The next day.
The lecture hall at Imperial College.
For once, Russell wasn't sleeping through class.
On the contrary, he was bent over the questionnaire The Professor had handed out—a sheet crammed with all manner of questions—scribbling away furiously.
Only when the sound of The Professor announcing pens down rang out did he leisurely halt, stretch lazily, and wait for Professor Fields to come up and collect the answer sheets.
"How do you feel?"
Once The Professor had left, Mary finally spoke up, lowering her voice to ask.
"I can already smell the aroma of butter cookies."
Russell said.
Hearing this, the girl arched an eyebrow. "That confident?"
She asked, "Did you study late last night?"
"Incorrect. I didn't study at all last night." Russell slumped onto the desk. "Last night I went with Charlotte and Lestrade on a trip to the North London Highlands Sanatorium."
"What for?"
"Lestrade said on the phone that Charles had recovered."
Russell said offhandedly.
At these words, Mary's movements stiffened ever so slightly, and even her expression froze for a fleeting instant.
Fortunately, at this moment Russell was yawning and didn't notice her brief lapse.
Stay calm, Mary.
The girl told herself inwardly.
Things surely hadn't yet reached the point of no return.
If that fellow had truly recovered, then Russell wouldn't be talking to her with this kind of attitude right now.
"Charles... recovered?" she asked again, uncertainly.
"He recovered, but not completely." Russell said.
"What do you mean, not completely?"
Mary pressed, a flicker of tension she herself hadn't even noticed flashing through those azure-blue eyes.
"Just what it sounds like," Russell yawned, settling back into that lazy posture of his.
"That fellow can talk, can walk, knows not to pick food out of the trash to eat, knows to run under an eave when it rains—basically his logic is normal."
"Then... what about the part that isn't normal?"
"The moment a certain name comes up, or he sees certain specific phenomena, he immediately has a stress reaction and goes mad."
"A certain name?" Mary's heart quietly rose into her throat.
"Moriarty." Russell put it succinctly.
Hearing this, Mary finally breathed a slight sigh of relief.
"Actually, even without mentioning that name, the instant his brain makes the association on its own, he'll go mad all the same."
Russell said.
"At the time, Charlotte only asked him for the code to the vault, and as a result Charles's brain automatically associated it with everything that followed, and then he went mad."
"Then... did you get the code out of him in the end?"
"No." Russell shook his head.
Having heard Russell's account, Mary's hanging heart at last slowly settled back down.
"That really is a pity." she said softly, her tone carrying just the right measure of regret.
"Then didn't you make the trip for nothing?"
"It wasn't quite that bad," Russell shook his head. "Even though we didn't get the code, we at least narrowed down the range."
"The range?" Mary's heart rose up once more.
"Mm."
Russell told Mary the two key pieces of information he'd pried out of Charles the night before—[Section A-3]and[vault number twelve].
"Charlotte plans to go take a look at Lloyds Bank this Saturday, and she's dragging me along while she's at it."
"I see." Mary nodded, not pressing any further.
It seemed there really was a risk of recovery.
The girl slowly withdrew her gaze, tucking away along with it the shadow that had flashed through the depths of her eyes.
Everything as usual.
·
Saturday.
Russell, still fast asleep, was roused by a volley of impatient, urging knocks at the door.
"You've got one minute to open the door, or I'll break it down."
Charlotte's irritated voice sounded outside the door.
Russell reluctantly rolled over in bed, then went to open the door with a head of thoroughly tousled hair.
Charlotte stood in the doorway, draped in that same old trench coat she always wore, looking neat and crisp.
"Good morning, Charlotte." Russell yawned.
"Good morning," Charlotte looked at him. "I hope you haven't forgotten what we're doing today."
Hearing this, Russell fell silent for a moment, then turned his head and glanced behind him.
Then he turned back around and looked at Charlotte.
"I hope you're aware that Lloyds Bank opens at half past nine, and it's only eight o'clock now."
"The first tram from Baker Street to Lloyds Bank arrives at half past eight."
"..." Russell sighed. "Give me ten minutes."
"Five. Mrs. Hudson has already made breakfast."
With that, Charlotte turned and walked down the stairs.
Five minutes later, Russell appeared punctually at the dining table.
The breakfast Mrs. Hudson had prepared was, as ever, bacon and sandwiches, along with coffee or black tea.
Simple, but filling.
Charlotte was already seated there, today's morning paper in her hands, that absorbed look about her as if everything around her had nothing to do with her.
Russell pulled out a chair and sat down, picked up his own portion of breakfast, and made short work of it.
Having finished breakfast, the two rose and headed out, arriving at the nearest tram platform.
"Actually, you know we didn't need to come this early, right?" Russell said, leaning against a utility pole at the side.
"The sooner we finish, the sooner we get back—we have to go to Buckingham Palace this afternoon."
"This afternoon?" Russell frowned. "Wasn't it supposed to be tomorrow?"
"Mycroft told me," Charlotte said carelessly.
"He said we should come a day early, and then Buckingham Palace will go into a no-visitors state.
Doing it this way is also to prevent anyone from slipping in tomorrow."
"Then where do we stay?"
"Buckingham Palace is so big—would it really be short one guest room for you?" Charlotte shot him a glance.
"You can even use the chance to enjoy a couple of extra rounds of royal Afternoon tea and dinner, so count your blessings."
"True enough." Russell thought it over and decided he wasn't getting a bad deal out of this.
Lodging, meals, and transport all included.
And when the time came, he could just find some excuse to slip away and transform, then award himself a couple of work-related injuries once it was done...
Where on earth would you find such a sweet gig?
The tram pulled in right on time, and the two of them boarded the carriage one after the other.
There weren't many people in the carriage, and the two found a seat by the window and sat down.
The street scenery outside the window slowly slid backward in the morning light.
"About Lloyds Bank," Russell said, gazing out the window, asking casually, "has Lestrade given them a heads-up?"
"Mm," Charlotte gave a sound of acknowledgment, her gaze still resting on the newspaper.
"He's already communicated in advance with the bank's director, that fellow called Tommy.
Once we arrive, we just head straight to Section A-3."
"He's not coming?"
"Scotland Yard is run off its feet right now—where would he find the time to come dig through paper piles at a bank with us?" Charlotte said disdainfully.
"With that kind of time, he'd be better off catching a few more thieves on the streets to pad his arrest record."
Russell chuckled and said nothing more.
The tram rolled along steadily, and before long it came to a stop near Lloyds Bank.
The two got off, walked a short distance, and arrived before that magnificent building.
After the last incident, Lloyds Bank had undergone a thorough round of upgrades.
Now, merely entering required first registering one's name, purpose, and time.
Russell bent down, wrote his name and purpose on the registration form, then prepared to enter along with Charlotte.
However, at that very moment, the two were stopped.
"Apologies, sir."
The guard pointed at the registration form, looked at Russell, and said with a brusque, by-the-book attitude:
"We have not received any notice from Scotland Yard."
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