"Mrs. Holmes!" the secretary called out as I strode forward towards the elevator.
"Dammit. Go away Victoria," I mumbled.
I might not have had my father, Sherlock Holmes' brilliance or shrewdness but I sure did have his attitude.
"What do you want? I've got a meeting in less than ten minutes, Victoria. Be quick about it," I said to her in an impatient tone.
"Mr. Abbott would like a word with you."
"Oh bloody Christ. Not that sorry bastard again."
"Your words, Miss!" she hissed, glancing around the room nervously.
"Get off it," I replied and began to strut off away from her.
"Mrs. Holmes!"
Ignoring her, I pressed the down button on the elevator and taped the tip of my heel, nervously.
"Mrs. Holmes!"
"Dammit, Victoria. I said-"
Mr Abbott's honey brown eyes stared down at me and I cursed under my breath. Mr. Abbott was my extremely annoying coworker who constantly flirted with me whenever he got the chance. Just standing next to him made me feel sick.
"Go away, Alex," I murmured, veering closer towards the elevator's opening door.
"I'm going to a meeting downstairs in the conference room in ten minutes; I can't go away until I get downstairs."
"You're going to that meeting too? Christ almighty."
"I'm sorry, Frey, I can't help what your uncle has planned!"
He was right. My uncle, Mycroft Holmes, was the boss of the entire company. Father never liked Mycroft, but I knew he loved him. And to others it would be "of course he loved him, it was his brother!". My father didn't work that way. He loved the people that he choose to. He didn't simply fall in love. Love to my father was something that was to be controlled. A methodical, planned process in which he exerted absolute and total supremacy over. Just like he did everything else in his life. Well, excluding my Godfather, John Watson, and his long lost lover, Irene Adler. They were the only two things and people in his life that he couldn't control. I think in some way, he liked the mystery of them. I mean, he was, as he liked to distinguish himself as, a consulting detective. On the other hand, I think John and Irene drove him mad. I had always been like my father to an extent. Control freak, witty, arrogant, sarcastic, and instead of a line in the sand for a boundary, he and I built walls. And that was exactly what I was doing with Alex Abbott; I was building a wall between us so that I could feel safe.
After a moment's reflection I sucked in a deep breath and retorted, "You could take the stairs, you know."
"So you're saying that I should walk down six flights of stairs just because of your deep disgust for me as a human being? The bloody hell I won't. You keep yourself to yourself and I'll keep myself to myself. It's only a minute long ride and then we will go to our meeting and if you'd like, we can sit on the opposite side of the table. How about it, sweetie pie?" he remarked, sarcastically.
"That's fine and dandy, Alex, but you'll never get to the meeting if you don't actually step inside of the elevator first," I replied as I stood inside of the elevator with my free hand on my hip and a smirk across my face.
"Oh and by the way," I added as he shuffled in beside me, awkwardly, "you sound like a girl when you talk."