As if the asylum hadn't been torture enough.

White smoke drifts towards the clouds above seeking penitence. What the offence had been only time could tell. Perhaps it was due to the psych ward. Perhaps it was due to a cattle dog comment. Or perhaps it was none of those, but some much fouler offence.

What's odd is the way the flat is burnt to a crisp. The surrounding structures have taken damage, but they'll be restored relatively quickly. There is no salvaging the top. Its appearance now creates an illusion as if the building never had a second floor, as if it's always stood with only two.

Fire brigades hustle about, making absolutely certain the blaze will not flare to life again. Even though the white smoke could be considered a safety sign, they take no risks. Emergency services roam the street searching for any of those who are displaced to confirm they're not injured. Their job would be far easier provided residents of the area didn't fill the road in droves, quietly discussing and judging what took place.

The clouds above finally begin to release droplets far too late to be of any help. If anything, they make the situation worse. Not only does it seem like some kind of cruel joke that they would choose now to send water, but everyone out in the street will be soaked in minutes.

And there she stands, near an ambulance, brown slick hair hanging down her back and around her soot-smudged face, in nothing but a t-shirt and long pyjama trousers. In her hands, she grips her only remaining possessions: several odd American Girl books, and the mobile phone she's currently using to text Mycroft Holmes that she will no longer be his assistant effective immediately.

~16 months ago~

Humming softly, Cora skips down the steps and pulls out her Oyster Card. Making her way through an entry gate, she heads to the escalators and digs through her handbag. Pulling out an iPod, she puts one earphone in, hits play and gives a soft smile to its scratched screen. After nearly a decade of serenading her, it's still going strong.

Good thing, too, since she wouldn't be able to afford another.

When she enters the train, she's pleased to see she has the car to herself. It's not a terribly huge surprise given the time of night, but it is something she thoroughly enjoys. Biting her bottom lip, Cora slumps into a seat and bobs her head to the music as she pulls lip balm from her bag.

"Who, who, who, who?" she softly sings as she coats her chapped lips before returning the tube to her bag. "I took the tube back out of town, back to the rollin' pin…"

Turning sideways, she props her tired feet on the seat next to her and leans against the metal behind her. Normally, Cora would consider her behaviour rude, but in light of the empty train and the pain she's in, it's barely a concern. Despite the supportive trainers she sports, her legs constantly ache from running around the restaurant for hours on end. The pain is dull and constant making her feel three times older than she actually is.

There is a piece of her, on the contrary, that suspects her feet only ache, because she's not thrilled with life. If she could change her circumstances, she's certain everything would be different.

Shaking the thought from her head, Cora pulls a book from her bag. She runs a hand gingerly over the cover. It's her only escape from the mundane, and she finds that a tad sad. Who wants to spend their life at a dead-end job they hate? A place where they barely make enough to survive on, and can never truly live or explore beyond their door.

Even Disney posed the idea of adventure in the great wide somewhere, she thinks.

With a sigh, she opens to her bookmark, and begins to read: It is in some ways…

There's something about the sound and feel of the tale that Cora loves. She greets it like an old friend, knowing what it will say, but still wanting to know everything about it that she can. It enchants her and lulls her into its short depths, drowning out the mundane.

That is, until the lights in the carriage flicker.

She looks around to see it's still only her, alone, in the car. Pursing her lips, she turns back to the book with a shrug. Unless something worse happens, she has no need to worry. She'll arrive at her stop soon enough.

When the lights go out, however, she stands and walks to the door. What in the world? she questions, looking outside and pulling the earphone out. The train has completely stopped with emergency lights flickering along the track.

"It is in some ways more troublesome to track and swat an evasive wasp…"

The voice has her turning before the emergency lights inside begin to glow. Cora's head tilts to the side as she discovers a man in a three-piece suit settled in a seat behind her. He's looking at the tip of the umbrella in his hand as if it's the most fascinating thing in the world. She gives the area another glance, but it's only him.

When did he get on?

"…than to shoot, at close range, a wild elephant," he continues as he gazes at his umbrella.

Cora's brow quirks. How could he possibly know she was reading that exact line in her book? She pinches herself—hard. Maybe this is just a dream.

The man leans back against the seat. "Except you aren't quite the wasp, are you, Ms Merriman?"

Clutching the book to her chest, she takes a closer look at the stranger. His dark hair is slightly receding, and small lines crease his forehead. She tenses when his dark eyes—predatory eyes—flick to hers. It reminds her of a lion stalking its prey. With nowhere to run, Cora decides he might as well strike. After all, she's literally trapped in the metal box with a man as dangerous as Hannibal Lecter.

And she is certain she's never met him.

"Tell me," he says, "will you continue to allow that man to overwork you and underpay you for all your days, or were you hoping to get out from the insurmountable debt attached to your name?"

The comment sucks the air out of her chest. How does he know that? Clearing her throat, she straightens up. "Forgive me, but I don't believe that's any of your business."

He looks to the umbrella leaning against his leg. "Never would have assumed you'd turn down a life-changing opportunity."

"Again, I don't believe—"

"It is an exceedingly foolish option, Ms Merriman."

She shakes her head. "Even if there was an op—"

"I'm offering you an opportunity. Something a bit steadier than being a server in what barely passes for a restaurant. Nevertheless, you would rather stay in that uncomfortable comfort zone you've grown accustomed to…"

Cora doesn't respond. Partly, because she's overwhelmed with what he's said. Mainly, because she's certain he'll interrupt again. She considers it easier to wait for this man to elaborate.

He looks at her, the hint of a smirk on his face as if he believes he's just won the battle. "A car will be by to pick you up Monday morning."

