Author's Note: This is it! My big "Thank you for 200 reviews on A First Time For Everything" Special! Can be read alone but shouldn't be. The two chapters that came up the most was the fight and the gala. I chose the fight because I want to leave some mystery around the gala for now but I might come back to it at like 300 reviews. Though my writing still is the same as usual the change in point of view character should make a notable change. This is my huge thank you to you guys for welcoming me into the fandom and loving my fanfic as much as I do! Please let me know what you think of our special one off Mycroft chapter! Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

The First Big Fight – His Point of View

After half an hour of careful conversation, Mycroft had gotten all he needed to know from James regarding his mission. Mycroft opened his door to the outer half of the office, allowing James to exit first. From the second he entered the space James' eyes were lock on the Anthea, typing away on her computer, his infatuation with her increasing by the days. Any time now he'd act upon it. Anthea looked up from her screen and gave James a polite smile before returning to her work. Any idiot with half a functioning brain could see there was nothing but friendliness in that smile, but Mycroft had learnt long ago that when people were infatuated they seemed to see only what they wanted to see. Mycroft, from his spot at the doorway, looked at the carpet with a bored expression.

"Yes, well, do tell me what he says." Mycroft sighed, faking a smile to the agent – practically willing him to leave so Mycroft could get back to work and not watch the pathetic puppy dog eyes this grown man was still giving his personal assistant. "Anthea, dear, could you come into my office?" That should get rid of the agent. Immediately Anthea locked her computer. She stood up swiftly, smoothing down her black dress.

"Yes, sir." She replied with a nod of her head, curls fluttering with the movement. Mycroft turned and began to walk back into the peace and quiet of his inner office.

"Actually, Mr. Holmes," Mycroft froze. Oh. It seems James' petty infatuation were to meet its climax right here, right now. He slowly turned around and regarded James with a neutral expression sans the slightly quirked eyebrow. "I was wondering if I could talk to Anthea quickly outside." James' hand was on top of Anthea's who was frozen in place. James lifted his hand away and Anthea whizzed around, her chocolate eyes locking onto Mycroft's steel blue eyes. The girl looked like a deer in headlights. Mycroft found a feeling in the back of his throat that he wasn't quite familiar with. Like bile being stuck at the back of your throat. It was the tiniest irritation at James and even at the innocent Anthea, drawing herself unwanted attention wherever she goes. Feeling frustrated at the lack of complete control over his emotions and the surroundings Mycroft pursed his lips, thinking, before he waved James off sharply and began heading back to his private office.

"Do be quick, James. We are quite busy."

Mycroft did not find his inner sanctum as calming or soothing as he usually did. This wooden room where he was allowed to focus on work and use his brain without distraction currently did nothing but allow him to be alone with his repetitive thoughts. His personal assistant, the one who was dating that lawyer who did nothing but occupy her time, was currently out there being asked out by a relatively intelligent – for your average goldfish – person who was the type of man she was generally attracted to. As he stood facing his desk, reading documents over and over again Mycroft had no idea why this bothered him – and that was enough to drive him crazy. He knew this was coming, he was waiting for it with faint bemusement. Why did it keep eating away at him now, then? Primal human reactions, they always got in the way and they never agreed with how the brain thought.

He heard the door to the main office click shut followed by the steady click of Anthea's heels as they came closer and closer to his office. The pace was faster than usual – she was slightly agitated which meant she had said no. Of course, Mycroft had been expecting that, the girl was stupidly loyal, and yet it did nothing to make that feeling of bile in his throat go away. The brunette came to stand next to him, picking up her own copy of the document, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she began to read. She often did that, though she didn't realise, click her tongue when she began to focus. It was as subconscious as the tucking of hair behind her ear when she was nervous or embarrassed. Mycroft ran his tongue over his teeth as he tried to ignore it, tried to ignore his assistant's entire presence until he could get this feeling to settle down and disappear. Unfortunately time was fleeting and it had now been a decent while since she had entered and neither one of them had said anything.

