Another sigh and nervous fidget with the uncomfortable woollen jumper. A nervous glance at the bleak city scape of his new environment. Their new environment. Only his wife and the government of two countries knew why he had to up and move from California to London. The pitter patter of rain against glass eased the highly strung man. His son, barely 6 years old, stared wide eyed, mouth agape and pointing incredulously at the sight of the famous tall clock tower.
"B-B-Ben!" he stammered. Smiling fondly, the father brushed back strands of his son's jet-black bowl-cut hair.
"Yeah, that's Big Ben, little Ben" he winked, trying to appear relaxed for his family's sake. It did not quite do the trick, however. The tension lingered between him and his wife. She had always hated the depressing climate of northern states back home. Now, she would need to get a plane, a ferry or even drive through a very long tunnel is she wanted to reach a sunnier climate. All of this was juvenile and disregarded for the case of necessity. It was necessary (he had emphasised and pleaded for her not to divorce him) that they allow themselves to be relocated. It was in the hands of the government to do what was best. In time, he hoped that they could stop throwing anxious glances over their shoulders. One day, perhaps they could set foot on American soil again and breathe in air that smelled of freedom, like their forefathers before them. Until then, however, they would make do with the never-ending rainfall and adjust their taste to find tea with milk stirred through it as pleasant, rather than foreign.
The cab pulled to a stop outside their hotel. They would spend a few days in London to get the details sorted out with their new government. After all the formalities of being passed from one witness protection programme to international allies was in order, they were to receive the keys to their new (temporary?) home in Northumberland. The door was opened and they were escorted into the lobby. It wasn't the Hilton or the Ritz, but something about the Flower Bed had a unique charm to it. It was quite welcoming and cosy, with a hint of elegance. There was plenty of friendly staff, bustling about and seeing to the needs of their guests. Business men were being ushered into meeting rooms, tourists were taken aside for directions to sites and tours of interest. Despite the energy and action, the hotel lobby maintained a low noise level and unobstructed space for security and cleaning-staff to glide by, unhindered. This was something that was much needed for the weary travellers. Their hosts checked them in quite quickly and with gentle, reassuring smiles. Their bags were looked after by the concierge and they were swiftly shown to their rooms.
On entering, they were greeted with a soothing blue and yellow room. It was spacious enough, fitted with a broad suede couch, glass coffee-table, a flat-screen T.V., full length windows over-looking the busy city streets and a separate bedroom with an en suite. In the main living-area, there was also a station for tea/coffee, a mini-fridge, phone with a service menu and complimentary chocolates. As well as the delightful wall-paper patterns, there was several unique paintings of still-life, anonymous models and landscapes donning the walls. All of this contributed to the peaceful and inviting atmosphere which the hotel had so far evoked. Overwhelmed by the hospitality and thoroughly satisfied with their room, the concierge modestly and politely refused a tip from the man in question. He felt defeated, his esteem as a man trying to be strong for his family eating him away as he could sense his wife and son observing the encounter from the background.
"Damnit man, don't make me look even more the fool in front of my family" he groaned quietly, grasping the man tightly by his shoulder and forcing a crumpled 10 pound note into his breast pocket. Appearing abashed, the young service man bowed his head in thanks and offered the new guests his sincerest wishes that their stay was comfortable and not to hesitate to ask for anything while they remained under their roof. He then let himself out, allowing the family some time to process the events which had lead them to occupy such a space.
After a late-afternoon nap and dinner provided by room-service, a knock on the door resonated throughout the room. Adrenaline surged through the man's veins and he motioned for his wife to stay by their son. He began to perspire and tremble slightly.
"Who is it?" he hoarsely asked through the thick lump forming in his throat.
"Mr. Conway, I'm here to escort you to your meeting with Mr. Holmes. I understand you must be tired, but it should only take an hour at most. If it is convenient, your wife and son may remain in the room or attend with you, if they feel up to it. I shall be here in the hall when you are ready to go" a female voice answered. A wave of relief washed over him like a bucket of ice. He was still on tender hooks, yet something about the voice on the other side of the door reassured him that everything would be fine. He crossed the room to gently kiss his wife on the cheek and ruffled his son's hair in his familiar way.
