Hearing Charlotte's words, Russell couldn't help but laugh.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
He walked over to Charlotte and fell into step beside her. Charlotte said nothing. She walked slowly, her gaze falling on the carefully pruned branches of the trees lining both sides of the path.
Moonlight cast long, intertwined shadows of the two figures onto the white gravel path. It was like watching a silent black-and-white film.
The garden was vast and quiet, with only the sound of their footsteps and their barely audible breathing.
"By the way, if Moriarty really shows up tomorrow night, what do you plan to do?" Russell suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.
"Do what needs to be done," Charlotte said, turning toward him. "What? Are you worried he might hurt someone?"
"He's not that bad," Russell shook his head. "It just doesn't seem like it matches your style."
"What style?"
"Well… personally, I don't think it's fitting for a detective to get involved in combat."
"So you're saying you're expecting us to handle it?"
"…Can I refuse?"
Charlotte looked at him with widened eyes, as if in disbelief.
"I have no interest in unnecessary, meaningless physical labor, but Moriarty is different."
"What's the difference?"
"Don't you find it strange that he can move around freely like a ghost in the underground area of Lloyds Bank?" Charlotte said.
"If I can fight him tomorrow night, I might see something."
"Didn't you already say you relied on your excellent agility to move quickly under the cover of smoke bombs?"
"That was merely a hypothesis. To reach a conclusion, we need to confirm it with our own eyes."
The two conversed casually and soon found themselves walking deep into the garden. There stood a small white gazebo with a round marble table and several stone benches in the center.
Charlotte stopped, entered the gazebo, brushed the fallen leaves off a stone bench, and sat down.
"Are you tired?" Russell sat beside her.
"I thought the view from here was nice." Charlotte pointed to a nearby spot.
Russell looked in the direction she indicated and saw a quiet lake. Moonlight poured onto the surface, creating gentle ripples that looked like a thin layer of silver foil.
"It really is beautiful," Russell nodded.
Once again, silence fell over the pavilion.
Charlotte rested her chin on her hand, gazing at the lake in quiet contemplation. Russell didn't disturb her. He simply sat quietly across from her, staring intently at her softened profile illuminated by the moonlight.
In this moment, she had lost the sharpness and languidness she showed on Baker Street, as well as the concentration and calm she displayed when pondering cases. She was simply sitting there quietly—like a night-blooming cactus quietly flowering under the moonlight.
How much time passed, he didn't know, but Charlotte's voice suddenly rang out, very softly, as if afraid of disturbing the night's silence.
"Watson."
"Hmm?"
"Why did you choose to become my assistant?" Charlotte asked.
She didn't turn around, keeping her gaze fixed on the distant lake, as if the answer she sought lay there.
The question was so sudden that Russell was caught off guard.
"Why…" He thought for a moment before replying. "Wasn't this something you announced unilaterally?"
"But you didn't object, did you?"
"I did push back a few times."
"Then why didn't you object later?"
Charlotte turned to look at Russell.
"Because if you say something too often, people start taking it seriously," Russell said, not looking at her. This time, it was his turn to gaze at the lake.
"Besides… when you think about it, it's not such a big deal, right?" He smiled.
"Otherwise, I wouldn't have had the chance to sit in a gazebo at Buckingham Palace and enjoy the night view in my lifetime."
Charlotte said nothing in response. She simply looked at him quietly.
The moonlight outlined the contours of his face, but his expression seemed somewhat indifferent. His usually somewhat languid eyes reflected the sparkling light on the distant lake surface and appeared deeper and brighter than usual.
"Is that the only reason?"
In the end, she couldn't stay silent.
"When you handle those complicated cases, isn't your motivation actually quite simple?"
"I just did it because it was interesting. That's all." Russell turned his face toward her, meeting her gaze.
"Some things don't need that many reasons."
Charlotte was momentarily at a loss for words, unsure how to respond.
She stared at Russell, seeing her own reflection in his eyes. Within those gray-blue pupils, something seemed to quietly melt away.
It was like a frozen lake surface cracking under the warmth of spring.
"What a boring man."
As she returned her gaze to the lake, the gazebo fell silent once more.
Suddenly, an evening gust of wind blew in, shattering the mirror-like calm of the lake and sending ripples across it. A cool breeze poured into the gazebo.
The wind blew quite quickly, like an impatient guest, rustling the branches and leaves of the trees and tousling the girl's hair.
Charlotte instinctively shrank her neck.
The evening dress she wore today, in pursuit of elegance and refinement, was made of relatively thin fabric. It was fine indoors, but felt somewhat insufficient outdoors.
"I still think a bathrobe is the most comfortable…"
Just as she was about to stand up and move, a still-warm tuxedo coat that was slightly too big for her was draped over her shoulders.
Charlotte paused slightly and turned to meet Russell's black eyes. Under the moonlight, they looked exceptionally clear.
"…"
"Be careful not to catch a cold," Russell's voice was gentle. At that moment, he wore only a white vest and white shirt.
He had loosened his tie slightly, reducing any sense of formality and giving him a more casual, young-master-like impression.
"What about you?"
Charlotte adjusted the coat on her shoulders. It still retained the warmth of another person's body and carried a faint scent reminiscent of black tea and whiskey.
It was cologne—the scent of 24 Bond Street.
This was clearly a perfume prepared by Buckingham Palace for honored guests, most likely sprayed by a maid while helping him change.
Honestly, it didn't smell bad at all.
"Don't worry," Russell said, cracking his knuckles. "It's nothing to me."
As he spoke, he rubbed his hands together and blew on them, looking like an ordinary student waiting for a bus on a cold winter day.
Charlotte looked at him like that, opened her mouth as if to say something, but ultimately said nothing.
She simply wrapped the oversized coat tightly around herself and buried her face in the soft, warm collar.
"Thank you."
She spoke quietly. Her voice was so small it seemed it might be drowned out by the sound of the wind.
"You're welcome."
Russell smiled.
"I'm your assistant, aren't I?"
...
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