All too soon, her alarm went off, ripping her out of a deep sleep. It took her a minute to remember where she was, and to find her alarm clock. Once she was showered, dressed, and suitably preened, she scurried downstairs with her notebook and phone in a deep, black shoulder bag.
Mycroft saw her come down and had a bit of a turn. For a second there, he thought he saw...someone else. He steadied himself by the edge of the table before sinking down into his seat. The vision cleared and his new assistant took her seat across from him. As usual, he had a thick folder with him, some of the contents fanned out on the table
"Good morning!"
"Yes, good morning, Vesta. I trust you slept comfortably?" A servant brought out a pot of coffee and two cups. He filled Mycroft's first, doctoring it the way he usually takes it. He then hovered by the new girl with a silent question in his eyes.
"Oh, yes. Black, please." He poured out wordlessly with a smile before Mycroft dismissed him with a wave.
"So," Mr. Holmes began after his first long drink, "Here is all of your paperwork you need to exist. Driver's license, not that you'll need it, birth certificate, voter registration card...A-levels, passed with flying colours, congratulations," he smirked. "And this..." he slid a plastic card over to her before any of the rest. "Keep this with you at all times. You'll find it...opens doors. This is you, and it says you're with me or even functioning as me, should the need arise. Don't lose it, don't forget it, don't surrender it to anybody for any reason. Also, keys. Gate card, front door, back gate, service entrance." He glided a key ring over to her which she put in her purse along with her precious all-purpose I.D. He took another sip of coffee, grinning at her with the air of a satisfied sleight-of-hand magician basking in the amazement of a captive audience. "Well, what do you think?"
"Looks like you thought of everything," Vesta remarked, obviously quite impressed with her boss's thoroughness. She took a sip from her cup with an appreciative hum. "Mmm, Kenya...touch of Brazil, is it? Good choice for this hour."
Mycroft's brow creased in thought, "For this hour?"
"Well, the lighter the roast, the more caffeine, naturally. I must say, these two varieties marry well."
"Yes, of course. It's a favorite blend of mine, it's custom-made." He gave his cup another stir before draining it. A moment later, their server returned to refill cups and bring out a platter of pastries and set two plates before them. Mycroft pushed the pile of baked goods toward his P.A. "You're too skinny," he reminded her, as if she'd forgotten his earlier pronouncement.
Vesta's hand trembled a bit as she selected a huge, flaky, pain au chocolat. She bit into it with a soft moan of pleasure as the crisp pastry broke away in shards around her lips. There had to have been half a pound of chocolate folded into it! She still wasn't sure what to think of the forward way her boss was "remedying" her figure, but she reminded herself there were worse problems she could have right now. At least she didn't have to worry about going hungry. Vesta chanced a look up, and she found herself staring into her boss's eyes as she took another bite. He was smiling silkily, drumming his fingers together. She tried to pace herself, not wanting to make herself sick. Still, her cheeks were soon distended in a most unladylike way. Mycroft stared at her, filing this image away. Chocoholic, he noted. She can't help herself.
She finally swallowed, washing it down with more coffee, surprised to see that she'd tackled over half of the heart-stopping confection already. "If I may speak freely?"
Her boss squinted at her with pursed lips, then fluidly spread out a hand, "Very well."
"You're one to talk." In a few more bites, her morning treat was gone. She sat back with a slight groan. She was certain she'd just eaten an entire day's worth of calories in less than five minutes.
There was a long pause. "I beg your pardon?"
Vesta bravely pushed the pastries back to her boss. "You're too skinny, too."
He stared down the platter as if the baked goods heaped upon it were mocking him. He scowled. Her pronouncement was at complete odds with his self-image. He'd heard it repeated for years that he was fat, until he finally carried this belief with him long after it was no longer the case. This stranger was the first person to challenge his supposition. I'm the smart one, Sherlock is the skinny one...the handsome one. Everybody knows that. "I don't allow myself such indulgences." Mycroft inspected the morning's offerings, finding a single blueberry muffin in the mix. He deemed it safe and broke it in half, nibbling daintily as he finished a second cup of coffee. He took a peek at his pocket watch. "I plan to pay my brother a visit this morning. You're to come along and get your feet wet. No rush, though. Have another." He slid the silver tray until it nearly upset Vesta's cup.
