Summary: Mycroft has quite an intriguing but terrifying proposition for our leading lady. Will she say yes? Mycroft is stern but a cutie.

Chapter 8 - An Invitation

A few days later, I'm laying on the couch mindlessly scrolling through my phone but I'm interrupted because it rings and it'shim. I don't answer right away. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other for two weeks since Mycroft caught me and Sherlock high and over a month since picking me up drunk and telling me to shut up. And you holding his hand, remember? Shut up, Sylvia, I think to myself.

After Sherlock's incident and the genuine interaction we shared, I was ready to forgive him for telling me to shut up but just like clockwork, it had happened again. To be fair, it did happen on two occasions where I was drunk, but it still had hurt me. I thought about burning my notebook but decided against it. I just wouldn't look at it. It was closed, like my cold dark heart after Mycroft's words. I imagined him to be the same. Although when I saw his name flash across the screen there was no denying it. I was excited. I curse the god almighty and answer it.

"What?" I answer, trying to sound disinterested.

"Miss Sylvia, there's been a change of plans. Sherlock and John have already left to help the police and Detective Inspector Lestrade plant the bugs and hidden cameras. Sherlock insisted on being present as he considers himself an expert on all things on this Earth. Long story short, I will be picking you up in 15 minutes outside your flat."

"Oh that's alright you don't have to do that, I was already planning on taking the train with Sh-"

"Nonsense, there's no need for that now. I'm going there as well and the train would take much longer, plus I can brief you on the way."

"Brief me on what?"

"See you in 15."

Click.

I was infuriated beyond belief by his incessant hanging up in my face and interrupting when I spoke but part of me was happy that I would be able to take my revenge on his curt behaviour towards me. I didn't know what on earth he would have to brief me on since Sherlock had already gone through the details of the mission with me several times quoting my "distracted tendencies". After his incident, we had become quite close. I think he could tell Mycroft wasn't talking to me anymore because he seemed kinder and more willing to share details about his cases and thought processes. He never mentioned his brother though and I was thankful for it.

Despite being excited to see him again, a two hour drive seemed much too much even for Mycroft time. Still, I pretended I had my emotions under control, which I never have. I quickly threw on my trainers and hooded army coat, and checked myself in the mirror. Before long, I grabbed my bag and went downstairs as I didn't want to be late. The truth is I was rather relieved I didn't have to take the train. It was one thing to travel with Sherlock and John but by myself it would be terribly boring. And Mycroft was going to the same place anyway so it made sense. Still, the familiar ache of anxiety in the pit of my stomach felt more and more like butterflies again. Part of me didn't care because it felt so nice, and it gave me more energy, even if just to fight with him.

The car promptly arrived and Anthea left the front passenger seat to open the door for me, unexpectedly. It was usually a man or the driver. I smiled and thanked her as I climbed in to face a stuffy and bored looking Mycroft in a stunning blue-grey suit with a golden yellow tie.

I almost forgot I was angry with him but was quickly reminded as I got in and felt the usual tension.

"Hello, thanks for the ride."

He hummed and remained silent so I took that as my cue to begin my silent treatment aka sulking aka snarky remarks revenge. There was no partition in this car and Anthea was sitting next to the driver, typing away on her phone.

"I trust the theatre class went awry."

I actually raise my eyebrow comically and look at him confused. "Why do you ask that?

"I gathered by your apprehensive demeanour upon entering the car that something happened to make you feel upset, and having just had a meeting the night before, it is the most logical conclusion."

I almost smirk but face back to the front and promptly reply softly and calmly, nonchalant and bored much like Sherlock usually does:

"There is a much more logical conclusion your big head could have arrived at, despite your even bigger nose being in the way."

I look at him and see the horror on his face. Even Anthea looked up from her phone and the driver glanced at the rearview mirror, looking worried.

"I beg your pardon?" He replies in a most distinct and snooty way.

"Well, the last few times I was with you, you manage to always find a way to tell me to shut up, so of course I'm apprehensive at having to spend a two hour drive with you, or any length of time for that matter!" I reply just as sternly and immediately look out the window to hide my smirk.

He scoffs. "For God's sake, given the state you were in I'm surprised you remember anything I said at all."

I remained silent and looked out the window, not willing to be provoked and grace him with an answer. I was pleased to have ruffled his feathers. He sighs loudly. "Miss Sylvia I assure you I meant no offence by what I said the other night. I'm afraid you caught me in a…less patient mood. Now, I need to brief you on the events of this evening."

I look at him surprised. Was Mycroft the Ice Man actually attempting an apology? "Very well. I accept your apology. Brief away."

He sneers but continues, seeming something akin to nervous to get it out.

"Tonight we will be attending a gala at the Ritz."
My neck bends so fast I almost throw it out and make myself slightly dizzy. I stare at him with wide eyes and a mouth slightly open.

"It's an exclusive charity event for investors and diplomats from several governments to raise funds in aid of Refugee Action. It's a formal event, black tie of course. We will only need to be present for a couple of hours at most-"

"For a conference, surely?" I desperately try to complete his sentence, dreading what would come next out of his mouth.

