This couldn't be the place.
John knew that he was in the right place. Of course he was, with the black car showing up on the doorstep of 221B to take him off to his first day at his new position, complete with Anthea-if-that's-even-her-name-today in the backseat. She smiled warmly at him before turning her attention back to her ever-present Blackberry.
"I've always wanted to know. What are you doing all the time?" John asked as the car pulled away from the curb. She looked at him and smiled again.
"Words with Friends," she offered. John laughed and nodded.
"Right. None of your business, John," he said. She dimpled and looked back down at her screen, and John looked out the window. He had no idea where they were going. But that didn't matter. Today was his first day working under Mycroft Holmes, and he was sure that they were heading towards some posh office in some part of London where John would never have had reason to find himself.
He couldn't have been more wrong. The building he stood in front of was a warehouse, in an area of London that John wouldn't have taken money to spend time in if he hadn't been chasing around after Sherlock. As a matter of fact, he'd been here twice in the past month, once outside this very building.
"Here?" he asked.
"Yes. Come in," Anthea said, leading the way inside, into a large space that matched the ramshackle outside. Anthea ignored the litter and dirt as she walked across the open space, and John followed, feeling as if someone was watching his every step.
"There are."
"Excuse me?"
"There are people watching you," Anthea confirmed. "If you weren't supposed to be here, an alarm would sound. That usually chases away the addicts and the prostitutes."
John nodded, looking around as they passed through a door and into a smaller room. Same feeling, but stronger. No cameras visible, but that meant nothing. "And if they get this far?"
"No one ever has. But there are safeguards in place for the determined," she answered. Then she grinned. "Want to know what they are?"
John considered, then shook his head. "I don't need to know."
"Good answer." Anthea led him towards another door, opening it to reveal an elevator. "Come along, then. He's waiting."
John followed her into the elevator, turning to face the closing door. There were no controls, no buttons. The door slid silently closed, and the elevator started to descend. John thought about it for a moment, then looked over at Anthea, who had put her Blackberry into her pocket.
"The abandoned Tube stations?" he asked. She laughed, looking for a moment like a little girl with a new toy.
"I knew you were wasted on that clinic," she said.
"How do you keep the tunnel-divers from finding you? I was just reading something about them breaking into the old tunnels."
"We're sealed off from the rest of the network, and the tunnels we use aren't on any of the maps any more," Anthea answered. "The work on these was done... oh, back before we were born, and by another organization. They disbanded in the early 70s, I think, but several of their upper echelon were responsible for our department."
John nodded, mulling over what she'd said, things he already knew. Stuff he'd learned from his...
"You're talking about U.N.C.L.E, aren't you?" he asked, and was rewarded with a look of pure shock.
"How do you know that?" she demanded.
"My uncle. Well, by marriage, anyway. Funny, if you think about it. I had an uncle in U.N.C.L.E. He used to tell me stories, when I was a kid. Made me want to be a soldier." John smiled at the memories of his Uncle Mark. "He died when I was ten."
The elevator door slid open, and John was only a little surprised to see Mycroft standing outside, waiting for them. "How did I manage to miss that you are Mark Slade's nephew?" Mycroft asked, stepping back so that John and Anthea could exit the elevator. John fell in on Mycroft's left as they started down the tunnel.
"You know him?" he asked.
"I know of him," Mycroft answered. "Several of his colleagues now work in the department. You'll meet them - they'll be some of your trainers. For now, let's get you settled. You may want to be prepared for a little... hostility."
"How so?" John asked.
"There are some rumblings of discontent over the apparent... nepotism," Mycroft looked at John out of the corner of his eye. "Your role in this department-"
"What exactly is my role?" John interrupted. They'd agreed that his actual reason for being here - to guard Mycroft's back and find the link to Moriarty's network - had to remain between him and Mycroft only. "Not that I don't appreciate the work, mind. But I'm still not clear on why you hired me. I'm not a diplomat. I'm not an expert in anything. I'm not a secret agent like my uncle was, and I don't want to be. So why am I here?"
Mycroft sighed, a bit theatrically, and stopped walking. "Anthea knows. This is... something of a high-stress position. I'm sure you understand that?"
"Of course," John agreed.
"I've had cause to worry about not only my own health, but that of my direct subordinates. Illness or injury in our line of work could be disastrous." Mycroft tilted his head to one side, and John knew what he was going to say before the words came out of his mouth. He ought to - he'd suggested it only the week before.
"You, Doctor, will be our personal physician."
#
They continued down the tunnel until it opened up to look down on a larger space - what must once have been a station. Now, though, John thought it looked more like a small, underground city in some dystopian movie, complete with an expanse of ductwork arching overhead.
"Well, it's very... Brazil," he muttered, and heard Anthea sniff from Mycroft's other side. Mycroft looked at him, one eyebrow arched, and John had to restrain himself from asking if Mycroft had ever seen the movie. Or been to a movie. Or knew what a movie was. Apparently, the question was clear on John's face, though; Mycroft nodded once and gestured to a nearby staircase.
"I much prefer his stage work, personally," he said as they walked down to the main floor. "His role in Miss Saigon, for example. Have you seen it?"
"Ah... no," John admitted.
"Pity," Mycroft said. "Anthea, have everyone assemble in the conference room in half an hour. I want to introduce the Doctor to them all at once, and set up an interview schedule. We'll meet you there."
Anthea nodded and left them at the foot of the stairs, heading off into the maze of corridors. John followed Mycroft down another passage, and into a well-appointed office. Mycroft gestured to a chair, and took his place behind the desk.
"There is coffee and tea, if you like," Mycroft offered. "Now, how is he this morning?"
John smiled and answered, "A little put out that he couldn't come with me. Otherwise, he's doing better. The tremors are almost completely gone. There looks to be no lasting damage to the nervous system. He's spending today at St. Barts, going over the files Greg collected from Garrity's flat."
"Still trying to find a connection?"
John nodded, "He's convinced that there had to be some reason why it was those seven and him. He might be right, but Garrity didn't leave anything in his notes. Oh, Sherlock has another appointment with the physical therapist tomorrow, so I will more than likely be late."
"I was expecting as much," Mycroft said with a smile. "Oh, I'm to tell you that Mummy wants you and Sherlock to come to dinner Thursday next. She wants to discuss the ceremony and reception."
John snorted. "I'm not going to have any say in this, am I?"
"What you will say is 'Yes, Mummy,'" Mycroft answered drily. "Trust me, that is all you need to say." He looked down at his desk, and John noticed that there was a screen set into the surface. Mycroft arched an eyebrow, touched the screen, then waved one hand over it, causing it to go dark.
"Nice," John murmured, sitting up a little to get a better look at the desktop. "I'll bet you have the best toys in this department."
Mycroft nodded, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together. "The very best," he agreed. "When this is over and done with, you'll have to come with me to visit our Cardiff office."
"Cardiff?" John echoed. "What's in Cardiff?"
"Quite a lot," Mycroft answered, and refused to say anything more on the subject. "Shall we have a tour, then?" he asked, standing up. John took the hint and rose.
"Am I going to be able to find my way back out?" he asked as they walked out of the office.
"Eventually."