I am bored.

Extremely bored, in fact.

This crushing sense of ennui comes from sitting with two other men, interviewing people to be my new PA. Admittedly much of the tedium is self-inflicted, since I don't have to be present and I'm quite certain that the interview board would much rather I wasn't. However, as I'm the one who's going to end up working with this person, I feel I should have some say in who gets hired...especially since my last PA accepted a bribe of ten thousand pounds to sell my weekly schedule to a foreign assassin. I killed him, of course (the assassin, not my PA) but after that, I'm not happy with the idea of having a virtual stranger working in close proximity to me. Unfortunately, I was outvoted on the matter, which is why I'm now sitting here asking stupid people stupid questions. Interviews have been going on for two days already, not including this morning. Grand total: thirty seven potential PAs and god knows how many more to come. At least half of the candidates we've seen have no training or experience whatsoever, and quite how they got to the interview stage in the first place is a complete mystery even to me.

There's a knock on the door. It's a good knock, firm, but with just the proper amount of deference. It's a knock which says, I refuse to be intimidated by the fact that I'm applying for a job with the most influential people in the land, but I don't want them to think I'm too aggressive in my methods. I'm confident, but I'm not overbearing.

Yes, I am now so bored I have taken to analyzing the candidates' method of knocking, those that do knock. We've had three so far who have just opened the door and strolled in. Needless to say, they will not be invited back for a second interview. Nor will those who addressed me as Mycroft, or passed any kind of comment on my name. I admit it is a somewhat unusual name - I'm not entirely certain what Father was thinking of when he chose it, nor do I know where the name Sherlock came from - but it's rather unprofessional to remark on it.

"Come in," I say.

On a side note regarding names, if anyone is thinking of applying for a job with me, please note that I do not have a nickname. At least, not at work; Sherlock has come up with several for me over the years, but none of them are suitable for use in the workplace and only three of them are fit to be uttered in public. This means that even if your CV is mindblowingly impressive, calling me Mye (candidates three and twenty nine) is a guaranteed way to get that same CV tossed on the Reject pile, and if you call me Mike (candidate twenty two) there's a very good chance that you will be rejected on the spot.

The new applicant enters, pausing only to turn and close the door behind her, and the three of us rise to our feet. Good manners and all that, although she's the eleventh person we've seen today and all this standing and sitting is beginning to make me feel rather like a yo-yo. I'm also getting hungry; it's been nearly five hours since breakfast, and even then all I had was a grapefruit. I can see how they help a person lose weight; the damn things taste foul and make you feel so sick you lose any inclination to eat, which is why I keep an emergency box of Anthon Berg chocolates on standby. You know. Just to take that vile taste out of my mouth.

I put on my best smile and prepare to go through the whole bloody rigmarole again.

"Samantha Davis, isn't it?"

I know full well it is, but it's as good an ice breaker as any. Besides, she won't be using her real name if she comes to work for me. I notice she waits for me to offer her my hand instead of thrusting hers at me, which is a definite plus.

"Yes sir." Eye contact is respectful, not challenging, and she answers me with a smile. The smile is, of course, purely professional, but that's allowable.

"I'm Mycroft Holmes. These are my associates Henry Townsend and Stephen Pierce. Please, have a seat."

Samantha turns the smile on Henry and Stephen, shakes hands with them, and settles herself on the chair in front of us.

First impressions are good. So far she's only the fifth candidate to address me as sir, and I do appreciate that little bit of extra respect (although a lot of the other candidates have addressed me as Mr. Holmes, which is also perfectly acceptable). I also like the way she's dressed; a navy suit with white blouse, a small gold pendant and matching earrings. Simple, yet elegant. Shoes highly polished. At least she's dressed up a little for this interview, unlike the last one who turned up in a t-shirt. That's a good sign; it shows she's serious about the job. Makeup is subtle and there's a whiff of perfume. It's very faint, which is another plus point. Too much perfume is worse than not enough deodorant. Her hair is a little too overstyled for my taste, but I can overlook that. It does suit her and besides, I'm looking for a PA, not a wife.

I pick up my copy of her CV and begin paging through it.

"You're quite recently qualified, no real work experience as a PA beyond three months with one of our top import-export specialists."

"Yes sir, that's right."

"Why did you leave?"

Samantha barely twitches as she answers, "My previous employer wasn't able to offer enough work to keep me busy, sir."

"I see." It's an obvious lie. The company she worked for is one of the most successful in the country; there would have been plenty to keep her busy. "You must understand that it's not a smart move to lie at a job interview. Would you care to reconsider your answer?"

She looks me straight in the eyes and says, "With respect, sir, I've also heard that it's a very bad move to complain about a previous employer, regardless of how justified those complaints may be."

Ah! Touché. I can't argue with that, and the background check I performed before inviting her for this interview confirms that she did leave and wasn't fired.

"Good answer," I say. Stephen, who I could see had been about to insist on a proper reply, shuts his mouth and tries to look as though he agrees with me. I could have either him or Henry fired or imprisoned on a whim, and he knows it.

I would like to stress for the conspiracy theorists among you that I would never actually do a thing like that. At least, I would never do it to someone just because they disagreed with me. Stephen doesn't seem to realize this, however, hence his irritatingly high level of sycophancy.

"I understand you're the primary caregiver for your sister's three children," I say, in an effort to keep things moving.

