Summary: Mycroft requests a meeting with Sylvia. Word flirting? Word flirting. Mention of a past suicide attempt and anxiety.
Chapter 4 -Assassins and Poems
The next day I'm at home resting after having spent it cleaning my flat and sulking about because of Mycroft. Sherlock had been out with John since that morning so I'm sitting on the couch trying to read his blog The Science of Deduction, like an idiot. As we say in my country, I was like a bull staring at a palace, meaning I couldn't even grasp the concept of understanding it. I sigh at my laptop, tired of reading about the textile strengths of different natural fibers and open another tab to read John's blog. It was much easier to understand and I enjoyed reading about the cases they worked on together. As I sit smoking and sipping a cider, my phone starts ringing. Of course it's Mycroft, but why is he calling so late? Has something happened to Sherlock? My mind always rushes to that thought but then I remember how rude he was the night before.
"Hello?" I greet, trying to sound neutral.
"Miss Sylvia I apologise for the late hour but I require your presence for a meeting. It has been brought to my attention a matter of the utmost urgency and I need to brief you on the details. There will be a car waiting for you outside in 15 minutes."
"Ok sir…I'll see you there"
Click.
I hurry to the bathroom and check myself in the mirror. My hair looks okay and I pop a mint in to disguise the alcohol and tobacco smell even though I know it will hardly make a difference. I climb down the stairs and feel much too giddy for this. I shouldn't be this happy to meet Mycroft. And he mentioned an urgent matter so I really should be worrying and not borderline stimming with excitement. I step outside 221b Baker Street and a sleek black car pulls up. A man on the front seat steps out to open my door for me, and I climb in next to that same beautiful woman typing on her phone, who I have learned is Mycroft's PA, Anthea. When I mentioned to John that I was sent a car to pick me up to meet Mycroft he told me the story of his first meeting with him which I listened to with great interest. Mycroft acted like a Bond villain and that had made me giggle. I said a woman was in my car too and he informed me she was Anthea, his personal assistant. I briefly, or not so briefly, wondered if perhaps they were having a steamy workplace affair.
"Good evening" I say and fasten my seatbelt. When she doesn't reply I ask: "Where are we going?"
She looks up from her phone and replies in a practised manner: "Mr Holmes prefers not to divulge that information."
I nod and the rest of the trip is spent in silence. Since I have low blood pressure and I'm too shy to ask to open the window (they're tinted anyway so I'm sure they'd say no) I grab my little plastic vial of salt I always carry with me, and dip a bit of it into my hand then to my mouth, letting it's familiar sea taste rest under my tongue.
"You all right?" Anthea asks gently.
"Yeah it's just salt, I have low blood pressure."
"Right. Do you want some water or food?"
"Yeah, water would be great, thank you." I drink it and keep the bottle in my hand. We come to a stop and I climb out, following Anthea to the ancient white building with tasteful black gates I've learned to call the Diogenes Club. Really, Mycroft's secrecy is unnecessary and dramatic at this point, but I enjoy it anyway. It's mysterious and makes me feel even giddier not knowing where I'm meeting him. Stop it Sylvia.
After a maze of doors and corridors, Anthea comes to a stop and signals for me to go inside. "He's in there, be sure to knock." and walks away.
And so I knock and hear a calm "Come in."
I step inside and am greeted by the smell of whiskey and wood mixed with book smell. I am thankful, perhaps it may hide my own smells.
"Please, have a seat Miss Sylvia."
He points at the pair of rich leathery armchairs in front of his desk and I sit on the one to the left as he rummages through manila folders on a small table. I notice there's a glass with an amber liguid next to a crystal decanter on a small cocktail table to the side and try to deduce how much he has drunk.
He turns and follows my gaze and I instantly look down in embarrassment. He clears his throat. "How rude of me, would you like a drink?"
"No sir, thank you, I'm good." I reply, holding up my water bottle. The mere thought of smelling whiskey makes me almost puke due to suicide attempt number 1 resulting in a stomach wash with charcoal. I shudder at the memory.
"Tell me, do you recognize this man?" He hands me one of the folders and I open it seeing a burly man.
"Yes I…I've seen him at Speedy's Cafe. Who is he?"
He leans back against his desk and crosses his arms. "Sulejmani. Expertly trained killer. From an Albanian hit squad. Just moved into Baker Street a few doors down."
