The next day, just as the sky was beginning to lighten, Russell opened his eyes upon the bed.
His body clock had instinctively roused him early, and by the time his mind had caught up and recalled that he had, it seemed, already taken his leave of absence, he found he could no longer fall back asleep.
Oh well. If he couldn't sleep, then he couldn't sleep.
Russell got up from the bed, and after washing up, made his way toward the dining hall with the ease of long familiarity.
When he reached his destination, he saw Charlotte seated in the very same spot as yesterday.
Only this time, there was the addition of Mycroft.
"Good morning, you two."
Russell walked over and called out a greeting. At his words, Mycroft turned his head and gave Russell a faint smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Watson."
"Mm." That was Charlotte's response.
"How did you sleep last night?" Mycroft asked.
"That was probably the most comfortable sleep I've had in my entire life," Russell said with a smile.
"I'm honestly afraid I won't be able to adjust once I'm back at Baker Street—insomnia would be a real headache."
"If the chance arises in the future, you're welcome to come again," Mycroft said, his words carrying a pointed undertone.
At this, Charlotte, seated beside him, shot him an icy glance.
"Mycroft, I think your breakfast hour is a touch too leisurely—don't you have any work to do?"
"What I had to do has, for the moment, come to a close, Charlotte." Mycroft spoke with composed dignity.
"Need I remind you—Moriarty got away; he wasn't caught."
"His Majesty does not intend to pursue that thief's impudence any further, so—let him flee if he flees."
"Not pursuing it?" Charlotte frowned. "Why?"
"Because he repaired Her Highness's music box."
"That's it?"
"That music box is extremely precious to Her Highness Louise. Why do you think she would rather let it stay broken than throw it away or have someone repair it?"
Mycroft asked in turn, and without waiting for Charlotte to answer, he continued:
"Because before that, His Majesty had already sought out nearly every craftsman in all of London, and without exception, every one of them pronounced that music box a lost cause.
For one thing, the music box was custom-made and its parts had no spares at all; for another, the design and structure of the thing were rather complex. You might call it a work of craft, but really it leans more toward a work of art. Failing to fix it is one thing, but to break it while trying to fix it would be... well, you understand.
And yet, against all odds, the music box Moriarty sent back was not only repaired—even the parts inside had been refurbished.
After seeing the smile and excitement on Her Highness's face at that moment, even with all his fury, His Majesty's anger melted away."
At this, Russell silently picked up his teacup and took a sip.
"Then you must be quite pleased, aren't you, Mycroft?" Charlotte looked at her elder brother.
"No need to go chasing after Moriarty anymore."
Mycroft naturally caught the veiled sarcasm behind those words, and couldn't help knitting his brows.
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'd rather ask you in turn—isn't there something you ought to explain?"
Charlotte looked at him.
"Or are you going to tell me that everything Moriarty said last night was just slinging mud at you?"
Mycroft was, for a moment, at a loss for words.
"Listen, Charlotte—"
"Before you speak, I want to remind you first, Mycroft."
Charlotte cut Mycroft off.
"Don't forget the rule."
"The rule? What rule?" Russell's gaze shifted curiously back and forth between the two of them.
"Mycroft and I have never gotten along since we were children," Charlotte explained. "We both thought the other was an idiot."
"So, in those callow, foolish years, Charlotte and I played no shortage of tricks on each other," Mycroft said helplessly.
"Later, as time went on, we formed a rule—"
"No lying." Charlotte stared into Mycroft's eyes, enunciating each word.
But for some reason, Russell always felt that when she said this, her tone carried a hint of... being directed at him.
Probably just his imagination.
"No matter what you've done, as long as you're found out, then you have to admit it."
Hearing this, the smile on Mycroft's face finally could no longer hold.
He looked at Charlotte in silence, and in those eyes that always hid calculation and guile, all that remained now was resignation.
"Yes," he said at last, after a long while, finally speaking properly, "no lying."
Russell sat between the two of them, watching this standoff between brother and sister with great interest.
This is exactly what I love to see.
He picked up a slice of golden-toasted bread and unhurriedly spread butter over it, all the while observing Mycroft's reaction.
"So," Charlotte set down the porcelain cup in her hand, her gaze fixed straight on Mycroft.
"You and Moriarty—what exactly is your relationship?"
Mycroft once again fell into silence.
He picked up the coffee cup before him, but did not drink, only gazing at the curling tendrils of steam rising from it, as if marshaling his words.
In the end, he let out a sigh, like a man resigned to his fate.
"I admit it," he lifted his head, his gaze meeting his sister's frankly. "Between him and me, there does indeed exist a certain... cooperative relationship."
"A cooperative relationship?" Charlotte arched a brow. "So, you didn't pass on the things I told you to Buckingham Palace, did you?"
"I didn't." Mycroft nodded candidly.
"Was that also a condition of the cooperation?"
"Yes, but to put it more precisely, it shouldn't be called cooperation—rather, it was a wager."
"A wager?" Charlotte frowned. "You and him—wagering on what?"
"Wagering on whether or not he could make me work overtime, and then I lost. According to the terms of the wager, if I lost, I had to play along with his heralding letter."
Mycroft shrugged.
"What were the terms of the wager?" Russell asked out of curiosity, or rather, serving as Charlotte's mouthpiece.
At this, Mycroft glanced at Russell, then glanced at Charlotte, before saying:
"At the time, I was resting, when he appeared without a single sound at the window of my study, and then climbed in.
Moriarty handed me a file, and said that if I could still keep my composure after seeing what was inside, then he would have lost.
As the price, he would take off his mask; otherwise, I would be the one who lost."
"And the contents of the file?"
"Evidence of Sir Phineas Black's treason—not that you'd recognize the name even if I told you."
Mycroft waved a hand. "In short, I lost, so I owned up to the bet like a good sport. It's as simple as that."
"Only this once?" Charlotte asked.
"Of course, only this once." Mycroft nodded.
Hearing this, she fell into silence.
If it really was only this once, then...
The chain of logic she had so painstakingly built up once again seemed on the verge of crumbling apart.
"Tsk." Charlotte knit her brows and, in irritation, downed the coffee in her cup in one gulp.
"All right, that's enough on that subject." Mycroft rose to his feet.
"I've already given the orders—after lunch, a carriage will take you both back to Baker Street.
Also, regarding the visitation permit for Lloyds Bank, I've gone ahead and applied for it on your behalf."
As he spoke, Mycroft drew out a letter from his pocket.
Charlotte reached out to take it, then tossed it over to Russell.
"Hold onto this."
"Me?"
"Didn't you say you wanted to slap him in the face with it?" Charlotte gave him a glance.
At this, Russell shrugged, then tucked the envelope safely away.
"Many thanks, Mr. Mycroft." Russell solemnly put away that letter bearing the royal crest.
"I promise, it will be put to the fullest use."
"I believe it." Mycroft nodded, then turned his gaze toward Charlotte.
"Well then, if there's nothing else, I shall take my leave."
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