Anthea sat behind the wheel of a huge black car with tinted windows. It was an antique. She didn't doubt that it had once been used to drive Soviet party members. That was part of the reason that she had chosen it. She suspected that it would stop bullets unlike the tiny modern cars that she passed on the roadway.

The town looked modern now. It could almost be London, but the traces of it's history revealed itself in the war memorials and the names of the streets. There were new wars going on now. Wars that no one ever talked about. Wars that most people never saw, and she was in one. A soldier in her own right, although you'd never recognize it from her sculpted hair and high heels. She had never thought, back in her youth when she had learned to drive by going round and round the drive of her boyfriend's estate, that she would one day be in Eastern Europe behind the wheel of a huge monstrosity of a car going to pick up two people who would, by most definitions, be considered spies. That would make her a spy by association. She smiled as she tried to think which 00 number would be assigned to her.

She parked the car along a tree covered road. The shadowy light of early evening made outlines unclear even as the trees glowed brighter in the blue twilight. She unlocked the back doors and waited.

Before long, the door opened and he climbed in, wearing a big coat and a fur-edged hat. He dragged in the body of another man, thin, long-haired, and covered with scratches. She looked twice before pulling the car out, heading to the next town where she had set up an office just the way that he liked it.

At the stop sign, she took a moment to look down at her phone, which she had balanced in what used to be an old style mobile telephone holder. That marked the age of this vehicle more clearly than anything else. Unlike the bulky black phone it was designed for, her phone was thin and flat with a bright display showing a series of charts, and the crown icon that meant that all was well in Brittania.

She glanced over her shoulder and watched as Mycroft used a handkerchief to wipe his brother's brow. She smiled, speeding up as she got onto the highway. Seeing Sherlock Holmes half-dead with long, ragged hair that made him look like a wild animal was odd, but not outside expectations considering his hobby of dressing up as a homeless person. The strange thing was seeing Mycroft Holmes in disguise. It was a novelty to see him without his customary suit on. He looked so different than he had that first time that she had met him.

She had been dressed her best then. A stunning brunette in light-teal silk, she looked far too fine for the stuffy academic hall that she stood in, all wood grain and brown leather. Oxford was full of wood grain and brown leather. Consequence of being an old place drowning in tradition.

It wasn't completely traditional her being here. In days past, no women were allowed in these hallowed halls, except for the cleaning staff. She was certainly not staff, although she was serving in a way. She had planned this party, right down to the timing of the courses, and the thickness of the red and gold coasters in the smoking room.

Planning parties was something that she did effortlessly. She had planned her first function while still in primary school and people were still talking about it. She was here because of Helen, a former schoolmate, who had tracked her down and asked for her help. Several important government officials had agreed to attend, and Helen was frightened that alone, she would make a rum job of it. Helen had begged, and pleaded only stopping when she noticed her pulling out her phone to search for a decent pair of shoes for the event. She knew that once she had started seriously thinking about a problem, then she wouldn't stop until she had solved it.

It was the details that made a function work, and her parties always went flawlessly because she could see in her mind's eye where everyone would be and anticipate what everyone would want. By the time that the party actually started, however, she was bored with it. There was no more mystery. People walked where she expected them to walk. Mingled where she expected them to mingle. Snuck out to smoke a fag where she had planned them to do so. There was rarely anything unexpected once the guests began to arrive. She already wanted to go home.

Only two things kept her here. One was her bespoke teal dress that she had had specially dyed, with shoes to match in a subtle shade that had not been seen in such a dress for the last five years. It would be a shame to go to such trouble only to leave after the first thirty minutes. The other reason was the fact that Helen had been her loyal friend at the girl's school that she had started at before her parents had traded up to a more prestigious one. She was a simple girl with long blond hair and moderate intelligence but she had stayed her friend when others had rejected her for being too pretty (As if she would want to steal their dates!) and she had always liked Helen's classical name so unlike her boring one. She was standing in this room because Helen would probably implode if she wasn't close by in case of emergencies.

Today's function was in honor of the recent graduates of the Philosophy, Politics, and Economics degree. They were golden boys and girls waiting to take their place in the halls of government. This dinner was a mixture of tradition with a bit of fun mixed in. The politicians got a chance to visit their alma mater, get a good meal under their belt, and possibly find a new aid, while the graduates got a chance to mix and mingle with those in power.

Helen aspired to some mingling of her own, especially with a certain graduate by the name of David who was, by all accounts, a rising star on the political landscape. He had a nose for power that she couldn't help but admire.

Politics had always fascinated her in a logistical kind of way. How people and words could elicit large scale actions to occur. It was a sort of hobby of hers. Not her major of course. None of this was what she had come to University to study, but that didn't make it any less interesting. As she looked around the room she could trace the lines of power and connection from one person to the next, but 'people watching' had never been something that interested her.