Taking a deep breath, she works on slowing her racing thoughts so she can analyze the situation. Maybe a new job is what she needs. Maybe she can finally move out on her own. That would be exhilarating. However, she isn't quite sure what he's offering.

What's more, who would give her the time of day?

Cora leans against the train door, putting some weight against it to see if it'll give. "I hardly believe this an opportunity someone would readily offer just anyone."

"Precautions have allowed you to survive, I see," he says with a gentle nod. "However, you are correct. This isn't an opportunity for just anyone."

The implication of his words are clear, yet, he doesn't truly know her. So, before she can dash his hopes—or more importantly her own—she shakes her head. "I can't help you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't."

His brow quirks as he tilts his head slightly. "Won't is the more appropriate word here, since you've not heard the offer."

"Sir, it's not that I wouldn't want to, but," she objects and her shoulders slump with a sigh, "I have no skills."

"Skills can be taught. It's not incredibly difficult to be an assistant."

There's a small bubble that begins to grow in her stomach. Cora isn't quite sure what it could be, but hope would be her guess. Still, she knows nothing is ever as it seems. "Why go through all this trouble to find me?"

One brow raises as his gaze meets hers.

"You've locked me in a train, at a very late hour. You expect me to take this position and get into a car on Monday to a place where I haven't the slightest idea of what's to come." Cora knows she's being exceedingly asinine to entertain the prospect of taking this man at his word. A man whose name she does not know nor does she know what he wants with her. "I can't help but feel as if I'll end up on Crimewatch—here and in the States."

He regards her for several long seconds—twenty-three to be precise. Cora isn't sure what he's searching for, or if he'll murder her here and now, but either way, she wipes her sweaty palms on her apron and waits for his response.

"Fair enough, Ms Merriman," he finally replies and stands, leaning slightly on his umbrella. "Recommendations are whispered through grape vines. Recommendations that don't matter to this restaurant. Not only are you exhausted by the daily grind, you're bored with the life you live, even if you won't admit it aloud. It's too mediocre for your tastes. Not that you're looking for something exotic. You're simply looking for something that keeps your interest. I can offer you that."

Cora crosses her arms and shifts between the heels and balls of her tired feet. She does have to admit he is right that she wishes for more. "Who are you?"

Standing straight, he merely looks at her as if she should have some idea.

"You're definitely not Scotland Yard," she surmises.

"No," he agrees. "Though if I was, perhaps they'd solve a few more crimes."

Slipping her book into her bag, her gaze flicks around the stopped train. "I'd say you work for the Tube, but then, why would you need me?"

"You're getting closer, Ms Merriman. I assure you, I mean no harm," he says before she can formulate that fear in her mind. "This is fun, however. Do continue."

Drawing in a breath, she looks him over. She isn't sure if he's being sarcastic or not. Before she can continue questioning him, she feels her phone vibrating in her back pocket.

"You needn't answer unless you wish to speak with another creditor."

Her eyes narrow in a scrunch as her head turns to the side. At one in the morning, it's far too late for…

Pulling her mobile from her pocket, she glances to see it is, in fact, someone looking to collect. Cora can't stop her jaw from gaping like a fish in need of water, nor the slight gasp at his correct guess. Slipping the phone back into her pocket, she forces herself to close her mouth and clear her throat.

"Should you agree to work for me, that will desist. You're in financial trouble, owing quite a substantial amount. All your hard efforts to get back on your feet have led you down a nasty path."

What the hell? Cora looks at him, her brows lowering, but lips pressed tightly together. He knows far more than he should for someone who needs a personal assistant.

"As of right now, you're also obligated to Ms Wilkins, are you not?"

She bites the inside of her cheek.

"Sharing a flat can be entertaining," he continues and swings his umbrella in a loop, "until she brings home a male friend which keeps you up all night, which makes you bolt your door just in case."

A shiver runs up her spine. "Say this was indeed fact, how would you know any of it?"

He sighs. "I was rather hoping you'd have pieced it together by now."

Cora huffs a sigh and runs through the information again. Can stop a train. Knows where I live, work, and how I feel about both. Knows how to find me.

She blinks and softly snaps her fingers. "The government."

"I occupy a minor role, yes."

"I didn't know minor roles required secretaries—"

"Assistants," he corrects.

"—And are able to have access to a person's history," she continues as if he hadn't spoken. With a soft breath, she thinks to herself, It's nothing minor, I bet.

He doesn't reply, merely looks at her as he leans forward on his umbrella.

She slowly moves towards him, halting a few steps away. What part of my soul will I have to sell? she wonders. "What do you require?"

"I have no intentions of harming you, Ms Merriman."

Cora bites her bottom lip. She knows better than that. Everything costs something. "What would I have to give up in return?"

He gives a partial smirk. "The cost is not as high as you might think, Ms Merriman."

Her brow arches high. "What's pricey to me is not pricey to you."

"Don't be too sure about that." His smirk grows and lights his black treacle-coloured eyes. "Monday, then?"

Her attention is drawn to the soft squeal as the train starts moving again. Looking at the man, she takes a breath. "May I have your name now?"

A small grin appears on the right side of his face. In his eyes, it seems as if he's just won an even bigger battle. One that she isn't certain if she should be frightened of.

"Mycroft Holmes," he says as the train comes to a stop at her station. "Your previous job will be given notice of your departure. A car will be by to pick you up at six Monday morning. Dress professionally."

Giving a nod, Cora exits the train and wonders if she just made the right decision.

Inspired by fact, twisted for fiction. Any similarities are not intentional.

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