"He's gone."
Mycroft gazed at the deserted top of the tower and, at last, helplessly arrived at this conclusion.
He turned around, looking at the royal guardsmen behind him who were still caught in shock, and at Charlotte, whose face wore a thoughtful expression, then wearily pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Let's pull back," he said, waving a hand. "That's it for tonight."
Elsewhere, Louise still stood dazed where she was, head tilted back, gazing up at that vast, empty night sky, motionless for a long while.
It was not until a servant's voice called her back to reality that she was led back to the bedroom she had just left.
Meanwhile, Charlotte had begun searching through Buckingham Palace for Russell.
She hurriedly pushed open every door, trying to find that familiar figure.
Charlotte searched nearly every place Russell might have been, from the dining hall to the gallery, and on to every corridor they had passed during their walk the day before.
But there was no sign of him anywhere.
Anxiety, along with an emotion she herself couldn't put into words, began to creep through the depths of her heart like a spreading vine, drawing tighter and tighter.
She wasn't worried about that fellow's safety—Charlotte told herself inwardly.
Moriarty wouldn't hurt him; of that she was certain.
She simply, purely, wanted to find him quickly, and then mock him mercilessly—mock him for being such an incompetent assistant, utterly useless at the critical moment.
Yes, that was all it was.
So she told herself, yet her steps quickened of their own accord, heading toward the last place she could think of.
—The Royal Garden.
Crossing that long path paved with white gravel, that familiar white pavilion stood quietly in the moonlight, not far off.
The moment Charlotte set foot in the garden, her steps softened without her realizing it.
She drew nearer to that pavilion step by step, until that familiar, dainty white pavilion came into her sight.
Charlotte slowed her pace, breathing hard, approaching cautiously, one step at a time.
And then, she saw the very person she had been searching for.
Beside that cold white marble pillar of the pavilion, carved with rose patterns, a familiar figure leaned against it, his head tilted slightly, his breathing steady.
He seemed to be asleep, his head drooping a little, the sound of his even breathing all but inaudible in the silence of the night.
Moonlight slipped through the gaps in the pavilion's roof, casting dappled light and shadow over him, lending that ever-somewhat-languid sleeping face of his an especially gentle softness.
Charlotte's steps came to a halt less than three meters away from him.
She just stood there quietly, watching him, those gray-blue eyes now brimming with a light like that of relief.
That heart of hers, which had been pounding wildly from anxiety and worry, settled bit by bit the instant she saw he was safe and sound.
The night breeze blew past, sweeping up a few fallen leaves, and stirring those few unruly strands of hair on his forehead as well.
He looked to be sleeping deeply, peacefully, like a carefree youth dozing in the afternoon sun.
Charlotte stood in place for a long while, those gray-blue eyes—looking especially clear in the moonlight—churning with emotions even she herself couldn't read.
In the end, she still took a step forward and walked into the pavilion.
She came up before Russell, yet did not wake him at once.
She merely sat quietly to one side, greedily savoring this hard-won tranquility that belonged to this moment alone.
For some reason, that irritation lodged in her heart, born of Moriarty's successful escape, miraculously dissolved bit by bit in this moment.
In its place came a complicated emotion.
She stared at Russell's sleeping face, her gaze full of scrutiny.
Why would he turn up here?
This place was, if not very far, then certainly not at all close to the princess's bedroom.
From the moment she and Mycroft heard Russell's alarm cry, to the confrontation with Moriarty, the whole process spanned probably less than three minutes.
Three minutes—even if he could fly, there was no way Moriarty could have carried the unconscious Russell from the room next to the princess's all the way to this garden.
Unless he had come here on his own.
But if that were the case...
At this thought, the expression with which Charlotte regarded Russell grew even more complicated.
Let's just call it... the price of Moriarty covering his tuition and rent.
After all, one's hands are tied when one takes another's favors.
So Charlotte talked herself round.
"Every single one of them—why do they all love getting tangled up with that fellow?"
Charlotte grumbled a complaint, then reached out and gently shook his shoulder.
"Hey," she called. "Wake up, Watson."
"Mm..."
A muffled, drowsy murmur came from Russell's throat. He frowned, seemingly displeased at this sudden disturbance.
He shifted his posture, rubbing his head against the cold stone pillar, but still showed no sign of waking.
