April 11, 2000
London, England
A petite brunette sat in a cheap metal and plastic chair outside a closed room. Her legs were crossed in statuesque repose, her artfully shadowed eyes fixed confidently on the old wooden door and the brass doorknob with its burnished patina. She was dressed in a black blazer and skirt with a white silk blouse that had a conservatively ruffled neckline. She wore a pair of sensible leather heels and dark tinted stockings. Her hair cascaded in loose ringlets down her neck and past her shoulders and her deep brown eyes held a confident and knowing sparkle.
The plastic clock on the wall indicated that it was 10:59 AM. The woman flicked her gaze to the secretary sitting at the L-shaped wooden desk across the brown-carpeted hall. The woman's eyes were glued to her computer screen and her fingers were tapping the buttons of her keyboard swiftly. The very picture of an efficient civil servant. If the secretary had any idea who the brunette was, deskwork was the very last thing she'd be doing.
The building was old and the air carried the faintly stale scent that was endemic to places that lacked state-of-the-art ventilation systems. The brunette returned her eyes to the door and waited with tranquil and alert poise. One hundred seconds later, the black office phone on the secretary's desk blinked it's red light and trilled an alert. The secretary snatched the phone from the receiver responding with a demure "Yes, sir," before settling it back into its cradle.
The woman focused her gaze on the brunette.
"Miss Battle?" the spectacled woman asked. "Mr. Holmes will see you now."
The brunette stood in a fluid motion of lithe grace. Her lips quirked up in a refined smile. She sashayed to the office door that bore a brass nameplate engraved with the name M. Holmes. With a turn of her wrist on the doorknob, the brunette entered the office. She gently shut the door behind her and squared her shoulders to regard the man sitting behind the large oak desk.
His ginger hair had a rounded widow's peak. He had well defined facial features that included a pair of piercing blue eyes. While he might have been slightly heavy in his cheeks, his aquiline nose along with the masculine sculpt of his mouth gave him a very charismatic presence. In truth he was quite handsome in an elegantly understated way. He exuded something palpable in his mien that was attractive on multiple levels.
The brunette regarded him with a soft, inscrutable smile. She watched him watch her, taking her in with his eyes allowing the full weight of her presence settle into the room. His gaze grew in intensity the longer he watched her. And while there wasn't quite what you would call recognition on his features, there was rapt interest along with a glint of shining awestruck reverence.
"And so we finally meet, Mycroft Holmes," the brunette told him.
"But we have met before," the man responded, his gaze looking deeply into her, searching the depths of her gaze trying to find something to seize and grasp hold of that would help him understand what was happening.
The brunette's smile deepened a degree. "Indeed," she declared. "You've seen me before. Very long ago."
Mycroft Holmes blinked, his exceptional intellect working in overdrive to process the brunette's words.
"The name on your application is Anthea Battle."
The brunette's smile became a smirk. "That, is most assuredly not my name."
"I . . ." Mycroft began. "I'm afraid I do not understand."
"You will in time."
Mycroft threw her a sharp look askance. She strolled further into the room and settled herself in the padded leather chair facing his desk.
"You've always had such an incredibly strong mind," she said. "It's one of the things I like best about you."
"Who are you?" he questioned.
"Right now, I'm simply your newly hired personal assistant."
"Newly hired?" he asked. "I haven't even begun your interview!"
"Anthea" sighed theatrically. "Do you really feel it's necessary?"
Mycroft looked at her, scrutinizing her with his most penetrating stare. He was clearly not used to being thrown so far out of his comfort zone. The woman's gaze softened.
"I've never been one to keep secrets. However, I ask that you allow me to reveal the truth to you in my own time. It will be much safer for you that way. If I told you the truth now, I'm afraid your mind might break under its weight and I've waited far too long for this moment only to have you jump from your window in hysterics."
"Why should I wish to hire an assistant who won't even tell me her real name?"
The brunette's mouth twitched. "The letters in the name I've given you will spell my true name if arranged the right way. However, I'd prefer you not to use it."
Mycroft looked at the application on the desk before him. It was flawless in its qualifications and listed commendations. The woman had double first class honours from Oxford in political sciences and sociology. He narrowed his gaze uncertainly at the name "Anthea Battle."
