"You would consider his feelings, worry if he got hurt, and even feel shaken if he got too close to another woman."
"I wouldn't!" Charlotte cut Mycroft off almost immediately, her voice louder than before, laced with irritation.
"Oh really?" Mycroft raised one eyebrow, though his tone remained calm and unhurried.
"What if the person next to you right now wasn't Russell, but Lestrade? Lestrade's role is much closer to the definition of an 'assistant.'
If Miles asked him during the interview about his relationship with other women, how would you react?"
Charlotte fell silent.
"Would you care about Lestrade's romantic affairs? Or would you be emotionally affected if he had an intimate relationship with another woman? Or would a single comment from him ruin your mood for the entire day?"
Mycroft's questions cut like a sharp scalpel, dissecting Charlotte's disguise—and ultimately her inner self—layer by layer with logic and reason.
"If the target was Lestrade, you wouldn't react no matter what he did."
He gave Charlotte the answer himself.
"Because you don't care about Lestrade at all. To you, Lestrade is… I hate to say it, but he's someone you treat a little rudely.
Yet Lestrade is someone you can summon or dismiss at your own will.
Russell, however, is clearly different. He occupies a far more important place in your heart than Lestrade does."
Hearing this, Charlotte lowered her eyes and stared at the hand holding her teacup.
The liquid inside the glass rippled constantly—because her hand was trembling.
No… I mustn't confuse these two things.
Charlotte said, "You're using a logical fallacy."
"You know," Mycroft's voice carried a faint trace of amusement.
"Charlotte, not only are you starting to lie to me, you're lying to yourself as well.
Have you forgotten the rules of the game between me and my little sister?
No matter what you do, once it's exposed, you have to admit it.
Lies are not allowed."
"I…" Charlotte tried to retort, attempting to make up for her mistake.
"Isn't it interesting?" Mycroft cut her off.
"The Charlotte Holmes who once treated logic as an absolute principle and believed everything must be based on verifiable evidence…
is now relying on the most illogical methods—denial and avoidance—to deal with the problem.
Charlotte, you are no longer the person you used to be."
"Mycroft, what exactly are you trying to say?" Charlotte suddenly raised her face. Flames burned in her gray-blue eyes.
"I was just praising your assistant. Charlotte, I haven't said anything yet."
"My explanation should have been sufficient."
Mycroft shrugged, a perfectly innocent expression on his face.
"You're steering the conversation in a direction you desperately want to avoid, yet you can't help probing in that exact direction."
"...!"
Charlotte was at a loss for words.
The girl's face paled, then flushed red, before finally settling into a long sigh tinged with self-abandonment.
"You win, Mycroft."
She said weakly and collapsed onto the soft sofa.
"Charlotte, I never intended to compete with you over this matter."
Mycroft shook his head. His tone was more serious than before.
"I simply want you to see things—and yourself—clearly. That way, you won't suffer any losses in the future."
"..."
Charlotte turned her face away, clearly unwilling to hear any more of Mycroft's nonsense.
Seeing this, Mycroft smiled.
"If you don't want to hear it, then I won't say anything about what he did with that girl Morstan after school."
The moment he finished speaking, Charlotte's body stiffened for an instant.
The movement was so brief it was almost negligible, but it didn't escape Mycroft's eyes.
Her shoulders tensed slightly, and her face, which had been turned away, seemed to want to look back for a moment before she forced herself to suppress it.
Mycroft watched this scene and deepened the smile at the corners of his mouth.
He didn't rush to speak.
He simply picked up his teacup and slowly took a sip, as though savoring a moment of silence.
Or rather, savoring this rare moment of his little sister being caught in such an embarrassing situation.
The fireplace flames flickered, making soft crackling sounds.
Time ticked by second by second.
In the end, Charlotte couldn't resist.
"…What exactly are you trying to say?"
Her voice was low and deliberately calm, but it was so deliberate that anyone who heard it would immediately know it was an act.
"Nothing."
Mycroft shrugged.
"I'm only saying that I won't go into detail here about what he did with that girl Morstan after school."
"You—"
Charlotte suddenly turned her face and met his gaze.
And she saw the mockery in his eyes.
