When Russell returned to Baker Street, Charlotte was sitting in the living room, holding a new file in her hands.
"You're back?"
Hearing the noise behind her, she asked without looking up, her gaze still fixed on the documents in her hand.
"Yeah."
Russell answered and sat down on the sofa next to her.
"What are you looking at?"
"Transcripts."
Charlotte said. "Emily Collins'."
Hearing this, Russell raised an eyebrow.
"You went to Scotland Yard?"
"I went there this afternoon."
Charlotte said. "I questioned her directly."
"And... the result?"
Russell pressed further.
"She and Billson had a long acquaintance and a brief relationship. It's considered a rekindling of old feelings. No wonder Lestrade couldn't find anything."
Charlotte said.
"While Billson was away, she was the one who helped him — selling the fake news about Moriarty's death to the newspapers. That was his idea.
When Billson went to Hannigan for help, there was actually another purpose: to meet Emily Collins.
But the subsequent developments were somewhat unexpected. Billson ended up killing Hannigan.
In despair, Emily Collins told Billson to hide in the Woolwich apartment for a while and planned to return through the back door once the police sealed off Hannigan's mansion."
"So..." Russell thought for a moment after hearing this. "She did a lot for Billson. What was she aiming for?"
"A vague future."
Charlotte said with a hint of contempt, her tone mocking.
"Emotional impulses or hormones that defy logic — what kind of rational judgment can you expect from a woman blinded by love?"
"Well, that's fine then."
Russell shrugged. "Besides that, is there anything else?"
"For example?"
"For example, regarding the Professor — did Billson ever mention him to Emily Collins?"
"No."
Charlotte shook her head. "Why would he tell a lover he was already prepared to dispose of like this?"
"Seems that way."
Russell sprawled out and leaned back against the sofa.
"In that case, we won't be able to get any useful leads from her?"
"She knows about as much as we do."
Charlotte casually tossed the words aside.
"She didn't even know who Billson had worked for before, or what was going on with the Lloyds Bank case.
She only knew that Billson wanted to escape and needed money, and that he had promised to take her out of London once he had it — nothing more."
"Then, about the Professor——"
"She had no idea at all."
"..." Russell fell silent for a while, then sighed.
"So this lead is also cut off?"
"In a sense, you could say that."
Charlotte didn't deny it. "Emily Collins herself is an outsider. It's normal for her to not know much."
"Where is she now?"
Russell asked. "Still locked up at Scotland Yard?"
"Mm."
Charlotte nodded.
"Lestrade said her mental state is currently very unstable and can't be detained for now.
Once her emotions settle, he'll decide whether to charge her with obstruction of justice or make her a key witness."
"What about Billson's other accomplices...?"
Russell asked again.
"Lestrade has already sent people to investigate, but they probably won't find anything useful.
The Professor's resurrection and the Lloyds Bank heist were both profitable moves. He wasn't the type to talk big.
Aside from the ones already caught, the others probably don't know anything either."
"So, our last hope rests entirely on Charles Brown?"
Russell leaned back on the sofa, picked up a teacup, and took a sip.
"Who knows when that guy will come back to his senses. What if he arrives and goes crazy again?"
Hearing this, Charlotte fell silent for a moment. She unconsciously turned her gaze toward Russell, as if remembering something.
"When the time comes, it'll depend on luck."
She said in a calm tone.
After a brief pause, Charlotte continued. "Compared to that, how's your condition?"
"Hm?"
Russell raised an eyebrow. "My physical condition?"
"You fought Billson yesterday, right? In the corridor.
By the time I arrived, you had already finished the fight, but judging from the situation, it didn't look too good."
Charlotte said, "There was blood everywhere at the scene."
"Ah, that."
Russell thought for a moment before speaking. "It's fine. Just superficial wounds. Nothing serious."
"That's good."
The girl gave a light nod and looked away.
But soon she furrowed her brows again and unconsciously glanced back at Russell.
Is he really okay?
That was quite a light way of putting it.
Charlotte lowered her eyes. The file on Billson slowly surfaced in her mind.
A retired soldier discharged due to a serious assault incident while on duty.
Even while in Southwark, he had been involved in countless violent brawls.
Someone like that couldn't be said to lack confidence in direct combat.
Moreover, the cane had been struck repeatedly in succession. The entire shaft was so warped it was almost unrecognizable.
By the time she arrived, the fight was already over and Billson was dead, so she didn't know exactly what had happened.
But no matter how she thought about it...
"Are you really okay?"
Charlotte asked again. There was worry in her tone, mixed with a probing quality.
Hearing this, Russell set down his teacup and looked up to meet Charlotte's gaze.
"I'm really fine."
He smiled and raised his arm to stretch his shoulder.
"See? I'm amazing. I can even do twenty consecutive backflips. Believe me?"
Charlotte stared at him for a long time, trying to discern the truth in his words and searching for any subtle traces he might be hiding.
But she found nothing.
Russell's relaxed expression didn't seem fake. His shoulder movements were smooth and natural, without any sign of strain.
...
"That's good."
In the end, Charlotte looked away and could only pick up her teacup, using the rim to hide her slightly complicated expression.
Maybe he really was fine.
Or maybe he had hidden it too well.
But regardless of the outcome, it wasn't a good thing for her.
How could an ordinary university student with no professional training go head-to-head with a soldier who had years of combat experience and was covered in blood?
There were almost no situations or answers to explain this problem, and none of them were acceptable to her.
Charlotte felt as though her brain was beginning to slide in an uncontrollable direction.
No, she couldn't continue like this.
She took a deep breath and suddenly stood up.
"I'm going upstairs."
…