Looking at the hand Mycroft extended, both Charlotte and Russell froze for a moment.
What was this?
Recruitment into the establishment?
Saving ten years of struggle straight away? That actually sounded pretty good, didn't it?
However, before Russell could speak, Charlotte interrupted his fantasy first.
"Hey, Mycroft."
The young girl narrowed her eyes, looking at her brother with hostility, and pointed her finger toward the door.
"Get out."
The smile on Mycroft's face didn't change in the slightest. He didn't even look at his sister; he simply continued to gaze at Russell, his deep eyes holding a hint of amusement and understanding.
"Well, Mr. Watson? Your talents shouldn't be buried at Imperial College."
"That's the first time I've heard anyone say studying at Imperial College is burying one's talent..."
Russell twitched the corner of his mouth.
"Anyway... thank you for your appreciation, Mr. Mycroft, but I... don't really want to be a civil servant for the time being.
"I'm not very good at dealing with people. To be honest, I'm quite isolated in my class."
He shrugged, politely declining Mycroft's invitation.
"Is that so? What a pity." Mycroft withdrew his hand, a look of disappointment revealing itself in his eyes.
He pulled a finely crafted business card from the inner pocket of his suit and naturally tucked it into Russell's hand.
"But my offer stands forever, Mr. Watson. The British Empire needs talents like you."
With that, he stayed no longer and walked straight out of the room, his upright figure disappearing around the corner of the stairs.
Just as when he arrived, he didn't stir up a single superfluous ripple, yet he left an invisible undercurrent in the room.
Russell looked down at the business card in his hand. It was printed only with a string of phone numbers and a gold-stamped emblem of the British Government—minimalist, yet full of weight.
He looked at the card with the number and the gold emblem, momentarily unsure of what to do with the thing.
"Stop looking at it," Charlotte's slightly irritable voice interrupted his thoughts.
"That thing will only turn you into a boring, grey-suited, bloated bureaucrat. Then your brain, just like your backside, will be thoroughly glued to an office chair."
Russell snapped back to reality, only to see Charlotte stand up, snatch the business card from his hand, and toss it into the fireplace.
The flames quickly devoured the piece of paper, no larger than a bank card, turning it into a pile of ash.
"So, you were saving me just now?" Russell teased.
"Then I really must thank you properly, Miss Holmes. You made me miss an opportunity to have a stable pension and statutory holidays."
"You should feel fortunate about that." Charlotte stopped in her tracks, turning her head to glare at him.
"He would destroy the only interesting thing about you, which is your uncertainty.
"And once you become boring, I will immediately throw you out the window like trash."
"That's too cruel," Russell muttered softly.
"You can repay me in a more meaningful way."
Charlotte walked up to him. Clearly, she wasn't as tall as Russell, yet she looked at him with a condescending air.
"Like?" Russell raised an eyebrow.
"Like being responsible for my breakfast and newspapers starting tomorrow," she said as a matter of course.
"I refuse," Russell answered just as crisply.
"Not everyone is like you, capable of skipping classes and still successfully graduating with a degree."
"It's just a scrap of paper. I don't understand why you would care about that kind of thing.
"If you really wanted to rely on an Imperial College diploma to find a job, you should have just agreed to Mycroft just now."
"Well, I've already paid the tuition. I can't graduate with absolutely nothing to show for it."
Russell spread his hands.
"At least watching a movie leaves you with a ticket stub."
Charlotte rolled her eyes.
"If you're so idle, go out and find me some interesting cases. I'm already dying of boredom."
"Where am I supposed to find that kind of thing for you?" Russell spread his hands again.
"You were the one who told Lestrade not to reveal your name during the reports.
"There probably aren't more than ten civilians in all of London who know that Charlotte Holmes is a genius detective."
"Don't give me that, I don't want to hear it.
"In short, I am bored. Very bored.
"And you, as my neighbor and assistant, have an obligation to solve this problem for me."
"I'll say it again, I am not your assistant," Russell corrected.
"You live next door to me, you appear in my room at any time, you provide me with key information on cases, and you even act as my control group for common sense.
"Functionally speaking, you are my assistant, Watson. That is just a title; don't care too much about it. Being too pedantic won't make people like you."
Charlotte acted as if her word was law, walking to the table with her empty coffee cup to pour herself another refill.
"So, how am I supposed to find one?" Russell asked back.
"Do you want me to place an ad in the newspaper for you? Oh, I almost forgot—The Times might not have any space for ads for the next three days, or maybe even the next week."
"You could go ask around the university to see if anyone has had a death in the family, or encountered some problem they can't figure out with their brains."
"Do you think I'm not isolated enough at school as it is?"
"You say that as if you actually care about your interpersonal relationships with those guys." Charlotte tilted her head and shrugged.
"It's not like Mary Morstan will have a negative impression of you because of this."
"Why bring Mary into this?"
"Because she is the only person at Imperial College willing to take the initiative to talk to you."
This time it was Russell's turn to roll his eyes.
"Let's not talk about this for now. Let's talk about something practical—suppose, I say suppose, suppose a case really appeared in front of you right now. Would you take it?"
"Depends on the situation. For some overly stupid cases, go directly to Scotland Yard. My brain isn't meant for thinking about those," Charlotte said without even thinking.
"See, there you go." Russell twitched his lips.
"Besides, even if there really was a case you found interesting and were willing to use your brain on...
"Then we still have one final problem, which is also the most important one.
"—Who is going to run the errands?"
Russell spread his hands, pointing out the core issue with pinpoint accuracy.
"Look, even if I get lucky and bump into someone about to be murdered when I go out, or pick up a treasure map in the library...
"What about the process that follows? Investigating the scene, interviewing neighbors, dealing with that bunch at Scotland Yard—who does all that work?
"It can't be me, right?"
"Why can't it be you?"
Charlotte's retort came as a matter of course, as if Russell had asked a question as stupid as why humans need to breathe.
"I am the brain, Watson, responsible for thinking, deducing, and constructing the logical palace of the entire case.
"And you are my eyes and legs, responsible for collecting those bricks for wall-building that I am too lazy to look at.
"This is the highest efficiency, the most perfect division of labor."
"This is the highest efficiency, the most perfect exploitation," Russell corrected her bluntly.
"I am a university student who needs to attend classes, take exams, and graduate with a diploma, not your free labor on standby twenty-four-seven."
"But you have already proven with your actions that you have zero interest in those so-called courses."
Charlotte walked to the window, looking at the bustling crowd on Baker Street below, her tone flat yet full of penetrating power.
"What your brain craves isn't that stale knowledge written in textbooks, verified countless times already.
"You are like me, Watson. You also feel this world is boring. That is why you need me, and I need you."
Russell fell silent for a moment. He had to admit, in some aspects, this woman saw things even more clearly than he did himself.
But he wouldn't admit defeat verbally.
"Fine, even if everything you say is right." He sighed, making his final concession, which was also his final struggle.
"Even if I am willing to be your legs and sacrifice my precious sleep time to run all over London, before that, why don't we return to the very first question—where is the case?
"The interesting case worthy of your noble brain—where exactly is it?"
Russell paced two steps around the room.
"You rejected Mycroft, and he is the largest data source for criminal information in all of London.
"You also disdain those domestic theft cases of Lestrade's, thinking they are too boring.
"Then what exactly do you want?"
He asked.
"You can't expect that we just stand here, and someone will voluntarily come to the door saying they've encountered a problem that needs solving, right?"
Just as Russell's voice fell—
Knock, knock, knock.
A series of clear and slightly urgent knocks on the door rang out at a leisurely pace.
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