I am not entirely sure: what I am thinking, where this can go, why I am writing this but what the hell :) I am sure this will be simply a few short sweet chapters of a girl who may mean a lot to a Holmes. Enjoy x

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own anything, the great BBC does... probably x

1. Shoes

Alexis didn't own very much, Mycroft mused thoughtfully as he peered around the flat curiously. From his stance against the door frame, he saw no clutter, no disorder anywhere. It concerned him somewhat; Alexis should have had more things than this. She suited anarchy, loved knick-knacks and unwanted 'do-dads' which collected dust so why did she not have any?

She had clothes of course, but only enough to fit comfortably into the tiny wardrobe in the bedroom. Only essentials littered the bathroom: one bottle of shampoo and conditioner, shower gel, a razor, toothbrush and toothpaste. Mouthwash occasionally snuck onto the sink if there was an offer on at Morrisons but other than that stayed well clear. There were always free range eggs in the fridge as well as milk, cheap brand-less yoghurts and soft granary bread on the side. Cereal was a luxury item, at the moment was Bran Flakes but there was small box of Shreddies behind it. There was a tiny kettle which sat snugly between the sink and stove. There was a television in the living room with a handful of DVD's to the side, with a plain beige sofa with an inexpensive brown throw draped over the back. There were no pictures on the wall, no expensive frames showing off family memories, no soft rugs interrupting the hard wood flooring. There was a large shelf that took up all of one wall holding more books than was structurally safe, all titles on all subjects, from the Origin of Species to Harry Potter to countless James Patterson novels.

The girl in question walked out of the bathroom. Slim frame covered in a short purple dress she held out two shoes and made a face.

"Which one?" She asked, inspecting both with a frown. "The silver ones go with the necklace but the black ones have easier heels to walk in."

Indulging in the simplicity of the situation, Mycroft considered, gaze flicking from each one. It was no international emergency, in fact, Alexis probably already had a preference but was enquiring in case she had misjudged and wanted confirmation. Mycroft inwardly smiled; she was no politician from far off lands, no power hungry dictator attempting to put two world changing choices before him with tea and cakes, this was simply an outfit partiality. And yet, despite his ability to match umbrellas with four thousand pound suits and cars to his particular brand of watch of the day, Mycroft found himself hesitating.

"Both seem to have attributes you desire, surely there is another pair of shoes that could –" He attempted diplomatically but was interrupted by a soft peck of lips on his own. He tried to slip a hand around her waist but she moved away with a smirk.

"Enough," Alexis commanded. "If you can't pick one then say so, Besides, I don't have another pair that goes with this and I am not changing again."

Mycroft chuckled and pointed to the silver. "That one then; you will take them off before eleven o'clock regardless and, if experience has taught me anything, I will take the blame of the state of your ankles with an angry text later tonight anyway."

The young woman paused, considering before brightening. "That settles it then." She retrieved the second shoe from the bedroom and tottered out on them, swivelling around to admire them.

"How do I look?"

Radiant. Picturesque. Exquisite. Glorious. So beautiful it hurt to think that she was his. So perfect with her thin waist, smooth arms and frankly gorgeous behind, shown off in a classy dress that was only fifteen pounds in New Look.

"Bravura." Was all he could muster with a fond smile, wondering if that word, one he doubted she had ever heard before, could even begin to portray his level of devotion which scared even him at times.

Perhaps it was the way he said it, the way his eyes sparkled with affection, the way his head tilted and simply gazed at her. Whatever it was, Alexis beamed, walked up to him and pressed her lips against his own, deepening it when he moaned appreciatively. His hands instinctively wrapped around her waist, feeling her melt at his touch, her arms curling behind his neck. When the broke apart, both breathless and flushed with arousal, Alexis bit her lip and glared up at him.

"Now I really don't want to go out."

"Yet we must; I have a dinner date with Lord Everett and his highly kickable Jack Russell and you have a social convention to uphold."

Alexis laughed. "Getting absolutely plastered, annoying Charlie when I call him for a lift home and waking up feeling like someone has poured bleach down my throat? Can't wait." She slid out of his grasp, albeit reluctantly, grabbed her bag and motioned him to follow her out. He did so, watching her lock the extremely uncooperative door, and they made their way down to the street.