"Oh, no, I couldn't-"
"I insist."
Something about the way he said that made her blush. That dominating air, she could tell he wasn't accustomed to taking "no" for an answer. It made her wonder what his end goal was, exactly. She took a cranberry scone that had already been split and filled with clotted cream and jam. As she slowly worked her way through it, Vesta felt her blush deepen. In a bizarre way, it felt almost appropriate that a former cook, of recently precarious means, would get a thrill out of being fed up like this. It was uncomfortable to admit, but she had a feeling she was going to enjoy this.
Mycroft smirked triumphantly at Vesta's glowing red cheeks and smeared lips. He enjoyed exercising control when he could, and he easily picked up that she got her share of pleasure out of it as well. "One more?" She gulped and shook her head. "Well, that's enough to be getting on with," he remarked. "I know what we'll do. We're going to go out and snatch up John Watson, little brother's special friend. Bring him round to Baker Street and we'll have a nice, cozy chat. Get in the Bentley and wait for me." He buzzed for the chauffeur and wandered back into his office. He had his phone pressed to his ear and a look that said he had a plot hatching.
Vesta obviously had no problem with his plans for his improvement of her, but it might be better to take a more subtle approach. While she was waiting for him, he called a fine chocolaterie and placed an order with them to be delivered and displayed while they were out.
Mycroft then joined his assistant in the car. He looked her over, pleased to see that she was doing some further reading that would help her with her work. He was glad that she was familiarising herself with his vast world. If she had a ready mind, she would have it all down within a week. Already, he expected she would be able to cope if thrown in on her own for a short while. "I do hope I didn't make you too uncomfortable at breakfast, my dear."
"No, sir," she murmured, still quite pink. "I guess I wasn't prepared for you being so...interested."
"You need to give people the impression that you're accustomed to a comfortable lifestyle. There's fashionably slender, and then there's starved. One look at you and anyone would know you weren't born to this class."
"What difference does that make?"
"The way they'd perceive you, and consequently treat you. We can't have that."
"No, I suppose not." Funny, she hadn't considered how much people were judged based on appearances. Mycroft's efforts of making her over seemed less like control issues and more like the need to look the part, protecting her in a way.
He looked out the window as they got farther into town. "I'd better hop up front. I'll let you take the reins here. Let's see what you make of it. Don't worry about finding him, he'll come to you. Give him a nice smile and invite him in. Trust me, he's used to it. Don't say any more than you absolutely have to. He hates that!" He added with an evil chuckle, which Vesta joined in. Being included on this little game made her feel like she was a welcome part of the team.
They adjusted their seating arrangement accordingly, and sure enough they soon came upon Dr. Watson. The car rolled to a stop along the curb in front of him. He approached, familiar with what was likely to transpire. Vesta rolled down her window and put on her most charming smile. John looked at her, surprised.
"Hello."
"Hi. Get in."
John scowled, flicking his eyes upward. Then, he figured it was best to obey, and he got in with her. As they drove along, he tried to strike up conversation.
"So who are you?"
"Vesta. Mr. Holmes' personal assistant."
"Vesta...is that your real name?"
She smirked at him, shaking her head. "No."
"No, 'course not. What happened to his other one? Anthea, or whatever her name was?"
Vesta just shrugged, looking back to her stack of papers.
"Mycroft sure knows how to pick 'em, doesn't he?"
"Mm-hmm," she agreed noncommittally, noting that he sounded as though this has happened before. She remembered her boss telling her that he was used to it. A smirk crept up her lips as she sent an email from her phone.
"I do, in fact," Mycroft jumped in, grinning at John's startled reaction. "I trust she'll fill the slot perfectly."
As they pulled up to 221B, Mycroft and John hopped out of the car. Vesta stared at the famous landmark with eager eyes. In all the excitement of her new job, she'd almost forgotten who her new boss's brother was! The door opened and Mycroft stood before her, holding the car door for her. John observed this with surprise. He'd never have expected the ominous man to display signs of chivalry.
