Yet the imagined collision with the side of the carriage never came.
In its place was a warm, powerful embrace.
Charlotte instinctively opened her eyes, and what met them was Russell's face, mere inches from her own.
In the instant she'd nearly slammed into the carriage wall, his arm had already wrapped around her waist, drawing her whole body into his arms.
A familiar scent — one she had scarcely ever noticed before — suddenly enveloped Charlotte's senses.
It was a faint, soapy fragrance, mingled with something that almost smelled like sunlight.
What does sunlight even smell like?
The question popped into Charlotte's mind out of nowhere.
She couldn't even work out why she'd made such an association.
It was just... utterly inexplicable.
She could hear, with perfect clarity, her own treacherous heartbeat — in that moment pounding like a military drum hammered by a drummer gone berserk, chaotic and deafening.
"Are you all right?" Russell's voice came from above her head, pulling her back from her brief daze.
"I'm... I'm fine."
Charlotte hastily broke free of his embrace and steadied herself, the flush that flickered across her face perfectly concealed beneath a mask of feigned, icy composure.
She tugged a little awkwardly at the rumpled collar of her trench coat, as if that momentary lapse had never happened.
"What's going on up front?" she said, changing the subject, her gaze turning toward the head of the tram.
"Looks like a child suddenly ran out onto the tracks..."
Russell followed her line of sight and, thanks to his height, could make out the situation at the front of the car.
The commotion was still going on, the passengers' complaints and startled cries rising one after another.
Soon the conductor squeezed his way through the crowded mass of people, an apologetic look on his face.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my sincere apologies — the tram is temporarily unable to continue."
"What? Then how long do we have to wait?"
"You can't just leave us stranded here!"
"Refund our money!"
The passengers' tempers ignited in an instant, and the carriage grew even noisier.
"Let's just get off," Charlotte said, knitting her brow, clearly impatient with the chaotic scene.
Russell nodded, and the two of them followed the flow of people out of that all-but-bursting carriage.
The air outside was cold and crisp, yet it soothed, just a little, the irritation the two of them had picked up from all the noise and crowding.
"Looks like we'll have to walk back," Russell said, glancing at Baker Street not far off.
"Mm." Charlotte gave a small reply, thrust her hands back into the pockets of her trench coat, and started walking.
Russell silently fell into step beside her, and the two walked on in silence, neither bringing up that little episode that had just occurred on the tram.
The sunlight stretched their shadows long across the pavement, now and then overlapping, then quickly parting again, like a pair of dancers chasing one another in play.
"So, what time are we setting off this afternoon?" Russell asked.
"Three o'clock. Mycroft is sending a carriage to pick us up," Charlotte answered.
"Then we've still got a few hours of free time," Russell said, glancing at the clock tower by the street.
"Mm," Charlotte nodded. Her steps faltered slightly, and she turned her head to look at Russell, a trace of uncertainty in those gray-blue eyes.
"Do you... have any plans?"
"Sleep." Russell's answer was crisp and decisive.
"..."
Charlotte was silent for a moment, then in the end only let out a soft sigh, as though she'd long since anticipated this answer.
"And besides sleeping?"
"Eating, drinking tea, reading the newspaper, listening to you play the violin." Russell counted them off one by one on his fingers.
"Your life is as boring as you are," Charlotte remarked disdainfully.
"At least it's more interesting than hitting a wall at the bank," Russell shot back.
And then, quite unsurprisingly, he earned himself an eye-roll from the young lady.
Bickering on and off like that, the two of them arrived back before that familiar door at 221B Baker Street.
Baker Street was quiet in the early afternoon, the morning's clamor gone, with only a few pigeons cooing on the rooftops, lazily basking in the sun.
Russell returned to his room, set his alarm clock, then flung himself heavily onto the bed, ready to catch an utterly invincible second round of sleep.
In the last instant before his consciousness blurred, the sound of a violin drifted to his ears.
Gentle and melodious.
At three in the afternoon, the alarm went off right on time, dragging Russell back to reality from his dead-to-the-world slumber.
He groggily switched off the alarm, lingered in bed for a minute or two, and only then reluctantly climbed up.
Just as Russell finished changing and was wondering whether to bring along that music box he'd repaired, his gaze suddenly fell on the Teleport Anchor he'd set up in the bedroom.
Better not bring it after all — wouldn't want it turning up when they go through security later.
He could just make a trip back if needed; it wouldn't take any effort anyway.
With that thought, he finished dressing and set off downstairs.
Charlotte was already waiting downstairs.
"You're two minutes late."
Seeing Russell ambling leisurely down the stairs, Charlotte glanced at her pocket watch and announced the time with precision.
"My alarm clock is two minutes slow compared to your watch," Russell said, perfectly self-assured.
"You're the one who didn't set it properly."
"No, it means your watch is two minutes fast."
"What a boring quibble." Charlotte rolled her eyes and turned to walk toward the door.
"Let's go."
Russell shrugged and followed behind her, climbing into the spacious carriage roomy enough to seat four.
The coachman didn't ask a single extra question; once the two of them were settled, he expertly cracked the whip, and the carriage pulled smoothly away from Baker Street.
It was quiet inside the carriage, with only the monotonous yet rhythmic sound of the wheels rolling over the cobblestone road.
Russell leaned back against the soft cushions, idly watching the streetscape rush backward past the window.
Charlotte, meanwhile, had her eyes closed, as if dozing — or perhaps constructing her Mind Palace.
"By the way," Russell suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence, "what exactly are we supposed to do when we get there?"
"Observe. Wait." Charlotte opened her eyes, concise and to the point.
"After we arrive, Mycroft will brief us in detail on the entire security layout of Buckingham Palace, as well as the few spots where Moriarty is most likely to appear.
What we have to do is lie in wait at the most suitable position — without alerting anyone — and wait for that thief to walk right into the net."
"Sounds like fishing," Russell remarked.
"If you like, you can think of it that way," Charlotte said noncommittally.
"It's just that this time the fish happens to be rather cunning."
"And what if he doesn't show?" Russell asked again.
"Then we'll just treat it as a holiday at Buckingham Palace," Charlotte said breezily.
"Besides, he's certain to come," she added with conviction.
The carriage passed through London's bustling city center and at last drew slowly to a halt before the tall, solemn iron gates of Buckingham Palace.
The royal guards at the entrance had already been notified, and after inspecting the pass the coachman presented, they immediately opened that gate which ordinary people could never cross in their entire lives.
The carriage drove into the palace grounds, following the broad tree-lined avenue, and finally stopped on the plaza before the main building.
Mycroft was already waiting there.
He still wore that impeccably immaculate suit, with that flawless, gentle smile on his face.
"Good afternoon, Charlotte — and Mr. Watson."
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