"Cough, cough, cough…!"
This time, Russell truly couldn't hold it in.
The black tea he hadn't swallowed went straight into his windpipe, and he coughed violently.
He stared at the girl beside him who was smiling in disbelief.
"You… you just said your name is…"
His voice was slightly hoarse, but the shock in his tone hadn't diminished in the slightest.
"Your real name is Moriarty?!"
"James Moriarty."
"Be careful," Mary said as she reached out and gently patted Russell's back.
Russell grabbed her wrist. His breathing was still a little fast.
"You're really Moriarty?"
"Yes." The girl nodded calmly. "This is the name my sister gave me. No one else knows it except her."
"…"
Charlotte couldn't help but open her mouth, looking at Russell and Mary with a complicated expression.
"You are Moriarty."
She pointed at Russell.
"Mm-hmm."
Russell nodded.
"You are also Moriarty."
She looked at Mary again.
"Yes." Mary nodded. "If you don't believe me, you can check. That was the surname of Arthur Morstan's wife."
"Understood." Charlotte nodded. "So both of you are Moriarty. Then, is there a third Moriarty here?"
She pointed at herself.
"Am I Moriarty?"
"Ah… Charlotte, I know what you're trying to say."
Russell noticed the dissatisfied look in the girl's eyes and quickly spoke up.
"But I can assure you, until just now, I knew nothing about this matter, let alone colluding with Mary in advance."
"If I had met Russell back then, my life trajectory would definitely have been different."
"But unfortunately, Charlotte, that was truly a coincidence."
Mary interjected from the side.
"So you can imagine the shock I felt when I first met Russell, who had broken into the safe and left that card behind."
"For a moment, I even thought my identity had been exposed."
"You two didn't know each other before?"
"Mm-hmm."
Both of them nodded at the same time.
"This world is truly insane."
Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose.
"A performance artist who repeatedly acts mysteriously in London and does nothing productive all day, and a professor who constantly schemes to bring down her blood-unrelated father. Moreover, both of you use the same pen name… Is there anything more ridiculous than this?"
"Yes, there is."
Russell picked up his teacup and nodded.
"For example?"
"For example, the former might be your assistant."
Russell said.
"The latter is your rival in love."
Mary said.
"…"
Charlotte took a deep breath. "Even if I wrote this in The Times, Henry Scott probably wouldn't accept it."
"Reality is often more illogical than fiction, great detective."
Russell leaned back deeply on the sofa with a helpless expression.
If anything, his shock was no less than Charlotte's.
He had only casually used the name "Moriarty" for system convenience, but he had never dreamed that the girl beside him was the Professor.
Even if she was the Professor, at least her name should have been Mary Morstan.
It turned out she had a little-known real name. That name was James Moriarty.
Fate was truly mysterious. It was as if some invisible force was pulling everything back together again.
"I think it's a kind of inexplicable fate."
Mary smiled and looped her arm around Russell's, clinging to him gently yet weakly.
She tilted her head slightly. Her emerald green eyes, illuminated by the fireplace flames, swirled with an alluring ambiguity and charm.
She extended her slender fingers and lightly traced the edge of Russell's dark gray vest. Her fingertips, whether intentionally or unconsciously, traced the sensitive area around his waist and abdomen.
"Mr. Moriarty and Miss Moriarty."
Mary lightly bit her lower lip and spoke in an extremely low voice, like a lover whispering in his ear.
"Don't they sound like a couple made in heaven?"
Russell had no choice but to gently press down her restless slender hand and place it on the table.
"Alright, stop touching."
He said this, then looked at Charlotte.
"Now that reality has been laid bare before you, what do you plan to do?"
"I remember telling you on the way back."
Charlotte said this, then stood up and walked toward him.
Charlotte seemed to be speaking to Russell, but her gaze was fixed on Mary.
"Do your job properly and don't waste time on unnecessary things."
"Arthur Morstan is currently hospitalized. Now, who do you think is the most excited and impatient?"
She asked.
"Of course, my dear uncles and aunts, and those distant relatives who have long wanted to get involved in running the company."
Mary withdrew the hand Russell had pressed onto the table. The gentleness in her eyes instantly disappeared, replaced by the cold indifference befitting the Professor.