She realized she had been tricked.
But it was already too late for her to take it back.
"…Explain."
She forced the words out, almost as if squeezing them between her teeth.
Hearing this, Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure you're okay with that?"
Charlotte didn't answer and simply stared at him.
Seeing this, Mycroft set down his teacup and sighed.
"Fine, fine," he said. "If you really want to know so badly…"
He paused and looked at Charlotte's face as though observing an interesting sight.
"First, let me ask one question. You smelled white-tea fragrance on him, didn't you?"
Charlotte nodded. "That's the perfume Mary always uses."
"Excellent. Then the heroine has been decided."
Mycroft nodded.
"First of all, there's no doubt they spent a considerable amount of time together today.
That fragrance lingers for a very long time. Simply passing by someone, walking side by side, or chatting wouldn't make the scent disappear.
Furthermore, Russell said he walked back. As you know, London has been quite windy recently.
If it was really from walking, the scent should have long since faded.
In other words, the conclusion is that they spent at least… hmm… more than an hour together today? I'm not talking about the kind of treatment you get from just sitting next to someone."
As he spoke, his gaze traced Charlotte's face.
Charlotte's expression remained unchanged, but something seemed to have shifted in her eyes.
"Then there's the matter of the wrinkles on his clothes."
Mycroft continued.
"When he came back, there were several unnatural wrinkles on his shoulders, back, and collar area."
He gestured to the places with his hand.
"These wrinkles aren't created by sitting or walking. They're traces left by human intervention.
You understand what I'm saying, don't you? Hugs."
Charlotte's pupils contracted slightly.
"And it wasn't just once. It should have happened more frequently," Mycroft went on.
"A hug might leave wrinkles, but they always slowly return to normal over time.
Given the numerous wrinkles scattered across his body, I suspect at least two—or more—sessions took place."
He paused for a moment, then deepened his smile.
"If there were only two instances, then the second one must have lasted quite a while."
Charlotte remained silent.
"Ah, and then there's his hair."
As if suddenly remembering, Mycroft added.
"Hair?"
"Yes, his hair."
Mycroft nodded. "When he came back, his hair was a little messy.
It wasn't the messiness caused by wind, but rather… the kind caused by someone touching it."
He reached out and made a stroking gesture.
"From the top of his head to the back of his head—someone touched him like this."
The movement was very light and slow, as though trying to soothe something.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes.
"How do you know it was from someone touching it?"
"From the direction and the force."
Mycroft stated.
"If he had done it himself, the situation would have gone in a completely different direction.
But the directionality was clearly arranged by someone else."
He paused for a moment before adding,
"Furthermore, that person should be shorter than him.
From a tactile perspective, she would have to stand on tiptoe or make him lower his head.
However, considering the conclusions drawn from the previous hug, it seems the phantom thief also has a childish side."
Charlotte listened intently to Mycroft's explanation, her lips tightly pressed together, unconsciously reconstructing the scene in her mind.
Then her fingers instinctively curled and clenched tightly.
"Since you've already accepted it, why not make a bolder guess?"
Mycroft's voice rang out again.
"After all, these are merely actions we can discover and that leave traces.
In addition to these, there are other interactions like holding hands or kissing…"
"Mycroft."
Charlotte cut Mycroft off.
"Hm?"
"…That's enough."
Hearing this, Mycroft laughed.
"Good."
He said, "That's enough."
The room fell into silence.
Until Russell's voice came from downstairs.
"Charlotte, Mycroft, dinner is ready."
"Alright."
Mycroft replied and led the way toward the door.
Just as he was about to head downstairs, he suddenly stopped and turned back.
"Charlotte."
Charlotte didn't raise her face.
"Hm?"
"As an adult man and as your older brother, I feel I need to say one thing again for your own sake."
He spoke quietly.
"Emotions are different from reason. They don't follow any logic, and there is no fixed formula.
Don't expect that, like a math problem, you can find the correct solution and get the answer you want.
In that case, the answer you arrive at for the same question will naturally be one that others can also reach."
As he spoke, he looked at Charlotte's hesitant face.
"You need to challenge, try and fail, and sometimes get hurt.
