Winter dawns always came with a biting chill and a clear, grayish-blue light.
When Mary slowly opened her eyes from the bed, the first things she felt were pain in her waist and throat.
It felt as though she had been tormented all night. The pain was so intense that for a while, the girl gave up on moving or speaking.
She turned her face and looked at the man sleeping beside her.
Russell's breathing was calm. One hand rested on his chest, while the other gently supported his body so he wouldn't fall off the bed.
Mary's gaze lingered on Russell's face for a moment before slowly moving down to his well-defined hands.
These were the hands that had unlocked the key to their own hearts.
The girl swallowed hard. As she recalled the events of the previous night, her cheeks flushed uncontrollably.
As expected of London's famous thief, his lock-picking skills were truly exceptional.
If he could do this much with just his hands, what would happen if he used a key?
Mary didn't have the courage to think any further and shook her head.
It was far too embarrassing.
Just thinking about it made her feel as though the aftertaste of lotus root powder still lingered on her lips and teeth.
At that moment, Russell slowly woke from his sleep.
The moment she lowered her head, her eyes met his. The girl's eyes shone with a dreamy light, filled with unmistakable affection.
Russell reached out and naturally touched her long, pale yellow hair, which was as warm as spring sunlight, and gently combed through it.
"Good morning."
He spoke quietly. His voice carried an irresistible charm, like that of someone who had just woken up.
"Good morning."
Mary gently rubbed her face against Russell's chest. Her eyes were still slightly flushed from the remnants of the previous night.
Her gaze moved upward, stopping at Russell's lips, then sliding down to his clearly defined Adam's apple.
The chaotic scenes from last night surged uncontrollably through her mind like London's morning mist.
The scorching keyboard, the skillful hands that seemed to control the soul, and finally, the almost self-destructive yet sweet act of destroying evidence…
A burning red color instantly spread from the girl's ears down to her long, snow-white neck.
She instinctively tried to pull the blanket up to cover most of her face, but Russell's large hand held down the edge of the blanket.
"Hmm? Even a great professor like you gets embarrassed after dawn?"
Russell's eyes flashed with a hint of mockery as he watched her adorable attempt to hide her embarrassment.
His fingertips gently traced Mary's delicate cheek, finally stopping at her slightly swollen lips and softly stroking them.
"I… I…"
Mary stubbornly tried to argue back, but her trembling eyes betrayed her panic.
The girl opened her mouth and bit down lightly on Russell's finger in retaliation, pressing hard enough to leave a faint tooth mark.
"Ow…" Russell sucked in a breath and reached out to pinch her cheek.
"Biting my hand is one thing, but don't bite anything else that hard, got it?"
"!"
The girl's eyes suddenly widened. "W-What are you saying?!"
"Of course I'm talking about my shoulder. What else could it be?"
Russell countered with a question, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"..."
Mary was momentarily speechless, then angrily bit down harder again before sitting up from the bed. Her hair was messy, resembling a clump of yellow cotton.
"Charlotte is going to North Hill Sanatorium today."
Mary said in a muffled voice.
"I know."
Russell nodded. "She didn't let me come with her."
"No, you have to go with her."
Mary turned around. The embarrassment and confusion in her eyes had disappeared, replaced by a serious expression.
The morning's playful banter and ambiguous atmosphere were over. It was time to get down to business.
"If you don't go with her. She'll be in danger."
"But she might not let me come with her," Russell said as he walked toward the closet and rummaged through his clothes.
"Just because she doesn't want you to go with her doesn't mean you shouldn't go with her, right?"
Mary said from behind Russell.
"Aren't you Moriarty? Do you think she'll notice if you tail her?"
"I know, but I can't say that directly, can I?"
Russell found a shirt and draped it over his shoulder.
"You don't know Charlotte's personality, but I do. You can't be too obvious about it."
Hearing this, Mary finally let out a sigh of relief.
"Be careful."
She warned.
"Don't worry."
Russell smiled and fastened the last button. "I have confidence in myself."
"That's good."
Mary didn't say anything more and quietly watched as Russell got dressed, left the bedroom, and went downstairs to prepare breakfast.
She lay on the bed that still carried Russell's scent, wrapped herself tightly in the blanket, and after a while, slowly sat up, took off her robe, and changed into her everyday clothes.
When the girl came out of the room, she happened to run into Charlotte, who was just about to open her door.
Charlotte stood there, staring at Mary's striking pale yellow hair with a slightly furrowed brow.
"Yesterday it was silver, today it's yellow."
She stared at Mary's hair and said, "Are there any other parts of your body that change color?"
"You'll get used to it soon."
Mary leaned against the doorframe and reached out to twirl a strand of her pale yellow hair around her finger.
Hearing this, Charlotte gave her an indifferent glance, looked away, and went downstairs.
Mary watched Charlotte's retreating figure, a slight smile appearing on her lips, before following her with light steps.
The moment Mrs. Hudson saw Mary's pale blonde hair, her eyes widened.
"Mary, what happened to your hair…?"
"I'm sorry, did I surprise you?"
Mary smiled shyly. "I told you yesterday that I dyed my hair silver at Father's strong recommendation, right? So since I've already taken out the contact lenses, I thought I might as well go back to my original hair color."
