Russell watched Charlotte's busy figure by the telephone, watched that sulky little profile of hers, and for a moment had no idea what he ought to say.
Just now, Charlotte had tearfully (well, not really) denounced him for lying to her.
But in the end, he had actually smoothed the whole thing over with yet another lie.
As for what to do from here on out...
He silently picked up the teapot and refilled her empty cup with warm black tea.
Sorry, Charlotte. Forgive me.
This is the last time.
The call connected quickly, and Lestrade's voice came through from the other end.
"Hello, Scotland Yard."
"Lestrade, it's me." Charlotte's voice was crisp and to the point.
"Charlotte?" Hearing that familiar voice, Lestrade couldn't help but freeze for a moment.
"Why are you calling? Has there been some new development in the Professor's case?"
"Set that aside for now," Charlotte said. "Have someone bring all the files on the Hannigan case to Baker Street. Now."
"Huh? The Hannigan case—weren't you not handling that one?"
Lestrade sounded even more bewildered. So the one who'd tossed out a conclusion back then and then played the hands-off boss hadn't been her, apparently?
"I've changed my mind," Charlotte said. "If you want to close the case quickly, then send the things over at once."
"But we're still running checks—"
"Then send over whatever you've already checked," Charlotte cut him off impatiently. "Don't make me say it twice.
As for the rest of you—if you've nothing better to do, go find out who leaked the information to the press.
You can't manage to catch a wanted criminal, but surely catching someone spreading false information is no trouble at all, hmm?"
With that, she hung up without the slightest mercy, slamming the receiver back into its cradle.
"Satisfied now?" Russell watched her, unable to keep from laughing as he topped off her cup.
"Satisfied with what?" Charlotte shot him a glance and let out a faint snort through her nose.
"I simply find that little tabloid's reporting an eyesore, that's all."
"Is it possible that what you find an even bigger eyesore is The Guardian's reporting?"
And then, entirely unsurprisingly, Russell earned himself another eye-roll from the girl.
"Anything she can do, I can do too."
Russell looked at that face of hers, written all over with the urge to win, smiled, and let the topic drop.
Some things were best left at a hint; spell them out too plainly, and you'd only provoke this proud cat into hissing.
"Well then," he pushed a freshly brewed cup of black tea in front of Charlotte.
"Next comes the great detective's deduction time.
I'm honestly rather curious—will you find the culprit first, or will Mary's clarifying article be published first?"
"Did she say when?" Charlotte asked, lifting her teacup and blowing at the steam curling above it.
"She didn't, but I'd guess it's a matter of a day or two—we should see it before Saturday."
Russell said, then cast a glance at Charlotte.
"A certain someone might need to step it up."
At that, Charlotte glared at him.
He'd honestly never seen anyone make others do unpaid work and still be so utterly righteous about it.
Since when had he signed on as free labor?
You've got to be kidding.
"Rather than that, you'd do better to first think about how to thank me," she said.
"Hm? Next time I see him, how about I have him write you a thank-you letter?"
"Who wants a thank-you letter from a thief? Tell him to save it for Mary."
Charlotte curled her lip in disdain.
"If he truly had the heart for it, he'd come to Baker Street to offer his thanks in person, instead of having you, some messenger, do it for him."
"Fine, then you tell me—how do you want to be thanked?" he asked.
"Starting tomorrow," Charlotte set down her teacup, her gaze settling on Russell.
"My breakfast, my morning paper, and my afternoon tea—you'll be responsible for all of them, until this case is closed."
"..." For a moment, Russell was at a loss for words.
"Well? Your answer?"
"Before I answer, I think I'd better remind you of something," Russell pointed at the backpack he'd tossed onto the sofa.
"I'm a student—I can figure something out for the morning paper and breakfast, but afternoon tea... you mean to have me make a special trip back all the way from Imperial College?"
"Then breakfast plus the morning paper—I won't make things hard for you," Charlotte said. "I wake at half past seven in the morning. If I don't see them—"
"If you don't see them?"
"Then you can just wait for His Majesty to learn about how you colluded with Moriarty and let him slip into Buckingham Palace."
Russell was choked into silence by her sudden threat, and it took him a good while to find his voice again.
"Even Mycroft hasn't said a word—what gives you the right?"
"The fact that I know about it gives me the right." Charlotte leaned back against her chair, arms folded across her chest, her posture languid yet thoroughly self-assured.
"You could always go and report me, and let your dear brother get a taste of what comes of the crime of deceiving the Crown," Russell shot back.
"He'll find a hundred different ways to wash himself spotlessly clean, and then dump the entire blame onto you."
Charlotte remained unmoved, and even kindly reminded him.
"When that happens, you won't just be taking the fall for him—you'll still be responsible for my breakfast and morning paper."
"...You're ruthless, I'll give you that."
In the end, Russell still went down in defeat and helplessly raised the white flag.
Watching his deflated, helplessly resigned look, the little knot of frustration in Charlotte's chest finally eased somewhat, and a smug curve tugged at the corner of her lips.
"So then," she lifted her teacup once more, blowing at the steam curling above it, "deal?"
"Deal." Russell heaved a sigh.
It was just getting up early, wasn't it.
What was the big deal.
Back when he was in high school, he'd had to drag himself out of bed at six!
Just then, Mrs. Hudson's call came from downstairs, immediately followed by a flurry of hurried knocks at the door.
"Charlotte, someone's here to see you!"
"Send him up." Charlotte answered without so much as turning her head.
Soon, a young officer in a Scotland Yard uniform came panting up the stairs, a thick kraft-paper file envelope clutched in his arms.
"Miss Holmes," he placed the file envelope respectfully on the coffee table.
"Inspector Lestrade had me bring this over—all the files concerning the Hannigan case."
"I see," Charlotte nodded. "Thank you for your trouble."
The officer said nothing more; after giving a salute, he turned and left.
Russell's gaze fell on the file envelope, then drifted to the mountain of files beside it concerning Lloyds Bank.
"Looks like a certain someone's going to have her hands full these next few days."
"At least it's far more interesting than sitting in a classroom listening to those dull theories."
As she spoke, Charlotte picked up the freshly delivered file and crisply tore open the seal.
"Alright, my work is about to begin," she said without turning her head.
"As my assistant, don't you think it's about time you went and prepared a cup of coffee for me?"
"Got it." Russell stood and walked toward the table where the coffee tin sat.
Just then, Charlotte's voice came from behind him.
"Black coffee. No milk."
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