It was warm out and the faint breeze ruffled Alexis's fluffy hem and it swirled suggestively up her silky thighs. Mycroft forced himself not to react, not to act like a love struck teenage boy, high on testosterone and hormones and need.

"Evangeline!" Alexis ginned and waved pleasantly at Mycroft's aid, who glanced up from her Blackberry to nod politely back and motion to her right, where a sleek black car sat waiting, purring like a very fat contented cat. Mycroft enjoyed the way his assistant could keep track of all the names she gave to people, enjoyed how each name seem to show a new layer of the person he initially hired; Evangeline was a flowery name, one that seemed to suit her well enough. More than Anthea at any rate.

The three of them slid inside when the door opened, Evangeline settling with her back to driver, eyes fixed firmly on the screen in her hands and Alexis settled into the plush leather with a grin. She reached for Mycroft's hand as soon as the door closed and Charles began driving. How he knew exactly where to go every time continued to intrigue her. Mycroft squeezed her fingers gently, but kept his eyes fixed on the window.

They drove in silence, nothing but the click of rapidly typing thumbs or the tap of indicators as Charles fluidly drove through the traffic.

"Here we are, Miss Ellison. Your associates are by the entrance."

Alexis spotted them and laughed; Marie and Tammy were dressed almost identically and it seemed they were attempting to convince Beth to swap an item of clothing with them, to which the red head was objecting hotly.

"Thanks Charlie," She replied, winking as the chauffer mock glared at her through the rear-view mirror. She turned to Mycroft who could do little but simply stare back, with an expression she couldn't quite identify. Sorrow, lust or annoyance... maybe all three, his mind felt like a turmoil of lust and duty.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" She asked, in that innocent voice that betrayed her own inner battle.

"It will depend on how you handle tonight." Mycroft replied with a sly grin. "I am aware that you barely touched the margarita pizza or the potato wedges due to the spicy aroma from your bin and know that you instead opted for three shots of vodka, the shot glass hurriedly rinsed and dried in the cupboard as clear as day. You have a fake ID in your purse, the one with the nose stud if I remember correctly, which can only end in you either purchasing drinks for your easily inebriated friends or for yourself. You have fifty three pounds in assorted notes and change in your purse which you have been saving for nineteen days so it is safe to assume a large amount of the alcohol will be for yourself. Mister Thomas Ardvill has been inordinately clingy to you this week, as seen from the floury fingerprints on your work clothes, and the resulting arguments have made you annoyed and need to 'dance and laugh' the stress away."

Alexis blinked for a moment, hand falling away from the handle. Mycroft instantly became wary. His deductions continued to alarm people so he refrained from doing so for most of his life, choosing instead to use the knowledge collected clandestinely and without frightening the individual, unlike his brother who seemed to revel in the looks of horror he inflicted.

Then she smiled, her features turning from affronted to astonished, leant over and stared so deeply into Mycroft's eyes, he was sure she was trying to dive into his head. He felt her lips by his neck and breath on his skin.

"Do that again, I dare you."

He raised an eyebrow. "I simply observed," He said simply, repressing the shudder that fingered his spine. "The way your makeup has been applied, subtly but without the usual eyeshadow suggests that you are not looking for attention tonight from the opposite sex, but the sweeping eyelashes indicate you still use your ability to flirt with the staff behind the bar to achieve whatever goals you have this evening. The colour of your dress indicates that you feel comfortable in the shortness of it but the fact that it is not as vibrant as that of your friends tells me that you wish for them to retain the attention for the night from potential interest."

He had much more he could have said, from the way her hair was bundled in unnatural curls around her neck which protected her neck from leering advances to her bag, small and compact, with only enough room for her phone, lip gloss and money – the lack of deodorants indicating that she would most likely sit at the bar or at a table rather than dance.

However, his words were lost as she stroked his cheek, eyes shining with wonder and whispered something so surprising, he actually forgot how his respiratory system functioned for a breath.

"God, how can I find that the biggest turn on in my life?"