Mary quietly watched Russell's sleeping face, countless questions racing through her mind.
Why had this man's combat skills improved so dramatically in such a short time?
Why did his entire demeanor change the moment he put on the phantom thief's outfit?
Not only his voice, but even his very appearance seemed to blur and grow indistinct, making it difficult for her to recognize who he really was in that moment.
And how, exactly, had he managed to subdue six armed robbers all by himself in the underground vault of Lloyds Bank?
All of these questions remained unanswered to this day, and there was little hope they would be solved in the near future.
Fortunately, the most important question had already been resolved.
As for the rest, those trivial loose ends, the girl simply regarded them as additional homework.
Each time a mystery was cleared up, her understanding of the man beside her deepened. There was its own kind of fun in that.
When you are immersed in happiness, time passes in the blink of an eye.
Before she knew it, the pure white sky outside the classroom windows had turned a dim shade of yellow.
The instant the professor announced the end of class, Russell snapped back to reality from his drowsy state as if someone had set off an alarm clock in his head.
He yawned and rubbed his still sleepy eyes.
A moment later, a notebook was handed to him.
"Sleeping really soundly," Mary commented from the side. "Did you have a nice dream?"
"I dreamed Professor Fields said I didn't need to write the final paper and that he'd pass me anyway. Does that count as a nice dream?" Russell replied vaguely.
"If you're going to dream, you might as well dream something good," Mary looked at him helplessly.
"No." Russell shook his head.
"Why not?"
"You shouldn't dream about things that can't possibly happen. Otherwise, the disappointment when you wake up is going to be huge."
"…It somehow feels like Her Majesty personally handing you a passing grade isn't entirely out of the realm of possibility," Mary muttered.
"Maybe?" Russell widened his eyes, then Mary gently tapped the notebook in front of him.
"Alright, let's go."
"Knew it." Russell stuffed the notes into his bag, got to his feet, and left the classroom together with Mary.
The two walked side by side along a golden path bathed in the evening sun. They were quiet, yet their figures stood out and drew the eye.
From time to time, he still heard faint notification chimes in his head announcing that some Malice Points had increased, but to the current Russell, that was no more than the buzzing of a mosquito.
Besides, it had already been a month. He no longer cared about such things.
If he kept hanging around with those lowlifes, how was he ever going to become a respectable phantom thief?
They had to aim higher, grow larger and stronger, and create a new legend!
When they reached a fork in the road, Mary was the first to stop by her carriage.
"Alright," she turned to Russell, "see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow." Russell nodded and walked off in the direction of Baker Street.
Mary stood there, watching him until his figure gradually vanished from view. Only then did she turn back and walk toward her own carriage.
…
Evening, 221B Baker Street.
Russell opened the door and greeted Mrs. Hudson. Before he could even sit down and have a drink, Charlotte's voice drifted down from the second floor.
"Watson, if you're back, come up. Now."
Hearing this, Russell raised an eyebrow, glanced at the ceiling, then looked at Mrs. Hudson.
"Did something happen today?"
"I don't think so." Mrs. Hudson thought for a moment, then shook her head.
But she added, "I do remember she was on the telephone with someone around noon. Either Lestrade or Mycroft."
Russell set down his glass of water, then stood and headed upstairs.
Pushing the door open, he found Charlotte sitting on the sofa. The wall that had been covered in information about the Professor had been flipped over.
The side that used to be blank was now plastered with countless newspaper clippings.
When he looked around, everything his eyes fell on was part of a monotonous collection of Moriarty's handiwork.
"What's wrong? Something big happen?" Russell's gaze followed the wall where his own movements had been mapped out, then finally rested on Charlotte.
"Mycroft called around noon," Charlotte said.
"I thought it'd be Lestrade," Russell sat down on the sofa.
"Lestrade is probably far too busy right now." Charlotte chuckled in a tone that sounded suspiciously like she was gloating over someone else's misfortune.
Russell couldn't help laughing as well—and right on cue, a notification popped up in his mind.
[Malice Points from Inspector Lestrade +50]
"So," Russell paused for a beat, "what does Mycroft want with you?"
"Take a guess?"
"The only thing I'm sure of is that it has to do with Moriarty—more specifically, with the Buckingham Palace incident."
"Mhm." Charlotte avoided giving a direct answer. "Her Majesty seems to be quite angry."
"They only stole a snuffbox. There's no way that was her personal belonging, right?" Russell played the fool with convincing earnestness.
"According to Mycroft, Moriarty took more than just the snuffbox," Charlotte said, getting up and walking toward the information wall. "The snuffbox was found around noon yesterday."
"To be honest, if it really were only the snuffbox, I doubt Her Majesty would be this furious. It's not as if they've never been robbed before."
"So what was it then?"
"Based on the information Mycroft provided, Moriarty's real target during the Buckingham Palace break-in was Princess Louise Edward," Charlotte said. "He slipped into the princess's room, stole her favorite music box, left a card, and vanished. Oh, and he broke a few antiques on his way in. Mycroft is considering whether or not to press charges against him."
Russell's lips twitched, and a look of shock spread across his face.
"I can't believe Mary got it right."
"Hm?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "What did she guess?"
"She talked to me in class today about what might have happened," Russell told Charlotte how Mary's guess had been spot on.
"She said it wasn't Moriarty's style, and that the snuffbox was probably just a pretext."
After listening, Charlotte thought for a moment, then nodded. "That's a good line of reasoning."
"So, why did Mycroft call you?" Russell steered the conversation back to the main point. "Does he want you to go catch Moriarty?"
"From a consequentialist standpoint, yes," Charlotte nodded.
Hearing this, Russell frowned, his voice full of puzzlement.
"How are you supposed to catch him? Leaving aside whether or not he's working with Moriarty, even if they aren't in cahoots, we don't have a single lead. Where are we supposed to start looking?"
"There's no need to look for him." Charlotte tore her gaze away from the information wall and smiled at Russell. "He's coming to see me."
…