The girl leaned back deeply on the sofa and elegantly crossed her long, straight legs.
"Arthur Morstan has collapsed and is in a half-dead vegetative state. The incident happened so suddenly that he didn't even leave a will."
"From a legal standpoint, as his only daughter, I should have the right to inherit all of his assets.
But realistically speaking, I'm just a university student who can only play the piano and make tea, someone who would cry until I faint if a fire broke out."
She said quietly.
"This is a golden opportunity for them."
"Normally, that man was someone who kept his promises, and the relatives weren't given a chance to speak, but now the situation is different."
"The head of the family has fallen, someone is needed to support the family business, I'm still young and need someone's help…"
"Such excuses could be thought of in hundreds of variations within ten minutes."
"Knowing that, why are you still flirting with other people?"
Charlotte raised one eyebrow.
"There's no need to rush, is there? I just suffered a huge shock, so I need some time to calm down, right?"
Mary blinked.
"Once I finish my studies at Imperial College, I'll be busy, and then I plan to return to Kensington. So, could you be a little generous and lend Russell to me for the next few days?"
She blinked and put on a pitiful expression, then hugged Russell.
Faced with Mary's brilliant display of weakness, Charlotte only gave a cold smile.
"First, Russell is a human being with independent will, not a bargaining chip to be weighed on a scale or passed around between people. Second—"
Charlotte's gaze slowly moved downward and stopped at Mary's hand tightly gripping Russell's arm.
"This is 221B Baker Street, Mary Morstan."
She spoke slowly and carefully, her tone carrying the absolute authority of a long-time resident of this place.
"Here, you are an outsider. Are you misunderstanding your position?"
"Oh my, Charlotte, you're really mean."
Mary didn't let go. On the contrary, she pressed her cheek even harder against Russell's shoulder. Her dazzling pale yellow hair intertwined like soft vines on Russell's dark gray vest. "I'm a legitimate tenant who pays rent properly, and Mrs. Hudson also told me to treat this place like my own home."
"Since we're family, isn't it natural to care for each other?"
The girl looked up and blinked her emerald green eyes innocently.
"Besides, Russell himself didn't say anything, did he, Russell?"
She tilted her head back and directly threw the question at the man caught in the middle.
"I think peaceful coexistence is most important since we all live under the same roof."
Russell skillfully dodged the question, gently withdrew his arm from Mary's embrace, and stood up.
"It's getting late, so I have to go downstairs and help Mrs. Hudson prepare dinner."
"Everyone, please continue your friendly academic exchange."
As he said this, he quickly escaped from the smoke-filled battlefield like a slippery eel.
Seeing Russell leave in a slight panic, Mary chuckled. The pitiful act she had been putting on earlier had completely vanished.
"The way he ran away was a little cute, wasn't it?"
Mary said this in a low voice, then turned to Charlotte.
"Sometimes I even think he has schizophrenia."
Charlotte said from the side.
"You didn't see how violently he beat that person in the snow."
"Hmm?"
Mary raised one eyebrow. "How was it?"
"Completely unfamiliar."
Charlotte said.
"He crushed the man's wrist bones with one hand, then shattered his ribs with a knee strike."
Hearing this, Mary blinked in surprise.
"That amazing? How does he compare to you or Mycroft?"
"I can't say." Charlotte shook her head.
"His muscle strength far surpasses that of an ordinary person. In such a situation, to inflict serious injuries without killing someone requires an extremely high level of self-control."
"I thought you were going to say he was never serious."
"No, of course he was serious."
Charlotte said, "Just make sure he doesn't kill anyone himself."
She paused for a moment, then stood up and stretched.
"But instead of worrying about such things, I suggest you think carefully again."
"When you return to the Kensington mansion, how do you plan to deal with those cunning old foxes who are eyeing you like hawks?"
She said.
"Don't think that just because you've taken off the mask, everything will go smoothly, Professor. The real battle is just beginning."
"Understood." Mary nodded deeply. "Then can I take your words to mean that you agree to hand him over to me?"
"Not a chance."
Charlotte looked at her with cold eyes. "He's mine tonight."
"Why do I have to do that?"
"You should be grateful that you didn't end up in prison thanks to me keeping the secret. Why are you asking me for reasons here?"
