The halls of the old and decrepit university were anything but familiar in the darkness, the light of the full moon seeping through the cracks in the boarded windows, shattered glass littering the floor. It had been years since natural light had entered this building and revealed the art and architecture, not so much less than the time that she herself had set foot in the edifice that no longer provided a setting to instil young minds with knowledge – no – tonight this place was playing host to the evil and twisted deeds of a mad man.

Snaking through the hallways until reaching a doorway from which artificial light was seeping under the space between the mahogany barrier and the marble, mosaic flooring. As she pushed the door, she was drowned in light, a sensory overload that stopped her in her tracks as she allowed time for her eyes to adjust. She did not have time to take in her surroundings before she felt a searing pain on the left side of her face. Instantly, she met the cold ground as her newly adjusted sight began to blur into nothing – the last thing she heard was that painfully familiar voice speak her name and ask her one simple question:

"Did you miss me?"

...

1 year ago. Present day

...

The flight from Moscow to London had been delayed, as per usual. The four-hour flight, plus the two-hour delay, had made for a displeased passenger, whose face showed extreme distaste for the flight attendants as they politely apologised when they were instructed to disembark the British Airways flight. This one particular passenger, face still showing clearly how unimpressed they were with the quality of service, stepped carefully down the metallic staircase of the flight, small suitcase in hand, hood pulled up to save her face from the rain. She had spent the delay contemplating whether she should maintain the large Canadian goose winter coat on her person or not and, as expected, her decision was correct. She had anticipated the lack of sunshine through sheer experience of being in London – it had been six years since she had set foot in her home country, and nothing much had changed – weather wise that was.

Her heels tapped rhythmically on the tarmac with ease as she began to follow the route from the plane and into the terminal. She did not have time to complain about the distance she would have to travel in the appalling weather when her eyes caught a glimpse of a black, unmarked car making its way along the tarmac and stop almost dead in front of her. As the other passengers began to complain about the interruption of their route, a familiar body stepped out of the vehicle.

"Olivia" the woman spoke in faux formality, her eyes remaining stuck to the mobile device that was seemingly glued to her perfectly manicured hands. Olivia simply rolled her eyes and entered the car, muttering under her breath. Such an extravagant and over display of power and economic reach. It could only have been one person. Her mood darkened as she heard Anthea instruct the driver to continue on their journey – towards the unnecessary detour Olivia had tried so hard to avoid! She had tried her hardest to make her return as low profile as possible not to spark his interest. She mentally scolded herself to believe that a fake identity on a public, economy class flight would stop Mycroft Holmes from knowing it was her. She had been sure that he'd probably known she was to return even before she'd made the decision.

"How was your flight?" Anthea asked in a nonchalant manner, still focusing her eyes on her phone.

"Small talk?" Olivia raised her eyebrow at the business woman beside her, curious as to this display of this uncharacteristic behaviour. Anthea simply shrugged in response to the question, which both new was rhetorical and more of a denial of acceptance. Olivia was not a fan of small talk, nor of the woman sat typing frantically beside her. Anthea reminded her of a part of her life she had tried her damnedest to run from, so hard, in fact, that it had driven her to the other side of the world to seek solace in the fact that things could hardly get worse – she had been wrong, surprisingly. That is one of the remarkable things about life, it's never so bad that it can't get worse. Olivia restrained the urge to smirk at the irony of the situation at hand. Ran from the wolves and straight into the bear.

It could always get worse.

The building that marked their destination was just as extravagant and garish as she remembered, yet another part of the country that had not made any modification to its state since her departure, unless you counted the new Victorian canvas painting occupying the foyer wall. Olivia has always found herself wondering how the government could justify spending such copious amounts of tax payer's money on buildings that the public would never venture into, as they were not to know that they existed at all. The answer to her question was always answered the same: It was the British government – they do what they want behind closed doors and pretend to have everyone's best interest at heart while purchasing gold plated port glasses and crystal decanters to maintain the officials happy and up to the challenge of fooling the entire country. It no longer made her angry. It was just another reason to display her distaste for the situation on her pale features.

"May I take your coat, ma'am?" The young doorman had already begun to remove the winter coast before she had a chance to respond. At any other moment, she may have been remotely impressed with the courteous and efficiency at which the young man worked. However, it was not in her nature to fake emotions. She was an open book – and this was a book that, today, had little possibility of a happy ending.

"This way" Anthea spoke, distracting Olivia from her thoughts, as she began walking towards the elevator on the far side of the foyer, small bag still clutched in her hands. Suppressing the natural impulse to reply with a sarcastic comment, Olivia simply bit her tongue and followed the footsteps along the familiar path to the office of the prestigious and, in her opinion, pompus Mycroft Holmes.

