Most people would consider this unwise, but unlike most people, Robin was subscribed to eleven different newspapers, and she had immediately recognized the pigeon-like man as government runner Mycroft Holmes. She'd always admired his work, and although most of it wasn't reported in the paper, it should have been. She was also aware of his brother, who had lived a brief life in the spotlight before his horrible suicide. She grew adept at the subject while a member of a recreational conspiracy club her senior year at uni. She'd been assigned the case of the suicide of a "fake genius." It was just the sort of case that usually showed up; very orderly, very clean, far too organized. She'd hit a dead end when she found that neither Sherlock nor his brother had been involved in the planning of the jump, some of which dated back to months prior. And so, like with most of the conspiracies, she gave up and presented a thoroughly made up story about how the insane jewel thief James Moriarty, whose body was found a few miles from St. Bart's hospital, was responsible for the forced suicide of the fake genius.

"You've clearly been wondering what sort of job I could possibly have for you."

"Well, you said it involved your brother, and he's dead. I'm guessing you didn't hire me as a lawyer, since I'm currently unlicensed to practice; therefore I would deduce that it has something to do with the fourteen books I've written. An expository article, a memoir?"

"Good guesses, but no. As a matter of fact, you have none of the qualifications for this job. You're fresh out of college, and rather young even for that. You were my last choice."

"Then why am I here?" The corner of his lip stretched upwards and he keeps his eyes fixed steadily on the road.

"Because you were his first."

Very suddenly, the car made a sharp turn down a narrow alley, pulling to a stop where a brick wall dead-ended.

Robin knew this part of the neighborhood, and what it was known for. She tightened her grip around the pistol as Mycroft subdued the engine and stepped out of the vehicle.

"What are we doing here?"

"Here is where I'll be presenting the terms of your employment. Follow me." She too, exited the vehicle and waited as Mycroft walked around the front of the car and a few feet further down the alley. Robin followed until Mycroft stopped and opened a boarded up door settled into the brick. He stepped through and waited to the side of the doorway, waiting for her to come through before closing and latching it shut. The room was, for a moment pitch black, before there was a slight metallic clink, and light flowed out from a single bulb in the middle of the room, Mycroft's gloved hand sliding off the post before he pulled out a cheap chair seated next to the only other object in the room; a large metal table.

"Please, sit." Robin crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes before starting over.

"I love how you decorated the place. Just like the interrogation rooms at the precinct. A bit dramatic, don't you think? Although I suppose I should have assumed it would be, based on your political contributions." His constant scowl deepened further, eyes staring drolly at her as she sat and crossed one leg over the other.

He felt under the desk, pulling out a hidden drawer. It was empty.

Robin smirked and sat up, pulling a Manila folder out from under her legs.

"I figured there had to be a contract somewhere. Here you go. It looks legitimate, but I daresay I only had twelve seconds to examine it. I would need at least thirty to be absolutely positive." Mycroft was not amused.

Robin wondered if he ever could be.

He stood on the other side of the table, and opened the folder.

"Should you agree to accept the term of employment, you would be paid 350,000 American dollars per year."

"And what are those terms?" He took a deep breath.

"As I mentioned earlier, you were far from my first pick for the position. Your qualifications would be incalculably more useful elsewhere. But my brother insisted that you were the only one that would do. Now, for the job description."

He folded his fingers on the table.

"My brother is alive. While this may be of some surprise, I don't believe it's a major shock. You were mostly aware of this already." He didn't ask it like a question, but it was implied.

"I had some speculation, yes." He nodded once.

"He is now living in an undisclosed location some ways from here. You are also aware, his death was forced, not a suicide. He had managed, for once, to form meaningful relationships with several others. One in particular. Those relationships were held against him, and he was forced to cut them off indefinitely. You can understand the mental repercussions that would bring. On top of that, the people in place behind his murder are still alive and thriving. I am afraid, that in his delicate state of mind, he may pursue them, to the most fatal ends. I am worried for my brother; what damages he could do to others-or himself, if left unsupervised."

He paused for a moment, allowing her to process this.

" As you are also aware, and might I add, I'm getting rather tired of just how aware you are, I occupy a demanding position in the British government. I have no time to constantly survey my brother. That would be your job. Watch over him. Carefully. Make sure he doesn't do anything out of character-that is-stupid. Also ensure that he keeps himself alive. There have been weeks that he's survived on less than one meal's amount of food. He very rarely leaved the apartment, and only dresses on occasions that he does. What I'm offering is essentially the role of an over glorified babysitter. But seeing as how you have no other steady occupation, besides various freelance writing opportunities, I thought that my vastly generous salary would pique your interest. Of course, there are many other perks. Free housing, you would be staying in the same flat as my brother, and I will provide a monthly check for food and other necessities."

"And for how long would by supervision be necessary?"

"You may forfeit the contract after one year. The only other terms of removal would be if I were to terminate the contract myself."

"When would I begin?"

"You would be transported to my brother's home tonight."

"Is there anything else you would like to tell me before I make my decision?"

"Yes-Ms. Kenbridge, you are quite young, and my brother is currently very unstable. He may make you uncomfortable. His reason for choosing you, he said it was because of your books-that he found them incredibly "refreshing", but I can't help to wonder if it was your age, your innocence, and your," he studied her frame; slim, pale, tall, blonde, sweater half draping off of one shoulder-"appearance. I don't believe that you are easily manipulated, and my brother has shown next to no sexual interest in either gender, but in his current state-I may feel as though I am setting you up for imminent danger."

"Mr. Holmes, I don't know what more I could have done between our introduction and now to assure you that I am far more than what my appearance may warrant. I studied your brother's fake suicide, and his psychological profile to see if it was likely-that is to say, I know him far better than you think I do, and while I agree that volatile behavior is to be expected, I am also aware of how to defend against it. I can handle myself. If I wasn't confident in that fact then do you think I would have entered a very suspicious vehicle, and warehouse, with as little trepidation as I've had? Only an idiot would do that, and as I'm sure you are aware, if there is anything I am not, it is an idiot."

He nodded once and slid the Manila folder towards her.