"Coming?"
She stepped out and fell in at his side, suddenly feeling very exposed. She had come down this street once before in her previous life, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous detective, but now...somehow she felt confused. It was her first time out since being stripped of her old identity and thrust into a new one. If it hadn't been for her force of will, she would have been clinging to Mycroft's arm for guidance and comfort. Somehow, he felt like the only familiar thing in this new environment.
He glanced over his shoulder where his assistant dallied behind him, bringing her tight in beside him with a sweep of his arm. "Don't dawdle. And don't be afraid; at the very least, don't show it!" He hissed. Mycroft couldn't help be a trifle annoyed that his new assistant was obviously star-struck by the very idea of his idiot brother.
She stared up at the man, then up at the imposing edifice. She was really going in! Up into the flat where the great Sherlock Holmes held court. She gulped, nodding. He led the way in as if he owned the place. Vesta followed close behind with John bringing up the rear. Mycroft let himself in with his usual grim smile. Sherlock was obviously equally pleased to see his brother.
"Whatever it is you want me to do, Mycroft, you can forget it," he announced, giving his violin a thoughtful scrape. He smiled over at John and gave him a little salute with his bow. He turned back to his brother, stony-faced again.
The elder Holmes subtly stepped on Vesta's foot to remind her not to stare, bringing Sherlock's attention to her in full. His gaze swept over his brother's new companion with a curious pout, then he inspected his brother. His eyes fell on the new decoration on his watch chain, taking in the tiny engraving around the edge. Immediately, his expression softened. His mouth fell open before he caught himself. Vesta recognized genuine sympathy in his face as he wordlessly shook his head. Mycroft gave his umbrella an uncomfortable twitch with a short nod as he roughly cleared his throat.
It was too subtle for the average person to see, but Sherlock didn't miss the underscoring of loss in his brother's posture.
"Mycroft, I'm sorry."
He sighed, shaking it off. "All lives end," he reminded him shortly. Sherlock nodded in quiet understanding. John sank down onto the sofa at this, looking from Vesta to Mycroft with a look of epiphany, and a touch of grief. He hadn't been close to the man's previous P.A. He probably exchanged a total of ten words with her, but he'd known her.
Vesta flicked her glance between the three men, wondering what they were all suddenly somber for. She got the sneaking suspicion that her predecessor had died, but she wondered how that could have been so silently communicated at a glance.
"So, got a new one already. What did you call this one?" Sherlock stood directly in front of her, piecing together her life from what he can see. High shoulders, neck looks irritated, just got sprung from a desk job. Strain in her wrists, typing at an uncomfortable keyboard. Chair was three inches too high with no means to adjust it, leading to atrocious posture and a prematurely bad back. He made brief eye-contact with his brother, who gave a short nod and flick of his hand. He was already on it. Burns and scars down her arms, most of them well faded, cutter cook for 5+ years, hasn't been in the business for a while, though. Mycroft got her slightly too-big clothes, must be trying to do something about that. He's right, too skinny. Standing almost at attention, trying not to "fan girl" on me, shows self control, good. Only child, introvert, doesn't get along well with others. Sherlock stopped his analysis as it became strangled by the fact that her clothes weren't hers. Not much he could tell about someone when they were more or less in costume.
"Vesta," she answered, sticking out her hand. For one fractured moment, she wished she could have been introduced with her real name. The old me is dead, she reminded herself, I'm Vesta now.
He took her hand with another sweeping look. "Is this what you came here for? To introduce me to John's newest habitual kidnapper?"
Mycroft and Vesta unconsciously twitched into identical smirks, cautiously giving each other a sly sidelong glance. Sherlock noted this with amusement. Working for him for less than 24 hours and she's already in step. Perfect. Maybe there really isn't that much wrong with us. Just different. Why should we mind being different?
"Well, since you've saved me the trouble of trying to convince you by your outright refusal, I suppose I have no further business here."
John stopped him laying a hand on the man's arm. Vesta's eyes widened, shocked at Dr. Watson's familiarity with her imposing employer. Calling him by his first name, now this? "Just out with it. You two aren't kids anymore, you can both grow up."