That's how it should be."
After Mycroft finished speaking, he turned his back and left one final remark.
"The squeaky wheel gets the grease."
After leaving this final warning, Mycroft didn't linger any longer and descended the stairs.
His footsteps faded away, leaving Charlotte alone in the living room.
She sat on the sofa, still mulling over Mycroft's words.
The squeaky wheel gets the grease.
She didn't like that metaphor.
Because Charlotte Holmes was not a crying child.
From childhood to adulthood, she had always obtained what she wanted through her own abilities.
For her, getting a positive response by crying was like begging for mercy.
She didn't like it.
But this time, she was facing a case that logic and reason could not solve.
She was facing something she desperately wanted, yet felt powerless to do anything about.
Russell Watson.
Charlotte couldn't even imagine how to talk to Russell by imitating Mary's gestures.
Just thinking about it made her feel as though ants were crawling all over her body.
However, she had to admit that woman had an extremely outstanding talent in this field.
I can't win against her.
"Tch…" Charlotte furrowed her brows.
"Charlotte!"
Russell's voice came from downstairs again. "Come down for dinner!"
"Coming!"
Charlotte gave an affirmative reply, then suppressed all the emotions she couldn't hold back.
She stood up, straightened her clothes, and went downstairs.
By then, Russell and Mycroft were already seated at the table.
"Please, everyone, have a seat."
Mrs. Hudson emerged from the kitchen carrying a large bowl of steaming stew. A satisfied smile graced her face.
"I made lamb stew tonight. Since Mr. Mycroft rarely visits, please enjoy my cooking."
"Indeed."
Mycroft chuckled. "Just from the smell, I already can't wait to try it."
The stew placed in the center of the table was steaming, releasing a rich aroma of meat and spices.
Potatoes, carrots, onions, and large chunks of lamb had been simmered in a thick gravy until tender, resulting in an extremely appetizing dish.
Charlotte took her seat. Mrs. Hudson brought her a large bowl of the lamb stew.
"Come now, Charlotte, eat more. Look at you, you're so thin. You must not be eating properly."
"I…" Charlotte silently accepted the bowl and muttered in protest, "I am eating."
Mycroft let out a small laugh, and Charlotte kicked him hard.
"Shhh…" Mycroft's lips twitched.
Seeing this, Russell raised one eyebrow and said half-jokingly,
"First time?"
"…I suddenly started doubting how good your relationship with each other really is."
Mycroft couldn't help but speak up.
"Reciprocity is the key."
Charlotte replied casually and glanced at Russell.
"Hm? Is there something on my face?"
Russell asked curiously.
"It's fine."
Charlotte looked away.
"Now then, everyone, let's eat. Lamb is best when it's piping hot."
Mrs. Hudson strongly urged them.
With that, they all tacitly changed the subject.
The atmosphere at the dinner table was a little livelier than usual because of Mycroft's presence.
He was skilled at finding appropriate topics to turn what could have been a boring dinner into something more relaxed and enjoyable.
He chatted with Mrs. Hudson about recent prices, discussed interesting anecdotes from Imperial College with Russell, and occasionally steered the conversation toward Charlotte without making it too obvious.
And whenever Charlotte looked like she was about to explode, he skillfully diverted her attention.
Charlotte spent most of the time eating in silence.
The stewed lamb was incredibly tender, melting in her mouth. The rich gravy clung to every corner of the potatoes and carrots, making it delicious.
But she ate somewhat absentmindedly.
Her gaze occasionally drifted unconsciously toward the person sitting across from her.
Russell was chatting and laughing with Mycroft, a relaxed smile on his face.
His hair shone softly under the lamplight, and in the shifting light and shadow, the contours of his profile stood out sharply.
Charlotte looked at him, and Mycroft's earlier irritating analysis resurfaced uncontrollably in her mind.
Holding hands, hugging, touching…
Charlotte gripped her knife and fork, her fingers tightening slightly.
"Charlotte?"
Mrs. Hudson's voice rang in her ears.
"Your stew is going to get cold."
"Oh."
Charlotte snapped out of her daze and lowered her head. She picked up a piece of lamb with her fork and swallowed it whole.
