"Feels... about the same. Last time we also ended up with two numbers.
"Only last time they were coordinates, and this time it's a passcode," Charlotte said.
"Six digits, and we've already got two of them."
"Eight and nine—four more to go." Russell poked at the chicken breast on his plate.
"We don't even know which of those two is the beginning and which is the end, let alone that the passcode is six digits total.
"That kind of arrangement... comes to a total of..."
"199,262 possibilities," Charlotte said.
"The combination locks in common use across Britain today—the key components are usually made of brass or mild steel, with an operating lifespan of roughly five to ten thousand uses.
"Precision locks like the Swiss-imported ones at Lloyds Bank last a bit longer, somewhere around twenty to fifty thousand uses.
"So... even if we used the exhaustive search method and tried them all from beginning to end, we'd likely wear out that lock cylinder before we ever landed on the answer."
"So it's essentially a wasted trip?" Russell asked.
"The digits eight and nine both feel pretty... commonly used. Trying to screen through that file using just these two numbers doesn't seem very practical," he said.
"Nearly all twenty-seven of those personnel files include both of these numbers."
"Which is exactly why I hate this kind of meaningless, repetitive labor."
Charlotte sighed and slipped a piece of roast chicken breast into her mouth.
"Why don't we just dump the whole thing on Lestrade?"
"Then I'm afraid that instead of waiting for Lestrade's promotion banquet, we'd first be attending his funeral."
Russell curled his lip. "And the cause of death would be sudden collapse—who says there's no such thing as a perfect crime in this world?"
At that, Charlotte shot him a withering look, then sank back into that same languid posture.
"I still can't figure out why Charles reacted so violently the moment Pilsen was mentioned."
Charlotte prodded at the peas on her plate with her fork.
"Doctor Vanessa is right, and within my profile it's perfectly logical too.
"No matter how you look at it, Charles has no reason to fear Pilsen."
"Perhaps... there's some dark, heavy secret between Pilsen and Charles too?" Russell said.
"After all, they were both in the same dirty line of work—even the reasons Pilsen and Charles got drummed out of the army were similar, both for serious violations of military discipline.
"For all we know, what Pilsen did was far worse than what Charles did."
"That's not impossible either," Charlotte said noncommittally, though her furrowed brow still refused to relax.
"But this fear came on too suddenly, too violently.
"Like a spring that had been compressed for a long time, exploding the instant it reached its critical point."
"Could it be Stockholm syndrome?" Russell offered another guess.
"Stockholm syndrome doesn't present like this," Charlotte dismissed without a second's thought.
"If Charles Brown really had Stockholm syndrome, then right now he'd be a fanatical Moriarty fan."
"I suppose that's true." Russell sighed. "Then I really can't think of anything else."
"If you could, you'd be the one sitting in Vanessa's chair," Charlotte teased.
She paused, as though something had occurred to her, then went on:
"Watching your expression and bearing while you talked with Charles, you actually looked rather the part.
"After you graduate, you might as well just send your résumé straight here. That way you'd not only get to eat at this cafeteria, you'd get paid too."
"Sure," Russell nodded. "We can both submit ours here then."
"Me?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "Submit what?"
"I'll send my résumé here," Russell pointed at himself, then pointed at Charlotte.
"You'll submit your medical records."
Charlotte's face went dark in an instant. She kept up the posture of eating, but beneath the table her foot had already lifted.
The next moment—
"Bang!"
The sole of her shoe came down hard against the floor with a dull thud, drawing sidelong glances from the other diners in the restaurant.
At the very last instant before her foot landed, Russell whipped his own foot back, leaving Charlotte to stomp on empty air.
Seeing this, Charlotte's expression grew even grimmer.
"Looks like someone finds life on Baker Street a little too comfortable and is missing the afternoon tea at Buckingham Palace?"
"See, there you go getting worked up again." Russell shook his head.
"I do wonder how long it'd take for a carriage from Buckingham Palace to get here."
"I apologize, I apologize—will that do?"
"If apologies were any use, what would we need Scotland Yard for?"
"Then what more do you want?" Russell spread his hands. "Starting tomorrow, one extra fried egg at breakfast."
"Two," Charlotte spat out coldly.
"Deal," Russell nodded readily.
Off to the side, Doctor Vanessa watched this pair of partners and gave a somewhat helpless shake of her head.
"Ah, to be young."
After lunch, the two of them didn't leave right away.
Vanessa invited them to her office for a cup of tea, and to discuss Charles's next course of treatment along the way.
Naturally, Charlotte and Russell had no objections—after all, the sanatorium's refreshments really did taste quite good.
Though a letter from Moriarty still awaited their attention back on Baker Street, a little while longer wouldn't hurt.
"So, what do you think we should do next?" Inside the office, Vanessa poured them both tea and got straight to the point.
"I don't know—this is your area of expertise, Madam Vanessa," Russell said.
"However, if I judge from the standpoint of a professional physician, then the best approach really would be to stop provoking him. Give him enough time to walk out of this shadow," Vanessa said.
"That runs directly counter to your goal."
"Perhaps we could take an indirect, roundabout approach," Charlotte said.
"Charles does remember that string of numbers—it's just that, for him, recalling them is somewhat difficult.
"But what if we gave up on making him recall it, and instead approached from a different angle?"
As she spoke, Charlotte looked up at Vanessa.
"Do you think this method could work?"
"Approach from a different angle?" Vanessa raised an eyebrow. "Miss Holmes, you mean—"
"The subconscious—or rather, the conditioned reflex," Charlotte said.
"The subconscious?" Vanessa repeated the word, a flicker of thought passing through the eyes behind her lenses.
"Human memory is a wondrous thing, Doctor Vanessa," Charlotte explained.
"Very often, even when our conscious mind has forgotten certain things, they still linger in some hidden form within our subconscious.
"Just like muscle memory—once a specific condition is triggered, these memories are awakened."
"I understand your meaning, Miss Holmes," Vanessa nodded.
"There's no need to explain it in such detail."
"Oh, I was explaining it for that fellow's benefit." Charlotte pointed at Russell beside her.
"...?"
Russell blinked.
At that, Vanessa couldn't help letting out a soft laugh, then cleared her throat.
"This might be a viable line of thought. I'll have a careful talk with my other colleagues about it when the time comes."
"Of course," Charlotte nodded.
For the time that followed, the three of them held a brief exchange revolving around Charles's condition.
When the hour hand of the clock on the wall pointed to three in the afternoon, Russell and Charlotte finally rose to take their leave.
"Well then, we'll be on our way now, Doctor Vanessa."
Russell said with a smile, "Thank you for your hospitality."
"You're welcome." Vanessa also stood, seeing the two of them to the door. She was about to turn back when, as though remembering something, she suddenly spoke up.
"Oh, right—Miss Holmes."
"Hm?" Charlotte, about to leave, stopped in her tracks and turned her head, a trace of puzzlement in her eyes.
"Regarding Charles's condition, I have a few more... hm, rather personal thoughts. Perhaps we could speak about them privately."
Vanessa said.
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