"Tch." The girl snorted and stood up to straighten her clothes.
"I'm going to help. You stay here, great detective."
Mary turned around gracefully and hummed an unfamiliar cheerful melody as she went down the stairs one step at a time toward the kitchen on the first floor.
In the kitchen, the window glass was already covered with a thin layer of white mist from the warm steam.
Outside the window, London's winter snow covered the city in blue. Inside, the fireplace and the vintage brass gas stove emitted a warm orange glow.
At that moment, Russell was standing by the kitchen counter, holding a knife, helping Mrs. Hudson prepare the ingredients.
The old woman and the young man standing together really looked like a grandmother and grandson.
"In my opinion, both Mary and Charlotte are good girls. It's just a pity."
Mrs. Hudson pinched a vegetable leaf in her hand while chatting with Russell about daily matters.
"What's a pity? That you ended up with me?"
Russell asked with a smile.
"What are you saying?"
Mrs. Hudson lightly patted Russell's shoulder. "What's wrong this time?"
She paused for a moment, then spoke in a somewhat melancholic tone. "It's a pity that of these two girls, you can only choose one."
Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Mary is a good girl, and Charlotte is… also a good girl. No matter which one you choose, the other child will be pitiful."
"When you mentioned Charlotte's name, it felt a little forced."
"What do you know? They're different."
Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips.
"Mary is like a kind girl who lives nearby. No matter how charming she looks, she's likable. On the other hand, Charlotte is like my own granddaughter."
"No matter how much trouble she causes or how much of a worry she is, you always keep the lights on at home for her. Just like you would for yourself."
She smiled while putting the washed vegetables into a colander, then sighed.
"Mary's life has truly been tragic. Such a large family business is now supported by her alone. Moreover, she has to deal with those greedy relatives. Just thinking about it makes my heart ache."
"Yes (in a flat, monotonous voice)."
Russell nodded.
Just then, light footsteps accompanied by a faint white camellia scent drifted into the room.
"What are you talking about? You look so happy?"
Before they knew it, Mary was already standing at the kitchen entrance.
"Mary, why did you come down?"
When Mrs. Hudson saw her, she immediately stopped what she was doing and went over to greet her worriedly.
"Why don't you rest upstairs a little longer?"
"I rested well, Mrs. Hudson."
Mary smiled and took the old woman's arm, affectionately and gently rubbing her face against it.
"That won't do. You're still a patient."
Mrs. Hudson waved her hands repeatedly.
"I'm not sick. I was just a little scared."
Mary blinked her emerald green eyes.
"Besides, it gets a little boring up there after a while, so I came to help."
"Ah, what a good child."
Mrs. Hudson's eyes turned slightly red as she gently stroked Mary's hand.
"Then do as you like. Understood, Russell?"
Suddenly called out, Russell, still holding the knife, sighed and answered, "Yes, Mrs. Hudson."
Mrs. Hudson went to the storage room to get spices, leaving only Russell and Mary in the kitchen.
She walked naturally to Russell's side and stood there, looking at him curiously.
"Is there anything I can help with?"
"Cut the potatoes. We're making beef stew tonight."
"Roger~"
Mary picked up a knife and got to work, but surprisingly, she caused no trouble in the kitchen.
"By the way, Russell."
"Hmm?"
"Charlotte said you're staying with her tonight."
Mary continued speaking with gestures.
"What exactly did you say in the carriage?"
"Nothing."
Russell was calm. "We were just… talking about massages."
"Massage?"
Mary raised one eyebrow, but quickly understood what he meant and blushed.
"You call that a massage?"
She said sarcastically.
"What else?"
Russell retorted. "Did I tell Charlotte that I was picking a biometric lock in the middle of the night?"
"!!"
The girl stared at Russell with wide eyes in disbelief.
Although she couldn't deny that what he said was undeniably true, saying such a thing in this situation was still too embarrassing.
Mary angrily turned her face away and decided to ignore him and focus on the food in her hands. She treated the potatoes on the cutting board as if they were the unromantic man.
When Mrs. Hudson entered the kitchen with a spice jar, she saw Russell enthusiastically putting chunks of beef into the stew pot. Meanwhile, Mary stood obediently a foot away, neatly arranging evenly sized potato chunks on a plate.