"Oh my God. I knew there was something about him." I stand up in a panic trying to read the folder and failing to focus on a single word, the plans of getting back at Mycroft for being rude to me completely forgotten. "What do we do? Is he after Sherlock?" I look up at him anxiously and he smiles, brow furrows in horrified confusion and at last he continues:
"That's interesting. Doctor Watson had quite an opposite reaction upon learning this information-"
"John knows? What…what do we need to do?" I twitch like a racer at the starting line, wanting to start running god knows where.
Mycroft frowns and straightens up leaning away from his relaxed position against the desk back to his towering self."Calm down Miss Sylvia there is nothing to be done at the moment. I do however want to inform you of the killer's identities."
"There's more than one?" I ask wide eyed.
"There are four assassins in total that have just moved in the vicinity of two hundred and twenty one…" he says looking at the small table to his left and I immediately run to it and start opening all the folders, interrupting his speech. He puffs and follows after, standing beside me by the table with all the folders open to each description and photos of the assassins. My eyes dart from one to the next, retaining zero information about them but at least remembering their faces.
"Who do they work for?" I ask.
"I suspect Moriarty."
I look up at him and am startled by how close he is so I instinctively move away and look back down at the photos.
"What do we do?" I hopelessly repeat.
"There's nothing to be done. For now we must wait. It is the best course of measure. I ask you to keep a closer eye on Sherlock-"
"But what if they try to kill him?"
"Miss Sylvia, if you would let me finish!"
"Sorry sir."
"I only ask that you keep a closer eye on him and don't allow him to act on any impulsive decisions."As if that was humanly possible, I think.
"What about John?"
"What about him?" He shakes his head, slightly taken aback.
"Well, what's his mission? I can help him."
"He doesn't have a mission Miss Sylvia he's not…you're not agents under my employment."
"I am, kind of." I look back down at the folders anxiously.
"No, that's simply an arrangement between us, and it's not up to you to do the job of a trained agent." he replies, wandering away to sit at his desk.
"So…you just want me to keep an eye on him and…" I let out a small sigh and stare down at the assassins' pictures helplessly. "Very well."
"What do you mean by that?"
I look up at him confused. "Nothing I just mean…it's an expression."
"Yes, one you tend to use quite a lot." I furrow my brow at him. "Miss Sylvia I've known you long enough to knowvery wellthat when you use that expression you are either amused, cross or about to say or do something rash. And judging by your furrowed brow I suspect it's the latter."
"I'm not… I…what could I do? I'm not a trained agent, I don't stand a chance against them. I swear I'm not thinking about anything rash!" I curse myself for using the wordswearlike a middle schooler being caught smoking by a teacher.
"As I've said, I simply wanted to bring this matter to your attention."
I nod, staring blankly at nothing. "Ver…" I roll my eyes and huff.
Mycroft smirks and looks down at me through his upturned nose. "You have something on your mind. What is it?"
I hesitate and shift my weight again. And it's Mycroft's turn to huff. "Miss Sylvia I don't have time for this, just say it."
"It's just…the amount of money you're paying me compared to what I do is…too big. Too much. So I was wondering if there's anything else you need doing that I may help with, not necessarily relating to Sherlock." As I say this I walk over to his desk, sitting down across from him.
"Like what?"
"Like running errands or…filling." I stutter, glancing at the folders.
"I already have a personal assistant and a complete staff for those things and I assure you the amount of money you receive is quite appropriate from what I imagine you have to put up with from my little brother."
"That's nothing, we're friends. I am being paid to hang out and I feel guilty about it."
He starts raising his eyebrows and slowly blinking for a know-it-all lecture about my great value as a glorified nanny cam but I continue before he can begin."Perhaps you have a repetitive mundane task that no one else wants to do. Like a room full of files that need to be digitised page by page."
"We do have an archive that is currently under that process but we do have archivists for that." he replies with a condescending smirk.
"I see." I reply, defeated.
Mycroft notices and frowns."Of course if you do want to apply yourself to something dull and repetitive there is a job I recall I need doing. My library is currently being remodelled after a mould issue and I need my books to be organised in a temporary location, using the Dewey decimal system of course. Would that be a dull enough task for you?"
"Oh yes sir I would love to! I..where is it?"
"In one of my private residencies outside of London."
"Oh. Okay. When can I start?"
Mycroft chuckles. "I see you've too much free time on your hands."
"I just want to be useful sir." I reply neutrally. The plea I've cried so desperately so many times in my head. "The devil's hands are the idles' workshop." I try to say in a joking manner with a small smile but I space out again and Mycroft's voice brings me back to reality.
