"Mr Holmes cannot receive you at the moment," the woman delivered in a polite and completely impassive tone. "If you wish to make an appointment, you may leave your contact details and I'll call you back."
Janine swept her assessing gaze all over the apparently innocuous PA – a trained agent, no doubt, and a competent one at that – and wisely refrained from addressing her as 'dearie'.
"Would you please tell Mike I'm not going anywhere till he hears me out?"
The woman rolled her eyes and disappeared again, only to come back a few minutes later and show her to Mr Holmes' office. Mycroft turned an icy stare on her, but she could tell he was tired – grief and worry making his mask slip just enough to reveal the human being underneath.
"I'm a busy man, Ms Hawkins," he pointed out bluntly. "I will have you escorted out of the premises if needed."
"Don't be daft, Mike. You know why I'm here."
He let out a quiet sigh, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose as if to stave off the beginnings of a potential migraine. "My brother was well aware of the consequences of his actions, and he assures me he's prepared to face them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to."
Janine gave in to a short, disbelieving laughter. "Magnussen was an outright bastard – good riddance to him. Sherlock deserves praise rather than punishment, as you should know."
"I'm not at liberty to help him out," Mycroft replied wearily. "Not this time."
They stared at each other for a long moment, until understanding dawned on her at last. "I see. Can't let the public think the British Government approves of free agents taking the law into their own hands – even more so since it's your own brother."
"Reckless," the man murmured as if between himself. "He's always been. Rash. Inconsiderate."
"He did it for you as much as for John and Mary, didn't he? He'd die for any of you, and yet he has no clue what to make of it."
Mycroft nodded shortly, his admission a testament to how much the latest turn of events was taking its toll on him. "Sherlock doesn't feel things the way most people do. He doesn't fall in love, doesn't experience what is commonly referred as attraction. He is capable of sentiment though – no matter that his so-called 'friends' can't quite understand the depth of said sentiment."
"Poor thing," she said somewhat thoughtfully. "I knew it would never work between us, but I liked him so much – hell, I still like him even after everything he's done."
"If it's any consolation, I believe the feeling is entirely mutual. Although that didn't stop him from exploiting your connection for his own purposes, he still couldn't bear the thought of your boss blackmailing you as well."
A rueful smile tugged at her lips, and she shook her head. "You sure you can't do anything for him?"
"I'm afraid not," Mycroft stated in a careful tone, holding her gaze for longer than she would have expected. "Not all the King's horses and all the King's man, as the saying goes. Nothing short of James Moriarty's return could save him this time around."
The deliberate manner in which he'd delivered the last line immediately caught her attention. He knew who she was, how she still had access to Magnussen's office and his resources; she thought of her perfect cottage in Sussex, far too quiet for her liking, and just like that her decision was made.
"I see," she nodded, slowly, and she fancied she caught a flash of approval across those otherwise unreadable eyes. "Goodbye, Mike."
"Ms Hawkins," was the only answer she got, right before she shut the door and walked away.