The bell marking the end of the final class rang.
The professor closed his lesson plan and announced the end of the day's lecture. Before leaving, he glanced at Russell with a satisfied expression—one that seemed to say, This boy has finally grown up.
During the lesson he had glanced toward Russell's seat several times. Each time he confirmed the young man was awake, he had come dangerously close to declaring him expelled. The classroom had gained one serious student, but lost one living, ticking alarm clock.
Once the professor departed, Russell finally exhaled in relief and collapsed heavily into his chair.
"I feel even more exhausted than when I was running around outside all day," he grumbled wearily.
"Good work today."
Mary closed the notebook she had just finished and handed it to him with a faintly sarcastic tone.
"In a few more weeks we'll be free… though it's a little sad to leave."
"Don't say such malicious things."
Russell reached out and accepted the notebook.
"I'm being serious."
Mary stared straight into his eyes as she spoke.
Russell froze for a second, remembering what she had told him at the Phaidon Tearoom last Saturday. After a brief silence he casually stuffed the notebook into his bag.
"Today's a holiday. We won't see each other again, and we don't have to care about school bells anymore. Isn't that perfect?"
Mary stood up and followed him, glancing back.
"If Father finds out I sneaked out with you, he might lock me in a cell."
"He's finally putting on that arrogant attitude again."
Russell said it lightly.
"If he can keep treating me the way he does now even after reading Saturday's newspaper interview, I'll acknowledge him as a real man."
"Are you that confident?"
Mary raised an eyebrow. "Is the draft finished?"
"Not yet." Russell shook his head. "But I already have a rough idea of what I should say—and what I can say."
"Even if The Times exaggerates a little, it won't just be your father. People all over London will respect me more."
"The person standing before you is Charlotte Holmes's assistant, Moriarty's messenger, a promising talent in Mycroft Holmes's eyes, a guest at Buckingham Palace, a friend of Princess Louise, Inspector Lestrade's interpreter for Charlotte, and an ordinary university student who passed the Imperial College London entrance exam after only three months of self-study."
"With that many titles attached to one person, aren't you a little confused?"
"Well, let's see how it goes."
Mary gave a small laugh.
The two walked side by side down the corridor bathed in golden sunset light until they reached the school gate.
"Well then," Russell stopped, "see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
…
Russell returned to Baker Street. When he opened the door he found Mrs. Hudson bustling about preparing dinner. Charlotte, unusually, was not in her room but sitting on the ground floor with a coffee cup in hand.
"Quite the rare guest."
Curious, Russell sat down across from her and, in doing so, glanced up at the ceiling.
"Did you run a chemical experiment in your room and cause toxic gas to leak out?"
Charlotte paused mid-pour, then looked up at him.
"If you wish, I can make that happen."
"Then please, Ms. Holmes, grant Baker Street a few more peaceful days."
Russell shrugged and poured himself a glass of water.
"I'd rather avoid tomorrow's Times headline reading 'Famous Detective Charlotte Holmes and Assistant Russell Watson Die in Chemical Accident.'"
"Cut."
Charlotte pouted, crossed her legs, and stared at the newspaper in her hands.
"How did you even know your name appeared in the headlines?"
She turned her gaze to Russell.
"It might say something like, 'Famous Detective Charlotte Holmes meets tragic end in chemical accident—neighbors also affected.'"
"That would be far too cruel."
Russell sighed. "I'm supposed to be the assistant, yet I don't even get my name in the paper?"
"Now you finally understand you're the assistant."
Charlotte set her cup down and let out a soft hum through her nose.
"Back then, making you work felt like I was hurting you."
"Alright, enough of that topic."
Russell took a sip of water. "Any progress from Lestrade's side?"
"How could there be?"
Charlotte shook her head, slipping back into her usual languid manner.
"It's only the first day. If Scotland Yard were truly this efficient, we wouldn't need detectives at all."
"True."
Russell still avoided giving a direct answer and took another sip.
Charlotte looked up from the newspaper, studied his face, and frowned.
"Get to the point."
She added, "Don't act like you have something to say but are too scared to say it."
"How did you figure that out?"
Russell blinked in surprise.
"Speak your mind."
Charlotte ignored the question.
"Well, it's nothing important anyway."
Russell paused, then said, "About the Times interview this weekend—if there's anything I should be careful about, please tell me."
"What do you mean by 'things to be careful about'?"
Charlotte countered with a question.
"..." Russell fell silent for a moment, then sighed.
"I suddenly realized asking you this question is pointless."
He stood up. "Call Mycroft for me."
"Why call him?"
"I need to know what I'm allowed to say and what I must avoid so the interview doesn't cause problems."
Russell looked at her.
"Or are you planning to answer the reporters' questions yourself?"
"It's not impossible."
Charlotte lowered her legs and sat up straight.
"As long as the questions don't make me feel too foolish, it's fine."
"You might be overestimating those reporters."
Russell said.
"For example, if they ask, 'Ms. Holmes, what is your favorite hobby at home?' how would you answer?"
"Conducting chemical experiments in my room."
Charlotte replied without hesitation.
"That means performing dangerous experiments in an unregulated environment while ignoring residents' safety."
Russell pointed out.
"Another question they might ask is, 'What are your plans after graduation?'"
"Continue being a detective."
"'Holmes, still undecided about her future path, displayed anxiety toward the future and an attitude of accepting the status quo.'"
"...?"
Charlotte furrowed her brow and looked up at him.
"Are you serious?"
"I guarantee that if you say that, they will write it exactly that way."
Russell spoke with absolute certainty.
Before Charlotte could respond, he paused and threw out another question.
"Ms. Holmes, what are your criteria when choosing a partner?"
…
…
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