Russell felt a light pressure on his wrist.
He looked down and saw that white hand gripping his arm firmly, making escape impossible.
Seeing this, Russell smiled and let her hold on. Normally he should have been the one holding her hand, but now she was holding his.
When the two entered the lobby of the opera house, light from the crystal chandeliers bathed the entire space in a golden glow. A red carpet was laid over the smooth marble floor, and waiters in tailcoats moved about, guiding each arriving guest.
Russell swept his gaze across the hall. His natural curiosity and sharp observational skills were still present, but their intensity had greatly diminished.
After all, this was a high-class event. The people who could afford to attend a performance here were by no means ordinary. None of them would lose their composure and start asking questions.
Charlotte remained unfazed by the surrounding gazes. She lightly scanned the corridor, observing each person's attire, expressions, and the distance between them.
"So, what did you figure out this time, Miss Detective?"
Russell asked in a low voice from beside her.
"The performance began the moment we stepped into the theater."
Charlotte's voice was low enough that only Russell could hear.
"From what I've seen so far, out of fourteen couples, six are actual lovers. Of those, two are having affairs behind their partners' backs.
Unexpectedly, their lovers also appeared, but the two of them pretended not to know each other."
Hearing this, Russell raised one eyebrow and couldn't help but chuckle.
The two approached a waiter, showed their tickets, and were guided to their seats.
Mrs. Hudson's two tickets were excellent—center seats in a second-floor box with a wide view of the entire stage and the perfect distance from the first-floor audience.
"Please, this way."
The waiter gave a slight bow and opened the door to their private box.
Russell and Charlotte stepped inside. The box wasn't large, but it was beautifully decorated. A soft carpet covered the floor, and two comfortable armchairs sat in the center. Between them was a small round table holding an unopened bottle of champagne and two wine glasses.
Once they were seated, the waiter brought programs and delicate dessert plates, then quietly withdrew, leaving the two of them in their private space.
"Mrs. Hudson's connections are truly impressive."
Bertrand Russell sat in the left armchair and couldn't help but sigh.
"To get tickets of this level so easily…"
"Do you really think an unmarried, childless old lady who owns a house on Baker Street is an ordinary person?"
Charlotte touched the sapphire pendant at her neck and countered, "When she was young, she had countless suitors lining up from Baker Street all the way to Piccadilly."
"Really?"
Russell looked somewhat surprised. "She never mentioned anything like that to me."
"Why would I lie to you?" Charlotte casually picked up the program in her hand.
"When you weren't home, I overheard her saying so while we were having afternoon tea.
She did have a romantic partner, but after that man died unexpectedly, Mrs. Hudson never sought out another."
"Ah…" Russell nodded, then dropped the topic.
After a while, the lights in the theater gradually dimmed, and the previously noisy audience gradually fell silent.
The curtain on the stage slowly rose, signaling the start of the performance.
The two exchanged glances, then silently looked away and turned their eyes back to the stage.
The curtain rose slowly, revealing the first scene set in the countryside. A chorus dressed in simple clothing sang a cheerful opening song.
Dorothy was a play that had been performed more than ten years ago—a typical romantic comedy.
The story was set in a small village in Kent. Dorothy, the daughter of the Bantam landlord, and her cousin Lydia grew tired of the formalities of high society and disguised themselves as ordinary country girls named "Dorcas" and "Abigail."
They blended into local festivals and celebrations.
Meanwhile, Geoffrey Wilder, a playboy from London, happened to arrive in the village to escape his creditors and to marry his cousin Dorothy, whom he had never met.
The two met by fate, and from there unfolded a series of stories filled with misunderstandings, coincidences, and laughter.
Russell watched the exaggerated acting on stage and occasionally laughed out loud, but most of the time his attention unconsciously drifted to the person beside him.
Charlotte stared intently, her expression never changing, as though she were simply observing without any emotional investment.
At the end of the third act, the curtain fell as the male and female leads embraced under the lights and vowed to spend their lives together. The theater erupted in thunderous applause.
"What do you think?"
Russell asked.
Charlotte was silent for a few seconds before giving her answer.
"Illogical."
She said.
"Geoffrey came to the countryside to escape his creditors, but there he met Dorothy in disguise. He was instantly drawn to her, forgot his original purpose, and began pursuing her.
Dorothy and Geoffrey hit it off and exchanged rings as proof of their love… But this was far too hasty. They had only known each other for less than a day."
Hearing this, Russell smiled. "So, how long do you think it should take?"
Charlotte was momentarily at a loss for words, then met Russell's gaze.
"…I don't know."
She said this, then looked away. "But one day is definitely not enough."
"Is love at first sight not allowed?"
Russell said.
"Love at first sight is, in most cases, not about love but about appearance."
Charlotte said in a calm tone.
