The storm that rolled in overnight had disappeared before morning – leaving nothing but cloudy skies and murky puddles in the streets. John was sat on a park bench. He'd just stormed out a doctor's appointment, which he had found particularly infuriating. His doctor kept insisting that he should call his sister, even when he refused multiple times. His fraught familial relationships was none of their business and had his reasons to cut contact with his sister. Besides, he didn't need his family's help.
Pulling out his phone, he brought up the wanted ad. He dialed the attached phone number, nearly hanging up when no-one answered for a moment. A voice crackled onto the line. "Are you calling for the job position?" demanded the stranger.
"I am, yes," said John.
"You'll do. Get in the car Mr Watson," said the voice.
"How do you know my name?" asked John in shock.
"I'll explain it later," said the voice. John noticed a nondescript black car pulled up on the street next to the park. "Get in the car." The voice said, hanging up.
John paused, considering the choice. There was a chance that if he got in the car he would disappear and never be seen again. But the job did sound like a great opportunity. It was probably just some pompous rich guy looking to intimidate his potential employee. Eventually he decided he would go for it. If they tried anything funny he would just fight back. At least his military training would come in handy. His cane as well.
He got in the back of the car and saw an uninterested brunette woman sat in the seat next to him. She was young, maybe in her mid-twenties, with thick wavy hair and distant cold eyes. "I'm John," he said, offering her his hand.
"Anthea," she muttered. John had the distinct feeling that she had told her a fake name but he didn't bother enquiring any further. Something told him that if he asked for her real name, she would just give him another fake one.
The rest of the car trip passed in relative silence. The car pulled into an old abandoned car park, caked in dust and cobwebs. A single solitary figure stood in the room, holding a black umbrella. He gave John a cursory glance as if he was sizing up a foe. John relaxed. Even if this man did attack him, he would be able to fight out such a slight man easily, even with his cane.
"Afternoon. You're here for the job offering. Is that correct?" said the man in a proper English accent. "I'm Mycroft Holmes,"
"John Watson, though you already know that I suppose. How did you find out my name by the way?" John asked.
"Let's just say that I have friends in high places and leave it at that. It's interesting how much you can find out with the right connections" Mycroft explained with a grin. "Back to my offer. I will be hiring you to assist my brother. It has recently come to my attention that he requires some support,"
"So how much?" asked John.
"You're quite direct," laughed Mycroft.
"I'm a military man. What can I say?"
"I deduced as such. £500 a week, payed on a Sunday. Rent will be covered as well as basic groceries. Do we have a deal?" John nodded. That was a good offer and it would be enough to tide him over until his application for the hospital was approved.
"Yes. When will I meet him?" John said shaking Mycroft's hand.
"Anthea will drive you there now. Be warned, my brother can be a bit of a brat sometimes. If he acts up, give me a call," explained Mycroft, swinging his umbrella back and forth as he made his way to the elevator door.
"I'm sure it'll be fine," responded John.
"It's your funeral. Good luck," yelled Mycroft down the empty carpark.