"I'll be back soon. Our new story starts soon, eh?" he whispered, on the verge of betraying his inner turmoil. His wife squeezed his hand tightly, eyes pleading for him to come back safe, lower lip protruding with emotion. Their son watched the silent interaction taking place between his parents. Not knowing what was happening, yet not wanting to ask, he simply hugged their legs and closed his eyes, wishing that whatever new job his dad had gotten, it would stop scaring his mom and pop so much.
The meeting went smoothly and Mr. Conway left with a folder of notes, passports, I.D.s, etc., that would ensure a smooth transition and integration into his new Northumberland life. The Conway's would stay in London for a further 2 days before being transported to their new house. He saw himself out of the board-room and retraced his steps upstairs. Mycroft continued to oversee arrangements and appointed for Anthea to communicate their progress to their associated overseas. He then figured he'd earned himself a quick cup of tea before departing from the premises. He was just pouring himself a cup from the complimentary tray that was prepared for their appointment when the same woman who had shown Mr. Conway to the meeting room poked her head in the door and approached the table.
"All went well, I hope?" she inquired politely. She had come to clear away the tray after seeing Mr. Conway entering the elevator in the lobby, but on seeing Mycroft still taking advantage of the room, she decided she should withdraw.
"As well as one would expect. Please, sit down" he said gesturing to a chair in front of which he placed the freshly poured cuppa and proceeded to pour another one for himself. Finding it futile to refuse him, she complied and took an appreciative sip of her tea.
"I take it you are working late this evening?" Mycroft inquired, though he already knew the answer. The slight quirk of her brows informed him that she knew he knew her schedule.
"Need I remind you of my observation? You seem to always schedule your most emotionally vulnerable cases too times when I will be working in case of some needed psychological assessments or interventions. And that includes when I am called into work without reason or rhyme" she hummed. It was true. If there happened to be persons of interest staying in the hotel, she would be called in and receive texts asking her to investigate them and their rooms. If there were civilians that were being protected and in emotional states, she would be asked to spend her time putting them at ease and ensuring their security. All of this of course would be managed discreetly. She would handle their room allocation, schedule to clean the rooms at times in which to 'accidently' intrude and make idle chit-chat. She could be the perfect chameleon when he needed her to be. Every other day, she was simply a maid, a waitress or a receptionist. It was never strictly an agreement that they came to that she would do as he asked her to. It simply began as a favour turned in kind for his recommending her to the employer when the hotel was being built. And then it happened again. And again and so forth.
"So how is your marvellous brother these days? Is he still solving cases as often as he used to?" she asked offering a digestive biscuit from a saucer. He selected a chocolate coated one while answering her.
"Yes, well Sherlock is pining for company on his cases, whether he'll freely admit it or not, but the Watsons do not get nearly enough sleep as of late due to all the night-awakenings. They were hoping you'd be free to look after their neonate for a night or t-"
"You mean their baby?" Ciara interrupted, a bemused smile creeping across her features.
"Did I stutter? So long as you understand what I've said, does it matter what specific word I use?" Mycroft retorted, grimacing slightly at the thought of using the word 'baby' in a non-teasing context. Ciara rolled her eyes at his cold demeanour, as he munched on his biscuit.
"Yes, it does. It's more human to use the generic term 'baby' when it's a more personal context you're speaking of. Not like we're speaking of a court case or the Discovery Channel" she answered him. She shook her head and smirked sadly "It's like you forget you're human".
"Perhaps that's what I would have you believe" he added thoughtfully, wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth.
"To what end? Do you enjoy it when I take the time to remind you?" she asked softly, leaning her elbows on the table in front of her. She could sense his stiffening, the aura around him becoming rather awkward, causing her to sit back respectfully. While she enjoyed going head-to-head with him, she disliked making the experience uncomfortable for either side. Their dynamic was a peculiar one for a couple, though it made sense to them. They enjoyed each other's company, more than the physical side of things. It was mind over matter that made things work. Plus, years of experience with body language and manipulative game play had taught her to know when to retreat and when to use distractor tactics. Hence, now was not the time to break his space bubble. "So, I believe you were about to ask me to babysit the Watson's child as a favour to your brother?".