Summary: After a member of a terrorist cell has escaped, Mycroft and Sylvia have to spend some time in a safe house together. Will they get along cooped up in one of Mycroft's properties all day?

Chapter 10 - Mycroft's Safe House: Day 1

As we ride to the safe house, Mycroft makes a few calls and types away on his phone and I am thankful for it because I couldn't bear to talk to him after tonight's debacle.I notice I'm fidgeting with my fingers through the gloves a lot, so I try to hold my clutch but end up fidgeting with it just the same. I decide to pull out my phone for a distraction and take one glove off so I can unlock it and text Sherlock. I desperately need something to do, something to occupy my mind so I stop thinking about Mycroft who is, at the moment, sitting next to me looking dashing, still in his tuxedo.

I type out: Hey Sherlock, are you and John okay?

He replies almost instantly and I can imagine his knowing smirk.

We're fine. Take this time to enjoy a little romantic getaway with Mycroft. SH

I click my tongue in irritation and put my phone away in my clutch.

"Something wrong?" Mycroft'svoice makes me jump a little. He had been silent for some time but had apparently put away his phone and was staring at me for God knows how long.

"Yeah it's just uhm- Sherlock being an idiot."

"My little brother does tend to do that." he replies with a sigh.

I smile and turn away to look out the window, already feeling the imminent awkwardness. I glance at the driver and, as if reading my thoughts, Mycroft says:

"We'll arrive in 20 minutes."

Great."Oh, okay. Thanks."

"I've had a room prepared for you and your belongings from the hotel will be delivered in the morning so as to not arouse suspicion. Until then, there's extra clothes and supplies you can use. I trust it won't take long to find him but it's best we be prepared to…spend some time there."

"How long?" I ask, apprehensively.

"A couple of days at least. Shouldn't be longer than a week."

"Okay…alright." Without thinking I bring a hand up close to my mouth and start biting my nails.

"Don't worry Miss Sylvia, we'll be perfectly safe."

I take it out and curse myself, wringing them together on my lap. "Oh I'm not…I know we will. Thanks." That's not what's worrying me, you idiot. I hopelessly think. I can't bear to look at him so I put my glove back on, and for the rest of the drive I look out the window and wring my hands together, almost ripping the fabric covering them.

When the car slows to a stop in front of a Victorian looking mini-mansion, I unbuckle my belt and open my door, not wanting Mycroft to think I'm expecting him to open it for me. I gaze at the tall stone building with giant windows and Mycroft opens a little metal gate, motioning for me to go ahead of him on a stone path leading to the entrance. I hesitate but walk ahead, hating that I'm still in heels. I struggle to balance myself on the stones and he moves swiftly beside me and offers me his arm. I tense my jaw and take it, being careful not to let our bodies brush together like I did at the Ball. I don't want to harass him anymore than I've already done.

As we reach the door, he takes out a small set of keys from the inner breast pocket of his coat and I remove my arm to give him space. He opens the door and walks in, turning on the lights and holding it open for me. I enter quickly and move aside so he can lock it, and I take in the house around me. Every wall has wood panelling and there are paintings and busts of historical figures everywhere. It's a bit darker than the other home I visited to organise his books that ended with me smashing his cup, ruining a book and cutting myself in the process. With my awkward hand holding as the cherry on top. I really felt guilty now, looking back, that I had been so forward with Mycroft and it made me cringe with embarrassment.

"I'll show you to the guest room, it's right through here." He declared, waking me out of my wandering thoughts, and leading me down a corridor with more paintings and even a suit of armour. He stopped in front of a wooden door and opened it, signalling with his hand for me to get inside. I do and find quite a luxurious room. Simple, but stylish and equipped with a closet, vanity dresser, a small desk, and a door leading to a private bathroom. I was thankful for that.

"The bathroom is fully stocked and there's some clothes in the closet and dresser for you to change into. I imagine you'd like to rest after the day we've had but if you're hungry, there's some dinner in the kitchen you can heat up."

"Thank you Mycroft, this is great. I will."

"If you need anything, I'll be in my study down the hall."

"Alright. Thank you."

He nods and turns to leave, closing the door behind him. I finally remove my shoes and grimace with pain as I press them flat on a carpet next to the bed. I remove the dress too, and place it gently over the duvet. After taking out all the pins on my hairdo, I remove my make up and take a quick shower. I place my underwear on a clothes bin and hope to God that Mycroft has cleaners who do the laundry. Otherwise, I will do it myself because I'll die before I let him handle my dirty clothes. I put on a fluffy white robe and open the closet to find a full women's wardrobe with anything from workout clothes to business casual attire. I raise my eyebrows and wonder if Mycroft perhaps lives with a woman or is used to having female visitors hence keeping this room stocked up. Then I remember he said he had this room prepared for me and blush at the thought of him picking out all these clothes. Really, it was excessive. The bathroom was full of feminine products from makeup and hair conditioner to tampons and pads. He really was prepared for anything.

