Summary: Mycroft starts texting Sylvia for information about Sherlock. Chaos and awkwardness insue. Mentions of insecure thoughts, depressive mood. Mycroft is a bastard and super cute.

Chapter 2 - First day on the job

The next day my phone buzzed with an unknown number. Grumbling awake, thinking it was probably spam but never knowing if it could be from a job application, I answered cheerily.

"Hello?"

"Good morning Miss Sylvia, I am contacting you to inform you your first payment has been transferred. In addition I wanted to discuss the details of your part in this arrangement."

"Oh, good morning I, yeah I…okay, very well", I replied, clearing my throat, embarrassed that I couldn't disguise the cracks in my sleepy voice.

"I will require you to provide me details of Sherlock's whereabouts and general state of mind as well as his progress in the cases he is…applying himself to. You will provide them through text or call and the occasional in person meeting if required. I ask that you save my number with an inconspicuous name so as to not arouse his suspicion."

"Alright, understood. But well, I don't have your number, this shows up as unknown."

"Yes I am aware of that, I will be texting you shortly." I blush at my awkward way of interacting with people through the phone always leading to me cringing with embarrassment.

"Okay." An awkward pause. "I'll…I'll be leaving shortly to his flat. I'm still…not ready yet."

"Yes Miss Sylvia I know you're still in bed, consider this your wake up call. Talk later."

I open my mouth to reply but he had already hung up. I curse myself but at the same time feel excited to actually have something to do.

I open my bank app and am shocked to see the full amount of 3 thousand pounds transferred from "Transfer of Salary" , the exact same message it would appear if it was wages from a normal job. I worriedly wonder if he's embezzling government funds or paying me with taxpayers money and I shudder. I decide to try and ask him about it next time. I do not want to take money from the country of Britain or its public funds. His personal money is one thing, it still makes me uncomfortable but it's much easier to accept than some kind of fund from the "Sherlock Surveillance" department at a government agency.

Thirty minutes later I hear the ping of a text message. I had put my phone off vibration mode out of fear of not hearing it ring.

Miss Sylvia this is the number I'll be contacting you with to communicate via text. Please save it as an inconspicuous name. M

I went to save it, but couldn't for the life of me think of any normal persons name so I went back to the text and started typing a reply with shaky fingers

Understood. Thank you, sir. S

I paused, this seemed too serious and yet not serious enough. He called me Miss Sylvia and yet I had no name for him, then I remembered the M.

Understood. Thank you Mr. M.
S

I cursed myself for signing with S. He had texted me and obviously knew who I was. It was entirely unnecessary to sign my name.

I decided to save his number, after some much too serious and incredibly unnecessary internal debate as "River".

Later that evening

What is Sherlock doing at the moment? M

I immediately type a reply.

Looking under the microscope for something — I delete that, cursing the fact that English is not my first language.

Looking at a specimen of blood under his microscope for an experiment to see how long it takes for blood to congeal.

Very well. Keep me updated if he decides to leave his flat. M

I type out Yes sir but then delete it thinking it does not need a reply. Sherlock notices my fidgeting and asks:

"Are you texting with the man that offered you money to spy on me?"

I almost drop my phone to the floor. I can't fucking believe this.

"What? I-" and he starts one of his fast paced monologues I can barely keep up with.

"Don't bother. I can clearly tell by your nervous disposition upon arrival and attempt at an excuse to hang out that you felt compelled to by external forces. Additionally you keep watching me more closely than usual, stealing glances at me and asking me questions relating to my lab work which you always find boring and only politely inquire about before running your usual tirade of attempting to help me on my cases and ending up by asking philosophical questions about life and asking me to deduce things from the telly." He takes a breath. "Before finally trying to cook and convince me to eat some and then get drunk and giggle with John about me. You haven't done any of these things instead focusing on learning more about what I am currently doing. are obviously under someone's orders to spy on me."

I am shaking like a leaf. I don't know what to say. HOW COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED.

"I take it you took his offer. Speak nothing of this and we'll split the fee." Sherlock continues.

"But-"

"He doesn't have to know. You'll be a double agent. It'll be funn ." He pronounced this last word prolongedly and with a huge fake grin.

"He…you know him?"

"Yes. He's my older brother."

"What?!" I almost screamed and Mrs. Hudson comes up the stairs and pokes her head in to enquire about what's going on.

After trying to ring out of Sherlock more information about M I manage to know barely the same as I did before. His older brother, Mycroft Holmes, occupies or rather is the British government when he's not too busy being the British Secret Services or the CIA on a freelance basis (his exact words) and he is apparently the most appalling human being Sherlock knows. He is also a genius like him, albeit Sherlock considers himself far more intelligent and superior. Despite being an only child I attribute this to common little brother jealousy. They have to have some normal human behaviour. He demands I not tell Mycroft and I say it's no use as he'll most likely deduce it out of me the next time we meet. I go back to my flat exhausted by the new and ever changing information and revelations. My phone buzzes. I had put it back in vibration before going to Sherlock's flat to appear inconspicuous. I feel like a fool now.