"What do you think?"
"It suits you very well, darling."
Mrs. Hudson said this, then reached out and gently stroked Mary's hair.
"This is the real you. Even like this, you look very elegant. I really can't understand what that man was thinking."
Hearing this, Mary smiled and sat down at the dining table to have breakfast and chat with Mrs. Hudson.
To Mrs. Hudson, Mary moving to Baker Street was a wonderful thing.
Finally, she had someone she could talk to. Neither Charlotte nor Russell seemed particularly interested in her stories, but Mary always listened patiently. And in truth, Mary genuinely enjoyed chatting with this old woman who treated her like a daughter. In Mrs. Hudson, she felt a sense of closeness she had long been missing.
After breakfast, Russell and Charlotte went upstairs first, while Mrs. Hudson and Mary remained on the first floor, gossiping and reminiscing about the past.
When Charlotte entered the room, she casually sat down on the sofa and watched as Russell picked up the teapot and walked over to the side.
"Aren't you supposed to be going to North Mountain Highland today?"
Russell asked while fetching water.
"There's no need to rush. Vanessa told me to go this afternoon."
Charlotte said, "She said there's still one final persuasion needed to convince Charles."
Russell raised one eyebrow, placed the kettle on the stove, and said, "Understood."
A faint hissing sound came from the kettle as white steam slowly rose.
Russell turned around, took a tin can from the cupboard, opened the lid, and a rich black tea aroma drifted out.
"What happens after that?"
He asked while slowly pouring tea leaves into the teapot with a spoon.
"So what happens after that?"
Charlotte asked.
"After you get the answer you wanted from Charles, what are you going to do?"
Russell asked.
"So what are you going to do after that?"
He picked up the boiling kettle and poured hot water into the teapot, making a "gurgling" sound.
"Charlotte, you already know the answer, don't you?"
"If you only present the answer without showing the solution process, you won't get any points."
Charlotte said.
"But the problem is, no one's going to give us any points."
Russell poured the black tea into a cup, then turned around and placed it in front of Charlotte.
"You're just playing by your own rules."
"Is there any problem with doing this?"
"No problem."
Russell shrugged. "But are you really confident that you'll get the answer you want this way?"
"I don't know," Charlotte said. "But I have to try. Otherwise, everything we've done so far will have been meaningless."
"That's true."
Russell smiled and reached out to gently clink glasses with her.
"Then I wish you the best of luck."
In the quiet living room, the clear sound of porcelain clinking echoed. The golden-red teacup reflected the pale winter light from outside the window, rippling slightly.
Charlotte picked up the teacup and slowly took a sip. The warm tea soothed the chill in her body.
She looked up at Russell, as though she wanted to say something, but in the end, she swallowed her words.
Amid the crackling of the fireplace, time quietly shifted into the afternoon.
Charlotte changed into Russell's coat, wrapped a cashmere scarf around her neck, put on a black deerstalker hat, and tucked her slightly messy curls under the brim.
When she opened the door to go downstairs, she saw Mary carrying a plate of freshly baked cookies from the kitchen.
"Charlotte, are you going out?"
Mary placed the plate on the table. "Would you like some cookies before you leave?"
"I'd better not. Someone might poison me and I won't make it to my destination."
Charlotte said this and walked straight toward the entrance, putting on her boots.
Russell leaned against the living room doorframe and watched as Charlotte put on her gloves. Then he glanced at the clock.
"The carriage is already waiting at the entrance. Leave early and come back early."
"Mm."
Charlotte answered, then pushed the door open.
A cold wind carrying snowflakes blew into the entrance hall. She pulled the brim of her hat down low, then raised her scarf to cover most of her face before stepping outside.
With a rumbling sound, the first floor of 221B Baker Street was momentarily enveloped in silence.
Mary looked away, slowly picked up a cookie, walked over to Russell, and held it up to his lips.
"Sometimes I really can't understand what she's thinking at all."
Russell didn't open his mouth to take the cookie. "Is your subordinate really near North Mountain Highland?"
He asked in a low voice.
"He wasn't her subordinate, but my order was to make sure no one approached Charles Brown."
Mary nodded as she took a small bite of the cookie herself.
"That assassin is a stubborn madman. If Charlotte gets close, he'll definitely shoot."
"There was snow falling in the city and the road conditions were bad. If something unexpected happened… who knows what would happen."
Mary said.
"So it's all up to you now, darling."
"I just thought of something… Isn't this like a thief shouting 'Thief!'?"
"I'm a thief. So what are you?"
Mary gently nibbled on the small cookie, and crumbs stuck to her lips. She stuck out her tongue and licked them off.
As she spoke, she naturally took half a step closer and reached out to straighten Russell's slightly crooked collar.
"Go on," the girl murmured. "A knight can't keep a princess waiting."
Russell lowered his eyes and raised his hand to gently stroke her soft, long pale yellow hair.
"If Mrs. Hudson asks, just say yI went to the British Library to look up some information."
"Understood. Come back soon. I'll be waiting for you at dinner."