Mycroft smirked, "He's already provided sufficient help, though."
"I see," Sherlock answered, with a look of sudden clarity. "This is an environmental exercise, isn't it? You're breaking her in."
Shifting his umbrella handle from one hand to the other, he gave it a little spin as he replied, "I'm testing her out, she performed quite well with what little she's had to do so far. She seems to have the right...disposition."
Vesta wasn't sure what to think of the men talking over and around her. "Thank you, sir," she muttered, glad she could at least get a word in.
"So...Vesta," Sherlock drawled, as though testing out the sound of her name and finding it a good fit. "What do you think of my brother so far?"
Looking from one brother to the other, she silently asked permission to speak. "Oh, do share," Mycroft returned. "Let's hear what kind of first impression I've made. Clearly, you haven't run screaming into the night."
She looked at the floor and bit her lip before lightly answering, "I like him."
Somehow, this pronouncement brought a genuine smile to John's face. He could hear his wife saying the same thing about Sherlock. He must've found a fellow psychopath, he thought. I bet she's not the shy violet she's letting on to be. "Good. Glad you're getting on already."
Mycroft looked surprised at her pronouncement as well. He expected to hear that she was impressed with the nature of the job, even in awe of him and his lofty position, or grateful for the expensive luxuries he'd already heaped upon her, but...she liked him?
"Really?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward in his seat. He wrinkled his nose, giving his brother a look of disgust. "Why?"
"He's nice. He's been really sweet to me. Working with him should be pretty cool. And he's funny."
John and Sherlock gave Mycroft identical raised eyebrows at that description. Neither of them would have suspected any of those words would apply to the forbidding man. Sherlock supposed that the parody of generosity he may have displayed, at least as far as her wardrobe was concerned, could be confused with kindness, but where in the world did 'funny' come from? He'd seen murder scenes funnier than Mycroft!
The accused grimaced, checking the time. "Yes, well, this has been charming as usual. We'll see how well you like me after you've been with me longer." Then, he sauntered out, his new assistant obediently at his heels.
"It was nice to meet you both!" She said, finally breaking character and letting her thrilled expression surface for just an instant. Then, she skipped on down the stairs to the car, flashing her employer a bright smile as he held the door for her again.
They were quiet as they drove off, both of them looked rather thoughtful. Finally, Mycroft spoke.
"I am not funny."
"I didn't mean funny-weird, I meant...I like your sense of humour."
This struck Mycroft as unusual. Most people he met assumed he didn't have a sense of humour at all, just because he clearly didn't take pleasure in the same things the everyday man did. He did have one, but it tended to be dark and dry, and slip under most peoples' radars. "Look, you've got the job, you can stop sucking up. I hired you as my assistant, not my sycophant. I already have plenty of those."
"I...meant it. Really." Vesta broke her gaze with the man and looked down at her lap. "Sorry."
With a curl of his lip, Mycroft reached across the middle seat and nudged her chin up with a long, slim finger. When they were looking at each other face-to-face again, he declared, "You're a strange one."
"With all due respect, sir, so are you."
He had nothing to say to that, he just rolled his eyes and ignored her. They both gave a start when Vesta's phone beeped with a text alert. She raised her eyebrows at the screen. "Some M.P. wants to see you at 'the usual place.' Doesn't say what about."
Mycroft glanced at the screen to see for himself. "Oh, I suppose, since we're in the neighborhood." He gave the driver the address and settled back, looking bored. As soon as they pulled up to the building in question, he glided smoothly from the car to the pavement, commanding, "Come!" before slamming the car door.
Obediently, she slid out of the car and followed a few paces behind him, determined to put on the facade of cool calm. Humans. They're just humans, she tells herself, in perfect step with her employer. As he strode through the hall, swinging his umbrella with the occasional ornamental twirl, a number of well-dressed men and women greeted him.
"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," the undulating ripple of sycophants chanted at him as he passed. Scanning over their faces, he missed nothing. Some of them, he ignored as insignificant, others, he deigned to nod to in acknowledgment. Fewer still, he greeted in return. At the end of the hall, a man stood in his office, waving them in.
