"Knock, knock, knock—"
In the morning, the sound of knocking at the door disturbed Russell's pleasant sleep.
He frowned, lifted his head, and glanced toward the bedroom door. Not long after, the knocking came again.
"Knock, knock, knock—"
Good. By the sound of it, it wasn't his door being knocked on. It was Charlotte's.
Then it had nothing to do with him.
Back to sleep.
Russell yawned, rolled over in bed, and prepared to doze off again.
When he woke up, he'd go downstairs, buy a newspaper, and pick up a sandwich with double bacon and ham—reward himself properly.
After all, last night the Malice Points had already come in.
A full six hundred.
Add that to what Timmy Roy had contributed at the freshmen's icebreaker, plus what the Times and Mycroft were likely to generate…
Conservatively, this operation would net him more than a thousand Malice Points.
Enough to upgrade himself from head to toe.
Life was starting to look brighter by the day.
Russell lay under the covers, watching his Malice Points steadily fill out, and couldn't help humming to himself.
And then the knocking started again.
This time it was different from the first two—more impatient, with noticeably more force.
"Knockknockknock!"
It was obvious that if this kept up, his plan for a second round of sleep was going to be ruined.
Left with no choice, Russell reluctantly climbed out of bed, threw on a coat, and went to the door.
A man stood outside—immaculately dressed in a sharp suit, every inch of him radiating an elite, professional aura.
Hearing the door open behind him, the man turned and offered Russell an apologetic smile.
"Sorry to disturb your rest."
"It's fine. I don't mind." Russell shook his head, looked the man over, then glanced at the tightly closed door beside him.
"You're looking for Charlotte?"
"Yes." The man nodded. "Is she not home?"
"I'd say there's a higher chance she's sleeping like the dead than that she went out early in the morning," Russell said flatly.
The man raised an eyebrow, then gave a small nod.
"I agree with that."
"Are you here to hire her for a case?" Russell asked. "If you'd like, you can leave your name and contact information. When that idiot wakes up, I'll pass it along."
"I don't like troubling others, so thank you for the offer." The man smiled and shook his head.
"I'm Mycroft Holmes—Charlotte Holmes's brother."
"Mycroft Holmes…" Russell repeated the name, his brain still not fully awake.
Then he froze, eyes widening as he stared at the man.
"Wait—you're Mycroft Holmes?!"
"You've heard Charlotte mention me?" Mycroft asked with a smile.
"More or less…" Russell hesitated. "She said you are the British government."
"Not surprising." Mycroft sighed and shrugged helplessly.
"I'm Russell Watson," Russell replied, giving his own name.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Watson. And thank you—both you and Mrs. Hudson—for taking care of my disappointing younger sister," Mycroft said.
"How do you know—"
"Do you really think she looks like someone capable of living independently?" Mycroft asked.
"…Fair point."
Russell and Mycroft exchanged a look, then laughed at the same time.
"Ahem. Back to business—does she always…" Mycroft gestured toward the door. "Sleep this heavily?"
"We attended Imperial College's freshmen icebreaker last night. The event ended at eight, and we got back to Baker Street around eight-thirty," Russell said.
"As for when she actually fell asleep, I have no idea. But you're her brother—you know her schedule is, to some extent…"
"Whatever she feels like," Mycroft supplied.
"Whatever she feels like. Yes. Perfect summary." Russell nodded, then looked toward the door again. "I'd guess she won't be waking up anytime soon. Do you need her urgently?"
"Not exactly. Consider it an older brother checking in on his sister," Mycroft said. "After all, a day off is a rare luxury."
"A day off—for you?" Russell looked at him, surprised.
Mycroft seemed to know exactly what Russell was thinking. He only smiled faintly in response.
"Even machine gears need oil occasionally—unless you want them to rust."
The two of them stood in the hallway, chatting idly.
Russell had to admit: Mycroft truly belonged to the establishment. Speaking with him carried an inexplicable sense of ease.
Perhaps that was what people meant by the art of conversation.
Ten minutes passed like that. Charlotte's door remained firmly shut, and the expressions on both men's faces began to turn complicated.
"Are you sure…" Mycroft looked at Russell. "…she's really just asleep?"
"To be honest… I'm not sure." Russell hesitated. "Mrs. Hudson should have a spare key. I'll go find her."
Just as he was about to move, both men heard the sound of a doorknob turning.
And then the door—shut for so long—was yanked open.
Charlotte stood there in a robe, her gray-blue eyes cold with displeasure.
"Charlotte—you weren't asleep?" Russell stopped and turned back.
"I woke up half an hour ago," Charlotte said icily.
"Then what have you been doing?" Mycroft asked. "I knocked three times."
"I've been watching how long the two of you could stand out here talking about me," Charlotte replied.
Arms crossed, she leaned against the doorframe, staring at them expressionlessly.
"..."
Russell and Mycroft looked at each other and read the same emotion in the other's eyes.
Awkwardness.
"How boring," Charlotte snorted.
Then she turned and walked back into the room. She didn't close the door—clearly allowing them in.
Mycroft glanced back at Russell and made a small "after you" gesture, wearing a helpless, wry smile.
Russell shrugged and followed him inside.
The room was the same familiar disaster, but Russell was already used to it.
As for Mycroft—he looked mildly surprised, but not as though it was outside his expectations.
"So," Charlotte leaned against the desk, picked up a cup of hot coffee, blew on it casually, and took a sip, "what could possibly be so important that you'd sacrifice one of your few days off just to come here and hassle me?"
Unhurried, Mycroft found a seat, sat down, and asked:
"Have you seen today's paper?"
"No," Charlotte said, then looked at Russell. "Because someone didn't buy it for me. Same for hot coffee and breakfast."
"Why would I buy those for you?" Russell lifted an eyebrow.
"As your assistant, isn't that what you're supposed to do?" Charlotte said, utterly matter-of-fact.
"?"
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My : pat*eon*com/RuneA
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