Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Twenty

Margaux sat at her desk inside her small office which was hidden down a rarely-visited nook of the university. She took a break from marking coursework, placing her pen down on the mound of papers and stretching out her fingers to ease her aching hand. Her favourite song began to play from her laptop. She leaned back in her chair, humming softly and allowing her mind to wander, for just a moment, into nothingness; no worries, no commitments, no memories or feelings. Just music.

It wasn't long before a knock at the door concluded her moment of peace. She sat upright and turned the volume down on her laptop.

"Yes?"

The heavy wooden door opened with a creak and into her office stepped Mycroft.

"Oh no, what's happened?" She sighed.

"Am I not allowed to pay you a visit?" He replied dryly.

"You're allowed. But you never do. Which is why the sight of you in my office is, quite frankly, a bit unsettling."

"Fair enough." He glanced around the room. The cluttered shelves and mismatched furniture were enough to raise his blood pressure. He decided to remain standing. "I've tried to have you brought to me, but Anthea informs me that you refuse to get in the car."

"Because normal people send texts, Mycroft, they don't have their assistant pluck the person off the street," she replied. "What can I do for you?" She picked up her pen and returned to marking her students' work.

"I..." Mycroft closed the door before continuing. "I came to offer you a job."

"If it's to spy on your brother then absolutely not."

"Sherlock is already... well-monitored."

Margaux raised an eyebrow.

"No, actually, for once this has nothing to do with my exhaustingly difficult brother," he continued. "There are many... things... that happen behind the scenes, without which the country would either crumble or explode into outrage. Things we don't even tell Her Majesty."

"I gathered that after almost being killed by Jim Moriarty, yet somehow being admitted into hospital for a 'fall down the stairs'." She air-quoted.

"Precisely." He stepped further into the room, examining a shelf of knickknacks as he spoke. "A large, well-oiled machine is required to make these missions run as smoothly as they do. Private autopsies, a removal or... 'reinterpretation' of evidence, a–"

"Ah okay, so you're asking me to leave my job here... to help you cover up government conspiracies." She couldn't help but laugh.

"Well you don't exactly want to be a teacher for the rest of your life, do you?"

"What's wrong with being a teacher?"

"Nothing. But is it what you... want? Isn't it exhausting having to juggle such a structured job with raising a child?"

"Well I've been doing it just fine for almost two years now. I hope you ask your male employees that question too."

"Of course. But you understand why I ask that of you in particular; what with Vaughan's father being rather... unreliable."

"He's just distracted with his new girlfriend," Margaux replied matter-of-factly, brushing her hair out of her face with her fingers. "It's fine. I don't suspect it'll last long."

"His new... girlfriend?" he felt the sudden urge to sit, almost dropping to the armchair beside him.

"Mhm. I hear he's rather smitten." She enjoyed watching his face twist into utter confusion.