"It seems I arrived at just the right time."
Mrs. Hudson said this as she sprinkled rosemary into the pot.
"Alright, let's help Charlotte with her diet. It's dinner time."
"I'll call her."
Russell put down the knife, wiped his hands on his apron, then took off the apron and hung it aside.
He went up the wooden stairs to the second floor and stopped in front of Charlotte's room door, knocking lightly.
The door wasn't locked.
From inside the door came a cold, clear voice.
Russell pushed the door open and entered, seeing Charlotte standing in front of the information wall, removing items from it one by one.
"Dinner is ready, detective. Rosemary-flavored beef stew and your favorite buttered bread."
He said, his gaze naturally drawn to the information wall.
"Why did they all withdraw?"
Russell asked curiously.
"Since everyone already knows the answer, why not just delete it? What's the point of keeping it?"
Charlotte countered with a question.
"You have been sitting by this wall for long enough. It's time to get serious about work."
"For example?"
"Well, who knows. It'll happen sooner or later. Just wait until Lestrade needs me."
Charlotte picked up the last newspaper, packed everything into a box, then clapped her hands.
"Let's go. We'll talk about the rest after dinner. There's important work to be done."
When Charlotte said this, Russell nodded, and then the two of them went down the stairs one after another.
In the dining room on the first floor, the warm, dim lighting seemed to cover everything with a soft glaze.
In the center of the table was a pot of rosemary beef stew, still bubbling and steaming. The rich sauce and herb aroma mixed together was enough to dispel the bone-chilling cold.
The buttered bread was sliced to a uniform thickness and neatly arranged in a wicker basket.
The four of them sat around the dining table.
Mrs. Hudson remained the gentle elder who kept the atmosphere at the table harmonious. She served Mary the tenderest pieces of beef on her plate, with unconcealable pity in her eyes.
Mary smiled gently. Her emerald green eyes curved into beautiful crescent shapes under the light.
She put a piece of bread that had absorbed all the soup into her mouth. Her chewing movements were elegant and refined.
After dinner, Russell took the initiative to wash the dishes so Mrs. Hudson could rest.
After wiping the last bone china plate and putting it away in the cupboard, Russell took off his apron, wiped his hands, and went back up the stairs to the second floor.
When he pushed open the living room door, the fireplace fire had been rekindled and was burning brightly.
Mary and Charlotte had each secured the best seats in the living room.
Charlotte remained seated in her armchair with her legs crossed, fiddling with a silver coin she had picked up at some point. The silver coin danced nimbly between her slender fingers, drawing dazzling arcs.
Mary was lounging on the sofa with a cup of freshly brewed black tea in her hand.
Her long pale yellow hair spread freely over the deep red velvet cushion like threads of pure gold, exuding a breathtaking classical beauty.
"Is the door locked?"
Charlotte asked without looking up when she heard the sound.
"It's locked. Mrs. Hudson is also asleep."
Russell walked to the sofa and sat down in the seat Mary had specially saved for him.
Almost as soon as he sat down, Mary naturally rested her head on his lap like a cat seeking warmth.
She tilted her head slightly and looked up at Russell, who was standing upside down.
"You two have been thinking about something ever since dinner started. What are you planning to talk about now?"
Russell looked down at the girl resting her head on his lap.
She had just taken a shower, and the rich scent of white camellia mixed with soap tickled his nostrils.
He didn't push her away, but simply reached out and, as usual, casually combed through her soft blonde hair.
"Let's talk about that unfortunate man you sent to North Mountain Sanatorium."
Russell spoke in a calm tone.
"Is he still alive?"
Mary looked up curiously.
"I gave him a chance, but he didn't seem to want to live."
Russell said, "But he was really generous to give me this."
As he said this, he took out the letter and handed it to Mary.
The girl took the envelope, saw her own handwriting, then folded it into a paper airplane and threw it into the fireplace.
The fireplace flames licked the paper airplane and burned it. The once high-quality stationery curled up and turned yellow from the high temperature, eventually becoming a lump of thin ash that traveled up the chimney and disappeared into the cold wind of London's winter night.
"So, now that that person is dead, all the evidence has also disappeared."
She asked.