"By the way,"
Mycroft set down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and turned his gaze to Russell.
"About Moriarty—"
Hearing this, both Russell and Charlotte looked at him, but their reactions differed.
Charlotte furrowed her brows, while Russell desperately tried to feign curiosity.
"What happened to Moriarty?"
Russell was the first to speak. "That guy has been awfully quiet lately, hasn't he?"
"Hmm… He just seems quiet."
Mycroft smiled, then looked at Charlotte.
"Actually, after disappearing for a long time, he appeared once last night."
When he finished speaking, Charlotte was momentarily stunned. She desperately tried to stop herself from turning her head toward Russell, but her gaze still ended up drifting in his direction.
"Last night?"
Russell took a sip of soup. There was no trace of guilt on his face. Instead, he looked like a curious, gossip-loving listener.
"What did he do?"
"First he went to the Kennington district and troubled Inspector Lestrade, who was still asleep."
Mycroft chuckled. "Then he obtained Lestrade's unsolved case files from three years ago."
As he briefly explained what Russell had done the previous night, he occasionally let his gaze wander between Russell and Charlotte, observing their reactions.
"Finally, he thoroughly beat up the second son of the Douglas family and left the cleanup to me."
After hearing this, Charlotte furrowed her brows, a complicated expression on her face.
Instead, Mrs. Hudson spoke up, her tone filled with gratitude.
"That man finally did something good."
Hearing this, Russell smiled but said nothing and continued eating the stewed meat in his bowl.
Charlotte couldn't help but glance at him before quickly looking away.
"Why did he do that?"
She asked.
"Hmm… That's a good question." Mycroft nodded. "According to what he told me at the time, the pressure was too great."
"Just because you feel pressure doesn't mean you can go around beating people up."
Russell said in a calm tone.
"He also said at the time that when the law cannot uphold justice, private revenge is justified and reasonable."
Mycroft said this, then looked at Russell.
"Russell, what do you think?"
Hearing this, Russell raised his face.
"Me…?"
"Of course. I want to hear your thoughts."
Mycroft nodded.
"Do you agree with this opinion?"
Charlotte also turned her gaze in that direction.
"I…" Russell thought for a moment before saying, "I'll maintain a neutral stance."
"Neutral?"
"I neither oppose nor support it."
He said.
"The law has its limits. The law can only punish crimes that have already occurred; it's difficult to prevent crimes from happening in the first place.
Furthermore, the fairness of the law is often obstructed by various factors such as money and power.
He spoke in a very objective tone, as though engaged in an academic discussion."
"Therefore, Moriarty's actions were theoretically necessary.
At the very least, his existence leaves open the possibility that people suffering from injustice can seek justice for themselves when public authority fails to function.
"Hmm… You said you were neutral, but your answer sounds like you support him."
Mycroft said.
Russell neither affirmed nor denied this matter.
"Well, something like that. I might encounter a situation like that someday, and in that case, I'd like to be helped by someone like Moriarty."
When he finished speaking, silence fell over the dining table.
"Cough, cough…"
Mrs. Hudson coughed twice and then gave Russell a reproachful look.
"This was supposed to be a pleasant family time. Why are we talking about such serious matters?"
"I wasn't the one who brought it up…" Russell muttered.
Hearing this, Mycroft smiled and took responsibility himself.
"My apologies. I unconsciously brought my work mindset with me."
He paused for a moment before continuing.
"As Mrs. Hudson said, it's not good timing to discuss serious topics at a family gathering.
Let's change the subject then."
He stated that his gaze had been fixed on Russell.
Russell suddenly had a bad feeling.
"Mr. Russell——"
"What are your thoughts on your future partner?'
"!!!"
Russell, still holding his spoon, paused for a moment.
The instant he finished speaking, he was pinned down by two completely different gazes.
From across the table came a voice laced with amusement, as though enjoying the scene.
From the side came another sharp, probing gaze that seemed to see through everything.
Even Mrs. Hudson showed a trace of interest on her face.
She stopped eating her mashed potatoes and blinked her usually gentle eyes, looking as though she was ready to listen seriously.
