Chapter Text
As Sarah Garner left 221 Baker Street, she adjusted the worn leather bag over her shoulder. A car pulled beside her, and as she usually did when she received unwanted attention on her way to the university, she put her head down and hurried, surprised to hear a woman’s voice. On a normal day in a normal apartment, she never would have settled into the car, but something told her this would have to do with the detective within. No alarm went off in her head that she’d be injured. She rather expected this might be a test from the man upstairs. She’d seen bullet holes scattered through his apartment and door. Kidnapping her didn’t seem too out of character.
She followed the sharply dressed woman who had picked her up, watching as she texted. They wound their way through bland hallways, reaching an office at the end of a final hallway. She felt as though they were reaching the final round, turning into the door and standing before the desk. Her arms stayed crossed tightly against her chest, brow furrowed. In front of her stood a tall man who somehow managed to be more impeccable dressed than the woman who picked her up. Her hands smoothed over her pencil skirt, shifting under the weight of his gaze.
“Ms. Garner, I presume?” he said simply, motioning for her to sit. She lifted a brow, staying standing and giving a curt nod instead.
“Yes, I am,” she nodded curtly as her hands stayed settled on her hips. “I’m sorry, but given how I arrived here, I’m tempted to forego formality.”
“A fair judgement.” The man stood and she watched as he strode gracefully to pour himself a drink. “Would you care for one? It could help ease your nerves. And please, have a seat.”
“I don’t take drinks from strangers.” Despite her better judgement, she sat, watching him swirl the tumbler and take a sip. He tilted his head and his eyes narrowed. “Now, might I ask what has me here? I'm a student, I can’t see why--”
“You’re pursuing your PhD in literature. Your presentations at conferences last year focused on ‘oft-maligned genres,’ as you put it. Personally, I fail to see the appeal. Horror and comic books. Most leave those interests in their teen years.”
“Most fail to analyze them properly,” she bristled. “Not my primary research interest anyway. Again, I ask why I am here. And now, I ask how you know that.”
“Oh you’re no fun,” he said, leaning back as he returned to his seat. He moved his attention to his glass, swirling the liquid within. “Take a guess.”
“I’ve found myself drawing a blank. You’re not as menacing as you think you are. The more you talk, the less I fear for my safety.”
“Hmph, I suppose I can let the cat out of the bag. First and foremost, I’m Mycroft Holmes. Brother of Sherlock. I’m sure Mrs. Hudson introduced the both of you.”
“Are all of you so dramatic?”
“Excuse me?” he asked, setting his glass down. “How else was I supposed to speak to you?”
“Oh, now you’re the one being boring! You could befriend me. Call me. Email me. Your brother called you the government. Frankly, you do seem more well put together than your brother.”
“He’s experiencing a brief setback, yes. And that’s all you need to know about me. What I’m here to do is request you let me know if you hear of anything my brother is up to. I have my own means of keeping tabs on him, but I do suspect those walls are thin. Obviously, I will reimburse you.”
“And if I opt not to play along with you distorted family dynamic?”
“I’ll simply make your life as difficult as I can. I have my ways of keeping tabs on you as well, my dear.”
“I opt out with a caveat,” Sarah offered, chin held high. “He seems a danger. I can tell he’s on something. I’ll report the gunshots and any fits I may witness to you. Other than that, it’s you communicating with your brother. On the phone or by dropping by. Not weird theatrics.”
“It’s better than nothing, I suppose,” he conceded. “We’ll revisit my offer later?”
“No, we won’t, Mycroft. I’ll be too busy with teaching and school to be your brother’s keeper. I can discuss him with you, on occasion. But I won’t be a paid snitch.”
“Well, would you concede to these discussions happening over dinners? If I won’t get my way, I’d at least like to be seen out with a beautiful woman as a sort of pity prize.”
“If you want to take me to dinner, it will have to be personal rather than business. That said, flattery won’t sway me any more than money will. Now please have that car take me to the university. I'm meant to be teaching a class soon.”
“Pity,” Mycroft replied, voice even as a ghost of a smile played on his lips. “You will be dropped at whatever building you need. I’ll be checking in with you soon enough.”
As the sleek black car made its way to her class, she found herself contemplating what she had gotten herself into. She lived in a flat below a man who she’d recently learned had faked his own death, come back to life years later, was probably hooked on something, and liked shooting the walls at random. And now she knew he had a brother who liked kidnapping her and offering her money to spy on him. Now, Sarah found herself glancing at each CCTV camera, each public phone, with distrust. And rightly so. Mycroft Holmes had expected her to take him up on his offer easily. John Watson had made him unsure, but Sarah was a student. She probably needed the money and hadn’t known Sherlock when he wasn’t high. Her refusal found him in his office, drink in hand as he watched her go into the lecture hall.