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Chapter Text

It’s been thirteen years but to this day she would still argue that in the end it wasn’t her fault. How was she supposed to know that a small house just outside the city would turn out to be an actual fortress? How was she supposed to guess that this little break-in would lead to her sitting in some dark room surrounded by (at least four) men wearing some unrecognizable uniform? And how was she supposed to assume that her life would change so drastically and oh so quickly?

She never did tried to argue over it with Mycroft, but if she did, she would have gotten one of his trademark looks, a slight chuckle and something along the lines of «I do believe that five locks and six other quite sophisticated security measures should have been your first clue».

As fair as that remark would have been, thirteen years ago she wasn’t trained in the art of spotting clues. She was, however, hungry, exceptional at picking locks, and incredibly frightened. Which is why when another unfamiliar man burst through the door and joined their little quintet, she was actually quite close to fainting ignominiously. She was so scared she didn’t even gave him a second look which was probably a mistake as he bore no resemblance to her current company.

In hindsight her first meeting with Mycroft Holmes couldn’t have gone any better.

But that was to be understood later, back then they were both far from realizing the impact that meeting would have.

- So, you thought, that, - she stares down but can feel his hand gesturing slightly in her direction, - to be an acceptable reason to distract me?

All he gets in return is an unsure silence.

- Alright off you go, - another pause and bemused chuckle, - go, Davidson. What do you think she’s going to do, stare me to death?

Uniformed guys escape the room quietly and quickly, leaving the two of them accompanied only by a small folder, resting in hands of the mysterious man. He sits down opposite of her, crosses his hand and looks at her with no expression.

- So. Andrea Chislett. Recently orphaned. Living relatives?

He does not gain a response.

- I would presume so. Age?

She jerks her head up.

- I’m nineteen.

- Seventeen, - he corrects. He sounds bored with the whole thing already, angry that someone would ask him to ditch everything just so he could observe her mediocrity. For some reason the thought of seeming mediocre (to him) makes her furious.

The man stands up, ready to leave and continues with his speech, but it seems his thoughts are already far away.

- The proper authorities are to be notified of your actions. You will, of course, be sent to an orphanage, but worry not - you will only have to suffer through it for a year.

He pauses for a second and turnes back to her, with somewhat curious expression. Takes a step back at her direction.

- I wonder what were you thinking about. I do realize that at first it was simply a mistake on your part, but seeing how elaborate the systems were, you must’ve suspected something was up, unless, of course, you are a complete moron.

She remains quiet. He sighs and turns back again, when she speaks - quiet but confident, scared but defiant.

- I didn’t even notice that. I mean at first there was just a lock and then another one - and I just though this one’s clearly paranoid. And then the third one and it was just so… interesting. And after that - harder and harder, it was just impossible to stop, you know?

When she looks at him again she is surprised to find something close to a grin appearing on his face.

- Alright then.

- - -

The board school isn’t that bad though it is fairly unusual - though in a few days of knowing mr. Holmes she began to view unusual as something to be expected from him.

They teach them math and science mostly, there are lessons on politics and somehow acting classes. They also teach them how to shoot. The whole program seems so chaotic yet she feels there is a system to it, one she is not yet able to grasp. Which is mildly annoying because everyone else seem to know the point of being there perfectly well. But she’s smart and curious. She does well.

So in two years, when it is time to graduate, she knows all there is to know about the relationships in Middle East and the internal struggles between labour party and conservatives; she knows how to extract a bullet from human body in field conditions and stop the bleeding; and she can shoot better than anyone around. The teachers adore her (as visibly as they can, considering all the specifics). Mycroft visits a few times over the years and it looks like he’s pleased. They never discuss anything aside her studies.

But she hears things from her classmates.

It’s nothing specific, but it seems like somehow by the age of just twenty seven, he’s managed to make a name for himself, yet no one knows exactly what lies behind it. He reminds her of one of those puzzles they used to do with her mom, and Andrea has always been naturally curious.

So when he comes at her graduation and asks if she knows what she wants to do next, she has an answer prepared.

- - -

He doesn’t argue, but does warn her that the work they will be conducting will not bring her fame, nor good night sleep. Nevertheless, she gets her own little desk and looses herself in the crowd of his PAs. She doesn’t get a job description (nobody here does). She just needs to do whatever mr. Holmes needs her to - preferably without requiring to be told to do anything, which is something she is also good at. In fact she quickly discovers she is probably great - because where mr. Holmes reads things and surroundings, she reads people. The job would come naturally to her - let alone after all the training she got.

