. "Did you call just to boast about that?"
"Aren't you curious where I am?" Russell asked sarcastically.
"I have no interest at all in your plans after playing hooky. If you don't say sothing aningful in the next three sentences, I'm hanging up."
"There you go, always in a hurry," Russell feigned exasperation.
"I have two more things to say," Charlotte retorted, picking up her teacup.
"At noon, I spoke with Mary about dynamic spatial connections and gearboxes and whatnot."
"One sentence left," Charlotte reminded him.
"I'm at Holly David's house."
· · ·
There was a brief silence on the other end.
Leaning against the telephone stand, Russell smiled as if he could imagine Charlotte's expression at that very mont. He held the phone with one hand and idly played with a pen on the table with the other.
What was he doing at Holly David's? Charlotte's voice ca from the receiver.
"You're not that much of a pervert, are you?"
"That hurts, Charlotte," Russell shrugged. "Didn't I just tell you? At noon, I talked to Mary about dynamic spatial connections."
"Speak like a human being."
"In simple terms, I suspect that the reason ghosts could freely move in and out of David's place was due to so kind of chanism." Russell explained that he was just recalling his earlier conversation with Mary.
Upon hearing this, Charlotte fell silent, contemplating for a mont.
She then said, "Your conclusion is not much different from what I anticipated."
"Oh? You thought so too?" Russell raised an eyebrow.
"I checked files on that area and found out the apartnt had been remodeled," said Charlotte. "To maximize space, the contractors asked an architect to put up a wall dividing a room, allowing them to rent one apartnt as two."
"That's a lucrative business," Russell remarked. "Then what?"
"Then, I started thinking about the possible reasons and motives behind the institution's actions. Right when you called. So... what happened?"
"Turns out, you're probably right. I suspect there's a hidden chanism in the bookshelf in the bedroom." But when he tried to push it, the shelf was too heavy. "So I suspected so trick involving the arrangent of books or sothing..."
"Don't be ridiculous. That's impossible," Charlotte cut in before Russell finished.
"Why?" Russell asked.
"Holly David put those books there herself. Do you think even she wouldn't know about the chanism? Then how would a ghost know?"
Charlotte explained. "Besides, you've been looking in the wrong place from the start. The chanism shouldn't be on your side, but on the other."
"The other side?" Russell was montarily stunned. "What do you an?"
"You should have figured this out by now," ca Charlotte's voice from the receiver, laden with a hint of helplessness. "Co on, Watson, put that brain of yours—overflowing with lessons and sleep—to use. If you were to install a secret door leading to a neighbor's house, on which side would you put the doorknob?"
"It has to be on my side. I see," Russell answered without hesitation, realizing the aning as soon as the words left his mouth.
"You should have known this a long ti ago," Charlotte chided.
"So, the switch is next door..." Russell murmured to himself. "But I can't just break into soone else's property, can I?"
"If you really wanted to, there's no problem," Charlotte replied. "I'm sure a lonely elderly woman living alone would be grateful if you helped her catch a parasite lurking in her ho."
"What if the ghost isn't ho and she mistakes for a thief?"
"Don't worry. I'll go to Scotland Yard to bail you out."
"I don't actually want a criminal record, thanks," Russell rolled his eyes.
In reality, getting into the next apartnt wouldn't be hard—one smoke grenade would suffice. The real problem was what to say if soone was actually inside when he arrived. How would he explain? The old lady was about seventy, and if he suddenly conjured up a living person, she might get scared out of her wits. That would be a return to the days of youth.
"Afterward, just politely knock and tell her your intentions. If she agrees, everything will go smoothly."
"What if she refuses?"
"You could remind her that there may be a pervert hiding in her house and, in fact, there's a secret door connecting her apartnt with the one next door. For her safety, ask to search the apartnt. Even if you don't find the pervert, at least you'll know where the secret door is. So, under what circumstances would she refuse?" Charlotte queried, rebutting his worries.
"Maybe...if she has sothing to hide?"
"Then, by all ans, Watson, go right ahead. Just rember to be polite."
"I shouldn't have to be taught such things," Russell grumbled, ending the call.
He took a deep breath, put down the receiver, turned, and headed for the next apartnt.
"Knock, knock, knock..."
A slow, careful knocking sounded on the door.
"I'm coming, just a mont," ca the characteristic shuffling steps of the elderly from behind the door.
Russell subconsciously straightened his collar, cleared his throat, abandoned his customary indifference, and put on a harmless smile.
Creak...
The door opened from the inside, revealing the kindly face of the old lady he'd seen yesterday.
"Oh, it's you, young man."
She clearly rembered him and gave him an amiable smile from her clouded but gentle eyes.
"How is that poor girl from last ti?"
"Thank you for your concern. She's much better now, and her mood has stabilized," Russell answered gently and politely.
"Good, good," the old lady nodded, almost sighing in relief, "If you need any help, co by anyti, dearie."
"Actually, ma'am," Russell wore a slightly embarrassed, apologetic look at just the right timing, "I'm here today with a small request."
"Oh?" The old lady regarded him curiously. "What is it, dearie? Tell ."
"Here's the thing," Russell launched into his prepared speech. "I study materials science at Imperial College London. Yesterday when I asked my advisor about the situation at your ho..."
"Hmm," she listened attentively.
"My advisor thinks this apartnt is quite old, and so of the pipes and wiring inside the walls might have aged. At night, the thermal expansion, contraction, or even water flow could cause strange sounds or phenona."
He paused to observe the old lady. Maybe he was being too elaborate. She seed confused but a trace of anxiety flickered in her eyes.
"In other words...is this building dangerous?" she asked.
"No, no, don't misunderstand," Russell quickly waved his hands to reassure her. "It's not that serious—just ordinary aging well within safe limits. I'm here today to do a simple check, so you and Ms. David can rest easy."
Upon hearing that explanation, the old lady's expression cleared in understanding.
"I see. Of course, that's no problem," she agreed without hesitation, stepped aside, and opened the door wider.
"Co in, dearie. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No need, ma'am." Russell breathed a sigh of relief and entered the room. "I can manage. This won't take long."
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