"What's your name?" asked the short man, his forward-leaning stance all too obvious. His ears were quite prominent, and red-tipped, she noted. He's just been kidnapped by a man with expansive and mysterious power and knowledge, and now he's thinking of me as an opportunity, she thought, slightly amused. Yet she had the distinct feeling that this small detail would be significant in the future. John Watson was an interesting character. She knew the cold kidney pie - sorry, Mr. Mycroft Holmes - would keep tabs on him, but she intended on keeping some of her own, and in her own way. For a brief moment, she even considered accepting his implied offer. No, that would simply not do, she decided. Her disguise was enough to fool Mycroft, who never gave her a second look, but if she spent time with this Watson, sooner or later she was bound to encounter Sherlock, and he would recognize her, if not immediately, then almost so. All this went through the young woman's head in a few seconds, while she appeared entirely absorbed by her phone screen.
The young woman paused. "Uh..." What should be her name? Mycroft had not asked for one yet, not in the two months she had been his secretary - her mouth twisted, cold potato, how like him. 'Ivy' was the first name that came to mind, but no, she used that one in communications - communications both Mycroft and Sherlock had mostly decoded. What, then? She had precious few others, and she doubted 'Sister of the Streets' would work in this situation. Another flower was the simplest solution. Lily, Jasmine, Violet? Rose? No, too easily traced back to her flower code. Wasn't anthos Greek for 'flower'? Then how about...
"Uh, Anthea," she responded, pronouncing the name delicately, exactly as if she had never spoken it before.
"Is that your real name?" John Watson asked doubtfully.
"No."
He sighed. "Ok, then," the doctor snapped angrily, and exited the car.
Enola Holmes laughed slightly.