"You turned him down." Mycroft hummed, holding back as much irritation as his self-training would allow as he continued only to look at the document he had already read a few dozen times. He heard Anthea take a deep steadying breath – apparently he was annoying her as much as he was annoyed. Why? What was her reasoning?

"I did." He could hear his own tone mirrored in her own. Mycroft kept his steel eyes focused on the document.

"Why?" He asked as detached as possible without looking up,

"I have a boyfriend, remember. Plus, James isn't my type." Oh, that whole statement was laughable and surely she knew that. Unless the girl was lying to herself. Mycroft, holding the smirk off his face walked over to his chair, placing the documents down on his desk.

"Ah yes, the lawyer." He breathed, not hiding his dislike of this lawyer at his eyebrows rose, mocking this boy. "But let's face it, you're not satisfied with him and James has much higher credentials than your usual candidates." That was the nicest way he could put it, was it not? Without straight out lying. There was a subtle shift in Anthea's facial expression as she folded her arms across her chest, cocking her hip ever so slightly.

"Excuse me sir?" She sniffed, looking down her nose at her boss. "First of all, that's not true." Oh Anthea, it complete was. Why do you let yourself feel satisfied in a mediocre relationship when you could have anything you wanted? "Secondly, 'usual candidates'? What do you know of the 'usual candidates'?" Mycroft watched his assistant with the usual detachment he used as if watching a suspect or checking out whoever else had weaselled their way into his brother's life. It was intriguing, really intriguing how people just let themselves think that they're happy for the sake of having someone in their lives. Why could no one see that it was far better to be alone than to suffer in the presence of someone that got in the way or didn't completely satisfy you? Oh, Mycroft had expected better of this one, she had promise in so many areas. He supposed it was time to enlighten her.

"You've been with this lawyer of yours for months now, and nothing has changed. Your appearance is on par with standard – suggesting that you neither feel the need to look more attractive to someone nor feel comfortable enough to not focus so much on appearances. Your weight is the same when most people in domestic bliss tend to gain a few pounds. Something is clearly not satisfying you in that relationship – mentally, emotionally, or otherwise. As far as James is concerned, he's intelligent, athletic – which that brute of an ex-boyfriend of yours proves you have a taste for, and knows your real name. That, I hear, is quite the bonus when one is trying to make a lasting connection with another living being." That had come out blunter than Mycroft himself had expected. Perhaps it's because he was only ever so detailed and brutally honest to Sherlock and that kid required bluntness at all times. Perhaps, or perhaps it was that feeling in the back of his throat and the pit of his stomach that wouldn't leave him alone. Anthea looked taken aback for a split second as she took a few deep breaths and ran a hand through her chestnut hair. Surely she can't be that surprised to hear him talk that way, he'd done it to others multiple times.

"Look, sir. I don't care what you think you know-"

"I don't think I know anything. Anthea you made me play a game reg-"

"No, sir." There was a definitely edge to her tone now Mycroft had never heard before. "You can't just go making random guesses about my personal life, okay? You've met one ex-boyfriend, you've never seen how I behaved in a relationship before. I don't have a type, alright and if it was James, or my lawyer, or Fabio, sir, it's none of your business. So can we just get to work now? Sir?" Mycroft stopped, lips pursed, carefully searching Anthea's chocolate eyes that now burned with heat. He really had expected Anthea to be different. She had seen so much, done so much, she had actual conversations with Sherlock and came out of them smiling. He could understand if she thought he'd been out of line but that's all she needed to say – she didn't need to cut him down like all the goldfish did when they didn't understand how he or his brother thought. How disappointing, and yet that feeling still didn't leave, it only tasted more bitter. Mycroft clicked his tongue and sat down at his desk, dropping the subject. Anthea followed suit, sitting down and crossing stocking clad legs. Time to get back to actual important work, he supposed.

