Hearing Charlotte's words, Russell paused for a moment, then chuckled. "I thought for sure you'd make me pay, or have Mrs. Hudson reimburse you."
"I have my own money," Charlotte replied, shooting him an exasperated look. "Don't treat me like some parasite."
"Sorry," Russell said with a smile. "In that case, we'll do as you wish."
He paused, then added, "Why not write down your thought process right now?"
"Why?" Charlotte looked puzzled. "Can't I just tell you?"
"Some things are better preserved in writing," Russell said.
"Writing is such a bother—do it yourself." Charlotte picked up her coffee cup. "I can tell you orally."
"Hmm… that works too." Russell shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
After all, Watson had done the same thing in the original stories. He casually reached for a blank notebook on the table, pen gripped in his other hand like a student preparing for a dictation test.
"You can start reading whenever you like," Russell said. "Just don't speak too fast."
"Where should I begin?" Charlotte sat down beside him and asked.
"Hmm." Russell thought for a second. "Let's start from the moment you received Lestrade's call. I'll write it in first-person perspective."
"I see." She set down her coffee cup, cleared her throat, and began speaking in a calm, polite tone.
The girl's voice echoed through the quiet room. Russell's pen raced across the paper, recording every word exactly as she spoke. He never once glanced at the girl beside him, writing swiftly and intently.
Charlotte stole a quick look at Russell, then deliberately slowed her pace, her voice taking on the cadence of someone reading a novel aloud. She clearly and systematically laid out the entire chain of reasoning—from the on-site investigation and Lestrade's reaction, through the search for clues and their connections, all the way to the final identification of the culprit. The process was as polished as a well-structured academic paper, beginning with a hypothesis and ending with a case study.
"…In short, the answer is already obvious."
When she finished, Charlotte picked up her coffee, took a sip, and moistened her slightly dry throat.
"Bilson killed Hannigan."
"All right." Russell stopped writing at the same time and rubbed his wrist. He lifted the densely written manuscript, blew on it to dry the ink, then checked it carefully once more. Only after confirming there were no typos or omissions did he nod with satisfaction.
"Worthy of a great detective—her logic is crystal clear, and her reasoning is impeccable." He let out a heartfelt sigh. "With this much material, we could probably publish an entire collection of Charlotte Holmes stories."
"I'm not that free," Charlotte said, puffing out her cheeks.
Russell neatly folded the manuscript and slipped it into an envelope. "Well then, I'm off to Fleet Street." He stood up. "Anything else you want to say?"
"Make sure the payments to The Times and The Guardian are split into two separate installments."
"Two copies?" Russell raised one eyebrow.
"If you don't want the money, you can always ask them to give your share to me," Charlotte said without looking up.
"In that case, forget it." Russell smiled, then walked toward the door. "I'll be going now. Please tell Mrs. Hudson not to wait for me at dinner."
"Mm." Charlotte answered lightly and turned her attention back to the pile of documents.
Russell glanced back once, then left the room.
Fleet Street was as lively as ever. Even at night the area glowed brightly. Russell wove skillfully through the crowd and headed straight into the Times building.
"Good evening." He smiled at the receptionist who looked vaguely familiar. "I'm here to see Mr. Henry Scott."
"Mr. Watson, please wait a moment." The receptionist clearly remembered him. "I'll let him know right away."
Moments later, Henry descended the stairs with a warm smile. "Good evening, Mr. Watson," he said, extending his hand. "It's an honor. Is this a letter from Moriarty?"
"No. It's from Charlotte Holmes." Russell shook his hand and handed over the envelope. "Charlotte has identified the murderer."
"Really?" Henry accepted the envelope with disbelief, muttering to himself. "It's only been one day! Incredible!"
When he saw the neatly written pages filled with logically sound deductions, his hands trembled slightly. "This is wonderful!" he exclaimed excitedly. "This will definitely be tomorrow's biggest story!"
"Of course," Russell nodded. "But I hope you understand—this headline isn't yours alone."
"What do you mean?" Henry was momentarily speechless.
"Miss Charlotte asked me to send a copy of the manuscript to The Guardian as well," Russell explained.
The moment he heard that, Henry's smile vanished. "The Guardian? Why?" He looked confused. "We had an agreement, didn't we…?"
"I'm just the messenger, Mr. Scott," Russell cut in. "If you want to know the reason, you should ask Miss Holmes herself."
Henry's expression shifted several times before he finally let out a helpless sigh. "Understood." He carefully tucked away the manuscript—more than enough to spark a fresh wave of public opinion.
"Now, about the royalties…"
"The settlement will be split in two—one half to me, the other to Charlotte," Russell said.
"Yes, no problem." Henry nodded at once.
"What did Miss Holmes say about the interview?"
"I'll notify you of the exact time next week." Russell finished speaking, turned, and prepared to leave.
"Then I'll look forward to good news."
Russell said nothing more, simply waved and disappeared into the crowd. He walked straight to The Guardian's office without stopping.
When Edgar heard the news, his reaction was identical to Henry's—first pure delight, then shock and anger upon learning The Times had the same article. In the end he had no choice but to accept the situation and pay up honestly. They even asked how much The Times had paid and added an extra ten pounds on top.
Yes—everyone was on board. Russell slipped the money into his pocket with satisfaction.
After finishing all his tasks, Russell left Fleet Street looking thoroughly pleased with himself. His pockets now held quite substantial royalties from two different sources.
When he returned to 221B Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson had already retired for the night. A sandwich had been left on the table for him.
Russell grabbed the sandwich, took a big bite, then hurried upstairs and pushed open Charlotte's door.
"Back already?" Charlotte looked up at him.
"Mm." Russell nodded and handed her one of the envelopes. "Your share."
Charlotte reached out, took it, and without even counting the contents, tossed it straight back to him.
"?"
Russell caught the envelope in a panic, staring at her in confusion. Are you just throwing money away?
"Leave the safekeeping to you," Charlotte said. "Entrust both to me for storage."
Russell stared at the two envelopes in his hands, momentarily stunned.
"Do you really think my room has space for all of this?"
Charlotte glanced at him and spoke in her usual nonchalant tone.
Russell was silent for a long moment, then sighed helplessly. "Fine. I'll keep them." He slipped both envelopes into his pocket.
"Then… could you move a little?" Russell asked.
"Huh?"
"I want to record your expenses," Russell said matter-of-factly. "I'd rather avoid a future argument over who gets this money."
Charlotte was taken aback for a second, then immediately pursed her lips and stood up from her chair. "Doing unnecessary things."
…
…
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