"No. There will be a donated art auction and a ball. Unfortunately, I have to be present due to the British dignitary having cancelled at the last minute and if I'm not seen with someone they will immediately attempt to cart me off to one of their many business propositions. I need to keep an eye out for any suspicious behaviour that's not detectable on camera, and can't afford to be interrupted by their incessant mingling. Therefore, you need to be present as well as my plus one."

I laugh loudly. "Mycroft you are insane. I'm not going to a ball! If I wanted to be publicly humiliated I would go to a BDSM club, at least there there's a chance at a happy ending by the end of the night."

The driver lets out a chortle and a wheeze and Anthea looks up with her mouth agape trying to stifle a shocked laugh.

Mycroft is as red as a tomato with fury. "Miss Sylvia, for God's sake! Don't be ridiculous."

"No Mycroft, you're being ridiculous. I've never attended a ball in my life except the secondary school prom." I laugh again in disbelief. "I appreciate your invitation but-"

"It's not an invitation, it's an order. This is a mission and you have to be present for-"

"I can still be present with Sherlock in the control room as I was meant to. I am not parading around like a fool-"

"Miss Sylvia, will you stop it! This is utterly-"

"Mycroft! For God's sake listen to me. I don't have anything to wear, plus I don't know how to walk in heels. I can barely leave the house in trainers to go to the store without tripping like an idiot let alone wear heels. And a dress. To dance. AT A BALL!" I wave my hands at the end of each sentence for emphasis.

"Miss Sylvia! I've obviously arranged for the appropriate attire to be sent over to the hotel and I assure you-"

"And what attire would that be?!" I almost yell.

He sighs. "A tuxedo for myself, a formal evening gown and heels for you-"

"A gown? Mycroft! You had a dress sent ov- this is insane." I shift in my seat as if I can get up and walk away inside a moving car. "Absolutely out of the question. Take Anthea, it is a much wiser choice and I'm sure she will look lovely in them."

Mycroft scoffs and rolls his eyes. Now I was the one as red as a tomato at seeing the terrifying reality of attending a formal ball become more inevitable by the second as I ran out of excuses.

"Miss Sylvia I assure you, the dancing is not necessary, I am not demanding-"

"No, I assure you!" Every time I interrupt him the tension in the car grows, our audience the driver and Anthea, stifling laughs, stealing glances and listening intently despite pretending to watch the road and phone. I could tell Mycroft was trying to contain himself by his vice-like grip on his umbrella and occasional straightening of his already straighter than an arrow tie. I suspect if we were alone in his office where he had room to stand up from his desk and walk around it to confront me head on, he would perhaps use…harsher measures to shut me up and make me listen. I blush even harder at the thought and try to focus.

"Mycroft," I continued softly and pleadingly. "I don't know how to do my hair or…apply make up for such a formal event. I don't-"

"I have arranged for a hair and make-up stylist to be sent over to your hotel room to aid you in that respect." He interrupts just as infuriatingly as me.

I look around me in disbelief and raise my voice again. "You mean to tell me you spent money on a dress, shoes, hair and make-up stylist, for me to attend an event for which Anthea already looks stunning on a daily basis?!" Anthea looks at me through the rearview mirror and mouths a thank you but I barely notice because Mycroft is relentless in his tirade, turning to fully face me.

"I'll have you know I have been planning this mission for months and am not doing things for the sake of whimsy. These are necessary for us to blend. in." He drawls out the last two words like an infuriated grown up attempting to teach pronunciation to a child.

Upon hearing him say the word blend I point at Anthea and open my mouth to protest and sing her praises yet again, to which Mycroft raises his voice and eyebrows (and lion's mane if he had it) before I can get a word out.

"Anthea will be busy fulfilling her role as my PA. Now you are making a tempest in a glass of water. This is a social setting like any other-"

I run a hand through my forehead and Mycroft pauses, clearing his throat and composing himself with a slow close of his eyelids, again, as if trying to explain to a toddler that ovens are hot. He lowers his voice. "If I thought you weren't capable of attending such an event I would not have asked you to. This is not the seven-headed beast you are making it out to be-"

"How could I ever blend in, Mycroft?" I begin in a low tone as if reciting a tragic monologue in an Arthur Miller play. Even I begin to think I'm taking this too seriously, but Mycroft cannot actually believe this will go well and I just have to make him see it. I admit I am also enjoying interacting with him in such a chaotic and loose manner in contrast to our usual strictly controlled and contained meetings. "I don't know how to talk to these people, how to act around them. I don't travel your circles. Surely you have lady friends who would be much more appropriate and at ease to blend in."

Mycroft scoffs away from me with a toss of his head much too dramatic for this situation. "I don't have friends, Miss Sylvia. Certainly not ones I can invite to a ball at a moment's notice, and even if I did, this is a crucial part of the mission and it would make no sense to bring in an outside person!"