It takes time, but one by one, other PAs disappear: as he gains a super soldier of sorts among his subordinates, there is no need for an army.

Soon, hers is the only desk left outside his office.

- - -

She doesn’t spend much time behind it though.

- - -

She is his magic wand - when everyone else fails and no other ways are possible, it’s Andrea he sends. In Belize she prevents a revolution. In Gana - deals with the attempted murder of an important public figure. In USA finds a terrorist group, ready to strike.

But this is fairly rare because her main job revolves around him. And given the weekly threats to his life and his absolute indifference on the subject of his own well-being, Belize, Gana and States are practically vacations.

- - -

Mycroft is in deep trouble after the failed attempt to prevent a military coup in Mauritania which doesn’t promise anything good for Great Britain. She notices the uneasy and suspicious looks people give him. A few evenings later he calls her into his office.

- It seems my position is quite shaky at the moment, - he says bluntly, - you might want to start considering a different career path.

- Sure thing, sir, - she replies without taking her eyes off the phone, - I’ll give you my notice tomorrow morning, and plan Her Majesty’s assassination by lunch.

- - -

People seem to think there is something going on between them, which makes her a bit homicidal. There is one kiss during the party in the embassy, six years into the job, which is planned as a distraction, but results solely in absolute relief on her part as it gives Andrea certainty. There is nothing there.

One time Stevens from Home Office tries to talk to her about it and she accidentally drops a coffee machine on him.

If any gossip is being spread after the incident, she is not there to hear it.

Chapter Text

She meets his brother her first year on the job. Her disliking towards him is apparently so clear, that Mycroft chuckles a bit, clearly amused.

- Well, my dear, - he never called her by name when it was just the two of them: neither has been associating her with Andrea for years and designated Anthea seemed way two formal, - was it his ridiculous hat that repulsed you so?

She laughs, but it comes off a bit dry.

Sherlock could wear a nightgown for a coat for all she cared.

But the cold look he gave her boss was not that easy to forget.

She does not get warmer towards the younger man for a long time: there are mornings when she comes to work to find Mycroft completely exhausted even though she knows he had no plans for the evening; there are days he leaves important meetings to go fetch his brother from another brothel.

There are a lot of things to dislike about him and so she does.

- - -

But then there is that:

A Summit in Vaasa which doesn’t promise anything sinister yet quickly evolves into a complete mess.

After Mycroft leaves her side to talk to some senator from minor European country, whose name Andrea doesn’t bother to remember, she is stuck with what can possibly be the most uninteresting men she’s even met. He is so boring it is actually astonishing - for the full half an hour he talks and talks, enlightening her about… well, something (she is pretty sure the subject is somehow related to the events unfolding in Syria).

She turns to her boss a few times to cast a look of complete despair, but he just smiles at her quite viciously as if enjoying her misery. She only wishes for his conversation to be as horrid as hers has been, but he seemes to be having a pleasant time and she knows better than to try and ruin something that looks like quite a successful interaction. So Andrea suffers quietly, only checking on her boss a few times.

- …the issue, without a doubt, is as complex as they get, but I do think that with enough patience…

Mycroft smirks at a joke his companion is telling and his delight seems to be genuine.

- …as different groups certainly gain more power than others, our community must make a choice…

It’s his turn to talk now, and boy does he take this opportunity, surely leading the discussion into a more serious root - from the looks of it, he is finally getting to actually turn to the main matter.

- …so I hope that any sensible man would agree…

Mycroft’s expression changes rapidly as he takes a step back. Andrea gathers herself, looking for a threat, but she is way too late: three shots are fired and suddenly there is a lot of screaming and running. She tries to make her way through the panicking crowd, pushing people away, almost looses the sight of Mycroft, but then - finally! - drops on her knees next to him.

There is a ton of blood, it is the first thing she notices - an ugly red stain spreads across his white shirt. Her hands are shaky - someone gently pushes her out of the way (she vaguely remembers later that the man informs her of his medical degree). Suddenly, her training kicks in and she is back on her feet, her eyes sharp as never before, scanning the crowd: looking, finding.

The shooter tries to flee, but she quickly apprehends him, swallowing the urge to shoot on sight. («Think, my dear, I would much rather have him alive and able to talk» - once you let Mycroft Holmes get inside your head, his smug voice doesn’t ever leave).

And then she freezes.

