Hello all.
a short update for this story. I was planning quite an epic second chapter, but decided to do this mini one instead to avoid an almighty chapter which could run for thousands of words! Even though it is small, would love any comments if you have them.
enjoy!
Mycroft was shaking with rage as he returned to his car. The irony of the situation was almost funny, if it were happening to another person and not himself. After all his careful planning, his discretion, his laboured efforts to keep everything about this evening a secret. Not only had he failed, but of all the people to stumble upon him, it happened to be that common, nasty little slut Irene Adler, a woman towards which Mycroft felt nothing other than contempt. He was grudgingly able to respect her resourcefulness and intelligence; she possessed a ruthless streak which he could recognise very much in himself. But in Mycroft's opinion, she did not fully use the intellect which she so obviously possessed. She relied on that most basic and least respected of talents to make her way in life - sex. And that was why Mycroft disliked her so much. She had all the talent and potential to look after herself and wrap others around her little finger without resorting to such debase methods. And yet she did, either because it was easier or because she had yet to realise alternative solutions to her problems. Whatever the reasoning, Mycroft had little regard for anyone who relied upon their body and their looks to get by.
Mycroft was not scared of Irene Adler. He felt confident that in any battle of wits, he could out-smart her and beat her hands down if necessary. Unlike Irene, Mycroft was able to plunge the depths of his full intellectual ability, and when he truly put his brilliant mind to something, the outcome was usually highly impressive. However, this did not alter the fact that Mycroft was worried. He calculated that Irene would be extremely keen to deploy her powerful little piece of knowledge about him, but in what capacity he was unsure. Blackmail seemed the most obvious choice, but Mycroft was not convinced Irene would opt for such a predictable route. He almost hoped this would be the approach that she chose. Blackmailers were relatively easy to deal with, Mycroft having been called to tackle a number of blackmailers in the past who had threatened key government officials with highly embarrassing secrets which would destroy reputations if revealed. It was also worth remembering that the aim of a blackmailer was to obtain money, and Mycroft was not sure that cash was the only thing that Irene would be after. She probably did need money, but with such a tantalising piece of bargaining power to play with, it was probable she would be after something more substantial than simple cash.
Mycroft felt very solemn as he arrived home, a grim determination settling in his mood. Whatever Irene Adler had planned, she had better be careful. Mycroft would not tolerate being threatened or taunted, not least by a woman who was nothing more than a cheap whore. If she was intending to come up against Mycroft Holmes, she had better be aware of exactly what she was facing.
Mycroft spent much of the next day in the office preoccupied, unable to put his ponderings out of his mind. His instincts told him that if Irene was going to act, she would do it soon. She did not strike him as the type of woman who would patiently wait until a good time to use her knowledge. She was probably positively itching to act, to slap Mycroft in the face with what she had seen and demand an as yet unknown price from him.
Anthea noticed Mycroft's distracted and gloomy mood, and wondered what was troubling him. But she knew from experience not to ask. If Mycroft wished to discuss or divulge something, he would do it without prompting. More often than not, he would just keep everything to himself. Anthea wished he would occasionally open up to her more and realise that she could possibly help him beyond the confines of work. She knew that he trusted her absolutely, but that trust had never extended towards discussing anything of a personal nature. Despite his cold and emotionless manner, Anthea was actually very fond of Mycroft and secretly hated to ever see him distressed or unhappy.
Anthea purposely left Mycroft alone to brood in private until shortly after lunch when she had no choice but to disturbed him. She knocked quietly on his office door and entered, walking over to the desk where he sat typing studiously.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir," she said cautiously, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought, "but I've had a late request for an appointment with you from a lady over the telephone. She insists she wants to see you today, but I told her that was impossible. However, she claims it is urgent and if I tell you her name, you'll be sure to fit her in at some point today for a meeting".
Mycroft's brain completely switched off from the report he was typing and he turned to Anthea. This sounded like the signal he had been anticipating.
"What is her name, please?" He asked, hoping he sounded casual and fairly disinterested. In reality, he wanted to know very much exactly who had called him.
Anthea gave a short, nervous laugh.
"Well sir," she began, "the caller gave me her name, but it is slightly odd. I did double check it, but I think I must have misheard".
"What is it?" Mycroft asked.
"Er," Anthea hesitated, looking at the paper in her hand, "the name I wrote down was Miss Whip?"
Anthea gave Mycroft a questioning look.
"I'm sure that can't be right, but maybe you recognise it".
Mycroft knew nobody of that name, but there could be no doubt who the mystery female caller was. Mycroft nodded grimly to himself. How amusing, he thought, it looks like the games and teasing have begun already.
Mycroft gave Anthea a tight, polite little smile.
"Thank you Anthea," he said stiffly, "as it happens I know exactly who that is. Could you call her back and confirm that I will see her at 6pm?"
Anthea looked astonished, both at Mycroft's claim to recognise the odd name and his willingness to organise a meeting with only hours to spare.
"Of course sir", she said, leaving the room with a puzzled glance at Mycroft.
Mycroft watched her leave before leaning back in his chair, a grim determination settling in his stomach. If Irene Adler wanted to play games, she had chosen a formidable opponent.