His mouth twisted into a hard line as he worked to uncover the woman's real name. She watched him with amused interest.
"Is it Helena?" he asked.
"No."
"Lena?"
"No."
"Leeana, then."
"Nope."
"Elana!"
"Sorry, no. Am I to sit here for the rest of the day whilst you rattle off names that aren't mine, or might you allow me to start my job and give me a task that needs doing?"
Mycroft looked up at her. "I never said I was giving you the position."
"This is true," she said simply.
"Perhaps if you'd be so good as to give me your name, I might consider signing you on."
"I'll do no such thing and you'll sign me on anyway."
Mycroft shot a brow up in surprise at the woman's brash confidence.
"Or I could call security, and have you escorted from this building and ensure that you never work a day for this government or any other."
Mycroft watched in shock as the woman proceeded to let out a dainty little yawn. She regarded him expectantly.
"You currently hold a mid-level position in Her Majesty's Treasury. Stick with me, and within ten years I'll have you pulling every secret string and walking amongst the highest echelons of MI-5 and the Home Office."
Mycroft stared at her as if she'd slapped him. He was not a man who was by any means accustomed to being at a total loss for words. Ordinarily he would have deduced her unspoken agendas within a manner of minutes if not seconds and succeeded in making her follow his rules and expectations. Only, this was very definitely not an ordinary situation.
He suddenly found himself with the odd thought that perhaps his years of staunch atheism had been a mistake and he was now looking into the eyes of a very female Satan. But that couldn't be true. As strange as this encounter and this woman was, he retained a firm death grip on the part of his brain that was threatening to entertain wildly ridiculous notions of supernatural power.
And yet . . . as he stared into her eyes he found himself being magnetically pulled to make her his assistant.
"You may check my recent debt analysis report for transcription errors before I send it to the Secretary of the Treasury. There's an office already set up for you down the hall, second door on the left," Mycroft said in manner that spoke to the fact he was more than a little surprised he was agreeing to give in to this Anthea woman's smug demands.
He grabbed a pen and signed at the bottom of the document that had been hiding beneath her job application. He pushed the employment contract towards her and handed her the pen. He stared at her hand as she wrote her "name" with a smooth flourish, wondering what the hell he had just done.
He slipped the contract into a folder and slid the folder into a desk drawer. He then opened the drawer above and withdrew a file folder, handing it to her with a solemn look. His hard gaze bored into her dark doe-like eyes and she took it all in stride without so much as a twitch.
"Shall I send it to the Secretary for you when I'm done?"
"That would be acceptable, yes."
"Very good then, Mr. Holmes. It's going to be quite a pleasure working with you, I'm sure."
"Thank you, Anthea," he told her curtly.
He stared at her back as she exited the office and went about her work. Once the door had clicked shut, Mycroft let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He rubbed his palm over his face, trying his damnedest to figure out exactly how he'd let such a small innocuous looking creature manoeuver and manipulate him. Who exactly was this woman? For all he knew she could be some kind of terrorist.
He looked back at her application, his gaze narrowed as he stared at the name she'd listed on the paper.
Anthea Battle. Whom he already knew wasn't Helena, Lena, Leeana, or Elana.
He continued to stare at the woman's alias, focusing on her first name.
Anthea . . . Mycroft cocked his head to the side as he picked up his pen and underlined the name. He wrote A-n-t-h-e-a in the margin. And as he looked at the letters something clicked inside of his mind and he instantly knew he had his eureka moment.
If he just moved one letter around he had the woman's real name.
Athena.
Mycroft smiled to himself in satisfaction. He very nearly rushed out of his office after his new PA to tell her he'd figured it out. But no, there would surely be time enough to continue the conversation later.
But really, what kind of name was Athena? Mycroft had always enjoyed the Classics and he was no stranger to the details of Greek mythology. In truth, he'd always counted good Pallas Athena as his very favorite in the pantheon.
Though that was surely the last thing he'd be telling the brunette beauty who had just finagled her way into his employ. He could only imagine what her response would be. Something decidedly brusque, to be sure.
One thing was sure, after having successfully learned one thing about her, Mycroft Holmes found he was quite looking forward to learning more.