"But there's still the body."
Charlotte said. "The body was buried in the snow, but it can't stay buried forever. You're the expert in this matter, and it concerns your future, so you should decide."
The flickering firelight was reflected in Mary's originally clear and innocent emerald green eyes.
"It's very simple."
She said.
She was lying on Russell's lap in a very soft and affectionate posture, like a cat seeking warmth, but when she began talking about how to dispose of the body, her tone was as if she were deciding what jam to have for breakfast the next day.
"The roads in the northern mountainous region usually have little foot traffic, but if discovered by nobles doing morning exercise or Scotland Yard officers on patrol after the snow melts, it could still be a problem."
She tilted her head slightly and looked at Charlotte sitting in the armchair with her emerald green eyes.
"But actually, from another perspective, what's important isn't that someone died."
"What do you mean?"
Charlotte furrowed her brows.
"Whitechapel, Spitalfields, Bermondsey… In these areas, the frequency of violent deaths is much higher compared to other regions."
"On average, at least five bodies are found per month. Moreover, the area is very chaotic, and the causes of death vary. Even Scotland Yard shows little interest in such places.
Basically, unless it's a large-scale shootout or armed conflict, the local police turn a blind eye."
Mary explained.
"If you want to hide a tree, the best place is in a forest."
If someone dies in London, it will definitely be widely reported.
But if someone dies in East London, no one cares. It will be news for at most three days.
"Hiding in the forest…" Charlotte repeated the words and accurately caught the spinning silver coin between her fingertip and thumb with a "clack" sound.
"The problem is that the body of an adult male with a frozen and crushed wrist and broken ribs weighs between 160 and 180 pounds."
"How do you plan to evade Scotland Yard guards and night patrol teams, cross most of London in a blizzard, and safely transport him from the wilderness to East London?"
Charlotte leaned forward slightly, exuding an intimidating sense of superiority.
"Or are you planning to have the phantom thief carry the body and do parkour on London's rooftops on this snowy night?"
Mary wasn't fazed by that sharp question in the slightest.
She kept her head comfortably resting on Russell's lap and twisted her body slightly to bring her cheek closer to Russell's warm abdomen. Her long pale yellow silk-like hair spread across the deep red sofa cushion with every movement.
"This is a blind spot in your knowledge."
The girl chuckled and idly twirled the button on the hem of Russell's shirt with her white fingertips.
"London's underworld has its own ecosystem."
"At 3 a.m., carriages carrying meat from the northern suburbs to Smithfield Meat Market depart.
The carriages are loaded with frozen meat and freshly slaughtered livestock. Even during regular police inspections, the strong smell of blood and preservatives is enough to mask the scent of a human corpse."
"Just give the driver a few pounds, and then the cleaning workers who specialize in waste disposal in the East End district will be waiting at the destination."
"They won't immediately report to the police. Instead, they'll take all his valuables—that's their unspoken rule."
"They are more eager to dispose of the body than we are in order to cover up the fact that they profited from the corpse."
"Tomorrow, when the sun rises, the body will either be secretly disposed of in the foul-smelling ditches of Whitechapel or sunk into the eternally dark mud of the Thames."
She explained the body disposal procedure smoothly and easily, as if she had memorized everything.
"Are your subordinates really trustworthy?"
Charlotte was still worried.
"Honestly, I don't really believe in that professor's reputation in the underworld."
"Why rely on so-called reputation when money can solve it?"
Mary countered with a question.
"If one pound isn't enough, ten pounds. If ten pounds isn't enough, a hundred pounds. That's enough for someone living in East London to live well for a year or more."
"Life is already at rock bottom, so every step is a step upward. So why not try?"
Charlotte quietly listened to Mary's plan, then spoke in a lukewarm tone.
"You seem very familiar with these processes. It seems you don't even need a so-called capable assistant. Just having greedy humans willing to sell their souls for a little money is enough."
"People living in East London have no right to talk about loyalty, Charlotte."
Mary's voice was soft. She kept her head resting on Russell's lap and snuggled closer to find a more comfortable angle.
"In London's underworld, money is the most honest passport. As long as you don't test human nature, you will never be betrayed."
"You seem to have experienced this kind of thing many times."
