Russell watched Charlotte leave somewhat hurriedly but didn't ask any questions. He simply followed her in silence.
He could sense that Charlotte wanted to say something.
However, every time she tried to speak, she swallowed the words back down.
In truth, it wasn't a big deal.
If she didn't tell him, he wouldn't ask. When she was ready to talk, she would naturally tell him.
Until then, he would simply wait.
This was an unspoken understanding.
The two continued walking, and after a while, the familiar outline of Baker Street finally appeared on the horizon.
When the two stood in front of 221B, they were surprised to find that Mrs. Hudson had left the door open for them.
The door wasn't locked; it was slightly ajar.
Through the gap in the door, a faint warm light could be seen leaking from the living room.
Russell cautiously and excitedly reached out to push the door open, preparing to enter quietly so as not to wake Mrs. Hudson—she might already be asleep.
However, the moment he stepped inside, Mrs. Hudson's sleepy voice came from the living room.
"Russell, Charlotte, have you two returned?"
Hearing the sound, Russell and Charlotte stopped in their tracks. Then Mrs. Hudson appeared from the living room holding two glasses of warm milk.
"Mrs. Hudson," Russell said with some surprise. "You're still awake?"
"I can't sleep, dear."
Mrs. Hudson yawned and walked over to Russell.
"Lestrade called and said you two got into trouble again. How am I supposed to sleep in this state?"
She handed them the milk while complaining.
"Drink the milk quickly and warm yourselves up."
Russell and Charlotte accepted the milk and said, "We're sorry for making you worry."
"I'm glad you realize you're worrying me."
Mrs. Hudson grumbled irritably, then turned her gaze to Russell.
Upon seeing his dirty clothes and the strange smell emanating from him, she immediately furrowed her brows.
"Russell, did you fall into a wine cellar by any chance?"
"Um… it was a small accident."
Russell gave a wry smile.
"Take a hot shower and change into clean clothes."
The elderly woman pleaded in a worried voice.
"I've lit the fireplace, so warm yourself up quickly. You mustn't catch a cold."
Russell replied and immediately went upstairs.
…
When he came out of the shower, Charlotte was still sitting on the living room sofa downstairs, facing the fireplace.
Charlotte had also changed into an oversized bathrobe and was sipping warm milk little by little.
The fireplace flames flickered, casting shifting light and shadow on her fair face.
When Russell appeared, Charlotte looked up at him but said nothing.
Russell walked straight to the sofa next to her and sat down. Then, to dry his hair quickly, he brought his head close to the fireplace.
"So,"
Russell began while still stretching his neck and staring at the carpet.
"What were you trying to say?"
Hearing this, Charlotte paused with the glass of milk in her hand without moving it for a moment.
She didn't look at Russell and silently picked up the milk, taking a sip.
"Nothing."
"Really?"
Charlotte remained silent for a while, then eventually raised her face and turned her gaze toward Russell in front of her.
At that moment, Russell had his back turned to her and was looking down, so she couldn't see his expression.
Similarly, she couldn't see Russell, and Russell couldn't see her.
She couldn't see his expression, and naturally he couldn't see her eyes either.
It was very bright—brighter than the fireplace flames.
She stared at him as if trying to trap him inside her pupils.
"Next time…"
Charlotte spoke slowly in a very soft voice, as though she had hesitated for a long time, chosen her words carefully, and finally spoken.
"It would be better not to take such risks."
Hearing this, Russell paused for a moment and unconsciously explained, "He was hiding in the shadows, but I reacted quickly."
"That's not what I meant."
Charlotte cut him off.
"What I'm talking about is when Billson pointed a gun at the two of us in the basement."
"That?"
Russell paused briefly. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
"Is that what you call knowing your limits?"
The girl's voice rose several decibels.
"Billson had a gun and a knife, and he's a retired soldier."
"Charging in like that—if something had happened…"
She stopped mid-sentence.
"If what?"
Russell raised his face and turned toward her.
Charlotte pursed her lips and didn't answer. Instead, she looked away and pretended to stare at the flickering flames of the fireplace.
She didn't want to admit it, but when she saw Billson pull out the gun, her heart had skipped a beat.
She didn't want to admit it, but the moment she saw Russell charge forward without hesitation to take the bullet, her mind had gone completely blank.
She didn't want to admit it, but the instant the gunshot rang out, she had felt as though she were suffocating.
Fortunately, he had escaped unscathed.
Fortunately, the bullet had only grazed his clothes and hadn't actually injured him.
"There's absolutely no possibility of anything going wrong."
Russell's voice echoed in Charlotte's ears—gentle yet filled with conviction.
"Won't you believe me, at least just this once?"
He looked at Charlotte with a smile.
Charlotte turned her face and met Russell's dark eyes.
She stared at him. The image of herself reflected in his eyes—those eyes that always carried a languid, carefree air—were now filled with seriousness.
What he had just said didn't feel like empty consolation but like a promise she could truly believe in unconditionally.
Charlotte wanted to say something, wanted to respond to this promise, and opened her mouth.
"...I know."
In the end, she barely managed to squeeze out a single word, then looked away again.
This answer is insufficient. There might be better, more appropriate options.
But right now, she couldn't think of anything. Even if she could, she didn't know if she could say it aloud.
Russell looked at her, gave a small laugh, then stood up.
"Get some rest."
He said this, then stretched.
"Mm."
Charlotte answered without turning around, in a voice that sounded like agreement.
"Good night."
Russell said this, then turned and headed toward the stairs.
His footsteps were so light that Charlotte didn't even notice he had gone upstairs.
She only heard the sound of the door closing for a brief moment and remembered that Russell had already returned to his room.
Charlotte was left alone in the living room.
She sat quietly in front of the fireplace, holding the glass of slightly cooled milk, and remained that way until the surroundings were once again enveloped in silence.
The last embers of the fireplace flickered for a moment in the darkness before completely extinguishing.
Then she slowly drank the entire glass of milk in one go.
The girl muttered faintly. Her voice was so small that only she could hear it.
"Good night."
…
…
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