As that question dropped, 221B Baker Street seemed to fall into a kind of dead silence.
The sound of dishwashing in the kitchen had vanished, leaving only the gentle trickle of running water.
Russell sat across from Charlotte, cradling a glass of water in his hands, quietly watching her.
Charlotte's expression had frozen on her face, her hand holding the coffee cup suspended in midair.
In those grey-blue eyes surfaced a rare bewilderment and confusion, along with a flash of panic that vanished as quickly as it came.
"Wh... what?" she said, hearing her own voice stammer, as though her tongue had tied itself in knots.
"What kind of question is that?" she couldn't help but ask.
"Don't be nervous, Charlotte." Russell watched Charlotte's flustered, at-a-loss demeanor and smiled reassuringly.
"We're only simulating an interview. This is a very common way of phrasing a question."
"I... I know." Charlotte cleared her throat. "But would those reporters really ask this kind of question?"
"Mm... depends on the situation," Russell said after a moment's thought.
"Depends how?"
"Simply put, if you're single, then they'll generally ask this kind of question," Russell explained.
"Of course, if you're not single, they'll still ask similar questions.
For instance, how you and your partner met, or what made you fall in love with each other, and so on...
The common folk just love this sort of thing—their fondness for it even exceeds those so-called office power struggles."
He paused, looked at Charlotte, and continued:
"Compared to that so-called detective label you carry, what the public is really curious about is what kind of person you actually are once that label is stripped away.
Believe it or not, if Moriarty could sit there and be interviewed, the questions he'd be asked would probably be about the same as yours."
"..." Charlotte fell silent.
Russell repeated that question once more, only this time his tone was more formal, just like a real reporter.
"So, Miss Charlotte Holmes—may I ask, what sort of standards do you have for your future partner?"
Charlotte pressed her lips together, her mind racing at top speed, yet she couldn't arrive at an answer to this question.
At this moment her Mind Palace had practically turned over everything it could possibly dig up, yet it still couldn't produce a single suitable response.
Standards for choosing a partner?
She'd never thought about anything like that.
Forget standards—from birth until now, it likely had never even occurred to her to choose a partner at all.
"I..." Charlotte opened her mouth, only to find her throat somewhat dry.
Countless words, logics, and possibilities crisscrossed and collided in her mind, ultimately dissolving into an unreadable mass of gibberish.
Thinking carefully—if it were Mycroft, how would he answer?
Charlotte's eyes brightened for a brief instant, then she cleared her throat, resumed her usual posture, and said in a cold tone:
"No comment."
"Mm... an evasive answer," Russell raised an eyebrow. "That should work too, I suppose. Though I thought you'd give some standard answer like, first of all he'd have to be smarter than you."
"That would be too stupid." Charlotte pursed her lips, her tone carrying a trace of disdain, as though to cover up her momentary lapse of composure just now.
"That sort of person simply doesn't exist."
"Alright," Russell nodded, offering no rebuttal.
"Based on your answer and your handling of it, the final conclusion I've reached is—let me have a talk with Mycroft."
He said.
"You're not suited to answering reporters' questions, Charlotte. You're no good at dealing with those people. I'll handle it."
"I'm just..." Charlotte opened her mouth, seeming to want to retort something.
But looking into Russell's eyes, she ultimately swallowed the words back down.
"Fine, fine, I get it." She rose with a hint of impatience. "If you enjoy wrangling with those reporters, then go right ahead."
She downed the coffee in her cup in one gulp, then turned and walked toward the stairs.
Russell rose as well, following behind Charlotte.
The two of them climbed the stairs and entered Charlotte's room.
Then Charlotte picked up the telephone and dialed the number.
"I'm looking for Mycroft," she said.
After a moment, Charlotte handed the receiver to Russell.
Russell took the receiver and spoke first: "Good evening, Mr. Mycroft."
As his words fell, Mycroft's gentle voice immediately came through from the other end.
"Good evening, Mr. Watson. Charlotte says you have something to discuss with me?"
"Yes," Russell nodded. "It's only a small matter, but I felt a bit uneasy about it, so I wanted to confirm with you."
"What small matter?" Mycroft asked.
"It's like this. Last week, Charlotte and I agreed to The Times that we'd sit down with them this Saturday for an exclusive interview."
"An exclusive interview?" Mycroft's tone took on a note of surprise. "Is it the kind I'm thinking of?"
"Barring any surprises... it should be," Russell said. "Although the subject of the interview is Charlotte, but... you understand."
"I understand your meaning, Mr. Watson," Mycroft said.
"So, I'm guessing you've come to ask me which matters may be brought up during the interview and which ones need to be avoided—am I right?"
"Exactly, Mr. Mycroft."
"A very prudent approach, Mr. Watson," Mycroft said approvingly. "I'm glad Charlotte has an assistant like you."
"Mainly it's to avoid causing you any trouble," Russell said with a modest smile.
"Then, to keep it short." Mycroft cleared his throat.
"Most matters, if the reporters bring them up on their own, you're free to discuss. There's no need for concern on that point."
"Most—does that include Buckingham Palace?" Russell asked.
"It includes it, and yet it doesn't," Mycroft said.
"Buckingham Palace is directly tied to the dignity of the royal family, so some things may be said, but some things cannot be said—do you understand?
You are an honored guest of Buckingham Palace; that much you can openly display to the reporters, but you must mind your discretion."
"Simply put..." Russell was silent for a moment, then said:
"I may show it off, but not overdo it. Stir the curiosity of the reporters and the public, but never reveal the truth.
Within the permitted bounds, display our professionalism as much as possible, along with our good working relationship with Buckingham Palace.
That way, Buckingham Palace's credibility and prestige are endorsed by London's great detective, Charlotte Holmes.
And Charlotte, in turn, can use this to demonstrate her own authority in the public eye.
Mutual benefit—am I right?"
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, followed by a soft chuckle from Mycroft.
"Mr. Watson, I must admit, you've summed it up far better than I could myself."
His voice carried undisguised approval. "Talking with clever people is just this easy."
"You flatter me," Russell said with a smile, his expression showing just the right measure of modesty.
"Then let's do it as you've said," Mycroft's voice returned to its usual steadiness.
"This is the bottom line, and also the ceiling. I trust that with your intelligence, you'll grasp the proper measure of it very well."
"Of course."
"Very good," Mycroft was quite satisfied with this answer.
"Then, I won't disturb the two of you any longer.
Oh, that's right—regarding that matter I mentioned to you last time, how have your thoughts on it come along?"
"That matter?" Russell was taken aback for a moment. "You mean..."
"I've been rather busy lately, and I keep thinking that if there were someone who could help me handle these affairs, it might make things a good deal easier."
Mycroft hinted.
"Ah, you mean that..." Russell suddenly realized.
Just as he was pondering how to respond, Charlotte, standing to the side, suddenly stepped forward and snatched the receiver from Russell's hand.
"It's getting late, Mycroft, you can go to sleep now."
And then—
"Click."
The call was cut off.
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