"Ring-a-ling."
The bell for class rang at the worst possible moment, like a bucket of cold water upended over the charged air between them, rinsing it away without a trace.
Russell let out a breath like a man granted a pardon. Mary simply smoothed out her rumpled collar.
The girl tucked the loose strands of hair back behind her ear, the flush on her cheeks fading a little, and slipped the meek mask of a model student back on.
"There." She stood, clasped her hands behind her back, and turned to look at him. "Class is starting. Let's go."
Russell watched her switch personas so cleanly that a laugh escaped him.
"Mm." He drew in a deep breath, pressed down everything still churning through him, and got to his feet.
"Let's go."
The two of them walked out of the empty classroom, as though stepping out of a dream and back into the waking world.
They returned to their own classroom, and the afternoon's lessons opened under an atmosphere that defied description.
At first Russell kept snagging on what had happened at noon, drifting off mid-lecture.
But bit by bit, the exhaustion of a sleepless night seized the high ground of his brain, and his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
After trading a few rounds with the sandman, Master Russell was finally outmatched and went down in defeat.
Not long after his head hit the desk, the classroom seemed to go quiet.
Then he heard someone calling his name near his ear, accompanied by a light nudging.
"Russell. Russell."
Mary gave his arm a gentle push, her voice pitched low, a thread of gleeful amusement running through it. "The Professor is calling you."
Still half-asleep, Russell frowned and struggled to lift his head, the red crease of his sleeve cuff printed across his cheek.
And then he saw the face at the lectern: silent, brows knitted together.
Along with several dozen pairs of eyes swiveled in unison toward him, all hungry for a show.
"..."
Most of Russell's drowsiness evaporated on the spot.
"Mr. Watson," the Professor said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his tone unhurried yet heavy with pressure. "It would seem today's lecture material is a little too soporific for you?"
A ripple of stifled laughter ran through the room.
"Uh... sorry." Russell scratched his head. "I didn't sleep well last night, Professor."
"Ah, so you didn't sleep well last night." The Professor's face took on an air of dawning comprehension.
"Might it be that you were off investigating some appalling murder case again?"
Another wave of laughter went up, louder than before.
"...Someone did die, actually."
Russell glanced at the classmates enjoying the spectacle, then raised his head and met the Professor's eyes as he spoke.
The moment the words landed, the mockery in the classroom cut off dead.
Even the Professor froze where he stood.
"I only got back to Baker Street from Scotland Yard in the small hours, and by the time I'd washed the blood and the alcohol off myself, it was very late."
Russell added one more line. "So... I really didn't mean to, Professor. I'm very sorry."
His voice wasn't loud. His expression was open, carrying exactly the right measure of fatigue, and his tone was sincere, without the faintest hint of a joke.
The entire classroom sank into an uncanny dead silence.
The lecturing professor stood at his podium, looking at the guilt-faced young man in the back row, and for a moment had no idea what to do.
As an experienced educator with more than a decade of teaching behind him, he could fairly claim to have seen just about every type of student there was.
The clever, the dull, the diligent, the lazy...
And likewise, he had handled just about every variety of classroom emergency.
But today's situation was genuinely a first.
What was he supposed to do with "my student went off to investigate a murder last night"?
This sort of thing... where exactly does one take one's grievance?
Handle it badly, and tomorrow's headline in The Times might well read:
[Unfit to Teach: Who Made the Hero Shed Blood and Then Tears?]
No good. My teaching license!
After a brief internal storm, he finally located his voice again.
"Ahem." He cleared his throat. "That... Student Watson."
"Yes."
"If a situation like this arises again... please do inform me in advance, would you?"
"Of course, Professor." Russell nodded.
"Sit down." The Professor pressed his palm downward, motioning for Russell to take his seat.
He paused, then added one more thing:
"Get some proper rest."
"Of course, Professor."
Russell obediently sat.
The Professor turned to face the blackboard and drew a deep breath.
"...Let us continue."
His voice had returned to its usual calm. The hand holding the chalk, however, trembled very slightly.
Outside the window the sunlight was fine, birds hopped from branch to branch, and everything was perfectly normal.
Except his classroom.
When Russell next surfaced slowly from sleep, the room had been gilded in a layer of golden light.
Nearly everyone had gone. Only Mary remained at his side.
The girl held a pen, humming Mother Goose nursery rhymes under her breath, drawing something on the paper.
Sensing that he was awake, she stopped, closed the notebook in her hands, and bent down without any fuss to slide it into his backpack.
Silver-white strands of hair brushed past Russell's cheek, and a faint fragrance lingered at the tip of his nose.
"Awake?"
"Mm..." Russell lifted his head, still fogged with sleep. "How long was I out?"
"Well... thanks to you, the Professor ran ten minutes over," Mary teased.
"..."
Russell was quiet for a moment, then sighed.
"Let's go," he said.
"Mm."
The girl nodded and quietly fell in beside him.
They walked out of the lecture building, and just as they were heading toward the school gate, Mary suddenly reached out and caught the hem of his coat.
"Hm?" Russell stopped. "What is it?"
"There's no rush to get back today," Mary said, and pointed down a different path. "So... walk with me?"
Russell raised an eyebrow. "Walk with you?"
"Mm." Mary nodded, her grip on his hem unrelinquished.
"It's early anyway, and Father doesn't mind anymore," she said. "Besides, the weather's nice today."
Russell tilted his head back to check the sky.
The sun had already sunk westward, leaving only a wash of gold along the horizon.
The wind was light, carrying the first thin chill of winter. It wasn't biting against the face; if anything, it helped clear the head.
"It is nice," Russell agreed, offering no refusal. "Let's walk, then."
The corner of Mary's mouth curved upward. She let go of his coat and set off with a light step.
They didn't take the shortcut toward the school gate. Instead they circled the lake on the campus grounds, strolling slowly.
The water lay still, a vast mirror holding the colors of the sky.
The two of them followed the little path along the shore, thick fallen leaves crunching underfoot with a dry rustle.
"Come to think of it," Mary said suddenly, "this is the first time we've done this. Gone for a walk together."
"It is," Russell nodded.
"Feels like today's been full of firsts..."
The first time being famous.
The first walk together.
The first... embrace.
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