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Mycroft's POV
He pinches the bridge of his nose as he looks over the paperwork for a second time. Someone is hiring sugar-boys and using them to sell government secrets before killing them in brutal fashions. Normally he would send an agent to take care of this, but he is moderately sure that it is an agent doing this. Since it has only been gay sugar-boys being killed, it means he cannot send Ali to do it as a female, and Sherlock is too young to make it look like he is an older man looking for younger companion.
Fine, apparently this is going to be one he will take care of himself.
"Sir, I have all the paperwork completed except the preference chart and your signature." Ali states as she offers the paperwork to him, dark eyes gleaming in mirth, "I started to check the boxes I thought you might agree on, however, I only did so lightly so you can undo them if you'd like."
"Thank you Ali," he answers, accepting the packet and setting them down on the desk before him. "Do I have any other appointments for today?"
"No sir, the rest of your day is paperwork," she responds easily.
He nods, "Good, once I am done filling these out I will take them by the club."
"Very good sir, I will tell Frank to prepare the car," she comments with a nod before turning to leave.
His attention quickly turns to the papers before him eyes skimming over everything she has already filled out before going over the pages of questions. All of them are rating scales, numbered between one to five, with five being important and one being unimportant. There are a wide variety of categories and some of the questions include things like how import is appearance? Is there a preferred appearance or physical trait? Is loyalty important? Youth? Intelligence? Pay rates? Is what type of professional history they have important?
He keeps himself from grumbling as he goes through the papers and answers them mostly honestly if a bit vaguely for the few questions that requires physical choices. Once all the papers are filled out, he reads through them a second time, making sure that he has not missed anything and that they are filled out properly.
Standing, he quickly sends a message for the car to be brought to the front as he is pulling on his coat. It's a quick walk from his office to the curb. The ride to the club is silent as he considers this case and what agent it might be. At this point the only ones he can rule out are the females, the feminine females, not the ones who can hide themselves as a male or female or anything in between. He has a few suspects in his mind but they are all equally guilty.
"Await my return," he tells Frank as he gets out of the car.
"Yes sir," his driver replies with a nod, pulling off to the side of the parking where he will be able to see the door.
A tall man opens the door for him, bowing him through politely without saying a word. Inside, his eyes sweep the entryway. Noticing where each person, door, window, and furniture is at.
"May I assist you?" an attractive young woman with pale hair and polite eyes inquires.
"I have come to deliver this application," he replies, holding the file up.
Smiling, she nods, motioning to one of the doors, "Right this way sir, Ms. Williams will be with you shortly."
He follows her into the room, settling in one of the armchairs before the desk.
"Would you care for something to drink sir? How tea or coffee perhaps?" the woman asks graciously.
"No thank you," he responds equally politely.
"Very good, she will be right with you," the woman responds before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
Three minutes and eleven seconds later the door opens, revealing a distinguished woman with dark hair streaked with silver, surprisingly warm gray eyes, and light skin. Her clean cut business suit reveal very little about her, surprisingly enough.
"Good afternoon," she greets him, offering a hand as he stands, "I am Tessa Williams, welcome to my establishment, Mr. . . .?" her voice trails off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.
"Mycroft Holmes, Ms. Williams, one of my coworkers suggested your establishment," he responds, firmly accepting her hand before releasing it and waiting for her to move to her spot.
Both of them sit down in their respective chairs, he is mildly startled that she takes the seat beside rather than across from him before accepting the paperwork. Quietly and efficiently, she goes through it.
"Everything appears to be in order," she remarks, setting the papers aside, "We offer several different methods for patrons and companions to meet. The three primary methods are online profiles, two weekend meeting parties, and a matchmaker. Our matchmaker has a ninety-seven percent success rate when given honest information, higher than any other company in the country. "
He listens closely, considering the options and aware of the other options from their system.
"You are welcome to use any of them, either on their own or in some combination thereof. This Friday there is a dinner meet and greet, starting at five pm and going to midnight. It is a casual dress event. As a patron you may interview and speak with as many of the companions as you like, through the event, matches need to be reported so we may pause matching them and yourself." She tells him with smile.
"I shall attend this weekend," he answers, "Bill my account whatever expenses it incurs."
"Excellent!" she replies, "Do you have any questions for me?"
Giving a slight shake of his head, he answers, "I do not."
"Then I shall look forward to seeing you on Friday," she bid him, "Good day."
"Good day," he responds, standing and nodding. Without another word he leaves, using his phone to signal his driver that he is ready to go.
Hopefully he only has to attend one of these events. It is time that he could be using for other tasks. If this wasn't so important, he really would look into sending his brother instead of doing it himself. Too bad Sherlock isn't even twenty-three yet.