Tsk, still putting on an act.
Charlotte frowned.
"Stop sleeping. It's all over."
She reached out and pinched his cheek, her voice a bit louder than before, carrying a hint of payback in it.
This time, Russell finally reacted.
He slowly opened those eyes still carrying a trace of bleary sleepiness.
"Charlotte?"
He looked at this pretty face so close before him, his brain stuck in a crashed state for a good several seconds.
"Wait, why are we here? Did I travel back to yesterday?"
What do you think?
The girl shot back in her heart, but what came out of her mouth was an entirely different line.
"It's already over."
"Over?" Russell sat up straight, rubbed his somewhat sore neck, and looked around.
"What about Moriarty? Did you catch him?" he asked, knowing full well the answer.
"What do you think?" Charlotte answered a question with a question. "More than where Moriarty went, I'm more curious why you ended up here."
"How would I know..." Russell scratched his head and began spinning a yarn.
"All I remember is that after I charged into the room, I happened to see that fellow climbing in through the window.
Then I went to grab him, but suddenly everything went black—probably some kind of smoke bomb or something."
"And then what?" Charlotte pressed on.
"And then, I tried to pinpoint his position by sound, but..."
"But you heard no sound at all, and then you passed out, right?"
"Mm, he seems to have sprayed something on my face, and then I blacked out."
Russell nodded.
"And when I woke up again, I was here."
"That's actually the same as what happened to me and Mycroft." Charlotte's expression didn't change at all, as if she had long expected it.
"So... I messed up?" Russell put on a worried expression.
"In that situation, it would have been the same no matter who it was," she consoled him. "It's not your fault. Don't take it to heart."
That much was the truth.
Even without Russell's help, given the uncanny footwork that fellow had displayed when crossing blows with her and Mycroft, the outcome wouldn't have been much different anyway.
After a pause, she added another line: "Only, don't be so reckless next time.
It just so happens that fellow had no intention of hurting anyone—if it had been someone else instead..."
"I promise." Russell nodded.
"All right, let's go. Don't stay here any longer." Charlotte turned around. "Let's head back inside."
"Mm." Russell got to his feet as well.
"What about Mycroft?" Russell asked. "He must be run off his feet right now, huh?"
"More or less," Charlotte said noncommittally.
"He's dealing with the aftermath, and handling His Majesty, who was woken up, while he's at it."
"And us?"
"Our mission is already over. Get a good night's sleep tonight, and tomorrow a carriage will take us back to Baker Street.
If you don't mind, we could even finish lunch before we go."
"Sounds pretty good." Russell nodded with satisfaction.
Then, as if something had occurred to him, he turned his head to look at Charlotte.
"By the way, when did you find me?"
"Just now." Charlotte answered without looking sideways. "Why?"
"Really?" Russell raised an eyebrow. "Why do I feel like, while I was asleep, someone was standing beside me for a while..."
"Either it was your imagination, or you were so cold you started hallucinating."
Charlotte retorted without batting an eye, though her steps unnaturally quickened a little.
"Remember to drink plenty of hot water once we get back."
"Oh." Russell gave a vague reply and didn't press further.
The two of them, one ahead of the other, crossed that moonlight-soaked garden and returned to the warm, brightly lit indoors.
Perhaps because the farce had drawn to a close, the attendants and guards in the corridors had thinned out considerably, making the place seem especially quiet.
Only after confirming that Russell was safe and sound did Mycroft and the others finally breathe a sigh of relief, and they told him not to take it to heart.
Just as the two of them were heading back to rest, Russell suddenly thought of something and asked:
"By the way... what about the music box?"
The instant the words fell, everyone's footsteps came to a halt in unison.
Right after, a melodious tune drifted up from Louise's bedroom.
"When did...?" Charlotte knit her brows.
"I remember... when Mr. Moriarty first appeared, he told me the music box had already been put back," Louise said from the side.
"It's just that before he could say where it was, he was cut off by Miss Holmes."
"So..." Russell paused. "From the very beginning he had already returned the thing, and everything afterward was just... playing along with the performance?"
For a moment, everyone fell into silence.
The Phantom Hand gently turned the music box's winding key, making it give off a melodious, ethereal tune.
As if it were tonight's curtain-call piece.
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