John must have dozed during the journey, for he woke with a start as the black car was pulling up outside a large and vaguely familiar house. Rubbing his face with both hands he tried to pull himself together as he waited for the uniformed driver to walk around and open the rear door for him.
His puzzlement regarding the house was solved when the door opened and Anthea stood in the light from the hallway, her ever present Blackberry in her hand. Wordlessly she showed him into a warm well-furnished room, with a tray of tea and food set out on a nearby table.
Mycroft's personal assistant smiled and closed the door, leaving John to wonder why he had been brought here. He sat and waited, pouring himself a cup of tea and helping himself to a sandwich- after all, he had hardly eaten all day, and if Mycroft was of a mind to play games he could at least feed his opponent.
When he finished his tea, John had more or less decided to go looking for his elusive host when soft footsteps approached the door and he looked at it expectantly. It opened, but the man stepping across the threshold was not the auburn-haired embodiment of the British Government- this man had curls, and those curls were black.