"What?" Russell was stunned by Mary's question.
"When we first t, your movents—your, should I say, fighting technique—weren't exactly clumsy, but they certainly weren't skillful," Mary said quietly. "It wasn't an act; you were a genuine amateur at the ti."
With that in mind, she found it hard to believe anyone—let alone a beginner—could single-handedly take down five, even six, ard thugs at Lloyds Bank. She was honestly curious: how had he done it?
Russell stayed silent for a mont, then smiled.
"People's constitutions are never the sa, Miss Morstan. In a state of extre rage, it's not unheard of for soone to punch through a steel plate twenty centiters thick."
"…Are they even human?" Mary muttered.
"That's your answer," Russell shrugged. "I improve quickly. Thanks to you, after our last fight, I beca aware of my flaws and trained intensively for battle."
"It's not even been a month, has it?" Mary frowned. Even moving from amateur to novice in a month would be impressive—but fighting six ard n under adverse conditions?
"I pushed myself a little harder, that's all," Russell replied.
"At this point, it's not about effort anymore," Mary murmured to herself. She was already starting to suspect the British Empire had so secret super-soldier program—codena: Captain Britain, perhaps.
"Told you—never generalize people's abilities. Who's to say I don't have superpowers?" Russell winked.
[Mary Morstan resents your evasiveness. Hostility increased by 10 points.]
There it was, her impatience again.
"Fine—if you won't answer, then I won't ask," she grumbled, grabbing a cookie and popping it into her mouth. The rich scent of butter and sweetness of sugar lted on her tongue, bringing a faint comfort. For a brief mont, she almost associated the gentleman thief with Russell himself, but quickly dismissed the thought. Defeating six ard goons and escaping unscathed was impossible. Besides, if Moriarty really were Russell, she'd have recognized him at once.
Still, she couldn't help but study the man before her. He certainly didn't seem like Russell, physically or in temperant. Even his voice was deliberately disguised.
From his spot on the sofa, Russell noticed Mary's stare but showed no hint of panic beneath his mask. His thief costu was equipped with a subtle visual blur function—even on an overweight man, it wouldn't betray anything but a more muscular build.
"You've been watching for a while, Miss Morstan," Russell said languidly, shattering the storm of thoughts in her mind with his voice.
"Are you trying to see through this mask, or see through ?"
"Is there any difference?" Mary retorted, her blue eyes reflecting the flickering hearth.
"I think it's a bit unfair."
"In what way?"
"You know almost everything about , but I don't even know your face. Doesn't sound fair, does it?"
"A thief must remain a mystery, my lady," Russell chuckled.
"May I ask one more question?"
"Of course. The night is still young."
"Why did you beco a thief?"
Mary lifted her cup, voice calm. "Was it simply out of curiosity? Or," she added, "do you perhaps, possess a power that grows stronger the more you do bad deeds?"
Russell shrugged again. "Other careers were available to ."
"Then why choose this? Was it Mycroft's idea… or your own?"
The na startled Russell at first, but he quickly realized what she was getting at. She suspected he'd chosen this conspicuous role as a shadowy tool—an agent.
Should he tell the truth? Or keep his secret a while longer? Revealing the mystery early wouldn't be any fun. He found himself anticipating the look of delight on the girl's face when she eventually uncovered everything. It would truly be worth dying for.
Russell gathered his scattered thoughts and crossed his legs slowly.
"Mycroft? What does he have to do with any of this?"
Mary watched his brief silence, noting his subtle body language for the first ti that night. She interpreted it as guilt—confirming her earlier conjectures in the auditorium. Moriarty was indeed an agent trained by Mycroft.
With that, she felt she'd regained so ground in their ga of asymtric information, and the corners of her lips quirked up.
"There's no need to prevaricate anymore, Moriarty. Let's speak frankly," Mary said. "There's no one else here. Just you and . No need to keep pretending."
Russell, sitting opposite, fell silent for a few seconds, then exhaled—sounding almost powerless.
"How did you know?"
Even the great detective hadn't uncovered that.
"That's not exactly true," Mary replied with a small smile. "She simply isn't interested in you."
"Fine—have it your way. So, what gave away?" Russell asked.
"How did you know about my connection with Mycroft? Other than the incident with Ethan Roy, there should have been no direct or indirect contact at all. But… you shouldn't bla Mycroft."
"In that matter, dear thief, it's all your fault," Mary replied with a mocking look. "If I were you, I'd stick to my assignnt and nothing more. I certainly wouldn't deliver a stolen love letter to a lonely university student, for example."
"Isn't that right, Clark Kent?"
Correct? Yes… no… maybe?
Russell fell silent. Even though the mask hid his features, Mary picked up the subtle hints—how he froze a fraction, adjusted his posture ever so slightly. She smiled at her triumph.
"Yes, it seems so," she said quietly, placing her cup down. The white porcelain chid softly against the saucer.
"My guess was right."
Russell remained silent, slowly uncrossing his legs and leaning forward.
"I thought I'd hidden myself well."
"You did, splendidly," Mary's tone softened, almost comforting him like a lost child. "Bla those who don't follow the rules."
"Russell Watson…" After a mont's hesitation, Russell nonchalantly asked, "Should I take so kind of revenge on him?"
The instant he finished, Mary's smile vanished. Her blue eyes turned icy, like a frozen lake; for a mont, Russell felt as if he'd fallen into a cavern of frost just from her gaze.
"What exactly are you doing?"
[Mary Morstan becos hostile toward you. Hostility level increases by 20.]
...
Bonus chapter at 100 PS
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