Helen, however, was in her element, greeting people and shaking hands. Anthea stood nearby, close enough to the door to give the impression that she was participating without being close enough to have to talk to anyone. She was considering going to the cloak room where she had hidden her purse. Why had she left her phone in it? She might have passed the time playing a game. When she noticed a man standing beside her.

He was an older man, but not as old as he dressed, brown hair with a hint of red, blue eyes, and an unreadable smile. She was surprised, because she hadn't noticed his approach. He seemed to be one of the politicians invited, but she had memorized the faces of everyone on the list, and he was not one of them. Could he be someone's political aid? Hardly. Something about his gaze told her that he understood who the real planner behind this party was because it was the same job that he had held somewhere else. He smiled at her and then turned his face away. She stared at him.

He wore a teal tie, but it wasn't just that it was teal. It was the exact shade of teal as her dress. No one sold that color, not this season. She had researched it thoroughly. Where had he got that tie? She wanted to ask, but the feeling that she already knew the answer held her back.

She watched as David (yes, that one) walked up to the man and held out a hand.

"Mr Holmes, I've heard so much about you. I'm so glad to finally meet you in person."
"Ah, yes David is it? and how is your father?"
"He's well."
"And your brother, did he enjoy his trip to Greece?"
"How did... I mean yes, he brought me back some olive oil. Don't know what to do with it. I don't do much cooking myself."
"Well, perhaps the young lady will be able to find a use for it," he said nodding toward Helen who glided up to David's side taking his arm.
"David, do you think that you might be able to introduce me?"
"Certainly, Mrs Helen Bakersfield-Keaton this is Mr. Mycroft Holmes a very important man in the government."
"Charmed Miss Keaton, but he exaggerates. I only hold a minor position."
Anthea waved a finger to get Helen's attention and nodded toward the man. Helen raised an eyebrow at her, and then turned toward him. "Oh, Mr Holmes. This is my good friend Patricia Sutton."
"Hello," she said taking his hand.
He gazed at her with an intensity that suggested that he was reading her down to the molecular level. Then he smiled. "Enchanted," he said.
"So, Mr Holmes, who did you arrive with? Did you come with one of our guests?"
"I suppose, Miss Sutton, that you are referring to the fact that I was not on the guest list. I apologize for coming to your party unannounced. There was someone here that I wished to meet."
"Oh no, I didn't mean to make you feel unwelcome. I only wanted to know if you needed me to set a place for you at dinner."
"Oh yes, you can sit beside me," David said. "Helen can you change the cards?"
"But I have you next to the deputy chairman."
"Please don't bother yourself on my account," Mycroft said.
"No, really, it's no bother. I'll go handle that now," David said before rushing off with Helen at his heels.

Anthea (Patricia) brushed back a lock of her dark hair and smiled at the man. He must be someone important for David to be that flustered, but she had never heard his name before. She wanted her phone so that she could google him. She plastered a smile onto her face wondering how soon she could leave to get her bag without seeming rude. "So Mr Holmes, you came here for business? Who is it that you wanted to meet? I'm sure that I can help you find them."
"Would you believe it if I said that I came here to meet you?"
Patricia laughed. "Why Mr Holmes, you flatter me?"
"I assure you that I am serious. Might we have a chat over dinner?"

"Well, I won't be sitting at the head table."
"Not here. My car is waiting at the side door."
She frowned. Through no fault of her own, Patricia had inherited startlingly good looks. An interest in fashion and pride in her appearance made it so that she always tried to look her best. Sometimes this made others mistake her for quite a different type of hostess.
"I'm sorry, Mr Holmes, but if you..."
"You mistake my meaning. I am not seeking a liaison of a romantic or sexual nature, no. I read your paper."
"Excuse me?"
"Technical Vulnerabilities of British Government Finance Servers. Brilliant work!"
"Interesting that you should think so. I didn't think that anyone had seen it. They refused to publish it."
"Only the fifth undergraduate essay to be classified secret by the government since Oxford's founding. Quite impressive."
"And yet you were able to get a copy of it."
"I have been following your studies for some time."
"Have you?"
"I'm sure that if you take a moment to think about it, you will realize the truth of my words."
"Your tie. That shade isn't sold over the counter. You must have had it specially dyed."
"Things of quality often take time to create. How long have you been planning this event, Miss Sutton?"
"About four months."
"It is quite tasteful. One can see the care that has gone into planning it. I am impressed."
"Mr Holmes, would you mind telling me how long ago did you order that tie?"
"I ordered it about four months ago."
"I'd be honored to go to dinner with you, Mr. Holmes."
He smiled, and held out his arm. She put her arm in his, and let him lead her away.