PULLING THE STRINGS, FILE 1: SAWYER
A/N: This story is my first in a very long time. It is intended to be slices of insight in to the way that Mycroft is behind the scenes of everyone's life, directing the action to suit his own needs. The chapters will be in no particular order and if you like the idea and have a chapter you'd like me to try my fingers at, please let me know in a review. Also a thousand thank yous to Roxanne-Michal for her help. Go read her story as soon as you're done with mine. Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own genius
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Mycroft Holmes prided himself on being a private and. somewhat mysterious individual. He wore no hearts on his sleeve, no emotions on his face. Even his assistant Anthea (it was Thursday and she was always Anthea on Tuesdays and Thursdays) knew very little of him, and she knew more than most. It was a strategy, see. Keep yourself a blank canvas so you could become whatever the situation called for. John Watson had required something military and precise with an ominous air, a backroom chat like the terrorist have. His present subject needed something much more casual. So, with great disappointment, he set aside abduction plans and simply waited until the building was relatively deserted. He then went in to her office with Anthea and sat across from her calmly, projecting an air of reason and banality.
She looked up from her paperwork as he seated himself. "Can I help you?"
"On the contrary Doctor, I believe I can help you." he replied. Her reaction was interesting. In a flash, almost too quick to catch, he saw he trying to assess the possibilty that he was some sort of lunatic or worse, religious fanatic. But her curiousity won out after a brief battle because she gave a small confused smile and asked him to go on. She even put her pen down as if to demonstrate that he did indeed have her attention.
"It's hard, messy work, being a doctor, isn't it? Not what you pictured at all when you were in school. No glamour, no fancy dress parties, just an endless line of people, all needing your help, and you want to help them still, you haven't lost that yet. It's just so hard. Never enough time, never enough doctors, never enough supplies." For emphasis of his point, he used the tip of his umbrella to nudge her paperwork. Budgets, he could tell. "If you aren't trying to stitch the patients up, you're trying to keep this place running on...well.. ..." he cast his eyes disdainfully on a discolored ceiling tile, "paste and good intentions."
"Are you here to make a donation? Maybe volunteer? I'm in need of a good orderly." she said with a touch of humor, still keeping a polite smile on. She had no idea what was going on.
He scoffed a little, returning her polite smile with the smallest of chuckle. "I fear I would be overqualified." as good as he was at cleaning up messes... "No, as I said before, I am here to help you. To be more precise, I think we can help each other."
"How's that?" she asked. She wore a fascinating combination of expressions now...skepticism, amusement, a touch of indignance, a dash of annoyance, they all played across her features. Mycroft
studied her for a full minute before replying. This was the tricky part.
"You are familiar with Dr. John H. Watson?"
"Yes, but I don' t..."
He held up his hand to stop her for the moment, "I was asking to be polite. I know you have a personal relationship with the doctor. You also know his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, correct?"
Not sure if she was allowed to speak now, she nodded, and he continued. "What I'd like to offer you is a weekly sum, in this amount," Anthea ceased her typing to remove a card from her pocket and slide it across the desk, "donated to your facility here. In exchange for this much needed sum, I ask only that you pass on to me information on Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson."
"I don't understand. What sort of information?" she asked, not rejecting the idea out of hand.
"Oh nothing you'd feel betrays a trust, nothing.. ...tawdry . Just common things. How Dr. Watson is doing, mentally, how are he and Mr. Holmes are getting along, any problems he might mention."
"And you'd pay me for that?" Again, the idea was not rejected.
"We are really in the same business, Sarah... ..may I call you Sarah?" she nodded again. "The business of helping people. This information would help me immensely, and in return, I will help you by making sure this amount," On que, Anthea stopped typing and slid a card across the desk, "is deposited in the discretionary funds account, to be used however it is needed."
He had caught her now. He saw that look in her eyes, the look of a mouse in a trap. Maybe if her relationship with John was more serious, maybe if she didn't suspect that he and Sherlock had romantic ferlings for each other, maybe if her those facts hadn't made her bitter...but it had, and now she asked him, "Would all of the money need to go to the Surgery?"
Mycroft smiled as he rose from his chair and extended his hand to her to seal the deal. "I am sure we can come to an arrangement."