The elevator rose several floors and in silence she stood, pulling her raven hair out of the ponytail that had held it captive since the early hours of that morning. The release of tension that she felt as she swayed her head lightly from side to side calmed her nerves. Yes. Nerves. She was nervous. She burrowed her eyebrows as she admitted to herself that she was not only in a bad mood due to the fact the flight was delayed, that she had to endure the unsatisfactory company of the passengers she had the unfortunate experience of being subjected to, that she had been not so subtly 'invited' for, what she suspected, was an authoritarian state of affairs disguised as tea and biscuits with a man that she had tried so hard to keep clear of and the fact that she was nervous about the whole situation. It was not normal for her to feel nervous and the fact that Mycroft was the source of this just made her bad mood worse.

It can always get worse.

The small chime of their arrival to their destination only caused the nerves to bubble further to the surface. Anthea remained still by her side, silently signalling Olivia to take her leave from the electric box of transport and face the man that was awaiting her behind the door at the end of the corridor, on the right.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before she found herself knocking on the door, hoping that there would be no response from the other side. A foolish thought, of course, as the door opened slowly to reveal the man she had to fight the urge to slap. He simply smiled at her as he moved to allow her access into his office. Silently she obliged and waited for Mycroft to close the door and make his way over to his desk, taking a seat in a chair that she was sure could pay for a six-month stint in a town house in Camden town. He gestured her to take a seat opposite, which she silently declined

She remained stoic in her position just a meter away from the door. It made her feel more comfortable being next to her escape route, something she was sure was entering his mind as he looked over her figure. Her hair was longer than it had been when she'd left – styled, and dyed. He would deduce that this was an attempt to hide part of her past. And he'd be right. She weighed as much as before and had not grown at all, not unless you counted the burgundy heels that were settled upon her feet. He would say that she is insecure and likes control, maintaining a strict routine while trying to appear confident with the style of clothing and colourful pallet. And he'd be right, again. He's look over her clothing choice for the day – burgundy shirt, flattering, black pencil skirt, skin coloured tights and the aforementioned heels. Why would she dress so well in expensive clothes if she were to sit among 'normal' people on a germ infested fight? He would ask himself while simultaneously answering the question: she hadn't expected to be taking that flight. And why was that? Because it wasn't planned? And again…

"Have you quite finished?" She spoke in a bored tone as he steepled his hands under his chin.

"Indeed." He answered simply, waving his left hand nonchalantly, finally removing his eyes from her figure and fixating them with her own. "You look well" he spoke, a smile forced upon his face.

Olivia could safely say she almost felt insulted by that comment. Not because of the words he had chosen or the faux smile on his face, but because it had been the second time that day that someone had been so uncharacteristically 'charming' in their attempts at small talk. Instead of responding she simply rolled her eyes and glanced down at her watch, the hands ticking painfully slowly – she hoped that he wouldn't take long to get to the point of this thoughtless invasion on her life.

"Am I keeping you?" He spoke in an amused tone.

Although to all others that were not as familiar with the intricacies regarding the lack of emotions comprehended by this man, he would probably have seemed like he was genuinely amused at his statement. But Olivia did know him between than most and know, only too well, that is was mothing more than a ploy to gain information that they both knew he was not privy to.

Was he keeping her?

Olivia mirrored his amusement, though hers was indeed genuine. He really didn't know why she had returned and the simple gesture of looking down at her watch had shown that.

"Of course not" She spoke with a huge grin on her face, pushing all the buttons she knew she could from where she stood. Mycroft remained almost static as he reanalysed the woman before him, trying to halt the exasperated look that was appearing on his face.

"Yes, well" he commenced, as he began to ruffle through the papers on his desk. "You know, Olivia, your exile has yet to be revoked so… it would be in your best interest to disclose any information regarding your reasons behind your return back to the U.K. as not to add more charges to your record."

"If you have dragged me here to threaten me Mycroft…"

"No, my dear. I have brought you here to warn you" He stood up and buttoned his perfectly tailored jacket, walking around to sit on the edge of his desk. "Stay away from him, Olivia". To this, Olivia simply rolled her eyes and decided that she had indulged him enough, taking her leave from his office.

The anger that was seeping from her core began quickly apparent on her face. It was a feeling that she had spent the past six years without – only to be thrown back into the hellish waters from once she came. There were few words that she could use to describe how she felt about Mycroft Holmes, none of which would be permitted before the watershed.

Her journey from his office, to the lobby, into a taxi and to the first hotel she found was a blur, only realizing she was finally in the comfort of her hotel room when she was greeted by a vase full of white roses and a small black card attached to the packaging. Even before she read the note, she knew who it was from.

"Show off" she whispered as she read the note, smiling at the contents.

"Welcome Home.

SH"