Chapter Text
Mycroft Holmes stood at the far edge of the window in his study, which faced the courtyard of the neighbouring property, and had been watching the goings-on for a while now. So today was the day of the move-in. It had been announced for some time. The last scaffolding of the new building - an unusual architect's house with clean lines, rectangular narrow windows facing the street and a modern paved driveway - had already been dismantled in September. Now it was the end of November. The interior work seemed to have been completed last week. Mycroft had watched the building owner with the site manager and architect last Monday as they had said goodbye in front of the house. It had looked official. Documents had changed hands. Enthusiastic handshakes. Mycroft had not yet met the new homeowner in person, but of course he had already had a dossier drawn up. Not him personally. The department responsible for his personal security had taken care of it. He himself only knew some key data that his personal assistant Anthea had put in his daily folder. Helena Schneider, a professor of medicine from Berlin. She had accepted a position at Queen Mary University - in the faculty of forensic medicine. Recently widowed. Two children. Eight and seventeen years old.
It was Saturday. For some time now, Mycroft had been allowing himself the luxury of not going to the office at weekends, but working at home. Provided there was no acute crisis. By now, a collapse of the country had to be imminent before he was called on the scene. He had gathered a small group of capable colleagues around him in recent years, recruited over time, through recommendations and internal transfers. Anthea had by now developed a good sense of human resources. Whenever a CV landed on her desk that sounded interesting, she would first take a look at the person herself. Only if they could withstand her stern gaze was Mycroft informed. It took a while to gain his trust, but with the four-eyes principle, Anthea and Mycroft had now built up a team of six loyal employees, which in the meantime made delegating easier for him.
It was late afternoon - Mycroft had just put on tea and made himself comfortable at the breakfast counter in his kitchen with his daily pile of newspapers when the doorbell rang. His eyes fell on the digital clock on the wall opposite. A quarter past five. Who could that be? He was not expecting anyone. Anyone who knew him knew better than to turn up at his place unannounced. Sherlock wouldn't bother ringing the bell. A glance at the monitor app on his mobile phone gave him certainty. Mycroft got up and walked through the kitchen into the entrance hall. Before opening his front door, he took a second, took a deep breath, stretched his back...
"Good day! What can I do for you?"
"Oh, hmm, hey! My name is Helena. Helena Schneider. I moved into the house next door today and wanted to take the opportunity to introduce myself to my immediate neighbours. I hope the construction work wasn't too much of an imposition."
"Not at all. Well, welcome, Miss Schneider. My name is Mycroft Holmes. I hope you have arrived safely. I see the removal vans have already left!"
"Yes, yes, the company has been very efficient. I can hardly believe it myself! We just have to unpack the boxes. I guess that will take some time... Anyway, so, my two children and I will probably run into you more often now. Hmm... I'd like to give you my card... I don't know if it's customary here. We moved here from Berlin. It was always important to me to know who lived next door. So, if you ever run out of milk...! If you like, you're welcome to come by in the next few days."
"That's very kind of you, Miss Schneider. Wait!" Mycroft reached into the watch pocket of his waistcoat and in turn handed Helena his card.
"Mycroft Holmes. What a beautiful name! I am delighted to meet you!"
"The pleasure is all mine. And again, welcome! I hope you and your family are settling in well."
"Thank you! Have a good day!"
As he closed the door, he looked at the business card in his hand. Creamy white, high quality thick paper. Helena C. Schneider and a phone number. Plain. Elegant serif font. Mycroft raised his eyes and stared at the closed door for a moment. A strange feeling spread through his chest. Not unpleasant. It felt warm. Connected. Deep in thought, Mycroft entered his study, opened a drawer of his heavy Art Deco black lacquered steel desk and took out a grey manila envelope. HS was written in discreet handwriting on the front.