Morning, seven thirty.
The door of 221B Baker Street swung open, and Charlotte came down the stairs with a head full of tousled curls, draped in her dressing gown.
Yawning, the girl made her way, out of habit, toward the dining table where the black tea and scones were always laid out.
By all rights, at this hour there should have been a sandwich, a cup of coffee, and the morning paper waiting on it.
But right now it was completely bare.
Or rather—there was only the morning paper.
Charlotte frowned, her gaze sweeping across the empty living room before finally settling on the direction of the kitchen.
There, a familiar figure stood with his back to her, positioned in front of the stove, still wearing Mrs. Hudson's adorable apron printed with a little bear pattern.
"Good morning, Charlotte."
Russell didn't turn around, but the faint sound of footsteps behind him had already alerted him to the newcomer.
"Just a little longer, breakfast's almost ready."
He flipped the egg in the frying pan, the golden liquid setting rapidly under the high heat, giving off an enticing aroma.
Charlotte didn't respond. She walked to the kitchen doorway and leaned against the frame, arms crossed over her chest, watching with faint curiosity the back of the figure busy preparing her breakfast.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"What do you see?" Russell countered.
"I see you frying an egg."
"Then there's your answer."
"But—why?" Charlotte asked, puzzled. "You already went out to buy the morning paper. Why not just grab a sandwich and some hot coffee while you were at it?"
"That would be far too halfhearted," Russell said, sliding the finished egg out and laying it atop a freshly toasted slice of bread.
"Since I agreed to it, I ought to do it properly."
As he spoke, he carried the impeccably presented breakfast over to the dining table, then poured her a cup of warm milk.
"I distinctly recall saying I wanted coffee."
"Did you?" Russell raised an eyebrow. "The way I remember it, what we agreed on was [breakfast] and [the morning paper]."
"...Tedious wordplay." Charlotte pulled out a chair and sat down.
The girl picked up her knife and fork, cut off a piece of toast draped in golden egg, and brought it to her mouth.
The bread was toasted just right—crisp outside, tender within—and the egg was a perfect runny yolk. The rich yolk melted on the tip of her tongue, mingling with the savory saltiness of the butter. The flavor was surprisingly good.
"How is it?" Russell sat down across from her, having prepared a portion for himself as well.
"Barely edible." That was what Charlotte said, yet the pace at which she ate was anything but slow.
"Glad to hear it." Russell smiled and said no more.
For a while, the only sound left in the dining room was the faint, crisp clinking of knives and forks against porcelain plates.
Sunlight streamed through the window, casting this small little corner in a warm, bright glow.
"The Hannigan case—any progress?" Russell asked.
"Mm." Charlotte nodded, pushing the empty plate in her hands aside.
"Those files Lestrade sent over turned out to be a bit more valuable than I expected."
"How so?"
"They've narrowed things down to a relatively manageable scope," Charlotte said.
"Barring any surprises, I should be able to pin down the culprit from it today."
"Sounds like it's going pretty smoothly." Russell remained noncommittal. "So does that mean I won't have to get up early tomorrow?"
"What are you thinking?" Charlotte shot him a glance. "What I meant was—not until this case is over."
"Uh-huh?"
"How can it count as over when the culprit hasn't even been brought to justice?" Charlotte asked. "Don't think about weaseling out of it."
"...Fine, fine, you're the boss." Russell shrugged.
After finishing his own portion of breakfast, he pulled out a napkin and wiped the corner of his mouth, then rose to his feet.
"I left a portion for Mrs. Hudson too, covered with a warming lid. If she wakes up, remember to remind her."
"Got it." Charlotte nodded.
Russell said nothing more. He grabbed a piece of finished toast, clamped it between his teeth, and turned to head out the door.
·
"Well now, not late today for once."
As Russell strolled unhurriedly into the classroom, Mary's voice drifted over from that familiar corner, laced with teasing.
"Any later and I'd have nothing left to save face with—let alone the fact that I got up at the crack of dawn to make breakfast and buy the morning paper." Russell pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Morning."
"Morning." Mary smiled in reply, then closed the poetry collection in her hands and spoke with a hint of curiosity:
"Made breakfast and bought the morning paper? Why get up early just for that? Couldn't you just buy it on the way here, like you always do?"
"Because I had to prepare it for Charlotte." Russell yawned and rubbed the corner of his eye.
At that, Mary raised an eyebrow. "Prepare it for Charlotte? Why?"
There was a trace of envy in the girl's tone that even she hadn't quite noticed.
Or rather—jealousy.
"What did she promise you in return?"
"Nothing much, really." Russell slumped over the desk, speaking listlessly. "It's just that something rather delicate happened yesterday... a bit of a neighborly dispute."
"A neighborly dispute?"
"Don't worry about it. The upshot is that in the end I apologized, she forgave me, and then the two of us reached a certain agreement.
She'll find the culprit in the Hannigan case, and I'll be responsible for her breakfast and morning paper until the case is closed—simple as that."
"I get the feeling you're deliberately glossing over something." Mary narrowed her eyes.
"I just left out a few unnecessary details, that's all—wouldn't want it to sound too... long-winded."
"Hmph." The girl let out a soft snort, regarding Russell with a scrutinizing, appraising look.
Since he said it was unnecessary, that meant it was very necessary indeed.
"Why is it that a dispute between the two of you would end up being settled with the Hannigan case?"
she pressed.
"Just chalk it up to her competitive streak flaring up," Russell shrugged. "I told her that you'd contacted The Guardian, and that in a couple of days you'd be able to clear Moriarty's name.
After she heard that, she figured it was something she could pull off too—and without even needing to go to a newspaper. Just catch the culprit directly.
And then... well, you get the idea."
Hearing this, the smile on Mary's face froze.
No way, girl.
You're competing over this too? Are you trying to make it impossible for the rest of us to live?
Looks like I'll have to pick up the pace. Can't let that damned bastard live too long.
A flicker of shadow flashed across the depths of the girl's eyes, but it was reined in the very next instant.
The two of them chatted a bit more, and then the class bell rang, and the Professor walked in through the doorway.
"Oh right, here's your notes back." Russell took the notebook out of his bag and, as always, handed it back to Mary.
Mary took it casually, spread it open, and laid it out on the desk.
As the lesson went on, the person beside her gradually went still, sinking into a sleep as peaceful as a baby's.
Mary tilted her head to glance at him, then slowly drew her gaze back, her fingers restlessly beginning to flip through the page numbers of the notebook.
When she looked at that doodle of the two of them dancing together, she couldn't help the corners of her mouth curving upward.
There was no new doodle beside it.
Whether it was because that detective was too busy to spare a look, or because he simply had no new inspiration to put to paper, she couldn't say.
In any case, in this little contest, she still had the upper hand.
Watching the blackboard, the girl mused over what she should draw today.
There wasn't quite enough room left on this page.
With that thought, she turned the page, ready to begin a fresh new chapter.
And then—she froze on the spot.
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