Russell vaulted through the window, then landed lightly on the eaves.
He moved in silence, padding along the eaves until he reached Charlotte's window.
Before getting down to business, he had to make sure Charlotte was actually asleep.
Charlotte's window hadn't been shut all the way. Russell leaned close and caught the faint, even sound of her breathing.
She seemed to be asleep.
Satisfied, he finally let himself go, vanishing into the night over Baker Street.
Russell drifted aimlessly above London.
The grappling-hook gun traced streak after streak through the darkness, hauling his body skyward and back down again at breakneck speed.
He hadn't decided on tonight's target yet.
He'd only come out in the first place because he couldn't sleep and wanted to make trouble for someone — but now that he was actually out here, he had no idea where to go.
He wandered on without any particular direction, and before he knew it, found himself somewhere around Kennington.
Standing high above, he looked down over Albert Square below — and something occurred to him.
If he remembered right, wasn't this where Lestrade lived?
Well now, look at that.
Since he'd already come this far, it would be rude not to stop by and say hello.
At the thought, the corner of Russell's mouth curled into a pleased little smile beneath his mask.
The grappling-hook gun traced a graceful arc as he swung, light as a swallow, across Albert Square, coming to rest atop an unassuming apartment building.
No. 7 Albert Square — this was Lestrade's address.
The building wasn't exactly luxurious, but for this part of town it was respectable enough — fitting, for a man of Lestrade's standing.
"Looks like Scotland Yard pays decently after all."
He murmured to himself, then walked to the edge of the roof, hooked his legs over the ledge, and let his whole body hang down.
Through the window, he could see the room was pitch dark inside.
It seemed Lestrade was still asleep.
"That won't do," Russell murmured.
At your age, how could anyone still be sleeping like this?
He released his legs from the eaves, flipping cleanly through the air, and landed without a sound on Lestrade's windowsill.
The window wasn't locked. Understandable, really.
Never mind that this was the second floor — what thief in his right mind would be brave, or suicidal, enough to rob a Scotland Yard inspector's home?
Russell smiled silently, pressed his fingers against the frame, eased the window open a crack, then slid it up and slipped inside.
The room was dark, the only light a thin wash of moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Lestrade lay on his side with his back to the window, breathing long and even, his shoulders rising and falling gently. He was sound asleep, snoring in a steady rhythm like an old steam engine idling along at low speed. Russell strolled around the room, taking in the furnishings.
Nothing in the flat was particularly strange — the desk was piled high with files and papers, and a cabinet nearby held several bottles of liquor.
Just one glance at that desk was enough for Russell to picture every time Charlotte had sent Lestrade off to do her legwork.
Rather pitiful.
He sat down at Lestrade's desk and picked up a file at random, flipping through it as though he owned the place.
Most of the papers on the desk concerned Pilsen, with only a handful related to other cases.
He leafed through them idly, his eyes skimming over name after name, as if looking for someone worth targeting.
Some time later, the old steam engine on the bed seemed to shut down.
Lestrade rolled over in his sleep, frowning at the faint rustling sound near his ear.
Groggily, he opened his eyes, his gaze taking a moment to focus in the dim room — and only then did it dawn on him that a figure who had no business being there now sat at his desk.
The figure sat with its back to him, quietly perched in the chair, unhurriedly flipping through a file he hadn't gotten around to sorting yet.
All dressed in black — black top hat, black overcoat — and a posture that was somehow infuriating just to look at…
Lestrade's brain short-circuited on the spot.
He nearly convinced himself he hadn't woken up at all.
So he rubbed his eyes and looked again.
The figure was still there — and it even shifted position with apparent interest, turning around to look at him.
"Well now, finally awake, Inspector Lestrade?"
The Phantom Thief's voice rang out, light and unhurried, breaking the dead silence of the room.
"You sleep like the dead. Guess that detective's been keeping you working plenty of overtime?"
"M-Moriarty?!"
Lestrade's mind snapped fully awake in that instant, his voice cracking with the shock.
He stared at the uninvited guest lounging so casually in his own chair, his hand instinctively reaching under the pillow for his sidearm.
The cold metal beneath the pillow offered a measure of comfort, but once he'd drawn the gun, Lestrade didn't immediately point it at Russell.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, gripping the gun, his voice edged with tension.
"Can't I pay an old friend a visit?" Russell set down the file, smiling as he shot the question back.
"Who's your old friend!"
Lestrade snapped back on reflex. "What did you steal?"
"Is there anything here worth stealing?" Russell asked lazily, turning the question around.
Lestrade paused at that, running through it in his mind on reflex.
There really wasn't.
His record wasn't spotless, exactly, but it was at least honest.
The thought let him relax, just a little.
"Then why are you here?"
"Hmm… looking for something to do?" Russell said.
"Then why come to my place?" Lestrade couldn't help asking.
"Didn't I already say? To visit an old friend," Russell said.
"I've been gone a long while, and the very first thing I do on my comeback is come find you.
So, are you pleased? Moved, even?"
Lestrade was, for a moment, speechless.
"What in the world do you actually want?" There was a note of weary resignation in his voice.
"As you can see, I'm a little bored right now." Russell spread his hands.
"If you're bored, can't you just go do your usual line of work?"
"That was the plan, but the trouble is, London's got so many people — I'm having a hard time deciding."
Russell said.
"So I thought, maybe you'd like a couple more shining entries added to your record?"
Hearing that, Lestrade fell silent for a moment before it finally dawned on him.
This lunatic had skipped a night's sleep and broken into a Scotland Yard inspector's home through the window — just to hand him some results?
That sounded even more absurd than Charlotte telling him to take a rest.
"Are you serious?" Lestrade's voice carried seven parts suspicion and three parts bewilderment.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Russell spread his hands and pointed at the mountain of files on the desk.
"These are all the old backlogged cases you've got sitting around, aren't they? Some of them are nearly past the statute of limitations."
Lestrade followed his finger and looked — that pile really was his biggest headache.
Some cases lacked evidence; in others, the suspects had vanished without a trace.
Still others involved too much to touch lightly.
They clung to the Scotland Yard archives like a stubborn rash, a constant reminder of his own failure as an inspector.
They were minor blemishes on an otherwise fine record, but to say he didn't care about them at all would be a lie.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Lestrade looked back at Russell and swallowed hard.
"What do you want?"
He asked, looking for all the world like a man about to bargain with the devil.
"Hmm… what do I want." Russell raised an eyebrow. "Now that's a good question."
He didn't answer right away, as if weighing just what payment might be fitting.
Lestrade waited in silence, his heart racing beyond his control.
Finally, all he heard was that cynical bastard across from him say, in a tone that practically begged to be punched:
"Let's just say Scotland Yard owes me a favor. How's that?"
"A favor…" Lestrade repeated.
Debts of favor were the hardest to repay — he'd have rather this man asked for anything else.
Money, or anything else at all.
"Honestly, I really don't understand you.
He sighed, grabbed a cigarette off to the side, and lit it in his mouth.
"So? Your answer?"
Russell asked, smiling.
Lestrade stared at him for a long moment, then slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Get up," he said.
"Give me back my seat."
____
Gift for Everyone: Once we hit 50 Powerstones, I'll release +1 bonus chapter
________________________________________
If you want more chapters, please consider supporting my page on (P). with 50 advanced chapters available on (P)
👻 Join the crew by searching Leanzin on (P). You know the spot! 😉