"I only knew this channel," Mary said. "I don't like taking people's lives."
"You sound like you have a conscience and an unyielding line."
Charlotte said mockingly.
"No, it's because if someone dies, it becomes troublesome."
Mary said frankly.
"If someone is disabled or encounters other misfortunes due to some accident, they will at most lament their own bad luck."
"But if someone dies, it's a different story. If Lestrade can't find any clues, he will come after you. Then things will get complicated."
When the girl finished speaking, a brief silence enveloped the surroundings.
"Then I have one last question."
Charlotte shifted her gaze through the flickering firelight and looked at Mary's confident face as she spoke.
"How do you plan to handle this?"
"It's very simple. Just drop a letter into an unused mailbox. There are many such mailboxes in London."
"Where is the used mailbox?"
Charlotte pressed forward relentlessly.
"This is a trade secret."
Mary blinked. A mischievous light shone in her emerald green eyes.
"I'm not interested either."
Charlotte pursed her lips. "You write the letter and give me the address, and Russell will deliver it."
After saying that, she turned to Russell and said, "Phantom thief, no problem, right? Delivering a letter should be a piece of cake for you."
Russell shrugged. "Of course, gladly. But I have one question."
He said. "We're disposing of the body, but what about Lestrade? We can't let him run around like a headless fly, can we?"
"You don't need to worry about Lestrade."
Charlotte said this, then looked up at the date.
"Huh? Do you have a plan?"
Russell raised one eyebrow.
"Christmas is coming soon."
Charlotte suddenly said that.
"Christmas?"
Russell paused for a moment, then understood.
"Christmas is just around the corner. Scotland Yard needs to work on improving their performance."
"To be precise, it's time for Lestrade to work on improving his performance."
Charlotte corrected her mistake.
"Every year at this time, he gets a headache looking at the unsolved case files."
She stood up from her chair and walked to the window, looking up at the snowy night sky.
"At this time of year, Scotland Yard's storage is piled high with all kinds of unresolved case files."
"Robberies, street fights, drunk brawls… and homeless people freezing to death on the streets."
"Even if Lestrade had three heads and six arms, it would be impossible to investigate them all. After Christmas and into the new year, these files will be labeled "Under Investigation" and sent deep into the archives."
"And they will be forgotten."
Mary answered with a slight smile on her lips.
"Who would want to cause trouble at a time like this?"
"By this time next year, the accumulated dust will probably be about an inch (about 2.5 cm) thick."
"The premise is that no one goes to look at it."
Charlotte looked at her. "So, is your mailbox properly hidden?"
"There's a loose brick behind the telephone booth on the corner of Baker Street."
Mary said. "If you open it, there's a rusty iron box inside."
Charlotte raised her eyebrows slightly.
"That telephone booth?"
She repeated, "The one I see every day?"
"Because you see it every day, you don't pay attention to it."
Mary smiled. "Habits are truly troublesome things."
"Understood. Then it's fine."
"Thank you for your hard work."
Mary straightened her back, hugged Russell's neck, and kissed him on the lips.
"Behind the telephone booth on the corner of Baker Street, you can see it if you open the door of the third brick."
"It's almost time to leave. Someone comes to check that place every two hours."
"If we wait any longer, the Smithfield company's meat transport carriage will depart, and we'll have to postpone it until tomorrow."
"I see."
Russell nodded. "Then write the letter now. I'll go as soon as you're done."
"Mm."
Mary got up from Russell's lap, straightened her slightly disheveled pale yellow hair, and looked around the room.
"Can I borrow some paper and a pen?"
Charlotte raised her chin and pointed to the desk.
Mary stood up, walked to the desk piled high with documents, opened a drawer, and took out several sheets of white paper and a fountain pen.
She lightly dipped the fountain pen in the ink bottle and placed it on the paper.
The instructions were all very simple—only the time, place, purpose, and reward amount.
No unnecessary talk, no small talk, not even a signature.
Simple, efficient, and traceless.
After writing the last word, Mary put down the pen, folded the letter, and put it into a brown envelope.
"Alright, come back soon."
She said, "I'll give you a proper reward when you return."
"You don't qualify to receive a reward. Miss Morstan, go to sleep already."
Charlotte said from the side.
"Now it's my turn."