"I take it you enjoy reading."
I am taken aback but happy to answer. "Oh yes sir I love it very much. I don't do it as often as I should but I do love it."
"Yes. And you write as well. Quite thepoetess."
"What?" My smile drops immediately.
"I've seen some of the… poetry you've published online."
"I've never…I haven't…published anything under my name. How do you know it's me?"
He tilted his head with his eyebrows raised. "Please, Miss Sylvia, do you really think anything you do on a computer or smartphone is private?"
I went as red as a tomato praying he didn't have access to my search history that was currently:
Mycroft Holmes
Mycroft Holmes brother
Sherlock Holmes brother
I noticed him eyeing me intently so I decide to ask the only next logical question.
"What did you think of it?"
"Of what?"
"My poems."
He inhaled deeply. "The few I glanced at seemed to possess a simple structure or none at all. The syllable count and rhyming scheme were at best-"
"No, I mean…what did you think of…the words?"
He raised his eyebrows and pouted his lips slightly. "They seemed to hold the common sentiments of a deep sadness and longing…" He paused, staring blankly at a pen on his desk. "Masking a quite fervent and endearing love for life underneath." He looked up at me then, his gaze piercing.
I look down completely and utterly embarrassed by his compliment. Was it even complimentary? I consider it so and I decide not to dwell on it, I'd be doing that for the rest of the day. Or month. I clear my throat. "I see. D-Do you write poetry?"
"I've dabbled in the craft occasionally. Although I'm not half as good as you at conveying the …vivid imagery."
I can't help but smile and chuckle a little.
"Have I said something funny?" He asks in a pointedly tone.
"No sir I just…I've never shown it to anyone before. I'm glad you liked them. I mean I…I'm glad you think that of them."
"I did enjoy them. You should write more."
My gaze goes blank again. "Yes well…those were written a long time ago, I no longer am so inspired."
One of his eyebrows raises. "Perhaps you should call to your muse for inspiration."
I look at him startled and even redder somehow. "I don't have..I don't need…I have a different muse now, one not so melancholic." I pause, clearing my throat and shifting in the chair. "So I write them differently now, not as sadly as before."
His brow furrows and he slightly tilts his head. "Now?".
"I write them on paper now." I reply with a smirk.
He returns with one of his own. "You should publish them. I should like to read your more recent work."
"You mean post them online sir, you make it sound like I'm a published author."
"The publishing process of the written media-" I can tell he's gonna start another lecture so I interrupt.
"I should like to read some of yours as well." He glares at me. "It's only fair since you've read mine. You can send them through the mail if you're afraid to post them online and have your boss read them."
Mycroft lets out a small amused laugh. "My boss is queen and country." He says, standing up and I follow suit, disappointed that he's about to end our meeting. I was rather enjoying talking about writing and talking to someone like Mycroft aboutmywriting was quite intoxicating.
"Well aren't they all our bosses?" I reply and he smiles, accompanying me to the door as a friend, an equal, someone he enjoys spending time with instead of just dismissing me from his desk like he's done before.
He stops and his playful lightness drops to a serious gaze."Rest assured Miss Sylvia, you are not in any immediate danger from the assassins. But do report to me immediately if anything happens with Sherlock."
"Yes, sir." I reply and he huffs.
"You can drop the sir Miss Sylvia, we've known each other long enough. Mycroft is fine."
"Well, then you drop the Miss and just call me Sylvia."
"Very well." he replies slowly with a sly smirk and I giggle, literally, like a schoolgirl.
I immediately regret it and reply: "Sorry, sir, hum, Mycroft."
"It's quite alright, have a good afternoon Sylvia." He opens the door for me and I step outside saying "You too." It sounds so weird coming out of my mouth without the sir and my heated face is thankful for the cold air. I'm feeling like I just came from an intense flirting session with my crush. This is going to be a problem but as long as he keeps up the playful banter, I ignore the warning signs of a dooming crush. I mean he did ask me to call him by his first name, so perhaps he considers me his friend.
Later that night
Stoic stance and a stone gaze
Towering over me like the Big Ben over the streets he controls
How can they call him the Ice Man
If he burns me to my soul?
I sigh and run my fingers over the page of my little notebook. This is going to be a problem.
Notes:
Yauza, things are getting hot!
JK, they will become hotter, but not without some hilarity first.
That little poems book sure seems ominous... I hope it doesn't come back to bite Sylvia in the arse later on.
FIRST NAME BASIS AT LAST
What did you think kind readers? Do let me know :)