"..."
Russell was silent for a few seconds before saying, "Then maybe… it's the atmosphere?"
"Atmosphere?"
"Hmm." Russell nodded. "Atmosphere is also very important."
Charlotte said nothing, but the events of last night suddenly flashed through her mind.
On the bridge over the Thames, the winter night wind had been cold, and a faint moon had hung in the sky above.
Could that be called atmosphere?
After returning home, she had wondered why she had kissed him. Even without the kiss, nothing would have changed, yet she had simply wanted to kiss him.
There had been no logic or reason—only a simple impulse, just like Dorothy and Geoffrey exchanging rings.
When the atmosphere and emotions were right, it simply happened naturally.
Charlotte came back to herself and looked at the unopened champagne bottle on the table.
"Want a drink?"
Russell noticed her gaze. "I'll have the waiter open it."
"No need."
Charlotte said this, then picked up the champagne and the corkscrew. With practiced hands, she popped the cork.
With a light "pop," the cork flew out, and a faint fruity and wine aroma filled the box.
Charlotte picked up a wine glass and poured the golden liquid. Bubbles rose under the light like strings of tiny pearls.
She handed one glass to Russell.
"I don't know if what you said is correct," Charlotte said, meeting his eyes with her gray-blue pupils that reflected the swirling liquid in the glass, "but we can try."
"Try?"
Russell accepted the glass and looked at Charlotte with interest.
"You said atmosphere is important," Charlotte said while swirling her wine glass. "So let's see if this improves the atmosphere."
Russell looked at her and suddenly laughed.
"Understood."
He raised his glass. "Let's try it."
In the quiet box, clear clinking sounds echoed every time the golden liquid swirled in the glasses and refracted the alluring light.
Each of them took a sip.
The cold liquid slid down their throats, leaving a faint sweetness and small bubbles that burst on the tongue, along with a fragrant aftertaste.
"How is it?"
Charlotte asked.
"Not bad."
Russell nodded. "Tastes better than I expected."
Charlotte gave a light nod and took another sip.
"On top of that, the logic of the plot is also important."
She added.
"The plot in the second act—the fake robbery where someone impersonates the duke—was so ridiculous that even Lestrade would have noticed something was wrong.
How could the real duke appear alone at a country estate with only one secretary?
Second, he claimed to have lost money, and the amount was exactly the same as Geoffrey's debt. It was unreasonable for Lord Bantarum, a country gentleman, to pay the money himself without reporting it to the police in order to resolve the issue."
She spoke with a note of contempt. "If he had already seen through the disguise, that would be one thing. But if the creditor hadn't brought it up in the third act, he probably would have gone to his grave without ever knowing."
Hearing this, Russell couldn't help but laugh.
"This is a love opera, Charlotte."
He said, "The audience didn't come here looking for world-shaking suspense or mystery. They came to relax."
"Yes, I know," Charlotte nodded and took another sip of champagne. "I'm just stating the facts."
She paused for a moment before continuing.
"Of course, setting the story aside, at least the final soundtrack, the acting, and the dialogue were quite good.
It's no wonder this drama has been remade for over ten years."
She ultimately gave a favorable review.
"That's good," Russell let out a sigh of relief. "Will that be useful for your… data processing?"
"It won't be useful at all."
Charlotte refuted without hesitation. "Not useful in the slightest."
"Why?"
Russell asked.
"Because you're not Geoffrey, and I'm not Dorothy."
Charlotte said.
"The two of them fell in love at first sight and quickly became deeply in love. The entire process took less than three days.
Most of the time was spent on misunderstandings and jokes. The actual time they spent confirming their feelings for each other was probably less than half a day.
As you said, the reason they could do that is ultimately because they are characters in a play, and we are not."
Charlotte twirled her wine glass.
"We've known each other for a long time. Our relationship is more complicated, and there are many more things tangled between us.
We have cases, research, and our own pasts and secrets…"
She suddenly stopped the conversation and changed the subject.
"But there is one thing you're right about."
"What?"
"Atmosphere really is very important."
Charlotte said.
"Moonlight, music, the silhouettes of two people… It feels as though only the two of them remain in the world."
She paused. "At that moment, I suddenly understood why the audience was moved and cheered at that scene.
It wasn't because the story was particularly logical or because the two actors were especially skilled. It was simply… because the emotional expression was accurate."
She took a sip of champagne.
"The desire to become close to someone can sometimes transcend logic.
Thanks to this drama, I feel like I understand a little."
"Then you just said it wasn't useful as reference at all."
"Fine, I take back what I said earlier. There are still a few things."
Charlotte said this, then downed the rest of her champagne in one go.
"Let's go, Russell. It's over."
"Mm."
Russell nodded and stood up to leave the box.
But at that moment, he suddenly felt his hand being grabbed.
