"Where Should I Start?"
Russell asked.
"From the moment you saw the man with the gun."
Mycroft said.
"Can't be helped."
Russell nodded, cleared his throat, and began recalling.
"Um… at the time, the situation was extremely chaotic."
He said.
"I was fighting Billson in the corridor. He had completely lost his rationality and wasn't paying attention to anything else.
So it took quite a bit of effort to subdue him and put him into a state of shock from lack of oxygen.
And just as I was about to look for something to restrain him with, a gunshot rang out."
Russell said.
"At that moment, all my attention was completely focused on Billson, so I didn't immediately notice the shooter's location.
After Billson died, I came back to my senses and realized that the man had been right behind the door directly in front of me."
"Could you see his face clearly?"
Mycroft asked.
"No," Russell shook his head. "It was too dark to see anything clearly. I could only make out a rough outline.
"Please explain that."
"The man was dressed entirely in black. Judging from his height, he was probably about the same as me, and quite thin. That's why he was able to slip out the window so quickly."
Russell thought for a moment. "After killing Billson, he didn't say a single word. He just turned around and left."
"Shooting?"
Mycroft continued questioning.
"Extremely accurate. Only one shot was fired from beginning to end."
Russell said, "It hit the exact center of Billson's eyebrow."
"The straight-line distance was about seven meters, and the light level was very weak. Without an auxiliary light source, it's difficult to accurately hit a target more than five meters away."
Charlotte added from the side.
"That means the person must be a professional killer."
Mycroft nodded. "Moreover, his night vision is exceptional... People like that are rarely found in London."
"Clues?"
Charlotte raised her eyebrows slightly.
"Someone with this level of shooting skill is either from the military or has been trained since childhood."
Mycroft said.
"The latter are usually managed and trained by specific organizations. They are generally obedient and loyal, with strong judgment of right and wrong. They would never leak their employer's information."
"Retired soldiers, special operatives, spies… anything is possible, and their ethics are much more... flexible."
"As an anonymous individual, if you don't consider the financial burden, the former is undoubtedly the best choice.
However, we also need to consider the possibility that this so-called organization is accepting payment from an anonymous individual."
Mycroft picked up his teacup and gently stirred it.
"Based on my experience, the answer is no."
"So?"
Charlotte narrowed her eyes.
"Therefore, the person he hired is probably an assassin with more flexible ethics. This is also an opportunity for you."
Mycroft laughed.
"Regarding the circumstances of the incident, there are two possibilities. The first is that he entered the mansion after you.
At that time, you were causing a commotion with Billson in the basement, so naturally no one noticed his arrival.
The second possibility is that he had already taken up a position and was waiting for you and Billson to fight to the very end so he could steal the results.
However, regardless of the possibilities, they all stem from the same starting point."
"He knew in advance that Billson was hiding in Hanigan's mansion."
Charlotte cut off Mycroft and furrowed her brows even deeper.
"What you're trying to say is..."
"I haven't reached a conclusion yet, Charlotte."
Mycroft cut her off.
"I'm simply listing the possibilities."
He continued, "How did you arrive at the conclusion that Billson was hiding in Hanigan's mansion?"
"Inference."
Charlotte met Mycroft's gaze and opened her mouth.
"Based on what?"
"Based on Billson's situation and Emily Collins's psychology."
Charlotte spoke slowly, but her pace quickened slightly—that was a habit she showed when she was impatient.
"He was desperate and needed a safe place to hide, but if it was too dirty or messy, Emily Collins wouldn't accept it.
Billson needed Emily as his eyes and ears, so he had to consider her needs while also taking the actual situation into account.
Therefore, considering all points, Hanigan's mansion was actually the best option. It's free, comfortable, and no one would approach a haunted house."
"That is correct."
Mycroft avoided making a definitive statement. "Then, Professor—how exactly did he arrive at this idea?"
The room fell silent for an instant.
Charlotte remained quiet, staring at the deep red liquid in her glass.
Russell looked at the two of them with a puzzled expression and timidly opened his mouth.
"It might just be a coincidence."