"Have you confirmed the video conference for tomorrow night?" Mycroft asked as he flicked open the file filled with must do activities for the day. He thumbed through the papers, reading all the titles, making sure he hadn't forgotten any. Though what was the chances of that?

"Yes, sir." Anthea nodded.

"And did you complete the preparations for the MI6 computer system update last night?" He flicked to the page regarding this.

"Yes, sir. Long before I left." Mycroft nodded, taking that page and placing it at the back. Excellent, one less thing to do, at least she was efficient.

"Do I have your confirmation that the surveillance on Sherlock has been increased?" Mycroft heard Anthea's breathe hitch and hesitate before she even answered. His blue eyes were already flickering up to read her face.

"Y-yes, sir." He quirked an eyebrow at the stutter. Fantastic, more people judging them, that was the last thing Mycroft needed today with all these other strange feelings. He placed folder down, still opened, and folded his hands together on top of it. He was going to hear what she had to say – better than leaving the judgement left unsaid.

"What is it?" He asked suspiciously. Fuelled with nervous energy, Anthea shook her head and waved her boss off with her free hand.

"No it was nothing sir," She shrugged. "I definitely did it, I have the confirmation text on my blackberry, sir." Mycroft's frown deepened as he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"I'm not doubting that you followed my instructions," He sighed. "I am questioning your hesitation in answering. It is not nothing, my dear, what was it?" He tilted his head as he watched he close her eyes and take a deep breath.

"It's just-" Anthea scratched behind her ear nervously and Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, bracing himself. No good sentence ever began with 'it's just.'

"We love you to the moon and back, Mycie. It's just we feel we have enough love for a new baby also."

"We know you're busy at work. It's just you live in London too so it makes sense for you to check on your little brother."

"Your brother is fully capable of recovering if he chooses to do so. It just if you choose to do this yourself you need to understand that withdrawals can be very dangerous."

"Sherlock is busy with consulting detective work at the moment, sir. Is there any reason to be keeping such a close eye on him?" Her voice was almost shaking with uncertainty but she had most definitely meant them. Mycroft pursed his lips as there was a pang of something else.

"Sherlock is a danger to himself, Miss James," Mycroft's tone was as-matter-of-fact. "Of course there is a need for surveillance. Are you questioning me?" Anthea bit the inside of her lip and with a frown she shook her head. She was back pedalling, anyone could see that and it was too late.

"No, sir. Of course not. It's just – you know – he's so untrusting of us. Maybe if we gave him more space when he's not such a high risk of relapsing he'd, I don't know, open up to you more often, sir." A great annoyance flashed within Mycroft. Oh, you think giving the kid space would work? Yes, because Mycroft hadn't tried that before, neither had he tried locking the boy up. He'd tried removing himself completely from Sherlock's life and that backfired, he'd tried moving Sherlock in with him and that backfired too. You don't get to see this minefield from the outside for a minute second and think you know how to win the war. Mycroft scoffed and shook his head. No sentences in the history of his life had begun with 'it's just' and lead to something good.

"Oh yes," He turned to his computer, not being able to look at Anthea right now. "I'm going to take younger sibling advice from an orphan who was also an only child. Certainly she'll know more than I do about being an older brother." He felt the temperature of the room drop a significant degree, and could practically feel the hurt radiating off of Anthea. If he had been attempting to hit a nerve, Mycroft had most definitely found the most tender one. He heard the rustling of pages from her lap. He clenched his jaw, holding his ground, he had crossed the line but so had she.

"I was only trying to help, sir." The whisper of a voice made him sneer again. Trying to help in a game you didn't understand. You'd come in and make things worse. This was delicate, and hard, and filled with hurt feelings at every corner. You don't get to here a few stories about pirate ships and stupid dogs from their parents and come in thinking you know how to make things better. Sherlock and Mycroft were broken and Mycroft was desperately trying to hold them together, you don't get to come in and help like you have all the answers. It doesn't work that way.

