Chapter Text
The big grandfather clock strikes ten. As if on command, you slump into your comfortable swivel chair, letting your head fall back, closing your eyes. After staying like this for a few seconds, taking a deep breath, you open them again. The ceiling above you is always shrouded in twilight, the light from the window never reaching into the heights, no matter how big they are. Today, it is a little darker than usual, as there has been a big storm last night and the rain still hasn’t let up. You enjoy the pitter-patter sound of heavy raindrops against the windowpanes, but it would be nice to have some sunshine again. Well, this is London, after all.
You sigh and press a button on your keyboard to lock the screen. Even though you won’t leave your office during the break, you have made a habit of securing everything. Comes with the job, really. All lockable file storage shelves and cabinets in the big room are secured at all time, keys themselves locked up in a safe to which only you and two other people have the corresponding keys. This might sound like an over-the-top measure - frankly you were surprised yourself when you took on the job. But you were quickly convinced of the need for secrecy and security after you were made privy to what exactly was stored in this seemingly inconspicuous room.
Some people would feel alone in a room with nothing but books and files, high shelves and an overall dusty atmosphere. But you enjoy the freedom that this job gives you, without being scrutinised by nosy co-workers, like at your previous job. You haven’t been here long, but are grateful for it every day. You even have the benefit of a small kitchen in one corner of your office - thoughtfully integrated into the room’s design by someone who anticipated a person working here all day.
A cup of tea would do nicely now. Feeling a little tired, you forgo your usual 10am fruit blend and opt for a strong cup of Assam instead. You were never one for coffee. It’s not so much that the taste would bother you, but you can’t stand the smell hanging around after brewing it. It covers up the lovely aroma of old paper and wood permeating the room, somehow feeling like an alien invader in all this calm and quietness.
While the tea steeps, you grab a few files, which you had needed to complete a dossier on the political situation in Kenya, and disappear into the bowels of the room, between the high shelves. Dragging a small step ladder, you quickly find the right place to store them. The organisation system in the room isn’t alphabetical and not even by country. It employs a - frankly rather weird - system of connections between the contents of the individual files, placing related issues close to each other. It was something you had been warned about, but oddly enough you could find everything with ease. It even made your job to find related information for your dossiers easier.
When you asked who had come up with this sorting organisation, the answer had been: Your employer. Which was funny, because for all the months you had been working here, you hadn’t met him once. You had been filing away information about his exploits, prepare files for him to use. Recently you have even started booking plane tickets and reserve restaurant tables - taking on duties above your normal work in the archive, closer to a PA. You were told that your performance was so impeccable, you were deemed able to help out in more immediate situations than the rather leisurely pace you normally employed in your work. Not complaining, you enjoyed the distraction of these short notice errands. They never made you leave the office so far, so no harm done.
What it did, though, is make your imagination spin. Who was this employer of yours, really? The information in this room was sensitive enough to bring down several political parties. Whole small countries, even. It was regularly used on his exploits, having to do with any and all countries of the world. Restaurants visits and hotel stays were only reserved in the most highest class of all. Jokingly you mused that you might be working for some sort of James Bond. Only that the name of your employer was not Bond, but Mycroft Holmes.
Mycroft Holmes. It sounded antiquated and strangely alluring at the same time. For being such an important person, he was very secretive. You had never heard of him before taking on your current job. Still hadn’t met him. Well, it didn’t matter. You were probably too insignificant for him to even know about you - just a cog in a well-oiled machine, keeping his daily work life going. And that suited you fine. Still, sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder…
One time, when Anthea had visited your office, you had asked her what Mycroft Holmes was like. The PA had laughed loudly at your question and asked why you wanted to know, instead of answering right away. To your surprise, you blushed and dropped the matter immediately.
