"Sounds like you really did... have rotten luck."
Even though she knew the fellow before her was spinning the whole thing out of thin air, Mary's face nonetheless wore a look of perfectly measured sympathy.
"Indeed." Russell nodded with feeling.
"Had I been on the scene, I might well have caught that Phantom Thief. Alas—that my scheme came to naught was the will of Heaven."
"So, what did Charlotte say in the end?" Mary asked curiously. "About Moriarty."
"She... she said she could suddenly understand those fellows at Lloyds Bank," Russell said. "In her eyes, Moriarty is just like a ghost, too."
At this, Mary arched a brow, looking somewhat surprised.
"I'd never have thought even Charlotte would say such a thing—then this Moriarty really is something else."
The girl sighed, her gaze settling on Russell.
How on earth did he pull it off...?
"Is there anything else?" Mary asked again, seeming thoroughly invested in the events of the previous night.
"Hmm... there is, actually." Russell thought for a moment, then nodded. "It's about Mycroft."
"Mm-hm?"
Mary leaned in a little closer, and the white-tea fragrance about her drifted with the motion to the tip of Russell's nose.
"What about Mycroft?"
"Our earlier guesses about the relationship between Moriarty and Mycroft were all wrong," Russell said.
"Wrong?" Mary blinked. "Mycroft and Moriarty have no connection?"
"They do, but not much," Russell said.
He told Mary, in full and faithful detail, of that standoff between the siblings Charlotte and Mycroft, and the whole story of their wager.
"So in other words," Mary said after hearing it out, propping her cheek on one hand, her fingertip unconsciously tapping lightly against her smooth cheek.
"The only overlap between them, as it seems for now, is this one time at Buckingham Palace?"
"Exactly," Russell nodded.
"That's straight from Mycroft's own mouth, and if he wasn't lying, then our earlier deduction—that Mycroft single-handedly cultivated Moriarty as a shadow-tool—was wrong from the very start."
"Mm." Mary gazed thoughtfully out the window.
"If that's the case, then doesn't the trail go cold again?"
"You can't quite say it's gone cold—at most we've just... ruled out one wrong option," Russell said.
"Now all that's left is the line between Moriarty and the Professor."
"Then do you think there's a connection between Moriarty and the Professor?" Mary looked at Russell.
At this, Russell paused for a moment, then countered, "Do you think there is?"
"I think... there isn't." Mary considered, then shook her head.
"Then I don't think so either," Russell nodded in agreement.
"Copycat."
"It only proves that our minds ran along the same track," Russell shrugged.
The two skipped over the topic by tacit accord, and in the end Mary turned what little curiosity she had left toward Russell's spoils.
"You must have come away from this trip with quite a haul, no?" she asked.
"Setting aside the reward itself, Charlotte and I each earned a royal Afternoon tea set," Russell said noncommittally.
"On top of that, His Majesty also gave us the evening attire we wore on our first day there."
"Evening attire?" Mary's interest was piqued, and she even sat up a little straighter.
What—there's actually a special CG I haven't seen yet? This I've got to sit up and see.
"What kind of attire?" she pressed, those azure-blue eyes all but sparkling.
"Just... an ordinary tailcoat—what else would it be?" Russell said, baffled.
"I can't quite picture it," Mary said meaningfully. "You in a tailcoat."
"No matter—if the chance comes up later, you'll get to see it," Russell said.
"Oh?" The corner of the girl's mouth curved upward slightly. "May I take that as a promise?"
"It's just a piece of clothing—what's there to promise?" Russell chuckled.
"I've only got two decent formal outfits in my wardrobe all told, and one of those I bought when I enrolled—it's a far cry from the one His Majesty gave me.
If the school ever has some important event down the line, I might just wear that one."
"Then I suppose I can look forward to it." Mary laughed softly, then glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Ah, it's getting late—we should head back to the classroom."
So saying, she rose to her feet and walked toward the door, not forgetting to glance back and stretch out a hand toward Russell.
"Are you coming with me, or are you going to stay here?"
"Didn't I just say? Mycroft only got me half a day off," Russell said, then got up after her and walked toward the door.
One after the other, the two walked out of the empty classroom.
The afternoon sunlight dyed the corridor into a long golden river, and countless glittering motes of dust drifted through the air.
Their shadows were stretched long and slanting, overlapping now and then in the corridor's shade as they walked.
"So," said Mary, walking ahead but glancing back now and then, "are you still going to sleep this afternoon?"
"Naturally." Russell let out a lazy yawn.
"With Teacher Mary here to handle the notes anyway, what have I got to worry about?"
"I thought you might put in a bit of effort today, for the sake of the butter cookies." There was a note of teasing in Mary's tone.
"I already put in the effort," Russell answered, perfectly self-assured.
"I have fought the good fight, I have kept the faith, I have finished the course laid before me."
"Is that so," Mary laughed softly, noncommittal.
"But regrettably, if you carry on like this, I can't say whether a crown of righteousness awaits you—but a notice of a failed course just might be laid up in store for you."
"Don't you worry, I've got my own rhythm." Russell was utterly unconcerned. "If worst comes to worst, I still have a backup plan."
"Mm-hm?"
"I'll go beg Professor Fields."
"And if he refuses?"
"Then you'll come beg him with me. With you there, he's sure to let me pass."
"I have to beg too?"
"Yes."
"..."
Mary was momentarily lost for words; she turned her head and shot Russell an exasperated look.
The girl's steps slowed until she was walking shoulder to shoulder with Russell.
"So then, about the Professor's case—what do you and Charlotte plan to do next?"
"What else can we do but wait?" Russell spread his hands.
"Wait for Lestrade to catch that fellow named Billson, or wait for Charles to fully return to normal—though I'd say the former isn't very likely."
"Just sit and wait like that?" Mary arched a brow. "That doesn't sound much like Charlotte's style."
"What else, then?" Russell sighed.
"She and I already went to Lloyds Bank on Saturday, and you know how it turned out—we were blocked by some newly arrived director who absolutely refused to let us in."
"A new director?" Mary's steps faltered slightly. "That fellow named Tommy—he was fired?"
"More or less," Russell nodded. "The new one's called George—an utterly impervious sort who insisted on nothing less than an authorization document from the board before he'd let us through."
"So you hit a wall?"
"Not quite," Russell shook his head. "Mycroft sorted out the authorization for us—we just haven't had the chance to use it yet."
"Authorization from Buckingham Palace?"
"Mm-hm." Russell gave a slight nod.
"Charlotte says she means to make another trip this weekend.
And when the time comes, I'll fling this letter right in that fellow's face, to his very nose."
"Sounds... rather satisfying." The corner of the girl's mouth lifted.
"Right?" Russell laughed along too. "I'm rather looking forward to seeing what kind of face he'll make then."
And so the two of them cheerfully laid out their grand face-slapping plan for the weekend, walking all the way back to that familiar lecture hall.
The afternoon's lessons were as dull as ever, and Russell, as immovable as ever, slumped over his desk and dropped straight off to sleep.
Mary, for her part, played the role of the good student—diligently taking notes while now and then casting a glance at the fellow beside her, sleeping so soundly.
Perhaps things were just fine this way, she thought.
To watch him just like this, to guard him, to keep him company through to the end of this one-man show he had written and staged for himself.
And then, when the curtain fell and the lights came up, to lift away that mask with her own hands.
When that time came, what sort of flustered, endearing expression would surface on that face of his—the one that always wore its faint air of laziness and mockery?
Just imagining it filled her with boundless anticipation.
And at the corner of the girl's mouth curved a smile she herself had never even noticed.
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