I decided to grab some casual suede pants and a light blue sweater, before walking to the dresser and finding underwear in my size as well. It could be a coincidence, but Mycroft did know my size so I suspected he had sent for someone to buy all this for me. It made me feel really guilty. He didn't have to do all that.

After finishing putting everything on, I place the dress neatly on a hanger and put it inside the closet along with the heels. I walk over to the kitchen, my hair still damp, my make-up removed along with all the glamour of the evening and check the fridge. I find one of those ready-to-eat meals of pasta with chicken and pop it in the microwave. As it heats up, I search the cabinets and drawers for a plate and silverware and a glass. I find some orange juice in the fridge and drink a glass full of it, not realising how thirsty I was. I eat my meal in silence and stare at Sherlock's text bitterly. I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or if he had deduced Mycroft had feelings for me. He clearly didn't, and I suspected Sherlock wasn't very good at deducing people's feelings, always claiming to hate sentiment. Plus, I knew from John that Moriarty had called him the Virgin so I wondered if he really had ever had sex. Maybe he just wasn't interested in it and was ace, which seemed quite fitting for him. I wondered if Mycroft was the same.

After eating, I washed the dishes and left them in the sink to dry and made my way through the house. I saw light coming from a room and walked in it quietly, seeing a fireplace, two armchairs with a table between them and a small bar area. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books from floor to ceiling and I walked by them, reading the spines and trying to make out if they were the same books I had started to organise at Mycroft's other property. They didn't seem to be, but they were just as rare looking, with rich leather bindings and gold lettering. I briefly wondered just how rich Mycroft was that he could afford to have several mansions fully furnished with every luxury. Suddenly, I hear Mycroft's voice coming from the open doorway.

"Find anything interesting?" He says, leaning against the door frame and holding a glass with amber liquid inside. He had changed out of his tuxedo and was now wearing one of his three piece suits, without the coat on. I glanced at his sleeve garters and quickly looked away, not wanting to stare.

"Oh, I was just looking, sorry."

"You're welcome to read any of them if you'd like."

"Thanks." I manage an awkward smile

He nods towards the bar table. "Would you like something to drink?'"

"Yes, please."

"Any preferences?"

"Hum, I don't know…some-something sweet. Do you have port wine?" If anyone would have my home countries' signature drink it would be Mycroft.

"I believe I do." He replies, wandering over to the small bar.

I make my way towards a large window and look at his darkened garden. I felt relieved he had one, so I could go outside and walks over to me and hands me a small chalice, the cup that usually used to drink that wine.

"Oh, thank you! You even have the cup!" I reply, smiling and take it from his hand. Iawkwardly use both hands to take the cup, and avoid brushing my fingers against his. I bring it close to me and smell its content, closing my eyes at the memories it brings me of late nights in university with what I thought would be my friends for life. I take a sip and shudder at the bitter taste, but welcome it.

Mycroft notices and asks: "Is it not to your liking?"

"No, it's perfect Mycroft. Tastes like home. Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me, Miss Sylvia"

"I know it's just…this is all amazing Mycroft, it's more than enough. You have quite an impressive home."

He turns his nose up with pride. "I'm glad you approve."

I turn towards the window and look at the night sky, the memory of our painful conversation creeping up in my mind. Mycroft takes another swig as well and I notice he has topped his drink up. I wonder how long he had been drinking and if he had any dinner at seems to notice my nervousness as always, and says reassuringly:

"Despite everything, tonight was a success. As soon as the runaway terrorist is located we can go back to our normal lives. Until then, I'm afraid we'll have to stay here."

"It's alright. I'm glad we can be safe here until then." I offer, looking ahead. I don't know what else to say and I'm way too nervous and self conscious to make my usual banter with him.

"Miss Sylvia…" He starts, with a slightly wavering voice.

"Yes?" I reply, turning to him and looking up at his eyes expectantly. My voice came out raspier than I wanted.

He seems slightly startled by my gaze but quickly composes himself. "I'm going to turn in now. Good night." he smiles politely.

"Good night Mycroft." I smile back at him and look down at the deep red liquid in my cup. As I hear his footsteps fading away, I take another swig and lick my lips. I close my eyes and let myself get carried away by the memories of all the times Mycroft has touched me. And all the times I touched him, and he didn't flinch away. He let me linger on his hand and wrist, admiring his ring. He let me linger on his arm at the ball. I open my eyes, set down the glass and head into my room. Stop dreaming Sylvia.

Notes:
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