How has Sherlock fared this evening? M

I hesitate, almost crying. I type out:

Sir, I'm sorry. He just said the moment I walked into the room he deduced I had accepted your offer.

I hesitate again but seeing as he has the flats surveyed and will probably wonder why I'm not replying I send it out. What's the use of prolonging the inevitable? Lies have short legs as they say and I don't think I'm physically or emotionally capable of being a double agent between two Holmes brothers. It wouldn't be right anyway.

The phone rings almost instantly and I curse every god for probably laughing their asses off at my day. I pick up without speaking.

"There'll be a car at your door in 10 minutes. Get inside it."

"Sir I-"

Click.

I croak out a frustrated and unbelievably painful sob and two nervous tears fall as I go to the bathroom like a robot, fix my hair, have a glass of water, put my warmest coat on and walk down the stairs almost lighting a cigarette as I do, but remembering the sweet image of Mrs. Hudson hovering worriedly over us, I stop myself. Outside I smoke as fast as I can, not bothering with a mint. The car shows up as scheduled and I toss the butt aside, feeling bad about it but not wanting to waste time finding a bin. Disgusting habit.

I get in and am greeted by a beautiful woman on her phone. I must look like a ghost because she eyes me sideways and goes back to typing on her screen. I say "Good evening" weakly and stay silent, destroying my fingernails.

At last a velvety sweet voice:

"Don't worry, he won't do anything to harm you."

I smile sadly at her and say thank you.

I exit the car and am led to a white building with glossy black gates. I notice the plate says "Diogenes Club".

She leads me through a maze of hallways and I hope it never ends and it turns out Mr. M…Mycroft is not there and this was all an elaborate Sherlock experiment. She knocks and after hearing a soft "Come in." opens the door for me and at last I see him. The mysterious Holmes brother. I had forced Sherlock to look up a picture of him on his laptop, refusing to just accept the man who had approached me was his actual biological childhood family brother. After confirming with the picture from a newspaper article I accepted this crazy new reality.

"Sit down Miss Sylvia."

I walk over to his desk and sit at the chair opposite his, feeling like I'm at the principal's office and wanting to cry again. With my hands in my pockets I dig my nails into my skin.

He interlocks his fingers at his desk and breathes in looking me up and down before beginning:

"So, what exactly did Sherlock tell you?"

I stumble through words trying to emulate his speech but level my nerves as I see M is not showing signs of anger. Of anything really. I end the speech and add:

"He also said you were his brother Mycroft Holmes and tried to convince me to pretend he hadn't found out."

Mycroft clenches his jaw and looks down for the first time. He looks back up a second later back to his icy demeanour.

"And at no point did you consider accepting his offer?"

"What offer?"

"Of lying to me." He replies with a fake smile.

"No, he said you were a genius too so…I said you would deduce I was lying anyway as well." I leave out all the details he told me about Mycroft, not wanting to get in deeper into their feud. I feel like a literal pawn between and it's starting to get on my nerves. Why can't they just speak to one another like John has suggested.

The corners of his mouth rise and he lets out a small scoff. "Did he tell you to say that?"

"No! He didn't tell me to say anything, he doesn't know I'm here "

"He knows by now."

I look at him and swallow. Hearing no answer he keeps going: "Well, you've shown some loyalty by being honest with me so I propose we continue this…arrangement."

"But Sherlock knows, he'll give me bogus information."

"Not if you tell him i fired you." He gives another of his creepy soulless smiles.

"I'm not playing any more games!" I raise my voice and he raises his eyebrows.

"I'm not a carrier pigeon between two childish brothers. If you want to know things about him, ask him, you're family for God's sake! I'll transfer your money back to you and just leave me out of this!"

He glares at me with that same disgust as the day before. I shoot up and turn to leave and he says: "Miss Sylvia! Sit back down. I have not dismissed you yet, and I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour in my office."

I eye him defiantly but decide against leaving, having no guaranteed ride home nor knowing where I am. I clench my jaw and return to my chair looking fixedly at the desk, trying to contain my anger and determined never to look at him again.

"Thank you. Now, Miss Sylvia I don't expect you to live some sort of double life nor do I require any carrier pigeons as you've so eloquently put it."

I relax, hating the sudden urge to smirk at the way he said carrier pigeons and the disgusted sneer I imagine on his prim and proper face. But I am resolute.