Russell broke the silence. "The Professor's subordinates were probably also tracking Billson. They were simply one step ahead of us."
"Maybe."
Mycroft nodded without refuting. "However, the word 'coincidence' isn't very welcome to me."
"Is it because the Professor's way of thinking resonates with Charlotte's?"
"This is only one of them, Russell."
Mycroft smiled at him.
"The important part isn't here."
"Where was it...?"
"What's important is that their wavelengths resonate with each other."
Mycroft looked at Charlotte and gave a faint smile.
Just as Russell was about to ask something else, Mrs. Hudson's voice came from downstairs.
"Russell, come down and help."
Hearing this, the three of them unconsciously turned their eyes toward the door.
"Coming!"
Russell replied and stood up, walking toward the door.
"Well then, you two continue. I'll go downstairs and help Mrs. Hudson."
Russell pushed open the door. His footsteps grew distant as he walked down the hallway and eventually disappeared completely at the top of the stairs.
The door closed quietly.
The living room fell silent.
Only the flames in the fireplace flickered, making faint crackling sounds.
The light enveloped the room in a warm, soft glow, casting two shadows on the wall—one on the left and one on the right, as though separated by an invisible boundary line.
Mycroft picked up his teacup, slowly took a sip, and looked toward the door.
"What a wonderful young man!"
Hearing this, Charlotte furrowed her brows. "What are you planning to do next?"
"Don't tell me you still haven't noticed, Charlotte."
Mycroft looked at her.
"Do you really think your assistant is just an ordinary person?"
"Do you think it's normal for a university student with no specialized training to fight on equal footing with a veteran like Billson, and even overwhelm him into a state of shock?"
"He has talent."
Charlotte said.
"Talent?"
Mycroft laughed.
"What about his reaction speed? The moment Billson fired, he predicted it and dodged the bullet. That can't be explained by talent alone."
"It matches."
"As I said earlier, coincidences are never welcome to me."
Charlotte remained silent for a while.
"You have no evidence."
She said, "You can't present evidence that he has a connection to Moriarty."
Hearing this, Mycroft laughed.
"But when did I ever say I suspected he had a connection to Moriarty?"
"...!"
Charlotte suddenly raised her face and met Mycroft's teasing gaze.
"I suspect he might be some kind of secret intelligence agent," Mycroft chuckled.
"I never suspected for a moment that he had any connection to that phantom thief.
However, what you just said has given me an interesting perspective."
He paused.
"From this perspective, many problems seem explainable. Charlotte, what do you think?"
The fireplace flames flickered, casting a warm orange light on the two of them.
Charlotte sat on the sofa, tightly gripping her teacup, and stared at Mycroft's smiling eyes.
Mycroft quietly set down his teacup, as though passing judgment.
"You have no intention of saying anything?"
He looked at Charlotte and spoke in a calm tone.
"Charlotte, I thought you would react more strongly."
After a period of silence, Charlotte finally asked.
"When did it start?"
"Are you asking me?"
Mycroft raised one eyebrow, then showed a pensive expression.
"If I had to say, it was after Buckingham Palace.
After Moriarty knocked him unconscious, he went out of his way to carry him to the gazebo in the Buckingham Palace gardens, and then ran back——don't you think that's a bit much?"
"Of course, at the time I only had a vague suspicion about his connection to Moriarty and hadn't noticed the link between the two of you."
"I didn't believe it until I heard your story."
Charlotte's fingers gripping the teacup tightened for an instant.
"So?"
She maintained her composure and asked, "What conclusion did you reach?"
"Conclusion?"
Mycroft laughed and said. "Just like your reaction, I reached various interesting conclusions."
Hearing this, Charlotte furrowed her brows slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"In other words," Mycroft poured himself another cup of hot tea and looked at Charlotte.
"You've been defending him ever since the incident began."
"I haven't."
"You have."
Mycroft set down his teacup. In the quiet living room, that clear clink resounded especially clearly.
"I said his skills were abnormal, but you said he has talent.
I said his reaction speed was abnormal, but you said it was a coincidence."