Charlotte said nothing and silently poked at the carrots on her plate with her fork, but from the way her ears were slightly perked, it was clear she wasn't truly indifferent.
In that moment, everyone at the table had their eyes on him.
'Now that everyone's gazes are gathered on me, let me make an announcement.'
'I am Moriarty!'
This ridiculous thought lasted only an instant in Russell's mind.
He felt that even if he self-destructed right here and now, it would mean nothing.
"Why… why are you suddenly asking that?"
Russell forced a smile and tried to brush it off.
"It's nothing. Just curiosity."
Mycroft picked up his teacup and blew on it to cool it.
"Russell, you're a celebrity in London now, and you're not young anymore."
"I'm still only twenty…"
"Many nobles get engaged at sixteen or seventeen, and some even younger."
"I'm not a noble either…"
"It's fine. There's still time to consider."
Mycroft said, "Let's think about it now, shall we?"
Do I have to die today?
Russell was silent for a few seconds. Various thoughts raced through his mind as though he was truly considering the problem.
No matter how he thought about it, all the criteria always revolved around just two.
Mary and Charlotte.
He had lived all his life since childhood, yet he had only been close to two women, and both of them were of the opposite sex.
We can't include Dean Martha and Mrs. Hudson in that, right?
After careful consideration, Russell finally sighed.
"I don't have any particular thoughts."
He said.
"What do you mean by 'no particular thoughts'?"
Mycroft pressed for an answer.
"I haven't thought about it yet."
Russell shrugged.
"It still feels like something a little far off for me.
I'm still a student now, so I have to attend classes, write reports, and do research.
Even after I graduate from school, I have to help Charlotte with her cases and take care of her daily life…
My life is already filled with these things, so I don't have any room to think about anything else."
The moment he finished speaking, Charlotte slightly stopped poking at the daikon.
"Hm?"
Mycroft raised one eyebrow, though his tone was unreadable.
"But from what I know, your relationship with the daughter of the Morstan family seems to be more than just an ordinary one."
"We're just…"
Russell almost said "friends," but he remembered that his relationship with Mary seemed to have crossed a certain line in a sense.
"Only?"
"Just classmates."
Russell said this, then quickly added before Mycroft could open his mouth,
"Standards are something that change; they are not static.
Even if you like a certain type of person now, you might not like them anymore in a year or two. No one knows what will happen, right?"
"That does sound plausible."
Mycroft avoided making a definitive statement.
"Then let's stop talking about the future and just talk about this moment, shall we?"
…How long is this going to continue?
Russell clicked his tongue in surprise.
"Right now… it mostly comes down to the issue of values and beliefs."
He said.
"If you share the same values and feel comfortable being together, that's enough. Everything else is secondary."
A vague answer.
This also implicitly suggested to Mycroft that it would be rude to ask any more questions.
Hearing this, Mycroft smiled.
"'Living harmoniously'… does that mean a lifestyle where everything is the same every day, from beginning to end?"
He asked.
"For example, lovers waking up every day and the first thing they do is kiss, hugging before leaving the house or after coming home…
In other words, being able to predict what will happen every day, and yet never getting bored at all?"
"It shouldn't be like that, right?"
Russell thought for a moment.
"It's nice to have a little surprise once in a while."
"Really… I understand completely."
Mycroft nodded.
"Russell, you are a very intelligent person. Someone who is not satisfied with the status quo and boldly seeks stimulation and challenge.
Even if you don't work as a civil servant, you would undoubtedly accomplish great things in the world of public service."
"Ah… thank you?"
Russell tilted his head, sensing that what the other person had said wasn't entirely a good thing.
Mycroft didn't pursue the matter further, but after giving Russell a meaningful look, he shifted his gaze to Charlotte.
Charlotte had lowered her gaze and was focused on wrestling with the carrots on her plate, seemingly completely unaware of the conversation that had just taken place.
Ignoring the fact that the corners of her mouth were slightly upturned and the tips of her ears were faintly red.
…
After dinner, Mrs. Hudson took the initiative to wash the dishes, giving Mycroft and the others time to sit aside and brew black tea while chatting.
In the living room, Russell skillfully boiled water, warmed the cups, and brewed the tea. His movements were smooth and natural, as though he had practiced them countless times.