I look out the window and I feel sick. I open it a bit to breathe in the cold air and take out my trusty salt vial. I can feel Mycroft's iron gaze following my every move but I don't look at him, not wanting to see pity in his eyes. I hate being vulnerable in front of people. He continues in a much softer tone but filled with repulsed surprise.

"If I had known you'd be so affected by this I wouldn't have told you until we got there." Then he continues with his previous exasperated and louder tone. "For heaven's sake Miss Sylvia, you are grossly overexaggerating this situation!"

There's a pause and we both breathe as if we're in the middle of a workout session or a fiery argument scene in the Marriage Story. I decide to admit to my faults and appeal to his character.

"Mycroft," I begin slowly. "I know I often act a fool and am good natured-"

"Fool? Definitely. Good natured? Not so much." Mycroft replies exasperated and sarcastically.

I huff. "But it's one thing to make a fool out of myself, quite another to embarrass you. I don't know these people and will never see them again. But they know you Mycroft, and I don't want to make you look bad in front of them because your dat-I mean, plus one is a lowly peasant at the King's ball."

Mycroft actually chuckles. "This is not a royal ball Miss Sylvia, there are no special rules to adhere to, and I can assure you I couldn't care less what the people attending think or do not think of my choice in partne…"

Suddenly I have an epiphany. And I smile, turning to Mycroft. As he looks at me, he stops mid sentence, the horrified look on his face returning.

"You know what? I just realised Mycroft. This is all pointless anyway because the dress is not gonna fit me. And if I have nothing to wear, I can't go. There, case closed." I say happily and clap my hands on my knees and turn to face the window smiling.

I can practically hear Mycroft's eye roll in his tone. "I can assure you Miss Sylvia, the dress will fit perfectly. Now for God's sake stop this maddening-"

"How would you know it fits if I never tried it on?"

Mycroft face starts turning red again and he replies in a lower voice: "I made an estimate based on your usual attire-"

I interrupt before he can go on. "No, that's impossible. The last time I bought a dress was ten years ago for 12th grade prom. Not even I know my own measurements. How could you possibly have hacked a dress shop from ten years ago and calculate-"

"I didn't hack anything Miss Sylvia, for the love of God! I simply made a visual estimate and I assure you it's more accurate than any dress shop-"

I scoff loudly and he turns to me red-faced once more. "You mean to tell me you can tell someone's measurements just by looking at them?"

He sighs loudly. "Yes Miss Sylvia, it's not very hard to do when one knows where to look."

We look at eachother like irritated fools and I feel the heat creep up my neck. Visual estimate. By looking at me. By knowing where to look at my eyes flick away from him and move Holmes looked at all my body, the curve of my belly I try to hide in baggy shirts. No, no way. The dress was not going to fit.

I gulp and reply drily, my throat growing tired from the shouting match. "Very well. We'll see about that. In the meantime, I advise you to call your entire roster and invite a lady to attend the ball with you just in case the dress doesn't fit, which is highly likely to happen."

"Please Miss Sylvia, enough. The dress will fit, we'll attend the ball and everything will go as planned."

"Very well, I'll do it myself then." I trail off, pulling out my phone and opening the app store, turning on my data and typing "Tinder" on the search bar.

"What the HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" Mycroft yells.

"I'm creating a Tinder profile to look for a lovely young woman to attend a gala tonight. I'm sure I will find many-"

"You most certainly will NOT." Mycroft replies sternly and yanks away my phone.

"Hey!" I protest but he has already pocketed it inside his suit jacket and turns his whole body to me menacingly. I actually flinch and recoil a bit and feel a tingle across my skin, the hairs on my arms standing up.

"Listen to me Miss Sylvia," He chides with an angry shouting-whisper tone. "I have had it with this insane tirade of yours. This is an important mission and, although unplanned initially, your presence at the event will go perfectly fine. I have thought about any possible foreseeable failures and all of them have been mitigated. Your ability to socialise and your dancing skills are neither important nor essential to the evening's success. And as for any possible social faux pas regarding the setting you're not used to, I will be there, beside you, all evening to guarantee they aren't too atrocious." He says these last words while turning forward again with a sneer of disgust. "Now please, I beg of you to stop your protesting."

After five minutes of total silence and me trying to control the cork about to burst on my mental breakdown I turn to Mycroft: "Tell me everything I need to know about these people and how to act around them. I want to know the etiquette, how I should greet them," I begin counting each point on a finger of my hand for emphasis. "Who I can talk to and for how long I should talk to them for, what subjects I can and cannot broach, how to excuse myself if something goes amiss, how to say I'm off to powder my nose and such phrases…"

Mycroft sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb on one side and his pointer and middle finger on the other. "This is going to be a long drive."

Anthea smiles happily at the scene through the rearview mirror, as does the driver, shaking his head from side to side in admiration and disbelief.

Notes:
This chapter was the fever dream that started it all! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Tune in next chapter for the godforsaken Ball! As always, let me know what you thought!