Because it’s not something they were taught in the academy. Because none of them were even supposed to stay at one place long enough to develop an actual connection to another person. Because it wasn’t some random agent bleeding on the floor, surrounded by a worried crowd.

Next she finds herself in the hospital with her phone clutched in her fingers. There is some texting going on, without her conscious realizing it: she looks down to see a very simple, short message.

«Vaasa Hospital, Bulevardi 13. Come. - A.»

- - -

Sherlock doesn’t come, but that’s not main first concern at the moment. In fact her priorities haven’t been changing for a few years now. And the most important thing in her life is currently lying on a perfectly white hospital bed.

She notices that he looks smaller - it is so unusual, she suddenly gets a bit scared and touches his wrist lightly, just to make sure. There is a pulse of course, which is clearly indicated by a machine, but she finds herself unable to trust anything but her senses. Andrea is so focused on an unsteady beating of his heart that she winces a bit, surprised to hear his soft and quiet voice.

- You can let go now, my dear, though I do appreciate the concern, we have much more important matters to focus on, - he waits for a second as she awkwardly pulls away and smiles a bit, - alright, then. Now, if my presumption is correct and there are nobody behind those doors, we shall do something rather unpleasant to take care of. I’m afraid, I’m going to need you to murder me.

- - -

After the successful assassination Andrea stays in a cheap hostel far from the center of the town. Closes all the curtains and reloads her gun. Looks disapprovingly in the darkest corner of the room.

- I still think it was unwise to discharge you from the hospital this early.

Mycroft nods thoughtfully, even though he isn’t actually agreeing.

- This is simply an opportunity one can not miss, - he explains, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. She gets closer and fixes his pillows - it’s not much, but it’s the best she can do, given the circumstances. She watches him carefully, but he seems completely untouched by everything that has occurred over the day. She knows better though, as she always does.

There are a lot of reasons for all of it, each one of them having more weight than the other.

Factor one: Mycroft Holmes is a wanted man. While his existence is unknown to the general public (though is heavily speculated amongst the conspiracy theorists), every member of British organized crime world wishes for his head while blowing their birthday candles. No one is indispensable, that is a given, but he is one of those rare people that would be damn hard to replace.

Factor two: there are sharks swimming in deeper waters, not willing to surface until the threat of Mycroft’s existence disappears. They are much more dangerous. Much better hidden.

Factor three: the two of them have been preparing staging his death for almost six month now, though in their minds it involved much less actual blood. But this - this is perfect. So many witnesses of the tragedy. A real murderer, currently in Finnish jail.

Factor four: there is already an article in the local paper and by the end of the day the rumor is sure to reach Britain. There was a shooting during UN Summit. A minor official’s dead.

- - -

Factor five is an unexpected one. It comes knocking at their door eleven hours after the announcement. She checks her gun again and makes sure it is impossible to see Mycroft from the door. Then - looks out of a small peephole and curses loudly, putting the gun away. Opens the door quickly, ready to pull their intruder in as fast as possible, but there is no need: he is eager to be in the room himself.

- Where is he, - Sherlock demands, his voice cocky and confident. She checks for anyone else, but the hall stays blissfully empty, so the door is closed again and she turns to the man, visibly furious.

- What the hell are you doing here?!

He smirks assertively and shakes his head. Something moves inside her because even though she’s only seen the man about a dozen of times total, she can feel that something’s wrong. But it’s just the moment and the feeling passes as quickly as it’s appeared, replaced with the usual annoyance.

- This is clear as day. Dead, oh, if only. It’s like you weren’t even trying. Mycroft? Mycroft?!

- I would greatly appreciated it if you wouldn’t be this loud, brother dear. While the…

This is the first time she doesn’t listen to something her boss is saying, because for the first time ever she actually has way more important things to observe. Because when she sees Sherlock’s shoulders relax suddenly, everything clicks.

It’s six and a half hours from London to Vaasa, taking into consideration taxi to the airport and all the other fuzz. Sherlock is not usually the first to learn any news. It takes time to deduce where they would be hiding.

That is what she would be thinking, were she unlucky enough to be born a Holmes. But why bother, when in that moment she reads his face so easily, it feels like she’s known him her entire life - nothing unusual, that is, in the end, how she got the job. And she sees a lot of things, but not one is as important as this: deduction didn’t bring Sherlock here.

Hope did.

It’s five o seven in Vaasa when Andrea decides she’s never going to hate Sherlock Holmes. But then again.

There are a lot of things to dislike about him.

So she does.