A/N: Wow. Thank-you to all of you for reading the first chapter of this story. I would especially like to thank the wonderful review, the followers: kittyitty6, Warriorcats4, MarianelaMH and Losthompson; and those who favorited the story: Rose1414 & xoxoChairGossipxoxo.

I hope you enjoy the set up to this interesting tale :D

...

24 hours previously.

...

The Crowne plaza was full to the brim with people as they rushed in a blaze, IPads in hand, Bluetooth headsets set semi permanently on the side of their heads as they almost screamed in every language under the sun the rates of the rise and fall of the world's financial sector. Olivia neither understood nor cared for the intricacies of the economy or the financial sector in general, however, she did enjoy the flurry that it instilled in those around her. She enjoyed watching their eyes light up when they made a good sale, just as much as she enjoyed the devastation in their faces when they had lost their client a considerable amount of money.

The coffee that morning was just as tasteless as it always was. Were it not because of her learnt aversion to drinking so early in the morning, she would have swapped the dreaded liquid for the shot of vodka a long time ago. Both did the job of warming the insides of whoever decided to brace the cold that early in the morning, but her choice of faux coffee over the vodka had come after being forced to fight those urges for many years. She came from a family of addicts… it was hardly surprising that she had fallen under the same Holmes umbrella. And it always starts with one…

It was too early anyway… she needed to keep up appearances.

Donning the overly priced glasses, she analysed the specifics of the plaza that morning. A little birdie had told her that there would be a surprise for her that morning, that morning of all mornings. It was not common knowledge to those who had grown to know her what this day represented. People would think it odd to even place it as a note in a calendar, let along 'celebrate' it, just as she thought it odd for others to do such a ridiculous thing. We all live to die – why celebrate the anniversary of the death of a loved one? That is not a thing to celebrate! And, though Olivia agreed with that in its entirety, her believe only englobed 'people'. Red beard was more than any person, and fifteen years ago, to the day, she had been told to say her final goodbye to her four legged companion. She had always taken a special moment to remember him on this day – growing ever stranger when she realized how alone she really was. It was ok to 'celebrate' with another that felt the same – but as an adult, alone in another country, even the sweet whisper of compassion meant nothing.

The letter was dropped effortlessly on her table. Had she not had half a sight on the plaza, she may not have even noticed the young woman make her way, almost too 'casually' in her direction. Instantly she pushed back the glasses upon her head, no longer serving their purpose as an identifier, pushing back the wisps of hair that threatened to obstruct her sight. With as much delicacy as its decent upon her table, Olivia took hold of the parchment, and slowly unfolded it to reveal its contents. Her eyes subtly gazed around her as she casually rose from her seat, folding the parchment and placing it in the pocket of her coat.

It was strange to think how often the simplest of words can cause such a great change in people. The message contained a simple string of letters and numbers that would be useless to all that did not understands its significance. It was a date, a time, a place, a name and a warning:

Moriarty

Olivia had been too worried meticulously devising a plan to explain her sudden departure to those in her new life that she did not recognize the various pairs of eyes that had been observing her in the plaza – eyes from her past – from various parts of her old life.

...

Present Day

...

The morning in London was surprisingly bright, a delightful change from the snow covered cobbles that she had grown accustomed to in Moscow. The street busted with determined people, weaving amongst the crowd to meet their deadlines and reach their first destination of the day. It was earlier than she had expected as she pulled her coat around her small frame, just gone 7, but still late enough to people watch from the small cafe she had always frequented when she had lived in London, 6 years ago.

A small smile appeared on her tired features as she took a seat on the street terrace, remembering the old days when this place had always been her first destination. It had surprised her that it still remained open, and that the owner still remembered her face after so long, placing the cup of strong coffee with three sugars in front of her along with a second cup of black coffee in front of the vacant space beside her. Their memory didn't falter- and nor did the arrival of her first guest of the day.

"Good morning" she spoke, removing the paper of the three sugar sticks, one to be tipped in her own cup, and two in that if her guest.

"Morning" he responded, taking his seat beside her. She had not expected him to respond, yet it did not surprise her entirely. He would often play with her expectations, just to watch the curiosity behind her cerulean eyes. She had learned not to let it show and simply continued with her routine, placing a spoon in his cup before reaching for her own, dissolving the sugar with the anti-clockwise action of the teaspoon. "I see you were expecting me" he continued, mimicking her actions

"You are a creature of habit" she replied, taking a sip of what she had deemed her life force. Without coffee, she did not feel human. She took a moment to glance at the curious look that had appeared on his face. For someone as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes, he was quite naive at times. "In a split second you can analyse a person, yet you do not believe that you yourself can be analysed. That is Mycroft's Achilles heel also" she kept her fingers wrapped around the coffee cup, enjoying the warmth that was seeping into her cold hands. "I knew you couldn't resist letting me know that you were also savvy of my arrival and I also knew that you'd remember the time that we would meet - removing two hours of course, due to the routine I had in Moscow and taking into account the traffic and time it would take for me to walk from the station" She finally placed the cup upon the table before continuing, watching as he raised his eyebrow at her explanation. "You have been drinking the same type of coffee since I could walk and I knew that you couldn't resist showing off and meeting me here because, Sherlock..." With that she pointed at him "you are a show off" lowering her accusing finger she placed her hands into her deep pockets, proud of imposing the silent curiosity in her guest of honour.

In pure Holmes style, he silently began to drink his coffee, sulking at the woman's powers of deduction, confirming her accuracy. She had missed this game and missed his inability to not fall for such an obvious move. He had never been good at playing chess... He was always too eager to rely on his foresight, unable to realise that it was easy to manipulate that very foresight if one knew what it was... And Olivia knew.

"How was your flight?" He finally replied, sparking a victorious grin on her face.