Most of what went on in there went right over Vesta's head, but she kept notes, typing into her Blackberry and sending it to her own and her boss's emails for the sake of documentation. She picked up on and remembered a few things from her morning reading, and found it to be at least mildly interesting. It all came down to power plays, determining the dominant party in any situation, and using that to one's advantage. Plots within plots.
After the impromptu meeting was over, Vesta was happy to get back in the car and go home. Home. She already thought of that grand house as "home" after only one day.
Mycroft grinned over at her, taking in her exhausted physical attitude. Still, she seemed in good enough spirits. "Like it?"
A wicked smile and laugh to match crept up on her. This was just a taste. There was something fun about being behind the man who pulled the strings. Watching him in action was like watching a performer on stage. "That was amazing."
"Really?"
"Extraordinary! You owned him, sir! A member of Parliament lapping up poisoned honey from your hand!"
"How did you know it was poisoned?"
Vesta smirked, "I know what it feels like to make a sale. I've seen a master work a room and that's what it looks like. Sir. You could sell an Eskimo ice!"
Mycroft sniggered at this, truly pleased with his assistant's description. She's astute. This was a perfect way to break her in! So, she knows how the game is played, wonderful!
Soon, they were home again. "So, now you've met my idiot brother and his pet. I assumed you'd want to get that out of your system. Shall we get down to business at long last?"
"Yes, sir. I'd like that."
He gave the end of his umbrella a rub, then pointed it at her like a sword. "Today, as you already found out, your phone went live. You are who they all have to speak to to get to me, with a few exceptions. Don't let them daunt you. You are in command. They need to get through you to get to me." He led her into their office and handed her a sheet of paper from his desk. "Rough run-down of who's who. Some of the names are similar, do keep them straight. Now would be a good time to come out of that shell of yours. I'd hoped that demure shrinking-violet you pretended to be was just an act. Glad to see you're more interesting than that at your core. Just remember, don't let them bully you. You are the first and last word. I have no time for swaggering idiots. If it comes to blows, they'll ring back and apologise. Oh, believe me, they will." He leered at his assistant, pleased to see her eyes light up, obviously liking the sounds of her position. Still, she seemed so shy at first and sensitive, he was certain it would take time before her phone skills could be brought up to speed with what went on in her head. The life clearly appealed to her, but he knew better than to expect her to step right in without hesitation. It would take a few days for her to learn to speak up and stick to her guns. She was already getting versed in where his circles were, the list he gave her was clearly marked according to ally or opposition. He trusted it to be easy enough to remember after a while.
With this being the final word on the subject, Mycroft sauntered out, twirling his umbrella as was his wont. Vesta suddenly imagined him as a drum major, leading a band in a parade. Seemed oddly appropriate for the man. "Make yourself at home," he called without a backward glance, and shut himself up in his library.
She settled down in a comfortable loveseat in the sitting room, ready for her phone to start going off. On the table to her right was a tiered tray of chocolates in a wide variety. A note sat propped up against it. V—Help yourself –MH
Selecting one from its frilled paper cup, she muttered, "Don't mind if I do." She hummed absently to herself as she nibbled at it, reading through the list and closing her eyes to quiz herself over it. After about twenty minutes of this, Vesta was starting to feel like she knew who most of these people were and what to expect from them.
Mycroft reclined comfortably in the library, glad to have some peace and quiet, reading to himself and feeling it soak into his brain. He heard an assortment of soft female pleasure-noises, and he inwardly congratulated himself on ordering the chocolates. It gave him a quiet stir of satisfaction to hear her enjoying them. An hour later, he'd migrated to a long leather couch, half asleep in his ease. He was torn out of his calm, though, by a raised voice. It started out politely nonchalant, escalating to sterner riposts and a more aggressive edge. He stood, laying his book aside, investigating...
"Oh, you just try it! Do you know who I am?! You watch yourself, pal, or I'll have your house burned down! Yes!" She hung up with a beep and stared up in the amazed face of her boss. To her surprise, he gave a short laugh.
Encouraged by his apparent lack of rage, she tossed her hair casually, crossing her legs and reached for another truffle. "He was being recalcitrant."
