"Knock, knock, knock—"
The sound of knocking rang out, appearing exceptionally clear in the quiet room.
Charlotte and Russell fell silent at the same time, both turning to look toward the door in unison.
Subsequently, they shifted their gazes away from the door simultaneously and looked at each other.
"A case has come knocking on its own," Charlotte said, cupping her coffee mug.
"I think it's Mrs. Hudson," Russell retorted.
As he spoke, he turned and walked briskly toward the door.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hud—who are you?"
Standing at the door was not Mrs. Hudson.
It was a woman wearing a coffee-colored overcoat, with long, curly brown hair and a fashionable appearance. She stood in the doorway, her lovely face veiled with a layer of obvious worry and unease, while her light amber eyes revealed a hint of curiosity.
"Excuse me... is this the home of Charlotte Holmes?"
The woman spoke timidly, then announced her own name.
"My name is Holly Davey. I have a request and I would like to seek Miss Holmes's help... is she at home?"
As she spoke, Holly's gaze subconsciously drifted into the room, and she subsequently saw Charlotte sitting on the sofa.
"She is in, but..." Russell shrugged, then stepped aside to clear the path. "Anyway, please come in, Ms. Davey. The room is a bit messy, please don't mind it."
Holly walked into the room, and the moment she entered, she was shocked by the mess all over the floor.
She moved as if avoiding landmines, carefully stepping around every single object on the floor until she stood opposite Charlotte.
"Who told you to come find me?" Charlotte asked. "Mycroft, or Lestrade?"
"It was Inspector Lestrade," Holly answered truthfully.
"Tch." Charlotte clicked her tongue in dissatisfaction, seemingly very unhappy about Lestrade's act of doxxing her.
But even so, she did not directly drive Holly away.
"Tell me the situation. I hope you won't make me feel too bored."
"O-Okay!" Holly nodded in pleasant surprise, then took a deep breath before speaking slowly: "I suspect... there is a ghost in my house."
"?"
This was the initial reaction of both Russell and Charlotte.
"I apologize, Ms. Davey. I would very much like to help you, but I am a detective, not an exorcist," Charlotte said.
"No... that was just a... a metaphor!" Holly said hurriedly. "Actually, I suspect someone has been stalking me, and this situation has been going on for several days, but I haven't... haven't found any evidence."
She continued.
"What are the specific manifestations?" Russell asked, simultaneously grabbing a pen and paper from the table.
To be honest, he hated this almost instinctive reaction of his.
"Manifestations..." Holly clutched her handbag tightly with both hands and took a deep breath. It was as if she had to muster immense courage before she could speak slowly:
"At first... it was just some very small things.
"For example, the coffee cup I drank from the night before would be gone the next morning.
"This actually isn't much, because they are disposable, so I might have thrown them away casually and then just forgotten about it the next day."
"Typical amnesia," Charlotte commented without lifting her head.
"Yes, that's what I thought at first too." Holly nodded. "But this situation happened more than once. I mean... I might forget once or twice, but I can't possibly forget every single time, right?"
Charlotte remained noncommittal, gesturing for her to continue.
"Then after that, it was the perfume." Holly's voice sounded somewhat trembling. "My perfume. I don't know when it started, but it's being used up much faster than before. Abnormally fast."
"Could it be... an illusion?" Russell chimed in at the appropriate moment, but Holly immediately denied it.
"No, it wouldn't be. You don't understand, sir; women are very sensitive to the consumption speed of cosmetics."
"Really?" Russell looked at Charlotte with semi-skepticism.
"If chemical reagents count... I have no comment." Charlotte shrugged, essentially tacitly agreeing.
"Alright, is there anything else?" Russell wrote down the two points she had just mentioned.
"Yes, my flowers." Holly nodded. "Because of my work, I sometimes forget to water them. But whenever I remember that I need to water them, I always find that those flowers... they have already been watered."
"I mean... something more obvious," Russell said.
"Yes, there is!" Holly nodded vigorously, her voice agitated. "It's my bookshelf."
"Bookshelf?" The tip of Russell's pen paused on the paper.
Among all personal items that could be violated, a bookshelf sounded like the most harmless one.
"This ghost is quite literary."
"Yes, the bookshelf." Holly's voice trembled. "I like reading, so I have many books. Usually, I arrange them according to the publisher and size, because that makes them look very neat.
"But, last Tuesday, I discovered something very strange—"
She paused for a moment, appearing to try and organize her words, or perhaps recalling that memory which made her flesh crawl.
"The arrangement of my favorite poetry collections had been scrambled!"
Hearing this, a glimmer of light finally appeared in Charlotte's bored eyes.
"It sounds like a harmless prank." Her voice remained flat, but Russell could tell. She was starting to get interested.
"I thought so too at first. I thought some friend had played a joke on me when they visited, so I put the books back in order."
Holly's voice carried a hint of sobbing.
"But not two days later, the positions of those books changed again! And during that period, no guests came to my house!"
"That sounds... not too good," Russell said. "Then, did you call the police?"
"Yes, I reported it. Inspector Lestrade came, but he couldn't find anything." Holly's voice sounded full of despair.
"There were no signs of forced entry, no footprints, or any other clues.
"They suggested I change the door lock, and I did, but the situation still kept happening.
"Later... later they thought that maybe I was under too much pressure from work and was having mental hallucinations. They even told me to see a psychiatrist!"
She covered her face in pain.
"But I know, that wasn't a hallucination. I know!"
"Is there more?" Charlotte continued to ask. "Tell me the most illogical thing, the thing that makes you most certain this isn't a hallucination."
Hearing this, Holly slowly lowered her hands. She raised her head, and in those light amber eyes, a fear akin to drowning was reflected.
"It's the bed, Miss Holmes."
She said, her hands slowly wrapping around her own body.
"It's my bed."
"What about your bed?"
"I go to sleep promptly at ten o'clock every night and wake up at seven in the morning. As you know, London has started to cool down recently," Holly said.
"But on several nights, when I was getting ready to go to bed...
"I found that inside my covers... it was warm."
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