The carriage ran for about thirty minutes through the night before finally stopping at the intersection of Baker Street.
"Stop here. I can walk the rest of the way myself."
Russell lightly tapped the wooden floor of the carriage. After getting off, he walked toward the familiar door of 221B.
He had gotten off early on purpose. He wanted the cold winter wind of London to wash away the overly strong scent of white camellia clinging to his body, so as to avoid unnecessary risks when he entered the house later.
When Russell pushed open the heavy oak door of 221B Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson and Charlotte were sitting at the dining table.
Mrs. Hudson looked up when she saw Russell come in, then instinctively glanced at the person beside him — but the familiar girl was nowhere to be seen.
"Russell, why are you so late? And alone?"
The old lady couldn't help but ask. "Where's Mary? Didn't she come back with you?"
"She went back to her home in Kensington."
Russell took off his dark gray wool coat covered in snowflakes and hung his hat on the coat rack by the entrance.
The oak door he casually closed shut out the howling wind outside. The warmth from the fireplace in the first-floor living room instantly enveloped him.
"Mr. Morstan has fallen ill, and a great many letters have arrived from the family. Tomorrow, many elders are scheduled to come visit."
"She couldn't get away, so she won't be coming to Baker Street tonight. She probably won't be able to come for the next few days either."
"But she said she really enjoyed living on Baker Street, and that once all the troublesome matters are settled, she plans to move back."
"Ah, poor girl…" Mrs. Hudson pressed a hand to her chest, her face filled with deep worry and sorrow.
"She's only just gone through such a huge change, and now she has to face those cold-hearted relatives and the cunning old foxes of the business world all by herself."
"That big house is so empty now. She must be feeling terribly anxious being alone there."
"Yeah, it really is tough work."
Russell nodded. "But don't worry too much, Mrs. Hudson. The old butler of the Morstan family has everything perfectly in order."
"Come on, let's eat! Charlotte and I have been waiting."
Mrs. Hudson waved him over.
Russell answered and stepped forward. Charlotte, holding a teacup, glanced at him as he sat down, then silently looked away without saying a word.
Dinner passed in a quiet, harmonious atmosphere.
Afterward, Mrs. Hudson volunteered to wash the dishes — probably because Mary wasn't there and she had no one to talk to, she needed something to do. In any case, Russell and Charlotte stood up and went upstairs, heading not to Charlotte's room this time, but to Russell's.
"Make tea."
Charlotte sat on the sofa and gave the order.
"Got it."
Russell picked up the teapot, filled it with water, and placed it on the gas stove.
The kettle on the stove made a soft, rhythmic sound as the blue flame licked the bottom of the copper kettle in steady pulses.
"So, how was your day at Imperial College?"
Charlotte asked.
"The Mary Morstan with blonde hair and green eyes must have caused quite a stir, right?"
"Mhm."
Russell avoided a direct answer. "But Mary succeeded in fooling everyone with her acting, so no further questions or suspicions arose."
"You two have quite the acting skills."
Charlotte said sarcastically.
"If the Royal Opera House doesn't offer you both a contract, it would be a waste of your talents."
"Thank you for the compliment."
Russell replied without changing his expression.
"Did you go to Kensington with her after school?"
Charlotte asked again.
"Yeah."
"And then what happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"The so-called relatives of the Morstan family, of course."
Charlotte elegantly crossed her legs and looked at Russell by the gas stove.
"If you're asking about those so-called relatives, she's already finished writing all the replies."
Russell watched the water in the kettle gradually come to a boil and calmly recounted how Mary had threatened her uncle George with the twenty-thousand-pound promissory note. Upon hearing this, Charlotte showed a barely noticeable smile of approval.
"Good."
She gave a lukewarm evaluation.
"At least she still has some wits about her and hasn't become a fool who can only think about a certain man."
She paused for a moment, then changed the subject.
"What about the other side of things?"
"What other side?"
"Besides official business, you only spent one hour reading letters as her secretary?"
"Psssh—"
At that moment, the kettle boiled and let out a sharp hiss.
Russell turned around, picked up the hot kettle, and poured plenty of boiling water into the teapot. Along with the rising steam, the rich, mellow aroma of black tea quickly filled the room.
"What else could it be?"
