"Will that be all sir?"
"Yes, yes. Go home, get some rest." He waved her away. Of course, Anthea would not be leaving. She had never, not in eight years, shut down her computer before Mycroft had even left the building.
The door swung shut behind his assistant and finally, for the first time since he had stepped out of his front door that morning, he was alone.
He cleared the flotsam of the day from his desk; even the beating heart of the British Government had to fill in forms occasionally. The windows on his computer screen were also closed. Whilst Mycroft's job could not be constrained to the boundaries of daylight hours, it was could be hidden from view for a few precious moments with just a few clicks of a mouse. He took comfort from that fact.
An email pinged through to his phone. The attachment was of particular interest - a plan of St Bartholomew's Hospital. Smiling, he saved the file and thanked a God he didn't believe in for his discreet contacts over at Richmond House. They had saved him a nights work, after all.
Sherlock hadn't driven in years, thanks to the virtues of the London Transport Network, but it hadn't taken long to dig some instructions out of the Mind Palace. Keeping his hands busy made it easier to think and the journey less boring. Plus, his brain now had something to focus on besides a desperation for cigarettes.
John hadn't minded that his flatmate volunteered to drive. His brutal and sporadic use of the accelerator left something to be desired, but it was easier not to argue. John did mind however - and was quick to voice his concern - when Sherlock tried to text whilst speeding down the winding Exmoor roads.
A scuffle ensued: one which caused the Land Rover to venture on to the grass verge at the side of the road more than once. Despite being charged with controlling a two tonne four by four, Sherlock emerged from the childish game victorious. In protest, John folded his arms and returned to admiring the view; he was regretful of the fact that such a sinister case had bought them to this part of the world. The open emerald moors verging on spring and the craggy hills blanketed the industrial blemish on the landscape they were headed for.
Sherlock, learning the irony of his being a detective and constantly breaking the law, decided to compromise with his passenger and use the hands free setting in the car. Begrudgingly, he selected the contact 'FH' .
"Faylinn." He spoke before she could, blurting out the word with a smirk as soon as the ringing tone finished. He took particular joy in knowing that he was responsible for ruining her lie in (of all the Holmes siblings, the youngest was most fond of her bed).
She sighed in to the handset, knowing immediately who would be hearing it on the other side. Her voice was croaky and full of sleep.
"What?"
"Good morning to you too." Sherlock replied, mustering up an impressive amount of fictitious cheeriness. Although he attempted to hide it with the back of his hand, John smiled too. He almost felt as though he shouldn't be an intruder on this conversation, but what alternative was there? He had never had to resort to using his training on how to jump out of a moving vehicle and didn't intend to break that particular record now.
A crackling sound filled the car - Faylinn was taking the phone away from her ear. Sherlock took less than a second to register this development and reacted by bellowing.
"No, Wait, don't hang up!"
The line went quiet once more, leaving Sherlock to assume that he was welcome to talk.
"I need you to check some records for me. Do you have a pen handy?"
"I'll remember." She was quick to reply, slightly offended by the notion that she might forget, even though she had only just managed to ascertain that she wasn't dreaming. She wiped the sleep from her eyes, blinking away the clouds.
"Right. They shoul-" He was promptly interrupted, since Faylinn had learnt to brighten up quickly.
"Sherlock, have you seen the clearance card recently?" She sounded distracted, as if only half interested in the conversation. Sherlock knew that she had turned on the television. The recognisably bland tones of a BBC Newsreader could be heard, giving their conversation an extra muffled soundtrack. This frustrated him perhaps more than he would ever admit - why wouldn't she just focus on the matter in hand?
"I have, funnily enough. It is sitting in my coat pocket as we speak. Now can we jus-"
"What? It was meant to be my turn!" The revelation tore her attention away from the tangle of the tickertape. Clear as day, John could hear the Sherlock in her tone; it amazed him that such intellectual giants could be reduced to children so easily.
"Faylinn, last time you had it a parking space miraculously materialised six feet from your flat on one of the busiest streets in central London. Coincidence? I think not. I am simply doing my duty in stopping you from wreaking havoc with an access all areas pass and the fact that you even had to ask where it was just proves my point - you really should be more careful, leaving things like that lying around."
"It was in my purse." She spoke through gritted teeth. Upon learning this, the man in the passenger seat stared at his companion in disbelief. Living with him was like living with sodding Fagin.
"Exactly, lying around."
She swiped the grin off his face by terminating the call.
Days later
One word was etched, chalked, mirrored across the wall. If Mycroft had been honest, he would have admitted to being unnerved by it. But then again, those occupying positions in the shadow of government were not renowned for telling the truth. He decided to allow it to blur in to insignificance, choosing instead to focus on the man in front of him: the man responsible for the chilling interior decor.
James Moriarty.
His eyes were small - possibly because of the brash light that was inescapable in the otherwise grey room, possibly because of this wish to neutralise any emotion that threatened his stony exterior. Mycroft squinted in return, as if searching for a new angle. Another stick with which to poke the sleeping dragon. Unperturbed by the hollow glare that he was faced with, he sifted, very quickly and systematically, through the possible next steps for these fruitless negotiations. Negotiations, because both wanted information; this was not the usual 'keep hounding them until they spill' type operation. Each body - each mind - at the table was an asset to the other. It had to be dealt with in bubble wrap, hopping from one island of safety to the next. Like a in game of chess, each move was to be measured and repeatedly recalculated.
He deemed that the time had come. The proverbial wheels were to be set in motion. Never once dropping eye contact, clasping his chin with his long fingers, Mycroft called to the guard conspicuously tucked in to the corner.
"Let him go."
He sat solid, never flinching as the self proclaimed 'Consulting Criminal' was whisked away out of his sight. Their eyes held each other until he was pulled unceremoniously out of view. Mycroft felt a sudden urge to reach out and yank the grin clean off his face, but he remained there nonetheless, in the disgustingly uncomfortable fold up chair that had become strangely familiar to him over the past few days, weeks even.
Uttering those three monosyllabic words had made everything feel real. The humid air hung low around him, making his skin itch.
He glanced around him, once again considering the scrawl coating every flat surface in the concrete box. The word was one very familiar to him. One he had spelled out more times than he dared acknowledge, one he had said aloud countless times (whether in a brief moment of exasperation or pride). However, the man it referred to was not the centre of his attention in that exact moment. Instead Mycroft gave a thought to a second name, equally as important as the one that blanketed the room: Faylinn.
Sherlock, his dear brother, was the individual at the centre of the fight, but at least he was aware of the opposition - the youngest sibling had no such luck. Mycroft could only hope that he had made the right choices on her behalf.
I hope you enjoyed it! A bit of a shorter one this time but I will be making up for it by posting sometime in the week too :)
I would love to know what you think of this - would you like to see more canon related chapters? At the moment I intend for Faylinn to be skirting around the edges of the canon and then for an original storyline to develop but would you guys like to see her in the middle of a case, for example? I am incredibly open to suggestions.
Thanks for reading!
