221B Baker Street fell into a death-like silence.
The clatter of dishes from the kitchen had ceased; only the faint sound of running water remained.
Russell sat across from Charlotte, glass of water in hand, quietly watching her.
Charlotte's expression was frozen. Her hand holding the coffee cup hung suspended in the air. Her gray-blue eyes showed rare confusion and bewilderment—almost panic.
"W-What did you say?"
Her voice trembled as though her tongue had tied itself in knots.
"What's the problem?"
She couldn't help asking.
"Don't be nervous, Charlotte."
Russell smiled reassuringly at her flustered state.
"We were only doing a mock interview. It's a perfectly normal question."
"O-Okay."
Charlotte cleared her throat. "But do reporters really ask things like that?"
"Hmm… depends on the situation."
Russell thought for a moment.
"How do you distinguish the scenarios"?
"Simply put, if you're single, they'll usually ask something along those lines."
Russell explained.
"Of course, even if you're not single, they might still ask similar questions—like how you and your partner met and fell in love."
"The general public prefers this kind of gossip far more than so-called office politics."
He paused, looked at Charlotte, and continued.
"What the world really wants to know isn't the detective title you carry, but the person you are once that title is removed."
"Believe it or not, even if Moriarty were interviewed, the questions thrown at him wouldn't be much different from the ones aimed at you."
Charlotte fell silent.
Russell repeated the question, this time in the polite, professional tone of a real journalist.
"Well then, Ms. Charlotte Holmes—what qualities do you seek in a future partner?"
Charlotte pursed her lips. Her mind raced, yet no answer surfaced. Her mind palace searched every corner but found nothing suitable.
What are the criteria for choosing a spouse?
She had never once considered such a thing. Criteria didn't matter. Since birth she had probably never thought about choosing a partner at all.
"I…" Charlotte opened her mouth, throat suddenly dry.
Countless words, logic, and possibilities collided in her head until they dissolved into an indecipherable mess.
Think carefully. What would Mycroft say?
For a brief moment her eyes brightened, but she quickly cleared her throat, regained her composure, and spoke in her usual cold tone.
"Hmm… an ambiguous answer might work," Russell raised an eyebrow. "But I expected you to give the cliché reply—'First, they must not be smarter than me.'"
"That's utterly ridiculous."
Charlotte twisted her lips, contempt flickering across her face as she tried to mask her momentary loss of control.
"Such a person doesn't even exist."
"Fine."
Russell nodded and offered no further argument.
"Based on your answer and reaction, my final conclusion is—let me speak with Mycroft."
He said calmly.
"Charlotte, you're not suited to answering reporters' questions. You're terrible at dealing with people like that. I'll handle it instead."
"But…" Charlotte began to protest, then met Russell's steady gaze and swallowed the rest of her words.
"Fine, fine, fine."
She stood up irritably. "If you enjoy arguing with reporters so much, be my guest."
She drained her coffee in one gulp, turned, and headed for the stairs.
Russell rose and followed her up to her room.
Charlotte picked up the telephone receiver and dialed.
"I'm calling for Mycroft."
After a short wait she handed the receiver to Russell.
Russell took it. "Good evening, Mr. Mycroft."
Mycroft's calm voice answered immediately.
["Good evening, Mr. Watson. Charlotte said you wished to speak with me."]
"Yes," Russell nodded. "It's a small matter, but I'm a bit uneasy, so I wanted to confirm something with you."
["What sort of small matter?"]
"Well… Charlotte and I agreed to an interview with The Times last Saturday."
["An exclusive interview?"]
A hint of surprise colored Mycroft's tone.
["The kind I'm thinking of?"]
"Assuming nothing unexpected happens, that should be the end of it."
Russell said.
"Charlotte gave the interview, but… well, you understand what I mean."
["I understand perfectly, Mr. Watson."]
["In other words, you came to ask me what may and may not be discussed during the interview?"]
"That's correct, Mr. Mycroft."
"A very wise decision, young Watson," Mycroft approved. "Charlotte is fortunate to have an assistant like you."
"It's mainly to avoid causing you trouble."
Russell smiled modestly.
"Let's keep this brief."
Mycroft cleared his throat.
"If the reporter asks directly, you may speak about most matters. No need to worry on that front."
"Including Buckingham Palace?"
"Including… and yet not including."
Mycroft explained.
"Buckingham Palace is directly tied to the royal family's image. There are things you may say and things you must not. Do you understand?"
[You are a guest of Buckingham Palace. You may confidently mention it, but exercise appropriate caution.]
"In simple terms…" Russell paused. "It's fine to show off a little, but don't overdo it. You should spark the curiosity of reporters and the public without ever revealing the full truth."
"Within acceptable bounds we will emphasize our high level of professionalism and excellent cooperative relationship with Buckingham Palace. Thus the credibility and prestige of Buckingham Palace are endorsed by London's famous detective Charlotte Holmes. Charlotte can also use this opportunity to display her own authority in the public eye."
"We complement each other nicely, don't we?"
A brief silence followed, then Mycroft's soft chuckle came through the line.
"Mr. Watson, I must admit your summary is far superior to mine."
Unmistakable approval colored his voice. "It's truly easy to speak with intelligent people."
"Thank you for the compliment."
Russell smiled, his expression perfectly humble.
"Then we'll proceed your way," Mycroft's tone returned to its usual calm. "This is both the minimum standard and the upper limit. With your wisdom you should grasp the balance perfectly."
"Indeed."
"Excellent." Mycroft sounded satisfied.
"I won't keep you any longer. By the way, what did you think about the matter we discussed last time?"
"That matter?"
Russell hesitated. "You mean…?"
"I've been extremely busy lately. It would be much easier if someone could assist me with these tasks."
Mycroft hinted.
"Ah… so that's what you meant…" Russell suddenly understood.
Just as he was considering his reply, Charlotte suddenly stepped forward and snatched the receiver from his hand.
"It's late, Mycroft. Go to sleep already."
Click.
The call ended.
…