Once the flat was as clean as it could be without fumigation, case notes organised and stacked neatly on the desk, Anthea let herself out of the front door, locking it securely behind her with one of the five keys on her key ring. Anthea slid across the custom leather of the unassuming black car, quickly told the driver to take her to home, after a glance at the dark sky littered with stars, and unlocked her Blackberry. She opened a text to Mycroft.
First feed complete. A
She kicked off her heels, tucking her stockinged feet up onto the chair beside her, relaxing into the warmth of the heated seat, waiting for the soft vibration that signalled an incoming text.
The donor is still alive, then? MH
Of course. Sherlock is quite taken with him. A
She attached the photograph she had taken of the pair- John's blonde head in Sherlock's lap, Sherlock gazing down at him.
As we expected. MH
Anthea smiled at the smug tone hidden behind the unassuming printed letters and tucked her phone away, allowing her eyes to slip closed as the car drove through quiet streets.
She woke up almost an hour later at a gentle tap from the driver.
''Miss. We're here.'' He smiled a little as she stretched out in the cramped interior of the car, pointing and flexing her toes. She ducked down a little to collect her shoes and wrinkled her nose at the thought of putting them back on, before deciding not to. She stepped out of the car onto the paved drive up to her house and turned back to the driver.
''Thank you, Eddie. I know it's been a long day.''
He nodded once in silent acknowledgement and she shut the door behind her and set off up the path.
She leant against her front door as she shut it behind her, sighing as she relaxed against the wood. She slid a little on the polished wooden floor as she walked towards the kitchen, and stopped for a second to reach up under her black pencil skirt and unclip her stockings, rolling them carefully down her legs and slipping them into her jacket pocket as she turned the corner into the kitchen.
Opening the glass-fronted wine cooler, she chose a bottle of strawberry flavoured rosé and took a step back, letting the door swing closed and hoisting herself up to sit on the island counter, reaching across for a glass and swinging her legs as she poured herself a glass of the expensive pink alcohol. Once her first glass was empty she poured herself another, set it down beside her, and swung her legs forwards, using the momentum to tip herself off the white marble counter.
Once she was in her bedroom she put her wine on the dressing table and dropped her shoes onto the soft white carpet, leaving them there. She emptied her pockets onto the dresser-top, laying her work things; phone, Bluetooth earpiece, and security pass, to one side, and throwing her worn stockings into the laundry basket on her way to hang her jacket on the back of a chair.
She unbuttoned her pale blouse and unzipped her skirt, letting both fall to the floor at her feet. Relaxing out of the upright posture she held herself in for work, she unclipped her bra and let that drop, adding to the pile. Taking a deep breath she stepped out of the pile of clothing and folded at the waist to gather it up, dropping it into the basket on top of her stockings as she walked past. She folded her garter belt in half and put it on the dresser, exchanging it for her glass of wine with one hand as she snagged her fluffy, tattered dressing gown with the other. Tying the belt around her waist with one glass of wine in her hand and another inside her took some manoeuvring, but she managed it. Her simple- but very expensive- earrings, necklace, and watch went in their places in their carved wooden box. She grabbed her kindle and folded herself into the armchair by the window, using the fading daylight to read as she sipped her wine. After a long day, the simple fantasy of historical romances was an easy escape.
When the digital clock at the top of her screen clicked over to 9:00, Anthea stood up, reaching up towards the ceiling to stretch out her cramped back muscles, and picked up her empty wine glass, leaving her kindle on the chair. Making her way back down the glass and oak staircase to the kitchen she glanced at the food in the fridge and the cupboards before ringing for pizza and refilling her glass for the third time. She crossed back to the fridge and took out one of the new shakes, draining the cup in a few gulps and setting it to one side.
She collected the pizza from the delivery boy- smiling at the young boy's blush but tipping generously. She took the greasy box back upstairs, setting it on her bedside table and dropping down into the soft sheets of her bed, settling back against the pile of cushions and pillows. Flipping back the lid and lifting a slice with her left hand she opened the secure text function of her phone with the right and composed a text to the only number saved there.
Goodnight, my love-Tia