"Good morning, Russell!"
Mary's voice rang out beside him—always bright, always cheerful.
"Morning, Mary."
Russell lifted his gaze, meeting Mary's brilliant blue eyes—more lively than ever, sparkling with curiosity.
"You seem in a good mood today?" he asked, as if by habit, his voice gentle.
"Do I?"
Mary smiled, setting her textbook on the table.
"Maybe it's just the weather."
As she spoke, her eyes drifted to the stack of newspapers Russell had brought.
"That man has truly pulled off something incredible."
Mary picked up a paper, pausing on the headline.
"That performance... What do you think he intends to do?"
"Nobody knows. But whatever it is, it won't be good."
Russell answered.
"If I were Mycroft, I'd use this as a chance to carefully monitor everyone who opposes me. Catch them red-handed every time they make a move."
After all, Moriarty was only his subordinate… It was possible Mycroft had staged this whole affair.
Russell tried to shift the blame toward Mycroft.
Mary pondered his theory, clearly considering the possibility; she drifted into thought, recalling their conversation the night before.
Finally, she shook her head.
"Hm... I don't think it's Mycroft's doing."
"Why not?" Russell asked.
"It's too conspicuous. Immediately after the Lloyds Bank job, Moriarty was sent to conduct a large-scale investigation into MPs' and nobles' corruption cases.
No matter how capable Mycroft is, it would be impossible for him to manage the chaos that would erupt with so many people falling from power at once. Besides, even if he could, there was no need to alert all of London. Wouldn't it be better to handle it quietly, like Ethan Roy did?"
Mary spoke. "Mycroft isn't one to take risks."
She'd probably be unafraid even if he sprayed her with truth serum.
Russell clicked his tongue in surprise.
"So, why do you think Moriarty's doing this?"
He asked. "For justice?"
"Hmm..." Mary hesitated, then said, "Maybe... it's just curiosity?"
"Driven by curiosity?"
Russell echoed, chuckling as though he'd heard a good joke.
He didn't pursue the subject further but changed the topic.
"By the way, Mary, what are your plans for the weekend? I always thought you were a sheltered lady."
"Normally, yes, but someone has kindly ensured my father will be very busy for the next couple of weeks, so I won't be under his care for a while."
"Someone?" Russell raised an eyebrow. "Not Moriarty, I hope?"
"That's a secret for now," Mary blinked. "All I can say is, he's preoccupied dealing with people who've made him unhappy."
"Who's getting punished?"
Russell blurted, "Don't tell me it's me?"
"Why would you think that?"
"Well, last time at the bank, it seemed like he didn't care much for me."
Russell recalled the look the Duke of Morstan had shot him.
"..." Mary fell silent, her smile slipping, lost in thought. She raised her face after a moment, smile returning as she teased:
"Why would he target a poor kid like you? He hates so many people, you probably aren't even on his list."
"If you tried listing all the people he despises, you'd run out of ink long before finishing."
"In that case, what a relief."
Russell breathed out, visibly relaxing.
Mary's lips twitched faintly. Seeing his genuinely relieved expression—so innocent after surviving a disaster—a complicated look crossed her eyes.
"Don't you have any curiosity at all?" she couldn't help but ask.
"About what?" Russell countered. "How long the Duke of Morstan's blacklist might be?"
"I mean the performance."
Mary sighed.
"Aren't you curious about what Moriarty is plotting this time? He was never like this before. Why go to all this trouble, make such a fuss? What's his true purpose?"
"Not in the mood." Russell replied simply, flopping back in his seat and basking in the sun.
"Charlotte doesn't care either?"
Charlotte said the man simply wanted to put on a show, and even figuring out his motivations was a waste of brainpower. On that point, I completely agree.
Russell agreed wholeheartedly.
"Lestrade is worry enough. Even if the sky fell, Mycroft could hold it up. What does any of this grand drama have to do with a perfectly ordinary, diligent citizen like me?"
Mary stared at him for a while.
Sometimes I wonder if you have any ambition at all. She pressed her hand to her forehead and said quietly,
"My goal is to graduate comfortably, then get a dream job close to home—preferably where I never have to show my face or deal with a dumb boss."
Hearing this grand but simple dream, Mary's eyes widened involuntarily.
"Just so you know, Watson, you still need to get your final report ready before then. I won't let my partner hold me back."
"Don't worry, there's still plenty of time before finals," Russell waved it off.
"So, Mary, I'm counting on you."
"Don't even think about slacking!" Mary half-joked, half-warned. "I'm checking your effort at tea on Saturday afternoon."
"My job is to eat scones and nod in deep agreement with everything you say."
"Dream on."
She gave him a reproachful look—but a faint smile crept into her blue eyes, whether she realized it or not.
While the two bantered, the lecture hall door opened and Professor Fields entered, arms full of thick lesson plans. The room fell instantly silent.
Russell closed his mouth at once, and, in a movement practiced a thousand times, lowered his head to the table as though ready for a nap.
Mary glanced at him, exasperated, and shook her head.
"Why does it always look like you're sleeping through class?"
She couldn't help but ask, "What do you do at night?"
"What if I told you I was actually Moriarty, and spent my nights scaling London's walls?"
Russell mumbled, face buried in his arms.
"Come on."
Mary rolled her eyes and looked toward the blackboard.
"If you're Moriarty, then I'm the professor."