Mycroft sat on the sofa, watching Russell's practiced movements with a meaningful smile.
Charlotte sat in the armchair opposite, her gaze fixed on Russell.
She looked as though she was lost in thought, but her eyes never lost focus.
The tea was ready in no time.
Russell handed the steaming black tea to Mycroft.
Russell: "I don't know what flavor you like, so for now…"
"Just leave it like that."
Macroy said this and took a sip.
"It's a bit different from what we drink at the club, but it has its own flavor."
"Anything you like is fine."
Russell smiled.
The three of them sat there chatting about trivial matters. Mostly Mycroft talked, Russell interjected, and Charlotte listened.
During the conversation, he didn't mention Moriarty or the Professor again. Instead, he talked about the Holmes family's past and Charlotte's embarrassing childhood misdeeds.
Charlotte occasionally looked like she was about to explode with anger during the process, but when she saw the smile on Russell's face, she somehow managed to hold it back. However, the gaze she directed at Mycroft grew darker with each passing moment.
Overall, the atmosphere was quite peaceful.
Mycroft glanced at his pocket watch and then stood up.
"It's getting late. I should head back."
He said.
"Aren't you staying tonight?"
Russell made a polite remark.
"No." Mycroft shook his head. "There are still a few things I need to take care of."
"Well then, Charlotte, Mrs. Hudson." He gave a slight nod. "I'll take my leave."
Charlotte nodded but didn't stand up.
Just as Mycroft turned on his heel to leave, he suddenly stopped and looked at Russell.
"Russell,"
He said.
"Could you see me to the carriage?"
Russell was momentarily at a loss for words.
The distance from the living room to the entrance was only a few steps. Why would he need someone to accompany him?
Seeing off a guest is actually the host's job, isn't it?
However, he quickly realized that Mycroft had something he wanted to tell him.
"Sure."
Russell nodded, stood up, and put on his coat.
Charlotte raised her eyes, looked at Mycroft, then shifted her gaze to Russell and furrowed her brows slightly, but in the end said nothing.
She watched as the two of them left the living room for the entrance and went out together.
…
Cold winter air flowed in. The streets were sparsely populated, and at night only the streetlights emitted a faint yellow glow.
Mycroft walked ahead at a leisurely pace.
Russell followed half a step behind him.
The two maintained the same pace and walked in silence for a while.
The silence continued until Mycroft opened his mouth and broke it.
"Russell."
"Hm?"
"What do you think of Charlotte?"
Hearing this, Russell stopped in his tracks.
"What do you mean?"
"The literal meaning."
"Since it's just the two of us here," Mycroft said, "there's no need to play dumb anymore."
Russell didn't reply immediately.
He simply continued walking, though his pace slowed.
"Which aspects are you referring to?"
He asked.
"Every aspect."
Mr. Mycroft stated, "I want to hear your true thoughts."
Russell was silent for a few seconds.
"I don't know, Mr. Mycroft."
He said, "I really didn't know. I'm not lying."
"Then let me ask one more question," Mycroft said without looking surprised by the answer.
"You have a good relationship with the daughter of the Morstan family, don't you?"
"Hmm… something like that."
Russell nodded.
"Pretty much," Mycroft said, savoring the words.
"Holding hands, hugging, kissing… but what's missing to make it almost perfect?"
Russell stumbled, then suddenly turned to face Mycroft.
"You know?!"
Mycroft smiled but said nothing.
"Fine… I admit it…" Russell sighed somewhat uncomfortably.
"Mary… crossed that line of her own will."
He said.
"So, are the two of you a couple?"
"No. If that were true, I would have said so at the dinner table."
Russell said.
Hearing this, Mycroft showed a surprised expression for the first time that day.
"I truly respect that."
He said.
"I never imagined the daughter of the Morstan family would compromise this much."
"Don't make it sound like I'm some despicable person playing with a young girl's heart, okay?"
Russell widened his eyes.
"In other words, our current relationship is roughly… more than friends, but less than lovers."
"What about Charlotte?"
Mycroft asked, "What about your relationship with her?"
