When Russell heard that conclusion, he paused.
Neither he nor Charlotte had considered that possibility.
Because in every hypothesis they'd built their reasoning on, the "ghost's" persona had remained constant.
He had a pathological obsession with Holly David.
Based on that, they'd instinctively suspected he might be hiding in Holly David's home—and in doing so, they'd overlooked other possibilities.
"If that's the case…" Russell murmured, thinking.
To find the truth was actually very simple:
Go check in person.
Conveniently, he still had the key Holly David had given him.
Terrified out of her mind by the "ghost," Holly David had gone to stay with a friend. And at Charlotte's request, she'd handed the key to Russell.
If he wanted to, he could investigate her apartment at any time.
With that decided, Russell finished the sandwich in his hand in three bites, wiped his mouth, and stood.
Mary watched his reaction and couldn't help asking, "Got an idea?"
"I'm going to Holly David's place," Russell said. "This afternoon."
"If that 'ghost' is going to come out and move around at all, it'll be while she's still at work."
"But… we still have classes this afternoon, don't we?" Mary countered. "Professor Philip is strict."
"Classes can be attended anytime, Mary," Russell said, putting on a solemn face.
"But right now there's a lady being tormented by a perverted stalker who's waiting for my rescue. If Professor Philip is a gentleman, I'm sure he'll understand."
Mary's lips curved, amused. "And if he doesn't understand?"
"Then it can only mean Professor Philip's chivalry is inferior to mine," Russell said regretfully.
Then he pushed himself up from the chair.
"Come on. We should head back to the classroom."
"Aren't you skipping?" Mary blinked, but rose with him anyway.
"I'll at least walk you part of the way," Russell shrugged.
Mary smiled and walked beside him out of the dining hall.
The afternoon sun wasn't harsh—just warm in a lazy sort of way.
They walked quietly, neither speaking, yet it didn't feel awkward.
It was a strange feeling.
It had only been a few days—yet the way they moved together felt like two partners who'd worked side by side for years.
He could read her hints. She could understand what he didn't say out loud.
Mary liked that feeling.
Only when she was beside Russell—or Charlotte—could she regain that long-lost sense of something like equality.
There was none of the mutual deception and flattery of upper-class banquets.
Only a sincere, natural parity.
"Are you going alone?" Mary turned her head, studying the man's profile.
"Or will you bring Charlotte too?"
"Assuming Charlotte is even willing to get off the sofa," Russell said.
"From Imperial College back to Baker Street, then convincing Charlotte to come out, then taking a carriage over to Holly David's place… honestly, that whole process might take an hour. By the time we arrive, the 'ghost' might already be gone."
"So you're going alone?"
"For what comes next, it's physical work, not brain work," Russell shrugged. "Worst case, I can just make a phone call."
"I see…" Mary murmured.
The two of them traded words back and forth, and soon they reached the entrance of the academic building.
Russell stopped.
"Alright. This is as far as I go," he said, pointing toward the classroom corridor.
"The rest of the way, you'll have to walk on your own."
Mary didn't move.
She stood where she was, looking at Russell. Under the sunlight, those blue eyes looked almost painfully clear.
"Russell."
"Hm?"
"If one day…" She spoke suddenly, voice quiet. "I mean, if—if one day I also run into a problem I can't solve…"
She took a breath, and the question came out like something she'd been holding inside for far too long:
"Will you come save me?"
Russell froze slightly, clearly not expecting her to ask that.
In those clear blue eyes was a reflection of something tense and uncertain.
It felt like the moment you check your exam results—
or like the family waiting outside an emergency room, listening for the doctor's verdict.
This was a Mary Morstan he had never seen before.
And this was a question he had never had to face.
It was heavy—so heavy that even his usual habit of brushing things off with a joke couldn't carry him through.
He fell silent for a moment.
The afternoon sun pulled his shadow long and slanted, while the building's shade happened to cover Mary completely.
The boundary between light and darkness lay straight between them.
A breeze passed, faintly cool, and carried his voice to her ears.
He said—
"I will."
He didn't ask what the problem was.
He didn't ask how he was supposed to save her.
He simply answered—firmly.
And that single certainty outweighed a thousand words.
That was enough.
The light returned to Mary's eyes.
Not the bright light of excitement—
but the kind that appears when someone has been answered, when someone has been promised something, and the weight finally lifts.
She didn't say thank you. She didn't add anything extra.
She only nodded softly.
"Mm."
That gentle response carried more weight than any ornate phrasing ever could.
"You should go," she said quietly. "Class is about to start."
With her own hands, she broke the moment—brief enough to make you want to freeze it forever.
Then, under Russell's gaze, Mary slowly turned away.
Her steps were light.
As if she'd set down an invisible burden.
·
·
Russell left the school grounds and boarded the nearest tram.
He leaned against the window, watching the familiar street scenery slide backward in a blur.
Thinking back to the answer that had slipped out of him, an inexplicable helplessness rose in his chest.
Maybe he shouldn't have been so impulsive.
It violated his own principle—never make promises you can't be sure you can keep.
Like the invitation to that icebreaker ball.
But for some reason, when he met those blue eyes—eyes full of pleading and unease—his mind rejected every refusal, every vague dodge.
Sigh. I'll just spoil her, then.
Who told her to be so pretty?
It had nothing to do with his true feelings—obviously.
It was all the fault of her extraordinary face.
Purely the irresistible force etched into his genes: the inability to resist beautiful things.
Yes.
That's definitely it.
Comforted by that flawless logic, Russell closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift with the tram.
Before he knew it, the tram arrived.
Russell stepped off the platform, walked a little farther, and soon reached a familiar red-brick apartment building.
He took out the key from his pocket—as naturally as if he were returning to his own home—walked up, pushed open the door, climbed the stairs, and entered Holly David's apartment.
Everything inside looked exactly the same as when he'd left yesterday.
He paced through the rooms, relying on his improved Observation to search for any suspicious detail.
The first place he checked was the balcony flowers.
Dewy beads of water clung to the fresh petals, reflecting fractured colors under the sunlight.
Someone had watered them.
....
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