You remember the first time you stood in that room—so tall and cold, the ceilings reaching up like cathedral vaults, the whole place drenched in rich shadow and silence. The office of Mycroft Holmes wasn’t exactly welcoming, but neither was the man himself. He didn’t shake your hand. He didn’t ask for a résumé.

"You cook?" he asked instead, eyes unreadable. "Yes," you answered, clutching your recipe folder like a shield.

What followed wasn’t a job interview. It was an interrogation wrapped in velvet: questions about ingredients, knife work, pressure points, poisons.

“How fast can you prepare a meal under surveillance?” “Do you know how to silence a pressure cooker without losing integrity?” “Could you poison someone and have it look like the wine?”

You laughed nervously. He did not.

Then, without fanfare: "The position is yours. You start tomorrow. The house is warded, the security personnel discreet. I suggest you do not tamper with the third-floor study. That will be all."

Weeks passed. You got used to the quiet. The strange errands. The presence that was felt more than seen—until he walked into the kitchen in his perfect three-piece suits, murmured his appreciation of your risotto, then vanished again like smoke. You felt...oddly safe. Watched. But safe.

And then, the knife.

The stranger came in through the back door—how, you still don’t know. A hand around your waist, a blade to your throat, your hands still dusted in flour. "Message from Moscow," he whispered.

But before you could scream, there was a sound—like a sigh. Mycroft’s voice, calm, clipped, and cold as the steel of the cane he was pointing.

Click.

"I believe you’ve overstayed your welcome."

You don’t remember much after that.

Only that, when the man was gone and your knees gave way, it wasn’t the security team who caught you. It was Mycroft. Holding you by the wrist, steadying you—not gentle, not cruel, just...there.

"The kitchen will need cleaning," he murmured. "And you should sit. You’re shaking."

That was when you realized: in this house, dinner could kill. But so could its host.