So I've noticed that ther aren't many MycroftxOC stories and I just adore Mark Gatiss so I made this! (Mycroft is my lover)

I do not own Sherlock or any characters within. I only own Margaret.

Enjoy

"I'll ask you once more. Where is the disk?"

"And I'll repeat meself. I've gone and gotten rid of it."

"Where?"

"Mmm, I cannae tell ya that!"

"Very well."

A rather posh man in a suit stood from the chair and stalked out of the interrogation room with a scowl on his face. He slammed the door behind him and stood outside, staring back through the one way mirror.

"Told you she wouldn't crack." said the man next to him.

They stared for a while longer at the petite woman sitting in the room as she tapped a song out on the table. They watched her, of course, until her head snapped up and she stared right back at them with wide and disturbing eyes.

"Cor blimey!" shouted one of the men and the petite woman started to giggle.

"I think it's time we call him."

"I do believe you're right." He took out his phone, hit the number on speed dial and waited, listening to the ring. It rang three times before someone picked up.

"Yes? Hello sir. No-well, that's the thing sir. She won't talk."

He was silent for a moment, cringing now and then like someone was yelling and rolling his eyes to his partner, who simply chuckled.

"Yes sir, we've tried that. No-no sir, of course not. Yes sir, I understand. Thank you sir." he took the phone away from his ear and glared at it.

"He's on his way."

A young woman sat in the drab gray room in an uncomfortable metal chair, tapping on the table a song she had recently heard. These British Government people were so persistent, like they didn't know that she would never tell them anything.

She took her cap off and swept her fiery red locks from her face before putting it back on. Her forest green eyes scanned the room and took in the cracked walls and chipped paint. Obviously didn't put much money into this room.

As she looked around, the large steel door creaked open and the man form before stepped in with a pair of handcuffs. He bent down behind her and snapped them onto her wrist.

"Oi, easy there ya wanker!"

But he ignored her and simply marched from the room, leaving her cuffed to the chair. He also left the door open and her brow furrowed in deep confusion. She tried to wriggle her hands out of the cuffs but they were too tight. It wouldn't take her long, though, to get out of them.

She was just in the middle of getting the damned things off when she saw a pointed Italian shoe push its way into the room. Attached to the shoe was a long, very long leg, clad in a black suit pant. Fastened to the leg were another leg and a torso, clothed in a fine, elegant white shirt and suit jacket.

Finally, her eyes made their way to the top and she found herself staring at a rather thin faced man with a long, beak like nose and a pair of blue/gray eyes. His mouth was set in a thin line and he carried with him an umbrella, which she regarded with a fierce curiosity.

He propped the umbrella up against the wall and took a file from inside his jacket. The woman wondered how it fit in there. He moved over to the table and pulled out the chair opposite her. The screeching of the chair on the floor made her cringe. He sat and stared at her for a moment. She continued to work on the handcuffs.

"You expectin' rain?" she asked, nodding to the umbrella.

"Margaret Gladstone, born in Glasgow Scotland, daughter of Aileen and Calum Gladstone, only child, parents died five years ago, no other relations."

Margaret paused for a second, thinking it over before nodding.

"Sounds about right."

He shut the folder and put it to the side. He watched her and she tried not to move her arms too much, for fear that he may see what she was doing.

"Well, you seem to know all about me. Tell me about you."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss Gladstone. Top secret, you understand."

"Oh aye." she was almost done with the cuffs.

"Now, I need to ask you what you've done with the disk."

"Well, I've told yer boys what I'm about to tell you, I've chucked it."

"Yes, but where?"

"Eh, again, I cannae tell yeh." The door was still open. The poor sod had forgotten to close it. "Though I can assure you that it's safe as houses. No one knows where it tis but me, not even me client."

"You will not be leaving this place anytime soon, unless you tell us where you hid it."

Margaret gazed at him and he took her in with one look. They sat there for about five minutes, not speaking, just watching each other, until he looked back at the file.

"Well, Miss Gladstone if you will not cooperate I am forced to-"

"EURGGG!" Margaret screeched and ripped her arms from the cuffs. She jumped right over the table, smacking him in the face with her boot and sending him sprawling to the floor. She raced out the door and down the corridor.

"DON'T JUST STAND THERE, YOU IDIOTS! GET HER!"

Suddenly Margaret was being tailed by four large men in suits but her petite figure made it simple to outrun them. What she didn't count on were the other two men who jumped out in front of her. Thinking quickly, she ducked down and the men smacked into each other.

"Twits."

She continued to sprint down the halls, twisting and turning around corners without problem. That is until she hit the waxed floor. She couldn't stop so she slid, trying desperately to keep her balance but ended up hitting the far wall. Now on the floor she groaned and put her head in her hands.

That was when she saw the set of expensive Italian shoes walking up beside her. She looked up into the sickeningly sweet smiling face of the man from the interrogation room, though his face was a tad more colorful with a bruise forming on his jaw.

"I can tell we'll have a delightful time together Miss Gladstone."

"Please, call me Margaret."

"Mycroft." he stated thoughtfully as he pulled out a syringe.

"Is that your name or the needle's?"

He smiled amusedly as he brought the needle to her neck.

"Goodnight Miss Gladstone."

Well...?