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Hello, IT.

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Roy picked up the phone on the third ring, greeting the other end with a bored “Hello, IT” for the ninth time this morning. He glared at Jen’s office door to restrain himself from asking if the other party had already tried restarting their machine. It was a bet: he wanted to prove he could go for a day without saying it.

“Ah, Rich. How good of you to come. Are you done sorting the trash?” he asked, as Moriarty – Richard Brooke – stepped inside from his self-imposed task of cleaning out the computer graveyard, those devices that had been turned off for good and stored in front of the department.

“Yes, I’m almost—”

“Would you mind taking this one? It’s Brentwood from the fifth floor. You know how they adore you up there.”

“I don’t know, Roy,” Maurice interjected. “You have been delegating your support work by sending him upstairs and letting him handle their computer issues unsupervised ever since he started here.”

The slight emphasis on the pronoun ‘their’ and the jerk of his head conveyed the prevalent feeling of the gap between the IT department and the upper levels.

“What are you talking about, Moss? He already knows more about those people and their issues than I do.”

Maurice gave Roy a flat stare. “You wouldn’t know about their issues if they told you about them.”

“That’s not the point! The point is—”

“Guys! Guys, it’s okay. I don’t mind doing it,” Moriarty claps his hands together in what people read as an appeasing gesture, suggesting them to shut up without the need for words.

Despite being one of the leading businesses in London, Reynholm Industries’ security was shockingly lax. Moriarty needed nothing more than a fake CV and a hint at his father, once head of IT under the previous owner, to get the job.

The clicking of Jen’s heels announced her before she burst from the hallway, newspaper in hand.

“They featured my article, they really did!” She smoothed down the side of her skirt, then fingered her necklace with her free hand. “Ah, this is so exciting!”

Maurice and Roy both gaped at her. “You write?”

“Yes. This was actually Richard’s idea. I confessed to him about how I don’t think the job of head of IT is really it for me, how I’m really more of a people person and how I’d like to do more on that end.”

Roy threw up his hands. “So, you just decide to become a reporter.”

“Yes, you get to meet some very interesting people.”

Maurice just rolled his eyes.

She flung her copy of the Sun onto the sofa, picked up another newspaper. This, she handled with care.

“’Hero of the Reichenbach.’ Ah, that man.” Her fingers carressed the photograph. “Amazing how he does that. I’d like to meet him one day.”

Moriarty laughed, in-character for ‘Rich,’ of course. “Jen – or should I say Kitty? –, what would you say if I told you I could arrange that?”