Monday morning.
The post-rain air was icily cold. Russell put on a trench coat he hadn't worn in a long time, descending the stairs at a leisurely pace to keep warm.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," Russell greeted as he reached the bottom.
"Good morning, Russell." Mrs. Hudson emerged from the kitchen with a fresh plate of baked scones and a gentle smile. "You're up early today. I thought you'd be sleeping till noon again."
"I am a student, after all," Russell replied with a smile, taking the plate and picking up a steaming scone, which he bit into without hesitation.
"Where's Charlotte?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"She's not up yet," Russell replied, shrugging as he picked up a cookie and muttered while eating.
"I'm heading out now."
"Winter's coming, it's getting cold—don't forget to dress warmer!"
"Of course."
…
Imperial College London
The very back row of the lecture hall was—just as always—warmer than the rest. Russell took his usual seat, sunlight streaming in like a loyal servant, enveloping him in its comforting warmth. He half closed his eyes and leaned at the desk, looking like he might just melt into the sunshine.
The environment hadn't changed much from two weeks earlier.
Besides him and Mary, no one ever sat in the back row anymore. The other students had grown used to, or simply accepted, this tacit arrangement, as had the professors; as it didn't impact the class, it was left alone.
Russell let out a satisfied yawn.
Just then, he heard footsteps behind him, carrying a faint breath of outdoor cold.
A familiar scent of white tea reached his nose. He looked over at the person sitting next to him.
Mary wore her usual neat uniform, her long silver hair tied up with a navy ribbon, a few strands hanging beside her ear and swaying slightly as she moved. But today, something about her seemed different.
A beige scarf was softly wrapped around her neck, protecting her from the chill.
"Good morning, Russell."
The familiar greeting echoed in his ears, like narration in a youthful stage play.
"Good morning, Mary," Russell replied languidly, his gaze falling on the scarf around her neck. "Nice scarf."
"Thank you."
She smiled and placed the textbook she'd need later onto the desk.
"By the way, did you read the newspaper these past two days?"
She asked, as if in passing.
"About Lloyds Bank?"
"Mm." Mary nodded lightly. "Scotland Yard must be sweating buckets over it, I'd bet."
"Pretty much. Yesterday morning, when Lestrade showed up at our door for Charlotte's help, I wasn't even out of bed yet."
Russell nodded slightly.
"Help?"
Mary raised a brow. "Didn't they already catch the culprit? What does Lestrade need Charlotte's help for—unless it's got something to do with Moriarty?"
"No, not really. Lloyds Bank has been squeezing Scotland Yard hard for answers, but Lestrade isn't keen on wasting time with Moriarty."
Russell shook his head.
"Why is Lloyds Bank putting pressure on Scotland Yard?"
Mary blinked, waiting for his answer.
"What do you think?"
Russell turned the question back on her in his mind: This girl's quite adept at playing the fool. Lucky for her, so am I.
"Because…" he waited a beat, looked around, and then lowered his voice, "Lloyds Bank's vault was broken into, but the bank is keeping it very quiet."
"Who got robbed?"
"No idea at all," Russell said, shaking his head. "Lloyds Bank hasn't told Scotland Yard a thing. According to Lestrade, it wasn't just petty thugs who got the insurance payout—it was Moriarty.
He took down six crooks by himself, cracked the vault as if it were nothing, and stole its contents. So Lloyds are now desperate, badgering Scotland Yard day and night to recover the stolen goods."
"Hmm… Now that you mention it, my family also stores a few things in the Lloyds Bank underground vault."
"Really? What a coincidence."
Russell feigned surprise.
"Nobody knows for sure. Anyway, when my father called to inquire, the answer was that nothing was wrong." Mary shrugged.
"As if it could really be just a coincidence."
"Right, highly unlikely," Russell nodded honestly.
"Anything else?" Mary pressed. "Lestrade doesn't want to meet Lloyds' demands, but is still seeking Charlotte's help. That means something else must be going on, right?"
"Right—Lestrade was mainly looking for Charlotte because of something else." Russell nodded.
"It's a code name, really."
"A code name?"
Curiosity sparkled in Mary's eyes, and she unconsciously leaned a little closer.
"What's the code name?"
"The Professor."
Russell said it in a low voice.
Mary barely flinched upon hearing it, but quickly covered it up.
The Professor?
Her final question came out slightly high-pitched, edged with skepticism.
"What does that code name mean?"
"In short, Saturday night's bank heist was organized by a man with the code name 'The Professor.'
The criminals who were captured and jailed were just workers he'd hired."
Russell explained. "From the interrogations, The Professor seems to be an outstanding consultant—a crime consultant. He planned a series of nearly perfect crimes, but Scotland Yard never found the real monster.
And if Moriarty hadn't targeted that very same vault by coincidence, his big comeback would have been a perfect success."
"Comeback operation?"
Mary listened quietly. She didn't show much, except for the slight wrinkle between her brows which signaled her curiosity.
"Why is it a comeback operation?"
"Because, according to those people, 'The Professor' had disappeared from London's underworld about a year ago," Russell replied.
"The gang leader only got a letter from him a few days before the case. It had been a long time since he'd last heard from the Professor.
The Professor sent them a perfect plan, instructing them how to attack the vault, open its doors, and steal something.
But then Moriarty ruined everything, Charlotte lost the trail, and she was furious."
As he spoke, Russell recounted the information Lestrade had shared at dinner, spin it into a bit of a story.
Mary listened without interrupting, resting her chin in her hand and unconsciously tapping her cheek with her fingers. Her blue eyes shone even brighter.
It was as though she were listening to someone tell the legend of... herself.
"So, did Charlotte agree to Lestrade's request?"
"She did more than agree," Russell sighed.
"She dragged Lestrade and me to Scotland Yard mid-breakfast to interrogate the crooks herself."
"Did she find out anything?"
Mary's voice was tense.
"Other than a few legendary tales about the Professor, that's it.
Charlotte wanted to rescue the Professor's targets from the criminals, but unfortunately, out of the two people who knew the vault code, one is still on the run from the police, while the other went mad because of Moriarty."
…