Title: Making the Connection
Story Summary: A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade
Chapter Summary: Mycroft never goes to a meeting unprepared, especially when it concerns his little brother. Anthea's POV. Prompt: Demonstration
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.
A/N: So this chapter is actually a bit of a tribute to a wonderful Mystrade story I only recently discovered. It's called "At Least There's the Football" and it is written by the lovely sheffiesharpe. When I wrote this chapter I had 'her' Anthea in mind, because I love the way she is portrayed in that fic. It's not on this platform, but you can find it with a search engine. And as always: This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.
She wiped her shoes on the doormat, hung up her black leather jacket and walked straight into the drawing room, where her boss already waited for her. She put down the unsuspicious brown file folder on the little table next to his armchair before sitting down in the one opposite him. As usual there was already a still steaming cup of tea waiting for her. She took a sip. One spoonful of Demerara and a splash of lemon, perfect as always.
It had been a long day already and she knew it would be several hours before she could even think of sitting down in front of her own fireplace. But then again she was used to the long hours; she had never been one to sleep much. Before it had been out of necessity, now it was by choice. She liked her job.
"So, what did you find out about this potential new flat mate of my brother?" Mr Holmes asked while noiselessly stirring his tea.
"Nothing threatening, sir." Anthea had learned early on what kind of data was of importance to him and what could be left out. She did not need to look at the file again - an eidetic memory was almost a prerequisite for this position. "His name is John Hamish Watson, received his medical training at St. Bartholomew's Hospital here in London, stayed there for a year after he graduated and then enlisted into Her Majesty's Armed Forces. He was a Captain in the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, five years of dedicated service, then got shot in the left shoulder while on a rescue mission outside Maiwand. His superior called his actions 'incredibly brave'. Since returning to England he has attended the obligatory veteran's counselling sessions for suspected PTSD and is currently unemployed."
She took a sip of her now perfectly temperate tea. Mr Holmes nodded, put his teacup aside and steepled his fingers under his chin while he looked out the window. "Any illegal activity I should be aware of?"
"In 2002 he was arrested by London police, but no charges were filed against him due to lack of evidence. He also kept his Sig Sauer P226R after being discharged from the British Army."
His head turned and he looked at her with a raised eyebrow and after a decade in his service she knew him well enough to see that he was slightly unsettled by this particular piece of information. He was constantly worried about his younger brother; he just didn't like showing it. She took another sip of much needed caffeine.
"He was arrested at a demonstration for gay rights and same-sex marriage. Apparently he punched someone who shouted abuse at the protestors. But as I said, there were no charges filed against him because that person never came forward."
Mr Holmes didn't smile, but again she could tell from years of experience that this was a very pleasant surprise to him. "It seems this Dr Watson would make quite desirable company for my brother, doesn't it, Anthea?"
"It seems that way, sir." She nodded towards the thin brown folder on the little table to his right. "I also obtained the notes from his therapist and included them in his file."
Yet another raised eyebrow met her words, this time accompanied by a smirk. "What did you think of them?"
"They are a load of rubbish in my opinion, but maybe you would like to read them in the car anyways." She had never been a fan of therapy. In her experience it was more guess work and clichés than anything else.
"Sometimes one can gather a piece of rather crucial information from these notes and make an accurate deduction." He glanced at his wristwatch. "I'm afraid our tea time is up." With that he stood, took the file and they walked to the door together.
"I presume I am to pick him up and bring him to the warehouse?" Anthea asked when she slipped back into her jacket that he held out for her. It was a rhetorical question, they both knew that.
"That is indeed our next step. I'd like to find out more about John Watson's intentions in regard to my brother. Keep me updated if you find out anything else." He held the door open for her, his umbrella already in his hand, while she texted their drivers to meet them out front.