Poor Jessica is dead, she's lookin' oh so purty and so nice she looks like she's asleep

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Mycroft, though he often seems lazy, does work every day of the year.  The last time he took a day off work was December 12th, 2000, which turned out to be a very bad day to be at home with the flu.  It is the lowest moment of Mycroft's career, in his opinion.

Still, his assistants have far more leeway than he gives himself and Jessica, his first admin assistant (as opposed to his first assistant, the ever reliable and indispensable Miss Morstan -- and her BlackBerry) had asked for two weeks off during the holiday season due to the birth of a twin niece and nephew.  Mycroft not only signed off on it, but sent her along with two silver spoons engraved with the newborns' names.  Because Jessica is a clever girl, she knew better than to ask how he found out the names despite not being told.

Thus, her last duty was to wrap the presents for John, Mummy, and Sherlock, before clocking out for a holiday to Carlisle. 

Mycroft arrives at his office early on a Sunday morning to two frantic texts messages and a very distressing sight.

Jessica, the ever dutiful, Jessica, is at her desk, her skin mottled, and the one of her high heels is sitting on the desk.  Mycroft, without even having to look (though he does) knows her feet are now an odd shade of blue.

This time, there is a note with the body:

I hate the decor.

Comments

I am not sorry for repeating this pun.

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"Tell him to come up with a better title than The Case of the Blue Cubicle." Besides the obvious -- Jessica did not work in a cubicle but in what should be one of the most secure offices in all of the United Kingdom, the title was rather, silly.

It is at this moment Sherlock's time runs out. The cleaners, a different team from the one Mycroft sent that day at Sarah's flat, have arrived.

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"I'm not your messenger," Sherlock points out just as two burly men give him looks. You need to leave now looks. Sherlock frowns lightly before he turns on his heels. "I'll have John ring you when I've cracked it."

Oh, but that's not what Sherlock wants to do, not really. He wants to use whichever poor soul is 'Y' to get another chance at Moriarty. Maybe sit down to tea.

That thought it more humorous to the usually stoic Sherlock than it ought to be.

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"I am sure he will update his blog when you do." Mycroft sniffs.

With the cleaners now starting their work -- Mycroft is well aware what the industrial plastic wrap is for, he would like to head back into his office.

"I take it you will be on your way?"

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"Why else would I stay?"

Sherlock smirks a little as he heads towards the lift. He has work to do. Or rather, he has a fan to go and meet. Would Moriarty make a personal appearance? God -- not that he actually believed in a God -- he hoped so.

"You've security to oversee."

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"I do, goodbye, Sherlock." It's not a social nicety. It's not a show for the cleaners. No, Mycroft acknowledges his brother's exit for the same reason he's done so many other things in his life.

It's Mycroft's way of saying, that Sherlock still has his attention, he still notices.