"Ah, that's right. There was one more thing."
Charlotte said this and reached out to grab Russell's bow tie.
"What—"
Before Russell could finish speaking, a strong force pulled his neck, cutting off his voice.
A faint wine scent mixed with her familiar coffee-and-book aroma tickled his nostrils.
Russell fell silent.
This time, the kiss didn't land on the corner of his mouth or his cheek.
Instead, their lips met directly without any deviation.
Russell was completely stunned.
That soft sensation, the faint coolness, and the sweetness of champagne were far too real to be a dream.
The kiss was awkward—simply lips touching lips, nothing deeper, and it didn't last long.
Charlotte released him after only a second or two.
Her breathing was slightly uneven, her chest rose and fell faintly, and the redness on her cheeks was deeper than before. It was hard to tell whether it was because of the alcohol or something else.
"What was that…?" Russell began, his voice sounding somewhat choked.
"Confirmation."
Charlotte cut him off.
"That too."
Her voice was lower than usual. She was deliberately trying to sound calm, but the slight tremor at the end betrayed her true feelings.
"Confirmation of the atmosphere?"
"Mm."
"Alright..."
Russell nodded, as though possessed, and asked, "Conclusion?"
Hearing this, Charlotte's eyes moved slightly.
"The conclusion is… atmosphere really is very important."
With that, she quickly walked past Russell and left the box without looking back. Only her hurried figure remained.
Russell stood still, straightened his bow tie that had been pulled askew, and remained there for a while to calm his pounding heart before following her.
…
Outside the opera house, the night had grown even deeper.
A cold wind blew through, scattering fallen leaves and gently fluttering the hems of the women's skirts.
Charlotte stood beside the carriage with her arms crossed, gazing into the distance, lost in thought.
When she noticed Russell approaching, she shifted slightly—almost imperceptibly—but didn't raise her face.
"Let's go."
Russell's voice reached Charlotte's ears. His tone was no different from usual.
"Mm."
Charlotte answered quietly, as though nothing had happened, and opened the carriage door to get in.
Russell followed right behind her.
The carriage slowly began to move, carrying the two of them into the quiet London night.
The inside of the carriage was silent. Neither of them spoke.
Charlotte leaned against the window and watched the passing city scenery. The streetlight glow illuminated her face, highlighting her profile amid the shifting light and shadow.
Russell sat across from Charlotte and looked at her. He noticed that her ears were slightly red and her lips were tightly pressed together.
The two remained silent until the carriage stopped in front of 221B Baker Street.
Mrs. Hudson was already asleep. Only a dim nightlight glowed in the living room.
The two walked quietly, slowing their pace as they climbed the stairs one after another.
At the end of the hallway, Charlotte stopped and turned to look at Russell.
"I… I'm going to sleep now."
She said, her voice much softer than usual, and she barely had the courage to meet his eyes.
"Mm."
Russell nodded. "Good night."
Charlotte turned and returned to her room. The door closed quietly behind her.
She walked to the mirror and looked at her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were unfocused.
Mycroft's words echoed in her mind once again.
The squeaky wheel gets the grease.
But in the end, she hadn't cried, and she had properly received her candy.
That candy had been champagne-flavored.
…
The next day.
Russell slept until around ten o'clock.
Unlike the previous night's insomnia, he had deliberately purchased a small amount of sleeping pills from the system store and taken them himself to maintain a good mental state today.
The medicine took effect quickly. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep, baby-like sleep.
As a result, when he woke up, he had already missed the usual time to prepare breakfast.
Russell hurriedly got dressed and went downstairs, but the door across the hallway was still closed, and there was no sign of Charlotte.
Someone was busy in the kitchen, but it was Mrs. Hudson.
Seeing this, Russell let out a small sigh of relief and headed downstairs.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson."
"Good morning, Russell."
Mrs. Hudson turned around and smiled at Russell.
"How was the opera last night?"
"Hmm… Thanks to you, it wasn't bad."
Russell said, "Please pass on my thanks to your friend for both me and Charlotte."
"Of course. She'll be very happy to hear that."
Mrs. Hudson smiled, then placed breakfast on the table.
"Charlotte still hasn't woken up?"
She looked up toward the second floor.
"Not yet."
Russell shook his head. "Let her rest a little longer."
"That's fine too. She's been waking up quite early these past few days."
Mrs. Hudson avoided making a direct statement and only said, "Actually, it feels a bit unusual not seeing her sleep in late."
Hearing this, Russell smiled and began eating breakfast.
By the time breakfast ended and it was nearly noon, Charlotte still hadn't come downstairs.
In reality, Russell had already heard faint sounds from upstairs midway through.
Charlotte was actually awake, but she seemed reluctant to get up. She probably didn't want to see him dressed up to go meet Mary.