"Dismal, but that was the plan- shame it didn't work" she shrugged, taking yet another sip of her coffee. "How did he find out anyway?"

"I have no idea" his eyes were fixated on the woman before him. "But he won't stop until he finds out why you are here"

"He doesn't know why?"

"From the conversation we had last night, after you left, he is still in the dark to the motives of your return" Olivia burrowed her eyebrows in response. It was unlike the illustrious Mycroft Holmes to meet only half of the intellectual requirements of a mystery. He knew the who, when and where - yet not the how or why. "You still have the ability to get under his skin – his manner and tone of voice was absolutely miserable" He added with a small smile.

"He's either losing his touch, or we are getting better at fooling him" she replied, shrugging once more "no matter - the longer he remains in the dark, the longer we can get on with our business without interruption."

He silently agreed his smile growing slightly on his tired features. Olivia took this moment to really look at the man before her. He had not aged a day since their heart-breaking goodbye yet there was something about him that made him seem wiser. Most likely the influence of the man she only knew from the snippets of information she had revived over the years - John Watson, his best friend. The thought always produced a smile on her face. Sherlock Holmes has a friend. She had always said he had no heart - said most often in response to his idiocies when he pushed her buttons. As much as he had tried to hide it, she knew those word hurt because whenever it was said by another he would reply with "I have been reliably informed of such a fact". It cut deep to know that he almost took her too seriously... But that was the price to pay for opening your heart to another. And now she knew that his heart was not only open to her, but to at least four others... His friends.

"Why are you smiling?" She had not noticed, but it only made her smile more.

"Don't you know?!" She asked, faux surprise seeping into her features "the great Sherlock Holmes, your skills are slipping in your old age"

Sherlock glanced at her and took her in, much like Mycroft had done yesterday, the only difference is that she was not bothered to reveal to this Holmes the parts of her life that she hid from those around her. Olivia felt like a fish out of water, stuck with a hook tentatively being placed in her mouth, for she was not only the first catch of the day, but she would be used to bait the big fish – at least that is what she had deduced from looking at the man before her. His eyes spoke sonnets, his flushed cheeks a beautiful psalm and his slim figure sang odes to tragedy and apprehensiveness. It was a shame that their reencounter was under these circumstances…

"… they would have been under no other. You know that" The surprise dashed onto her face too quick for her to prevent. It was one thing to have him aware of everything externally, but it felt like nothing less than a violation of her human rights to have him delve in her head like that. "I'm sorry" he spoke immediately, reading her displeased look with clarity. He cleared his throat, eyes boring into her own as they silently contemplated their next move. "I sold the house" Olivia simply nodded in response. She knew that he wouldn't have been able to live in their old house alone. It had nothing to do with the money – for they were not at a loss financially, but because she knew how he felt about living alone. There was only so much the skull could do for him – and the walls had too many eyes and ears for his liking.

"I will find a place" She took the last sip of her coffee, aware that time was ticking on and the longer that they sat together, the more likely those eyes and ears would catch them.

"Yes – well." He cleared his throat and arose from his seat "I have a spare room – "

"That Mycroft will monitor" she spoke, matter-of-factly

"Yes. I know. I know." The frustration was clear on his face, as it was on hers. Now was not the time for her to be thinking about the comfort of Sherlock's company, his incessant ramblings and the late night playing of the violin. Now was a time to think smart and stick to the plan – whatever it was.

"Do you have it?" She spoke, changing the subject, joining him in the act of standing. He nodded and retrieved a file from within his coat.

"He's so easy to steal from" He spoke with a triumphant grin on his face. "Oh, and here…" he pulled out a mobile from his pocket and handed it to her along with the file. "It is secure – probably the most secure phone on the planet" He spoke, a knowing look about him. Olivia replied with a simple nod with an eyebrow raised in curiosity, deciding that it was not worth pursuing at this moment. "Call me if you need me." His knowing look had changed to one of concern with a slight air of exasperation. He knew she probably wouldn't. She never did.

"Yes, yes" she spoke, literally trying to wave his concerns away, rolling her eyes at him. "I'm a big girl and survived six years without big brother to help me" she smiled at him, trying to lighten the mood

"Only because the other big brother wasn't there to hurt you" He responded almost inaudibly, but she heard it, removing any chance of redemption. He sighed and squeezed her shoulder before turning and leaving her almost dumbfounded. It took her a moment to snap out of the negativity and allow herself to return to some sort of cognitive through process. When she did, she immediately realized that something was off. She looked around the street and saw nothing out of the ordinary, no people walking to casually, no people walking to briskly – no vehicle that arose suspicion, not a look or a note that suggested that there was anything strange, but she could not shake the feeling… and she was right to trust her feelings.

Reaching into her pocket to grab the change she had intended to use for the coffees, she felt a small piece of paper where the coins were. She pulled it out from her pocket, confused at how this could have occurred. In that split second between Sherlock leaving and her feeling uncomfortable someone had slipped this paper into her pocket. It took only a second to know who the author of the note was as she read the note:

'Peek-a-boo'.

The uncomfortable feeling only grew when she felt a constriction take over her at the sight of the unmarked black car coming around the corner and towards her. She had been warned to stay away from him – and would unfortunately not be able to heed that warning. Mycroft would be so disappointed. For this reason, and this reason only, she stood still and awaiting the arrival of her second guest of the day. The door of the car opened and she complied with the silent threat, taking a seat in the back, opposite the man that she had been warned to stay away from.

"Olivia" he spoke, his irish lilt licking each letter of her name.

"James" She replied, in a bored tone.

The door closed and the car retook its course. Minutes passed before he spoke again, the evil smile sewed into his wicked lips. "Oh, we are going to have so much fun"

Yes. Mycroft was going to be so disappointed.