Mary's words were incredibly gentle, as if they could be whisked away by the wind the instant she spoke them. Yet, hidden within was a heavy weight, as though she had mustered all her strength just to utter them. When she finished, her fair cheeks were tinged with a hint of blush—like the brush of sunset itself.
Russell gazed at her. Though she tried to maintain her composure, hints of tension and anticipation had surfaced in her eyes.
"Let me think about it...," Russell replied, stroking his chin and drawing out his words on purpose, acting deep in thought as he looked off into the distance. "It depends on whether Charlotte needs a favor from me."
"And next week, there's a quiz. If I fail, I'll lose points from my participation grade, so I really have to review."
"Is that so?" she replied warmly but without much inflection. However, the movements of her toes inside her shoes had stilled.
"That must've been hard for you..." she said.
"As for Sunday..." Russell's voice came again, this time almost like he was talking to himself—or maybe deliberately trying to unnerve her. "I think I'll probably sleep all day on Sunday. After all, as you know, sleep is vital for a teenager in their growth stage."
"..."
Mary nodded, but her fingers, hidden behind her back, unconsciously curled tighter. Just as she was about to find an excuse to wrap up the awkward conversation, Russell turned back to her. On his face was that familiar, lazily infuriating smile.
"But," he added, "if someone treated me to afternoon tea, and perhaps helped me review for next week's quiz..."
He paused for a beat, then softly offered an answer to her unspoken question:
"I wouldn't mind sacrificing a bit of sleep."
Mary was a bit surprised at this. The evening breeze toyed gently with her silver hair, its touch drawing a brighter blush onto her cheeks out of embarrassment. Suddenly, the scarf around her neck felt quite unnecessary.
"Sacrifice?" Mary echoed Russell's word softly, tilting her head with a playful glint in her eyes. "That's not quite the right way to say it, Russell."
"If it were just a normal outing and you claimed it was at the expense of your rest time, I wouldn't argue. But if it's in order to pass next week's quiz, then what do I say? ...Should I be... honored?"
Hey, this girl is definitely not dumb.
The corners of Mary's lips quirked up.
"Then let's set it for Saturday at 2 pm, at the Phidon Tea Room. You know where that is, right? It's quiet in the Kensington district, and the sign is easy to spot," she said.
"Of course," Russell nodded. "It's settled then."
Mary's smile brightened. Her fingers, now uncurled behind her, stopped their anxious twining.
"Try not to be late like last time. My time is very precious, you know."
"Don't worry, I guarantee I'll be on time this time," Russell assured her.
Satisfied with his answer, Mary nodded. Without another word, she turned and briskly started walking toward the school gate.
"See you Saturday," she called out, turning just enough to throw her words over her shoulder before quickening her pace away from Russell. Her white skirt shimmered in the evening breeze, each step light as if she were treading on clouds.
"Then, I'll see you in class tomorrow," Russell called softly after her, watching her go.
Mary paused slightly but didn't look back, just lifting her hand in a backward wave. Russell stood there until her silhouette finally disappeared around the classroom corner, then shifted his gaze and walked toward the school gates. Though the setting sun cast long shadows across him, he didn't look the least bit lonely.
Afternoon tea and studying...
Russell sighed quietly to himself. Somehow, this kind of simple daily life felt more troubling than sparring with rivals in a bank's underground vault.
But he didn't dislike that feeling.
Not at all.
The scent of biscuits greeted Russell as he stepped inside 221B Baker Street. He followed the delicious smell to find a plate of freshly baked cookies sitting on the table.
"Mrs. Hudson, you've been baking cookies again?" Russell asked, taking one and popping it into his mouth. The cookies were baked to crispy perfection, studded with nuts and chocolate chips.
"Russell, you're back. I just baked a batch—take them over to the table and share them with Charlotte," Mrs. Hudson's voice called from the kitchen. "She hasn't come downstairs all day. The poor dear must be starving."
"Understood." Russell responded, carrying the plate upstairs.
He'd barely walked a few steps when the familiar notes of violin music drifted from the next room. The tune was quick and chaotic, as if the player were anxious, pacing back and forth while wrestling with a problem.
Russell stopped at the door and listened for a moment, then reached out to knock.
The rapid violin music ceased abruptly, replaced by Charlotte's voice. "The door's open—come in."
Russell pushed open the door. Charlotte was just putting her violin aside and eyeing the plate of cookies in his hand.
"Mrs. Hudson said you haven't eaten all day," Russell said, tossing her a cookie. "Still thinking about the professor?"
"Mm," Charlotte replied, catching the biscuit and popping it into her mouth. Her gaze naturally drifted to the infoscreen on the wall beside her.
"Any progress?" Russell asked.
"Not exactly, but there's a sliver of truth," Charlotte replied, mumbling around her cookie.
"I went back to Scotland Yard today and called in everyone except that madman, even if just for a moment."
"And?" Russell prompted.
"We found an address," Charlotte replied.
"An address?" Russell repeated, nibbling his cookie as he moved to the table to fetch a teabag for himself. "Where?"
"The same address Bilson contacted before," she answered, then added, "And Russell, use the Earl Grey, not the Ceylon."
"Right," Russell conceded, swapping his teabag for the one she indicated. "So only today did you get that key bit of information out of them? What was Narlestrand doing all day yesterday?"
"Dealing with Lloyds Bank, holding a press conference, and hunting down a psychiatrist for that madman," Charlotte said.
"And then...?"
Russell set her tea down in front of her.
"Then I visited the place myself—a small bar in the Southwark district," she reported calmly.
"You went there alone?" Russell frowned. "That place is a melting pot for all sorts."
"Well, you were still in class," Charlotte replied matter-of-factly. "I didn't want clues to evaporate if I waited too long."
So this is all because I had to go to class... Russell twitched a corner of his mouth, then sipped his tea.
"So, did you find anything, oh great detective?" he asked.
"No," Charlotte admitted, shaking her head. "Bilson left in a hurry, only taking what he could quickly turn into cash. He left a lot behind."
"And the letter?" Russell pressed.
"It burned," Charlotte said ruefully. "It's just a pile of ashes now—completely useless."
…