"I do however still require someone to look out for my brother. You have shown loyalty to him as well tonight, having his best interests in mind despite your little… fit."

I clench my jaw again and I bet he noticed and smirked.

"And you obviously…care about him."

At this I look up. He has a satisfied smirk on his face.

"How could you possibly know if I care about him?" I ask.

He makes a silent chuckle, only exhaling air through his nose and moving his head slightly. "He's the only person you see besides John. You don't strike me as the type who strives in isolation. Therefore you hold friends in high value. And yet no childhood friends, university mates, work colleagues, casual acquaintances. You're lonely."

I look down and wipe furiously at the tear that fell. "What do you want." A statement not a question. My voice cracks and I ignore it, clearing my throat and staring at the desk blankly. I don't mind feeling miserable and humiliated. It beats the numbness. Plus I've always been a pile of human garbage. Who cares.

"Miss Sylvia, I did not mean to" He clears his throat. "I simply meant that-"

I could see he was adjusting in his seat from my peripheral vision. Good. Let him feel bad. Let him beat himself up for hurting me. Revenge is a dish best served lukewarm while the emotions are still raw and piled on top of each other teetering and falling in a mess of changing circumstances.

He opens a drawer and takes out a box of tissues, sliding it over the table wordlessly. I hate to, but take one because tears and snot really are bothersome and gross. Thankfully there were just tears. I pat my face without moving and bury the tissue and hand back in my pocket to continue digging the nails into it.

He clears his throat. "My apologies Miss Sylvia I did not intend to upset you. I wish to continue our arrangement as usual, as if nothing has happened. Whether or not Sherlock chooses to deliberately deceive you in order to fool me is for me to decipher. You needn't worry. He always has had a tendency for the dramatic."

I look up slowly, hating the look on people's faces when I cry. Not bearing the thought of knowing they can see my tears. Hating to show my wet red puffy face. Mycroft swallows. I relax a bit, noticing how uncomfortable he is. Good.

"Very well. I…accept to be a triple agent then."

He shifts his jaw and looks down. "I assure you Miss Sylvia you will be nothing of the sort. Now please, there is a car waiting to take you home at once. I'm sure you've earned your rest with all the events of this evening." he says while getting up. I get up too and say good evening, nodding with a sad smile to hide the ugliness of my face and turn to leave. He was standing quite upright and seemed to have been mid-breath intake as if to say something, but was cut off by my farewell. Good.

I returned wordlessly, the woman in the car eyeing me with a deep frown while typing furiously on her phone. Thankfully she respects my silence and doesn't break it. I got home and went straight to my flat, ignoring Sherlock standing in his doorway eyeing me up and down deducing all my feelings. I cried from exhaustion and hurt.

The next morning around 1 pm the doorbell rang. I was still in bed after not being able to fall asleep for hours. I open it and it's a take out bag. I look around it and see no name or receipt. Sighing, I look at it, not wanting to climb the stairs to ask who it belongs to and not wanting to leave it there either. And not wanting to take it inside and get some poor worker star rating down. Schrodinger's bag. Triple Schrodinger's bag. My phone buzzes that I always carry with me because I can't fall asleep without rain sounds or podcasts. I look at it with groggy eyes and the notification reads:

River
It's for you Miss Sylvia. Please accept it as an apology for yesterday's events. MH

I'm too tired and hungry to smile. I merely slightly upturn my frown with interest. I pick up the bag and open it. It's my favourite traditional dish from my country, from an authentic cuisine place in London I've been meaning to go to. I am so grateful mostly because I consider offering readily made warm food to someone who is struggling a very kind gesture. I grab silverware, eat right out of the container and change River's name to Mycroft Holmes. I decide to eat before replying, not wanting to seem too eager. After I ate, I decide I have forgiven his rude comments. They weren't any worse than Sherlock's deductions towards me when we hang out anyway. And it felt nice to be seen. It felt refreshing to be known. At last I type out a response:

Thank you Mr. Holmes, that was very kind of you. I accept your apology. It was delicious, how did you know my favourite dish?

The reply is almost instant:

I'm afraid that's classified information. I'm glad you enjoyed it. MH

It was so stupid that he signed each text with his initials besides the very first one, the only one where it was needed. But I like the fact he changed it from M to MH. I smile and hold my face in my chin and decide to actually take a shower, put on clothes and go outside the house instead of mindlessly scrolling in bed all day. Sure, it was not motivated by me to improve my own life and well being but instead driven by the giddiness I was starting to feel towards Mr. Holmes the eldest but who cares. If I can't do it for myself, I gotta start somewhere. Might as well do it for the British government.

Notes:
I hope you enjoyed it and excuse any errors, my UK knowledge is limited.
Do let me know your thoughts by dropping a review! I would greatly appreciate it :)