He brought over two cups of brewed tea, poured one for Charlotte, and handed it to her.
Charlotte didn't take the tea right away.
She stood up from the armchair and silently walked toward Russell.
The distance between them was forcibly reduced to less than half an arm's length — a dangerous threshold.
The girl tilted her head slightly. Her nostrils twitched ever so faintly.
In that extremely subtle movement, Russell sighed inwardly.
"Wool coats are effective at retaining body heat in blizzards, but they have the drawback of easily absorbing odors."
Charlotte said slowly.
"For example… white camellia perfume strongly evokes a sense of territorial marking."
She extended her long, slender white hand and casually grabbed Russell's shirt collar with her fingertips.
"Charlotte, you're overthinking it."
Russell reached out and ruffled Charlotte's hair.
"Nothing particularly happened."
"Reason?"
"If something had really happened, one hour wouldn't have been enough."
His fingers slowly moved downward and lifted Charlotte's chin.
"She's not coming back tonight."
Charlotte was surprised and narrowed her eyes slightly.
In this frank, almost cruel battle of wits between men and women, this aloof and proud female detective was clearly still at the stage of being a theoretical expert.
"Hmph."
She turned her face away and reached for the teacup in Russell's other hand.
The warmth of the cup dispelled the slight chill in her fingertips. Charlotte lowered her head a little, took a sip from the rim, then turned and gently placed the teacup on Russell's desk.
"That means she's going to be quite busy for a while, isn't she?"
Charlotte changed the subject.
"She has to guard against both outsiders and insiders. So what are you planning to do?"
"I'm just going to do what I need to do."
Russell said. "I'm not even a member of the Morstan family yet, so I shouldn't have any say in their decisions, right? And even if I did become a family member, you wouldn't be happy about it."
"In other words, London's thief, Mr. Moriarty, intends to just sit back and watch?"
"If I do act, I'll wait until she contacts me first."
Russell picked up his teacup and sat down on the sofa.
"She has her own pace. There's no need for me to interfere. Mary will come to me when she needs to."
Charlotte didn't give a clear reply to this and looked away.
"Fine. Then let's let that annoying professor handle the Morstan family's troubles herself."
Charlotte said.
"Now that that bothersome girl is gone, and Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard no longer has cases to trouble me with… I still have a full ten hours until I have to go to that damn school tomorrow morning."
Charlotte leaned forward slightly, her tone provocative.
"If one hour isn't enough, is ten hours enough, Russell?"
In that instant, it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.
The crackling of burning wood in the fireplace suddenly sounded deafening.
Russell sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Charlotte, who was staring at him like a newborn calf that knew no fear. Gradually, a dangerous light began to appear in his usually calm eyes.
Unlike Mary, who was born knowing how to use her weaknesses as weapons and was skilled at navigating the world of desire, this was an entirely different story.
Charlotte was like a reckless novice trying to drive a steam locomotive using only a theoretical instruction manual when it came to love.
"Do you really want to talk to me in that tone, Miss Holmes?"
Russell lowered his hands and walked step by step toward the bedside.
His large figure instantly cast a heavy shadow that completely enveloped Charlotte.
He didn't take any action right away. He simply leaned down slightly, placed both hands on the bed on either side of Charlotte's body, and trapped her in this narrow space.
Their noses were almost touching. Their hot breaths mingled and intertwined in the cold air.
"I didn't say one hour wasn't enough to brag."
Russell's voice was low and attractively hoarse, each word resonating against Charlotte's eardrums.
"Up until now, all your deductions have been based entirely on rational observation and objective evidence."
"But there are some things that can't be concluded through logic alone… You have to experience them yourself to understand."
Charlotte held her breath, but her gray-blue eyes still held unwavering stubbornness.
"Then, thief, show me what else you can do besides those vulgar massage techniques you use to deceive innocent young girls?"
She met Russell's gaze without flinching and boldly reached out to grab the slightly open collar of his shirt, forcibly pulling him half a step closer.
Russell could no longer hide the smile in his eyes.
He didn't resist Charlotte's pull. Instead, he went along with it and stepped forward.
"As you wish, great detective."
…
The next morning.
The faint, cold first light of dawn in winter pierced through the morning mist lingering on London's streets.