"She…"
"Well, it might be a bit troublesome for you to answer these questions," Mycroft cut Russell off.
"Then let's consider a hypothetical scenario. What happened between you and Mary Morstan. If that had been your relationship with Charlotte, would you have rejected it?"
"Hmm… I can't even imagine it," Russell said. "If it was Charlotte, she would make that kind of face and say that kind of thing."
"Russell——"
"Fine, fine."
Russell raised his hands. "I wouldn't reject it."
Mycroft wore a meaningful smile.
"What if Charlotte had been following us the whole time just now? What would you do?"
"!"
Russell suddenly turned around.
There was no one behind him.
"Mr. Mycroft, my heart can't handle this kind of stimulation."
He turned back, looking displeased at Mycroft.
"Sorry," Mycroft said with a smile that showed no trace of apology.
"Russell, just one last question."
"How many last questions are there?"
Russell couldn't help but complain.
"I'm sorry. This really is the last one, I promise."
Mycroft said this in an unusually sincere tone.
"Then please ask."
Russell sighed.
"If, I mean if——"
Mycroft's smile disappeared and his expression turned serious.
"If you could only choose one—Charlotte or Mary—which one would you choose?"
Hearing this, Russell froze on the spot.
"Your questions are getting more and more difficult."
He gave a bitter smile.
"I was just curious."
Mr. Mycroft stated, "You don't have to answer."
Russell stood still for a moment, staring at the distant night scenery illuminated by the gas lamps.
A night wind blew from the direction of the Thames, carrying damp cold air and tousling Russell's hair.
Charlotte and Mary.
These two names alternated in his mind, and countless images rose along with them.
Mornings on Baker Street, afternoons at Imperial College, those gray-blue eyes, those deep blue eyes.
Which one should he choose?
He had never even thought about this problem.
Because in his subconscious, both of them were irreplaceable.
It felt like things wouldn't function properly if either one was missing.
Mycroft simply watched him, neither urging nor speaking, quietly waiting.
"Mr. Mycroft," he suddenly opened his mouth. "Between the sun and the moon, which do you think is more important?"
Mycroft raised his eyebrows, looking surprised by his reply.
"It depends on who you ask."
Mr. Mycroft stated this.
"For travelers during the day, it's the sun's light.
For travelers at night, it's the moon."
"Yes."
Russell nodded. "In other words, for me, there is no answer to this question."
"No answer…" Mycroft repeated, though his tone revealed nothing.
"Russell, you seem to be in a bit of a bind."
He paused for a moment before reaching out and lightly patting Russell's shoulder. "But it's fine. You have your whole life to think about it."
After saying this, he withdrew his hand.
"You don't need to be told the answer."
Mycroft's voice was gentle. "I'm looking forward to the day you make your decision."
He turned his back to Russell and walked toward the black carriage waiting at the street corner.
"Well then, good luck."
"Save this blessing for your sister."
"She doesn't need my blessing."
He shook his head.
"She has captured you, Russell."
Mycroft's voice came from the front.
"By the way, the past debts of the Douglas family have been re-examined. The agreement signed under duress is now invalid due to coercive acts.
I've already instructed the person in charge to handle Agnes's matter.
"If you're going to do the same thing again, at least let me know in advance."
"Yes, Mr. Mycroft——wait, what?"
Russell stared at Mycroft, standing still.
The view from behind.
Mycroft stopped and turned to face him. A mocking smile graced his face.
"What are you talking about?"
Russell asked.
"I'm not like Charlotte."
Mycroft said.
"Actually, there's something I still haven't told you. Charlotte is actually the dumbest one in our family.
That's why, before she met children her own age, I even wondered if my little sister had some kind of intellectual disability."
Russell remained silent.
"Don't worry. I have no intention of harming you."
Mycroft laughed.
"Rather, if Moriarty was you, I would feel much more at ease."
He turned back and lightly patted Russell's shoulder again.
"Alright, I can't waste any more time."
After saying this, he turned around.
"I'll leave Charlotte in Russell's hands."
"Is that considered a threat?"
Russell couldn't help but ask.
"A threat? No, of course not."
Mycroft lightly shook his head.
"This was merely a request from an older brother."