"Yes, I imagine he was. Let's see, who exactly did you break your sabre-rattling teeth upon? Let me guess." He ran his finger down his list of names and stopped on a particularly interesting fellow. Vesta nodded. "Good, very good. Never got that personal in my conversations with him. I like it. Carry on."
"I'm not in trouble?"
"For doing what I expected? Of course not. Frankly, I'm relieved you have such a backbone," Mycroft replied. "I worried you'd be intimidated by any of these people." He chuckled darkly, "You'll burn his house down, I'll have to remember that one."
"I used to get in trouble at my old jobs for talking that way. Telling people I'd set them on fire became my usual conversation-stopper. I even backed it up with a blowtorch I had from doing crème brulees. Got hauled in the office a few times because people complained."
Mycroft folded his arms and looked confounded by this, "Can't have been anywhere very interesting." He fluttered a hand to the ceiling, muttering disgust at such a thing and strolled off. I like her!
After being effectively broken in, Vesta found that the days flew by in her first few weeks of her new job. She was feeling settled in and she seemed to have found her feet. She was relying less and less on the cheat sheets that Mycroft had printed out for her, and she was making contacts and fielding information with comfortable ease. It was a remarkably good fit.
After the first few days, she nearly forgot about the diet her boss had put her on. She had enough to eat at each meal for the first time in ages, and under the circumstances, it was easy for her to overindulge on her own without her boss urging her too much. He would usually pointedly encourage her to have just a bit more, but she wasn't being force-fed by any stretch. In the first week, she had actually dreamed of him doing such a thing, and she didn't want to admit how much the idea thrilled her. In the following weeks, Mycroft chose to opt for subtlety. Still, subtle or not, the change in her was becoming more apparent. The first day she got dressed and her clothes didn't seem so big made her examine herself in the full-length mirror. Looking over her shoulder, she slid her hands down her hips, marking the soft swell of them. Vesta stared, actually feeling pleased with her figure for the first time in her life. She'd always been too scrawny, she hated it. This was good, this was healthy. As she examined herself, she got the wild notion to draw her boss's attention to it. She thought she heard him passing by...
"Sir? Mr. Holmes?"
Mycroft came striding down the hall and stood in her doorway. "Yes, what is it?"
"Just look at me. Look what you've done."
Mycroft stared...
It hadn't escaped her boss's notice that his efforts were starting to be successful. The supply of chocolates he'd laid in had lasted longer than he suspected, but it wouldn't do for her to simply gorge on sweets. That wouldn't be healthy. Still, he noticed she would eat three or four of them every day, especially while she was working. He had already begun to see a change in her, and it pleased him greatly. Mycroft knew it wouldn't take long to reach the target. Between actually having decent, regular meals, and the extra encouragement and treats here and there, she was filling out nicely. Now she stood before him in a light blouse and skirt, perfectly shaped to highlight her new figure. Breaking out of his trance, he tsked and fluttered off, like he couldn't believe she'd called him over to examine her body. Didn't she know he had more important things on his mind? Silly girl!
As they detected from the first day, the two of them were quick to develop a good, predictable working relationship. As the young woman found her feet, Mycroft felt more and more that he could trust her to handle things. She was his first line of defense, and she wore it well. There were times when he would steam and bluster, kicking up a storm in his wake, and Vesta would simply wait by the sidelines for him to be finished. He was normally even-tempered, so his little tantrums never lasted long. Oftentimes, they were linked to his brother. He described their relationship as "difficult." That certainly seemed the case from what she'd seen. Still, there was something almost endearing about seeing the normally controlled man lose his cool. Mycroft, too, noticed how his assistant coped with such episodes of his, bearing them with calm, unaffected grace. Other times, she would add fuel to the fire, adding her own tirade to his. Comically enough, they were never fighting with each other, but together they railed against some invisible, absent party or parties (sometimes mere forces of nature) with whom they were mutually frustrated. After having been unreachable loners for their whole lives, both Vesta and Mycroft found a great measure of relief to commiserate—loudly—with someone else. It always left them feeling much more relaxed, even happy, without really knowing why. Yes, these two were definitely a good fit for each other.