"I hadn't even reached the stage of suspecting his connection to Moriarty, but you had already blocked his path."
He paused and deepened the smile at the corners of his mouth.
"Charlotte, you know? When a detective starts making excuses for a suspect, there are usually only two possibilities that come to mind."
Charlotte didn't reply.
"The first possibility is that she actually found evidence proving the suspect's innocence."
Mycroft held up two fingers and said. "The second possibility is that she doesn't want to prove the suspect's guilt."
The fireplace flames flickered, casting swaying shadows on the floor between the two men.
Charlotte sat on the sofa without moving an inch.
"Charlotte, which one are you?"
The girl tightly pressed her lips together. The fingertips gripping her teacup had already begun to turn white.
"I'll say it again—there is no evidence."
"Indeed."
Mycroft nodded. "Indeed, there is no evidence."
"Without evidence, nothing can be proven."
"Exactly. The principle of 'innocent until proven guilty' applies."
"You also—"
"Charlotte."
Mycroft cut her off. His voice was low and clear, every word distinctly audible.
"We are not talking about Russell right now."
He said.
"We're talking about you."
Charlotte was suddenly stunned.
"Don't you think your relationship with him has gone beyond the framework of partners or friends?"
Mycroft leaned forward slightly and asked in a low voice.
"You wear his clothes, defend him, oppose me when I try to persuade him, and use ambiguous wording about him in the interview."
With each word he spoke, Charlotte's complexion grew paler.
"You unconsciously defend him, search for every possible excuse, and refuse to consider anything that could be disadvantageous to him."
Mycroft leaned back deeply in his chair, picked up his teacup, and blew away the rising steam.
"Charlotte, you've become a completely different person from before."
Charlotte didn't answer.
In that moment, her mind went completely blank. All she could feel was her heart pounding violently.
"Your current situation is similar to that of someone standing at the edge of a cliff."
"You were afraid of falling, but you couldn't help wanting to look down."
Mycroft's voice was gentle, yet it pierced Charlotte's heart like a heavy hammer.
"Charlotte, you should know better than anyone that the scales of logic have begun to tilt.
You've simply been using emotions as a bargaining chip, trying to maintain that ridiculous balance."
Mycroft took a sip of black tea.
"The moment you began making the first excuse to defend him, you had already lost to something you once despised."
Charlotte looked at him. Her lips moved, but she couldn't say anything.
Seeing this, Mycroft quietly sighed.
"If you're worried that I might do something to him, there's no need to worry."
He said.
Hearing this, Charlotte was surprised. "What do you mean?"
"The literal meaning."
Mycroft said.
"He is a person of rare talent. Even without considering his identity as Moriarty, he holds great potential."
"He can become anything he wants to be——a general, a politician, or..."
He didn't finish and suddenly changed the subject.
"But the point I value most about him has absolutely nothing to do with that, Charlotte."
Mycroft looked at his sister and softened his tone.
"He treated you like a human being."
He said.
"That's the reason I truly respect him."
The fireplace flames flickered, casting swaying light and shadow on Charlotte's face.
Her pupils contracted slightly. For an instant, it looked as though her brain function had stopped.
"Like a human being...?"
She unconsciously repeated Mycroft's words. Her voice was very small.
"That is correct."
Mycroft set down his teacup.
"You weren't like this before. Shall I remind you?"
He said it in a voice that contained a hint of mockery.
"You would stay up for days and nights investigating cases and leave the meals the servants carefully prepared untouched.
You might hang up the phone if you thought someone's question—including mine—was stupid.
You treat everyone, including Lestrade, as pieces in your deduction game."
"This is me when I'm working."
Charlotte instinctively retorted.
"No, that isn't work. That is your everything."
Mycroft shook his head.
"At that time, all you saw were complicated cases.
Your world consisted only of clues, motives, murderers, and that deductive reasoning method you were so proud of.
You didn't need friends, you didn't need emotions, you didn't even need sleep.
All you needed were endless difficult problems to satisfy your insatiable intellectual curiosity."
His voice was calm, as though stating objective facts.
"But now, you've changed."