Thinking this, Russell gave a wry smile, stood up, and returned to his own room.
He straightened his appearance in front of the mirror, changed into an outfit that was somewhere between formal and casual, then greeted Mrs. Hudson and left through the door.
He got into a carriage, gave the address, and then simply waited.
The carriage passed through Baker Street and headed toward Kensington.
The scenery outside the window began to change—from dense shopping streets and residential areas to wider roads and occasional garden walls. There were more trees, and the air felt slightly clearer.
The carriage stopped in front of a black wrought-iron gate.
The driver jumped down from the carriage, opened the heavy door, and respectfully extended a hand to Russell.
"Good sir, we have arrived at the Morstan residence."
Russell got out of the carriage and stood in front of the gate, looking up.
On either side of the gate stood two beautiful gas lamps with exquisitely carved pillars.
This was the first time he had used the front entrance.
He sighed, stepped forward, and rang the doorbell.
Soon, an elderly butler in a black tailcoat with neatly combed hair appeared from the door.
"Good day. May I ask who you are?"
"Russell Watson."
Russell introduced himself. "I have an appointment to meet Miss Morstan."
A faint light appeared in the old butler's eyes, and a professional smile formed on his originally serious face.
"Ah, Mr. Watson.
The young lady has been waiting for quite some time."
He stepped aside to let Russell in. "Please come inside. I'll take you to her."
Russell nodded and followed the old butler into the mansion.
After passing through the entrance hall, there was a long corridor.
Several oil paintings—landscapes and portraits—hung on the walls, each framed in exquisite gold.
On both sides of the corridor, doors stood closed at regular intervals. The carpet underfoot was thick and soft, muffling footsteps almost completely.
The old butler stopped in front of a large pair of white double doors.
"The young lady is inside."
He stepped slightly to the side and opened the door for Russell. "Please."
The moment the door opened, a rush of air mixed with the scent of flowers and warmth poured out.
This was a spacious living room. Sunlight streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm patches of light on the floor.
The off-white walls featured light gold reliefs, and a crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, reflecting delicate light.
Her long silver hair was not straight as usual, but styled into large, wavy curls that cascaded over her shoulders and back like a waterfall.
The fireplace burned brightly, its flickering flames warming the entire room.
Russell stopped.
Mary stood in front of the French windows with her back to him.
When she heard the sound of the door opening, she slowly turned around—like a princess waiting for the knight who would come to save her.
The afternoon sunlight streamed in from behind her, enveloping her in a warm golden glow.
The light was so bright that for a moment Russell could barely see her face—only her silhouette illuminated by the light.
Her long silver hair cascaded over her shoulders and back like a waterfall, gently glowing under the sunlight. It was no longer her usual smooth, straight hair, but carefully styled waves.
She wore a well-tailored black shirt dress that perfectly accentuated her slender waist.
On either side of the waist was a single gold button, standing out against the black fabric like two exquisite medals.
A red ribbon was tied at the collar, its vivid red complementing the black shirt beautifully. In the center of the ribbon was a gold cat's-eye brooch that caught the light and faintly shimmered with the cat's-eye pattern, as though a pair of eyes were truly looking at him.
The skirt reached below the knee, adorned with delicate lace trim that swayed gently in the breeze.
Beneath the hem of her skirt were long, slender legs wrapped in black stockings. Their lines were smooth and elegant, finally disappearing into light gray boots.
The boots had black laces, and the white uppers stood out under the sunlight, adding a playful and lively touch to this elegant outfit.
She stood there. The room bathed in sunlight was behind her back, like a portrait that had stepped out of a painting.
The sunlight dyed her silhouette gold, making her blue eyes shine even brighter, as though they had absorbed all the warmth of the afternoon.
Russell stood there, momentarily forgetting to take a step forward.
He had seen her many times before.
In the morning light of the lecture hall, by the window in the afternoon, at the school gate at dusk, and in the private room at the Faidon Teahouse.
He had witnessed her dignified appearance in uniform, her elegance in casual clothes, and her brilliance in formal attire.
But never before had she been so captivating—so difficult to look away from.
In his dazed state, Russell intuitively felt as though this was the real Mary.
The Mary from her student days, the ordinary Mary, the famous Mary— all those previous versions of her had only been parts of various personas. Now, she had finally become the true Mary who had taken off her mask.
Seeing his stunned expression, the girl couldn't help but smile.
She skipped lightly toward Russell. Black stockings peeked out from beneath the lace trim of her skirt as she moved.
She stopped in front of Russell, leaned forward slightly, and a sweet white-tea fragrance unique to young girls drifted toward him.
"Spacing out?"
Mary tilted her head and smiled as she met Russell's eyes.
...
PS: Mary or Charlotte? Choose your sides. xD