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Ivy Liu takes a slow drag of her cigarette, watching Sherlock with those sharp, unblinking eyes that seem to s...
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A New Path
The year was 2005, and Oxford, with its centuries-old traditions, seemed to stand still in time. But for Ivy Liu, time had moved forward in ways she hadn't anticipated. Four years had passed since her first admission to Warneford Hospital, a place that had left its mark on her more than she cared to admit. It was the beginning of something, a turning point, though she had been careful never to let anyone know how deeply it had affected her.
Since then, life had been oddly quiet. Too quiet.
Ivy hadn't had another episode, at least not one that warranted another hospitalisation. The psychiatrist, Dr Wilson, had been satisfied with her progress, signing off her medical papers every six months, confirming that Ivy was stable on her medication. Stable was the word they liked to use, as though she were a machine operating within acceptable parameters. But to Ivy, stability felt like stagnation.
She had been discharged from her part-time role in the Army Reserve not long after her release from the hospital—a blow she had never really recovered from. The letter had been impersonal, cold. Medically discharged due to mental health reasons, it had read. Ivy hadn't argued. She knew it was coming. But that didn't stop the quiet rage simmering beneath her cool exterior.
The forensic psychology work she had thrown herself into since leaving the Army had been a temporary distraction. For a time, it had satisfied her need for intellectual stimulation. Delving into the minds of criminals, analysing their motivations, predicting their behaviour—it had been challenging, even enjoyable at first. But soon, that too had lost its meaning. It became routine, predictable. She was no longer excited by the nuances of criminal minds.
She needed more.
She needed something to anchor herself to. A challenge.
One afternoon, as she sat at her desk, staring at yet another case file that no longer interested her, Ivy found herself thinking about the police. The idea had been simmering in the back of her mind for months, but she had never seriously considered it. Not until now.
The Metropolitan Police. Scotland Yard.
It had a certain ring to it, a prestige. Ivy smirked at the thought. A part of her knew it was just another way of exerting control, of playing with power, but there was something appealing about it. She had always enjoyed manipulating situations to her advantage, reading people like books and predicting their every move. Being in law enforcement would give her that opportunity every day, a way to channel her talents into something practical.
More than that, the challenge of it excited her. She had grown bored with forensic psychology, but being a detective—solving real crimes, not just analysing them—was a step up. It was a way to test herself, to see how far she could push her abilities in a different arena.
And so, with that in mind, she made her decision.
The application process was rigorous. Ivy wasn't surprised; she had expected it. Scotland Yard was no joke. They vetted everyone thoroughly, from background checks to psychological evaluations. But Ivy had come prepared. She had anticipated every possible roadblock and armed herself with the necessary documents, including the psychiatric reports that would raise more than a few eyebrows.
