In the carriage returning to Baker Street, Russell and Charlotte did not speak a word.
Both were gazing out the window, watching the streetscape recede rapidly into the distance.
It wasn't until the carriage stopped at the entrance of 221B Baker Street that Charlotte finally broke the silence.
"How do you think that ghost got in?"
"I don't know," Russell admitted honestly. "I investigated every possibility. The doors and windows were intact, there are no secret passages, and the fireplace is even less likely. Unless that guy really is a ghost with the ability to walk through walls, I can't think of any other possibility."
He paused, then continued, "For the next few days, Ms. Davey will just have to inconvenience herself and stay at a friend's place. Maybe that perverted ghost will give up on his own after seeing she hasn't come home for so many days?"
"Or perhaps he will become even more unbridled, maybe even moving in directly with his bags," Charlotte said, pushing the door open to alight from the carriage.
The two entered the apartment one after the other. Charlotte took off her overcoat and collapsed into that wide, comfortable armchair. The young girl lifted her feet high and, without any reservation, propped them up on the coffee table, resuming her classic lazy posture of days past.
"So, what now, Great Detective?" Russell pulled over a chair and sat opposite Charlotte. "We busied ourselves the whole morning, and the conclusion is—there is no conclusion?"
"Who said that? We obtained many conclusions."
Charlotte slowly opened her eyes. In those grey-blue irises, the languor previously born of boredom had vanished.
"Such as?"
"Such as knowing that this ghost doesn't need a key, nor does he need to pick locks; he can enter Ms. Davey's home directly. Also, he understands Ms. Davey's schedule very well—when she goes to work, when she gets off, when she rests, as well as her daily life, what type of books she likes to read, and what scent of perfume she sprays.
"Furthermore, he has absolutely no interest in property, but he also has no further desire for Ms. Davey's body. Everything he does seems solely for the purpose of existing within Holly Davey's life."
"Sounds like a complete and total pervert."
"Mm-hmm." Charlotte made a noncommittal sound. "At the very least, we can determine that he holds a certain intense, pathological fondness for Holly Davey, which could even be called adoration. Moreover, he understands her, perhaps even better than she understands herself."
Charlotte spoke, then paused, looking up at Russell. "Now, based on the above information, Watson, tell me your conjecture."
"Conjecture?"
"Let me hear your train of thought," Charlotte said.
"What conjecture could I have..." Russell muttered, then thought for a moment. "He can infiltrate Ms. Davey's home silently without alerting anyone, and even without interacting with other objects. To achieve this level, either he really has so-called superpowers, or his skills are already on par with Phantom Thief Moriarty.
"Of course, we can't rule out another possibility."
He paused, then continued under Charlotte's gaze, "Ms. Holly Davey has a split personality, she just hasn't realized it herself."
"Split personality?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "A decent angle of approach. Continue."
"Look," Russell began to organize his words, "Let's assume Holly Davey has a second personality she doesn't know about; let's tentatively call it the 'Ghost.' This Ghost appears when she falls asleep, or when she is in a trance, and then does those things. It sounds quite reasonable."
"It's not reasonable at all," Charlotte yawned.
"How is it unreasonable?"
"How would her second personality manage to warm up the bedding before she herself gets into bed to sleep?"
"..." Russell fell into silence.
After a long while, he spread his hands. "Then I'm out of ideas."
"Don't be discouraged; at least you eliminated a wrong option," Charlotte smiled. "This way, we can be certain that this ghost is real, and not a hallucination of Holly Davey. He is a living, breathing person, a pervert who invaded her life using a method we haven't thought of yet. That is all."
"Then what should we do?" Russell asked. "Start investigating from Holly Davey's social circle?"
"The scope is too large. Compared to that, I'm more concerned about the method," Charlotte said. "Determine the method first, and the rest can be deduced slowly."
"And what if the person runs away?" Russell asked.
"That guy is a pervert down to his bones; I feel he is definitely still there. And if he does run away, wouldn't that also be a good thing for Holly Davey?"
Charlotte spoke indifferently, her brows knitting slightly. "What exactly must be done to allow a person to enter and exit an apartment without leaving a trace..."
*
The next day, the clock tower of Imperial College rang out the morning chimes.
Sunlight spilled through the windows onto the last row of the lecture hall, baking that area to a comfortable and pleasant temperature.
Russell sat in his usual spot, lying prone on the desk, waiting for the class bell to ring. The classroom today was much quieter than last week; invisibly, something seemed to be quietly exerting an influence.
Timmy Roy did not come to school today, and he would not be coming ever again.
And all of this was thanks to a certain someone.
Even though those people did not know the downfall of the Roy family was related to Russell, daring to brazenly launch a direct attack against the son of a Cabinet Minister in a public setting, and causing the other party to suffer social ruin—this act itself required immense courage and... sufficient madness.
He was simply lucky that, just after he did so, the Roy family's scandal happened to be exposed by Moriarty. If Moriarty hadn't moved against the Roy family, no one dared to imagine what kind of retaliation Russell would have faced after the love letter incident.
—This was the thought held by the vast majority of people.
Therefore, the first reaction of many upon entering the classroom was to glance at that figure in the back row who looked as if he could sleep until the end of the world. Their eyes were filled with a respectful distance.
Even the parties involved in the love letter incident, including the several young girls like Annie, did not change their opinion of Russell because of this. They only realized with hindsight, after everything was over, that they had been used by this guy. After realizing this, the looks they cast at Russell also carried disgust and alienation.
People did not thank Russell.
The isolation began again, only this time the motive had changed. At first, it was due to disdain, but now, it was due to fear.
For a time, centered around Russell, no one dared to take a seat in the two rows in front of him. It was as if merely getting involved with him would invite misfortune.
Until that familiar, universally admired figure appeared silently.
Like a lonely planet in the universe welcoming its own satellite.
She did not stay away like the other celestial bodies; instead, she sat by his side just as before. Her azure gaze swept around the lecture hall, taking in all those complex stares. Subsequently, the smile at the corner of the girl's mouth became increasingly pronounced.
She scooted closer to Russell's side, maintaining a distance that was ambiguous yet full of restraint, and called out softly:
"Good morning, Russell~"
____
________________________________________
If you want more chapters, please consider supporting my page on (P). with 50 advanced chapters available on (P)
👻 Join the crew by searching Leanzin on (P). You know the spot! 😉