Anthea was the reason you had the chance to get this job. You had met through your shared hobby: Drawing. Both of you had taken a drawing class in summer a few years ago - and immediately connected. It had been an easy friendship, which you both enjoyed. It helped that you didn’t mind only meeting up for a drink every few weeks because of her work schedule. She confessed that she had lost the connection to many people in her life because of the time-demanding work, and that she was very happy to have found someone who didn’t measure friendship in time spent together.
It was half a year ago when you complained about your job at the library - mostly because of your new co-workers. Anthea pulled some strings and got you an interview for the newly open position in her company’s archive. You passed both the interview and the security screening with flying colors and found yourself in your dream job. So, even though it would be nice to actually know your employer, it was all fine this way.
The tea bag lands in the trash can. You grab your cup and move over to the window, where you had placed a little chair. Outside the window is a little park, and you like to observe the people during your break. But today is a soaking wet day and the only thing you can see is a duck, waddling along the grass. In a fit of boredom, you grab the sketching pad, you always carry with you, and a soft pencil. A few books are placed on the windowsill, along with a few other items. A quick practice sketch during your tea break can’t hurt. You don’t have anything else to do than tidying up, anyway. Mr. Holmes and Anthea had been away for the last week, and you had completed your open assignments a few days ago. Cleaning up a little was never bad, but with nothing to work on, there wasn’t much to put away.
The pencil dances lightly across the rough paper, capturing the outlines and shapes of the objects in front of you. The details on the books and objects are quickly brought to paper by an experienced hand. The tea cup isn’t empty yet. You decide to include the window and tree branches outside of it into your picture, as well. Soon, you find yourself lost in detailing out all the little leaves of the oak, which sway in the stormy wind.
So lost, you don’t even realise the door of your office opening and closing and someone stepping behind you. As the person clears his throat, you jump at the sudden noise and the pencil in your hand draws a fat, black line all across the nearly finished picture.
“Oh my, I am sorry about that. I did not mean to startle you like that.”
You look up to see a man standing behind you. He wears a dark, pinstripe three piece suit and a red tie. A golden pocket watch chain is visible below the suit jacket. An umbrella in his hand. He does look very apologetic.
“Don’t worry. It was just for practice, anyway,” you say after your heart calms down a little from the shock. You put the sketch pad and the pencil on a nearby table and stand up. “How can I help you?”
The man extends his right hand.
“Mycroft Holmes. I do not think we have met previously.”
Oh. Mycroft Holmes. Now that was a surprise. You hope it doesn’t show on your face.
“I don’t think so,” you grab the offered hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“I do have to apologise for introducing myself so late,” Mr. Holmes shakes your hand, then returns it to the other one on the umbrella handle. “I really should have come down here earlier. I heard a lot of good things about you from Anthea.”
“Oh, thank you,” you blush a little, mentally writing a little thank-you note to your friend - the light from the window doing a good job of illuminating your face, so that you don’t even have to hope the blush won’t be visible. You clear your throat. “What brings you here, Mr. Holmes?”
“You have been taking care of some of Anthea’s duties in the last weeks, is that correct?”
“If you’re talking about tickets and reservations, then you are correct, Sir,” you answer, wondering where this is going.
“Splendid,” his face lights up a little. “Then you are just the woman for the job. Unfortunately, Anthea has been wounded on our last… trip. And…”
“Oh my god, is she alright?”, you blurt out, cutting Mr. Holmes off mid-sentence. You quickly realise your error and lower your head apologetically, but he just chuckles.
“Yes, she is alright, no need to worry. But she does have to stay under surveillance in the hospital for at least a week. And this is why I am here. Your work experience here, albeit short, makes you the ideal candidate to stand in for Anthea for the time she is inconvenienced.”
Your have to do a double take. You? Stand in for Anthea as Mycroft Holmes’ PA? You unconsciously scrutinise the man briefly, but then your eyes lock. He gives you a warm smile and you allow yourself to look into his stormy, blue eyes for more than a few seconds for the first time. You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, but find yourself unable to refuse.
“If you think me qualified enough, it would be my pleasure, Sir.”