Mary obediently nodded and watched as Russell picked up his dark charcoal-gray wool coat, put it on, opened the door, and stepped out into the rain and snow.
…
Along the road leading to North Hill Sanatorium on the outskirts of London.
The snowfall was much heavier than in the city center. The road was covered in a thick layer of snow, forming a hard, smooth surface of ice.
"Whoa!"
The coachman pulled hard on the reins, causing the horses to neigh restlessly on the spot.
After a violent jolt, the carriage slowly came to a stop.
The wooden door of the carriage was pushed open, and Charlotte peered out with a slightly furrowed brow.
"What's wrong?"
She asked, exhaling white mist from her mouth.
"I'm very sorry, Miss Holmes."
The driver jumped down from the driver's seat, rubbing his frozen hands apologetically.
"The road ahead is all frozen uphill, and the horseshoes don't have anti-slip studs, so I can't pull it up at all."
"If we go any further, there's a risk the carriage might fall into a ditch at any moment."
Charlotte looked in the direction the driver was pointing.
"How much farther is it?"
"About one mile on foot, miss."
"I see."
Charlotte didn't cause any trouble for the driver. She took the fare out of her pocket and handed it to him.
"Wait here. If I don't come down before it gets dark, you can return to London by yourself."
"That won't do, miss. This is a remote area…"
Before the driver could finish speaking, Charlotte was already walking through snow that reached her ankles, heading toward the frozen uphill road without looking back.
She wrapped Russell's oversized coat even tighter around her body, put both hands in the deep pockets, and covered most of her face with the cashmere scarf around her neck. Only her pair of gray-blue eyes, which looked particularly calm and sharp in the wind and snow, were exposed.
The wind whipped up snowflakes that grazed her face like knives.
Charlotte walked steadily forward, her footsteps echoing on the quiet road.
Behind her, a figure silently followed. He was also wearing a coat, one hand hidden in his pocket, walking at the same pace as Charlotte but gradually closing the distance between them with every step.
The wind and snow grew increasingly fierce, as though a white curtain had covered the sky and earth, obscuring their vision.
Charlotte continued walking at her usual pace—neither fast nor slow. With the brim of her hat slightly lowered, she looked like an ordinary passerby struggling through the blizzard, completely unaware that death was approaching.
Because the road was slippery, she had her head slightly lowered, as though all her attention was focused on the ice beneath her feet.
The distance between the two was getting closer and closer.
There was a T-junction ahead. He planned to make his move there.
A jet-black pistol was slowly drawn from his pocket. In the vast white snowfield, that single black point shone dazzlingly, like an ink spot on white paper.
The gun barrel slowly rose and was aimed at the defenseless figure ahead.
However, just as the assassin was about to pull the trigger…
Amid the wind and snow, a tall, slender figure suddenly appeared from around the corner of the T-junction ahead and abruptly crossed between the two of them.
A classic aesthetic, striking black double-breasted coat. Tailored to fit the body, the hem fluttered in the wind like the spread wings of a nighthawk.
Indoors, he wore a well-tailored, wrinkle-free dark vest and a white shirt. His long legs were encased in crisp trousers, and on his feet were spotless black leather boots.
Even the swirling snow refused to leave a trace on this attire, which resembled the embodiment of darkness.
He faced the wind and snow, shielding Charlotte from the assassin.
It was like an insurmountable abyss of jet black, instantly blocking every key and stripping away the killing intent.
The assassin froze. The hand that had been holding the gun steady and level, ready to pull the trigger, hung suspended in midair and stopped moving.
The sudden appearance of this figure cut through the damp, snowy weather. The howling wind seemed to stop for an instant.
The person who had arrived said nothing and made no unnecessary movements.
He merely tilted his head slightly. His short black hair fluttered in the wind, exuding an indescribable wild aura.
His deep, dark eyes were like the quiet surface of night water, piercing through the thick snow to stare coldly and contemptuously at the armed man less than ten steps away.
His left hand hung casually at his side, and the mask held in that hand swayed in the wind and snow.
The mask was pure white, standing out starkly against his black clothes.
There were no unnecessary patterns on the mask—only two deep black holes carved into the eye sockets, as though they were swallowing all light in the swirling snow.
There was no need to hide. No need to disguise.
And with an arrogant attitude, he revealed his true form without the slightest hesitation in this desolate, ice-covered wilderness.
The assassin finally saw that face clearly. It was an extremely familiar face.
He had seen it twice before. Once in the newspaper, and once at Hanigan's mansion.
It was the calm, reliable, non-aggressive assistant who was always by that famous detective's side.
Russell Watson.
There was still a harmless smile on his face, exuding an innocent aura like a lazy cat.
But at that moment, a chilling sensation ran from the soles of his feet to the top of his head!
He was a professional killer who had taken countless lives.
But at this moment, faced with an unarmed young man who wasn't even holding a gun, he felt a fear he had never experienced before.
He unconsciously raised his head. He drew his gun and pointed the muzzle at the figure in front of him.
At this point, the objective of the mission was no longer important.
However, just as he was about to pull the trigger, he noticed the figure in front of him and finally took new action.
He put on the mask.
Thus, kindness no longer existed.