James sat in a waiting area somewhere in MI6. He pulled at his blazer in anxiety; he had no tie to re-do as he had decided against wearing ties. It was less formal. He should want to look more formal, shouldn't he? Maybe. He didn't know. He was nervous; he was waiting for his test results. The navy blue suit he was wearing, somewhat influenced by the woman he had sat next to the day before, fit perfectly and according to his sister, he looked stunning.

The woman who he had just thought of opened the door he was waiting behind.
"Your results are ready. I have to say, they are extraordinary" she said as James walked through the door. She was wearing a cream business suit, with a black shirt and belt. He stood behind a chair, and sat down when he was told to take a seat. She sat down opposite him, smiling politely.

"Your test results passed- well, more than passed. In the physical assessment, your running was adequate; you scored six out of ten. Your shooting was, well, amazing- nine out of ten. The mental test scores...exceptional. You answered every question correctly- twenty out of twenty. It's the highest score we've ever had. Although you are one of two consulting detectives. Sherlock Holmes is your father?"
"Adoptive father. My full name is Watson-Holmes" he said, leaving her to fill in the blanks. She nodded.
"You should consider a career in intelligence, seeing as you are, well, intelligent"
"I've found my calling. You couldn't tempt me away from being a detective"
She smiled. "I wanted to be a DI, but I don't like... crime, as such. I came to MI6 instead. I call what I do 'intelligent intelligence'- information processing, evaluation, analystics, the occasional computer hack..."
"You can hack computers? Is that even legal?!"
"It is, if no-one finds out" she said, smiling.
He smiled back. "So, I can get straight to work, Miss...?"
"Everton. Please, call me Laura"

James sat at a desk. He wasn't completely sure of his whereabouts; he ignored all thoughts and feelings, except those connected to the picture he was staring at. He and Harriet had been taught how to use a mind palace when they were only three or four; it helped him to remember and recall things, but it didn't help him with how he processed information, so he used his own methods.
The man was fairly tall but slim. He looked tired; he may have been in position with his sniper ready for days, just waiting for Hamish to show up. He was dressed in black; black shirt, black trousers, black shoes. That indicated he was meant to be killing Hamish at some point during the night instead of mid-afternoon, the clothes would have been meant for camoflage.
His skin was naturally white but he had a tan. He must have been exposed to the sun before he got to London; he couldn't have got a tan in London, as the weather hadn't been remotely sunny for the past two weeks. A hot country...well, it was a start. Not a very good start; he had almost no evidence. Non had been found in the abandoned warehouse Hamish was found in. James was fairly convinced he would find some- or at least develop a theory- if he went there himself.

He left the one picture on his desk and walked out of the small glass-walled office; his office, for the time he was there. He needed to find Smith; he would probably need some kind of clearance to go and investigate the crime scene. Eventually he got to Smith's office; it was large- huge- and was filled with everything he might need- a laptop, a tablet, a projection screen, multiple filing cabinets, a phone, even- for some reason- an iPod dock. James was envious of him, although none of what he had would help him, except the laptop, which he had; it would be a distraction.

Smith was sitting behind his desk. He looked up from whatever work he was doing.
"Yes?"
"I need clearance to investigate the warehouse"
"Why?"
"To look for evidence"
"Our experts have done that already"
"The experts could have missed something" said James, frustrated.
"I doubt it. Look, James, you're an amateur. A kid. Can't you trust the professionals?"
"I am not an amateur; I'm fairly sure you wouldn't be consulting me if I was. And no, I can't trust the professionals."
"James, I'm not going to let you poke about in a crime scene because you think you're more qualified than trained professionals"
"Do you want me to solve this case or not?!" James said, almost laughing.
"Yes, although I don't belive for a second that you can. Mycroft is an idiot, dragging a kid into MI6 and expecting him to solve a murder"
"I'll prove you wrong"
"I look forward to seeing you try"
"Sarcasm isn't good on you"
"It wasn't sarcasm; I want to see you fail"
"Charming" James said, as he stormed out of the room. He walked; he didn't know where he was going, but he needed to clear his head. Make a plan. He was still going to the warehouse, of course. He just needed to work out how to get in. Any normal member of MI6 would have clearance, right? He needed someone to get him in. He couldn't ask Mycroft, he would only disapprove. That only left one person...

"I need you to hack a computer for me"
"Why would I do that?"
"Because you're desperate to see some action. You've been doing paperwork for a year or more now; you're bored. You want to have some fun!"
Laura sighed. How did he know these things?
"Who's computer?"
"Smith's" he said, watching the smile grow on her face. Oh, she hated him. Enough to risk losing her job.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Give me clearance for visiting the crime scene"
"I could do that anyway"
"Oh..."
"But it would be so much more fun to hack him, don't you think?"
"Oh, I think so"
They beamed at eachother; instant trust. James was surprised- the woman had seemed like she didn't trust anyone. He was right, she didn't; except for James.

If you decide to review this chapter (which I hope you do), would you mind telling me something?
If you were going to ship Laura and James, how would you ship them? Friendship ship or relationship ship?

Thanks, LS :)