"Yes, well, I don't believe family advice was part of the job description, thank you, Miss James." Was the sarcastic way Mycroft verbalised his ball of stupid feelings.

"Hey, you're the one who called me for help with him at the hospital." There was an extreme heat to her voice, it seems he had pinched that nerve once more. "I didn't beg to be involved in your family and your little brother's substance abuse problem." The room went even colder as Mycroft's cold gaze finally met with Anthea's fire. Taking personal information that you had been trusted completely with and turning it against your boss. Oh Alice Clarke, you're only a beginner at this, don't try to play it with people in government.

"You're absolutely right, Miss James. Nothing to do with Sherlock is within your job description. I should have never brought you unwillingly into it. From now on someone else will assist me with him, thank you. It's also not in your contract to fraternise with my parents so the next time I ask you to let someone into my house. Let them into my house, do not assume to take it upon yourself to make yourself comfortable." The girl learned back in her chair, the casual posture being her own way of gearing up for war. He mind was ticking away, it could be seen behind her eyes. What was she planning?

"Are you telling me I'm not allowed to make decisions without your consent, sir?" She was practically spitting the sign of respect. Mycroft gave the PA a sardonic smile, playing her game, seeing where she was going.

"Yes, Miss James, I am." Anthea raised an eyebrow and nodded. He watched those acting skills of hers take over as she licked her lips and pretended to be thinking deeply about this.

"Alright, sorry, sir. The next time the Prime Minister's office calls in a panic because they can't get hold of you I will tell them that unfortunately it's not in my contract to make decisions and I can't assist them and since I don't have express permission to enter the Diogenes Club unfortunately I can't bring it to your attention. I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again." She gave him the fiercest and most sarcastic smile he had even seen grace her soft features. Well done, Miss James, well played indeed. Mycroft waved her off.

"Oh I'm afraid I'm partially to blame here." He started to play her game of the passive aggressive apologies. "After all I encouraged your misbehaviour by rewarding unprofessional behaviours with rewards such as flowers." Briefly he thought of those Alice in Wonderland roses that had even made him smirk when the concept crossed his mind. "The next time you speak to me improperly or take a photograph of me, even of a pre-existing photograph – and yes, I know about that, I shall make sure I regard this behaviour the same way I would with any other employee and see that you are properly dealt with." Fire and Ice held each other's gaze, neither one wanting to back down. It was Anthea who cracked, however, standing up and dropping her file on Mycroft's desk with a loud bang.

"You know what else is not in my contract, sir?" She sounded completely fed up and done with everything. "Being here on a Sunday. This is officially my day off. So I'm going to go." She pointed to his door but her dark angry eyes still regarded him with betrayal. "And I'll see you tomorrow, sir." She turned on her heels and began to strut to the door. That knowing in the back of Mycroft's throat, that bile that had been responsible for all of this just wouldn't let it go. He couldn't let her leave here thinking she had just won by giving up. He sneered as he watched her walk away.

"By all means, go back to your small cluttered apartment and call your only friend or the boyfriend you don't care about and complain about how cruel your boss is." The young lady stopped in her tracks and turned around. There was still that fire in her eyes but the expression on her face – the utter hurt that he was sure was the same that graced her face after the orphan comment – it caused another pang of something in Mycroft's chest and he really didn't like it. When Anthea spoke it was calm, cold, and full of resentment.

"I'd rather go back to my small apartment with a few people who love me than live in that big, empty, cold house and have my little brother – the only person in the world I seem to have any sort of emotional attachment to – despise me, sir." There was no other way to put it, Mycroft felt like he had just been punched hard in the stomach, the rawness and truth of that statement hurting him in a way he thought he was no longer possible of feeling. He didn't, he couldn't let that show, however. The only outward sign of the pain was the clenching of his jaw. "Goodbye, sir."