By the time frost flowers had formed on the window glass of the second-floor bedroom at 221B Baker Street, the remaining embers in the fireplace had already become flickering deep crimson coals.
Russell slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he felt was his left arm — it had been pressed down for so long that it was completely numb.
His gaze shifted slightly downward.
Amid the messy silk bedding, Charlotte was curled up defenselessly in his arms like a cat that had completely lost its strength.
She was sound asleep.
Her usually curly hair was messily scattered across the white pillow.
Most of her face was buried in the blanket, with only her smooth forehead and a small part of her slender, swan-like neck visible.
Her delicate neck and collarbones were as smooth as fresh snow, dotted with several vivid red plum-blossom marks like early spring plum flowers, quietly and resolutely telling the story of the long, intense actions that had taken place in this room last night.
Right beside the bed, a silk nightgown had been carelessly thrown aside like a discarded rag, tangled with Russell's crumpled cotton blouse.
Just one glance at the scene after the storm was enough to imagine how frenzied the private activity had been for several hours.
Charlotte, who had fallen into a deep sleep from extreme exhaustion, let out a faint whimper as if she had sensed Russell's slight movement of withdrawing his arm.
"…Mmm…"
Her voice was terribly hoarse, as if it had been filed down. Even her long eyelashes trembled uncomfortably. The girl didn't open her eyes and instinctively rubbed her cheek against Russell's warm chest again. Her delicate brows furrowed slightly.
"Awake?"
Russell asked quietly.
"My back… feels like it was run over by a Scotland Yard patrol car three times…"
She kept her eyes closed and muttered incoherently.
"Strictly speaking, it took about three hours to grind them all."
Russell said.
"I feel like I'm going to get dehydrated…"
Charlotte gritted her teeth and tried to turn over in protest.
However, the moment she moved, an indescribable pain shot through a certain part of her body. She gasped and immediately stiffened, giving up on resisting.
She was proud, but at the same time desperately calculating which muscles in her body were aching from lactic acid buildup.
The conclusion was clear: total annihilation.
The bone-deep numbness and fatigue made her realize for the first time how much trouble her damn competitive spirit had caused when faced with an overwhelming physical difference.
Especially this man's insatiable stamina and his maddening methods…
How on earth had Mary Morstan been able to stand the next day as if nothing had happened after experiencing all that?
For no particular reason, a sense of admiration sprouted in the girl's heart.
In any case, she definitely couldn't move today. The waterway had been closed to traffic three hours ago. At a rate of one port every thirty minutes, she had passed through at least six times.
Six times in total.
Each time she had been pushed to the limit, then pushed over the edge again, until she no longer even had the strength to cry out, clinging to the edge of the blanket like a dehydrated fish.
Was this supposed to be an academic discussion? This was nothing but one-sided physical bullying.
Even now, Charlotte couldn't help but marvel at how miraculous it was that she hadn't died of dehydration.
"What are you thinking about, great detective?"
A low voice from above interrupted her melancholy thoughts.
Russell looked at the fluffy head in his arms — sometimes frowning, sometimes gritting her teeth — and couldn't help but chuckle.
His right hand, which had regained sensation, skillfully combed through Charlotte's messy curls, gently massaging her warm scalp with his fingertips to soothe her tense nerves.
"Do you remember that someone promised 'this is the last time' at two in the morning?"
Charlotte's gloomy voice came from under the blanket, nasal and heavy.
She poked half her face out from under the covers. Her gray-blue eyes still glistened with tears as she glared at him.
"I think I did say that."
Russell shrugged ambiguously.
"But who was it that bit my shoulder while crying and said she couldn't believe she couldn't last ten hours?"
The detective's proud eloquence suffered an unprecedented defeat at this moment.
Fragmented, frenzied, irrational memories surged into Charlotte's mind like a tsunami. Her cheeks flushed bright red.
Seeing the girl's despairing expression, Russell finally took pity on her and let her go.
"I'll bring you a glass of warm water. You need to rehydrate. There's no time to make breakfast."
"I still have to clean up the room…"
He sighed, looking at the scattered items on the floor and the sheets that looked freshly washed.
"Luckily, the sheets I put in the laundry basket yesterday haven't been washed yet. Charlotte, you really had foresight."
The girl reached out from under the blanket and gave Russell the middle finger.
"..."