Surprise flashes across Samantha's face, then she seems to come to the conclusion that we will naturally have delved into her background and life with more thoroughness than most employers.

"Yes, that's right," she says.

"Aged eight, six and five."

"Yes. Does that matter?"

"Not in the least," I assure her, which is the truth. How she manages her nieces and nephew is none of my concern; our information shows that she's been doing it effectively enough for the past two years. Take-Your-Child-To-Work-Day may be somewhat problematic, given the level of secrecy involved, but I'm sure we can work around that when it happens.

"Where do you see yourself in ten years' time?" Henry asks.

I dislike admitting to ignorance on any subject, but I must confess that I have never been able to understand the logic behind this question. We're not hiring someone to start work in ten years' time, any subsequent interviews are not going to be held in ten years' time, so what does it matter? Most people struggle to tell you what they will be doing next week, never mind in ten years. Although I would never give him the satisfaction and associated bragging rights of hearing me admit it, I believe Sherlock is right when he describes most of society's conventions as pointless, at least when it comes to certain interview questions.

Samantha meets his gaze and answers, "Well, I hadn't really thought about it, sir. I suppose it all depends."

"Depends on what?" Stephen demands.

"On whether or not you decide to offer me the job."

I smile at that. Another very good answer. So far she seems to be holding her own.

"It says here you enjoy wine bars," I comment, tapping the CV with a finger.

"Yes sir." Samantha seems to have grasped the fact that I am the one she has to impress; her tone when addressing me is a tad more respectful than the one she took to Stephen just now.

"And how often do you frequent these wine bars?"

Samantha hesitates. "I'm not sure. Once a month? Twice, maybe? It all depends. I've never turned up for work drunk, if that's what you mean, sir."

I nod, satisfied. Yes, that is what I mean. Interesting. A PA who's respectful but not awed, professional, dresses well and likes to cut to the chase. So far she's certainly the most promising candidate, although there have been four other quite strong ones.

I can see Stephen getting ready with another of his banal questions (probably What do you think you can bring to this job) and jump in before he can get the words out. I cannot, repeat, cannot sit through another twenty minutes of his driveling and mostly pointless questions. The answer to that particular one never varies; it's just a list of virtues delivered in a monotone.

"Well, I think that's all for the minute," I say, and Stephen swallows his banality. "Have you any questions for us?"

"Only one or two, sir." I notice Samantha doesn't have a notebook, which shows a high level of preparedness. Again, I don't object to candidates writing down questions they want to ask beforehand (although having them take notes while we're interviewing them is a step too far in my book) but the fact that she's taken the time to memorize her questions and/or concerns is impressive. I also like the fact that she doesn't immediately start quizzing us about the salary; that one's not an unfair question, but it's not a good one to begin with either.

"Can you give me an idea of what exactly some of my duties will be?"

I raise my eyebrows.

"You read the description," I remind her. "I would have thought it was clear."

"It tells me you're looking for a PA as opposed to an accountant, sir, but I would like a little more detail."

Again, not afraid to stand her ground, albeit in a respectful manner. Yes, I really do like this one.

"More or less anything you're told to do, within reason. The duties at this level aren't that much different from the duties at lower levels; we just pay more."

She smiles. A real smile, not a polite one. That's good as well; I need a PA with a sense of humor. I'm not in the habit of cracking jokes, but many of my colleagues are and they're a little more amenable if there's a beautiful woman laughing at those jokes.

"So, keeping track of appointments, important dates, things like that?"

"Yes, that's the sort of thing." Samantha's workload isn't going to be too strenuous, to be honest. I've been getting along fine without a PA for the last six weeks, and if it were up to me, I wouldn't hire another one at all. I don't want to come into work and find another bloody assassin waiting for me. Dealing with them requires such an expenditure of energy.

"Do you offer additional training, sir?"

"If it's required, yes. Otherwise, it's at your own expense, although there will of course be a certain amount of on-the-job training." Talking about on-the-job reminds me of something else she ought to know and I say, "And you will naturally be working under an assumed name, for added security."

Samantha hesitates. "Sorry, do you mean I have to change my name by deed poll?"

"Oh no," I assure her, "nothing as arduous as that." Not that it's particularly difficult or expensive to change one's name, of course, but updating various documentation is always a fiddle. "It's merely an extra precaution. Think of it as a nickname, if that makes it easier. Have you any preferences, name-wise?"

She thinks about it for a few seconds, then says, "I've always liked the name Anthea, sir."

Anthea. Hmm. A touch old-fashioned, but perfectly serviceable. After all, she's the one who's going to be saddled with it.

"Alright." I rise to my feet, along with Stephen and Henry, and Samantha gets to hers. We shake hands again. "Thank you for your interest. We'll be in touch by the end of the week."

She smiles. "Thank you for taking the time to see me today, sir."

A trifle obsequious that last part, I think as Samantha walks out, but on the whole, not bad. In fact, I'm quite impressed.

Henry glances at me. "Mycroft, we have eighty two more applicants to see. I don't imagine we'll have finished the initial interviews before the end of the week, let alone be onto the next ones."

"We will in this case," I inform him and place Samantha's CV to one side, adding it to the very small pile of candidates who have impressed me. I can't speak for the others who are about to come through that door, but Samantha Davis will definitely be coming back for a second interview...


This is just a short three chapter story; I'm not sure where it came from, except that I like writing about the origins of characters, and Mycroft's one of my favorites XD Hope you liked it and if you read, please review!