Never had Mycroft wanted to throw something more than when Anthea closed the door to his office leaving everything like this.

They had been doing so well.

The following Saturday night Mycroft sat in his office of his so-called cold and empty house doing his best to handle this emergency all by himself. It's not that he needed help per se, he would do all the planning and create all the solutions by himself even with company. The issue was that he had, in his folly of allowing someone somewhat close to him, fallen into the trap of enjoying having someone to bounce off ideas with. Someone to talk out loud at so you could hear what it sounded like, allowing for the brain to process it in a different way. Very similar to how Sherlock had always talked to teddy bears, Redbeard, Mycroft, or more recently, a skull. It was perfectly scientific really, it had to do with how the human brain functioned. It had absolutely nothing to do with Alice Clarke. Nothing at all to do with her sarcastic comments that made him smile and cleared his thoughts long enough for them to reorganise it a more effective order. It had nothing to do with her own creative ideas that could be so out of the box he had no idea where they came from. And it certainly did not come from her honest concern that Mycroft was eating well and drinking enough fluids to keep his brain working at maximum capacity. He certainly didn't miss the girl's sly smile or how she crinkled her nose when thinking of something inappropriate. After all, she had been around all week being perfectly professional and the week had run smoothly and effectively.

He sat at his desk, head in his hands, staring at a blank piece of paper, trying to decide what was the most effective course of action out of his ten ideas on how to rectify the scenario. There was no way around it, he needed to explain these concepts out loud in a simplified manner and then it could all be achieved quickly and successfully. Crisis averted. But it was Saturday night past work hours. Miss Clarke did not have to do anything she didn't want to. Why would she sacrifice some of her precious free time helping her cold, callous boss with more boring work that she would not get paid extra for when she could be doing anything else in the world?

Mycroft shifted to rest his chin on one hand, tapping the now free one on the wooden top of his desk. Really, he should just get on with it – all of this could be accomplished quickly. Even quicker with a pair of trusted hands.

You see, this is why you don't get close to people. They find their way in and distract you from doing what is more important. People were nothing more than a distraction – particularly when it came to work. Why in God's name did he need a personal assistant to help with this? All she would do is some of the busy work and be a glorified sounding bored. She'd also be encouragement. Mycroft leant back in his chair, sneering at himself. He didn't need encouragement. Only weak people needed encouragement. He was Mycroft Holmes, the Ice Man, he didn't need help, he didn't need encouragement, and he certainly didn't need a friend.

With an angry sigh he picked up his phone and dialled Anthea's number from memory.

"Hello?" Well that was more eager than he was expecting from the very cold reception he had been receiving all week. Mycroft could hear talking and laughing in the background and Anthea's voice had the tell-tale signs of a glass or two of alcohol – she was out in public with friends it seems. A restaurant gathering by the clinking of plates and cutlery. Mycroft closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Miss James, we are under agreement that your contract states you are on call on Saturdays and are required to come if I so say?" He kept his cold work voice on. There was laughter in the background.

"Yes, of course, sir." She was matching his own professional tone with her own, the one he had heard all week instead of that vaguely sarcastic one he was accustomed to.

"Well then," Mycroft lowered his hand from his nose and began tapping on the desk once more. "I require your assistance with an emergency that has just arisen. It shouldn't take long, half an hour I suspect. I'll need you at my house as soon as possible." Mycroft's hand froze mid tap as he waited on a reply.

"I'll leave now, sir." He continued tapping.

"Yes, good bye."

Anthea arrive later than the estimated time of arrival so naturally Mycroft was there to open the front door as soon as the doorbell rang out. He quirked an eyebrow as he looked his assistant carefully up and down. She was in a tight red dress with a long black coat, her brown curls arranged neatly and her makeup heavier than she wore it to work – corroborating with Mycroft's theory she were out to dinner. What stood out however was the briefcase in place on her arm alongside her delicate eveningwear purse, and the two take away coffees from a nearby coffee shop. Always the professional.

"I was out with my lawyer." She told him flatly, clearly agitated by the observations he was categorizing in his head and storing away.

"I didn't ask." He merely stated. Mycroft stepped out of the way to allow his assistant into his big empty house.

"You didn't have to." She sighed before entering. As if to rub salt into the wound, the sound of her heels echoed off the walls as she stepped inside. He closed the door and tuned around to see Anthea, blank expression, holding one of the take away cups out straight in front of her for Mycroft to take. Mycroft took a moment to consider what this gesture meant as he looked between the cup and her, chocolate eyes trying desperately to match his cold aloofness.

"Again," He muttered. "I didn't ask." Mycroft clicked his tongue. "I do have coffee here, Miss James, this is time we could have spent working." Perhaps he should have just said thank you, he pondered, as he watched her eyebrows raise.

"Considering the world hasn't exploded and there wasn't panic in the streets I think it's safe to say I didn't endanger us all by stopping for coffee." At least that sarcasm was back. "I don't care if you don't want it, sir. I could use it." He took a moment to think as he took a deep breath. Think about the gesture of the coffee, think about her, think about what this gesture means, and think about their fight. He took the coffee out of Anthea's hand and led her to the home office.

Thirty five minutes later the crisis had been entirely adverted and the duo were packing up their belongings, files, and papers. Anthea was filing papers and Mycroft was turning off his laptop computer.

"Thank you, Miss James." He spoke carefully without looking at the girl. "I'll let you get back to your unpleasant evening." She almost laughed – almost laughed, as if working together this closely almost let her forget the cruel things they had said to each other. Though neither of them had been incorrect in what they said. Mycroft's attention was now on the loose pieces of paper scattered across his desk. He could feel Anthea watching his as he began to pick them up and sort them into the correct manila files so they could be stored away safely. Anthea closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. She was preparing to do something unpleasant it seems. He ignored her and kept working.

"Look, Mr. Holmes." She breathed out his name. Mycroft paused, giving Anthea almost all of his attention as he watched her closely. "I wasn't going to apologize unless you did first but I'm starting to realise that is never going to happen." Mycroft sniffed and continued sorting.

"I have nothing to apologize for, Miss James." A smile pulled at the side of Anthea's lips as she rolled those deep brown eyes at her stubborn boss.

"Yeah, see, that's what I'm talking about, sir." Was that the return of the playful nature? Mycroft pulled a face of half annoyance, half offended as he continued to work. "First of all sir, sorry for snapping in the first place, I was put off after feeling cornered by James." Anthea was put off? Mycroft still had no idea what ridiculous emotion had tried to take hold of him. "Defences were up and all. I'm all for you expressing your opinion on things, it's just." And here we go again, 'it's just'. He placed his papers downs with a deep breath, folding them on top of the file and watched her. "Don't just say things about my relationships. I don't ask you about that sort of stuff and if I did I'd ask first. You know." No, not really, that requires being in touch with one's emotions. "So what if I'm with Tim because it's easy. Nothing else is." Anthea's expression was so open and so honest, Mycroft had never seen her looking so innocent before, it caused him to pause for thought. He pursed his lips and inclined his head, considering all she had just said.

"I see your point." He answered. Anthea shifted in her seat, tucking a curl behind her head as a nervous reaction.

"And I'm sorry about sticking my nose in your business with Sherlock. I know he's your brother and your business but sometimes it just feels like neither of you know how to behave like normal people." Mycroft scoffed, that was the understatement of the year. "I will stay out of it, sir. I promise." Mycroft watched Anthea, blue and brown locked onto one another. He didn't know how to word his response to this. Thank you would encourage her to stay completely away as she suggested but to argue with her might lead to her thinking she has the right to try and fix things. Talking to people could be exhausting work. He wanted to tell her that she was welcome to stick her nose into his business, but if he were honest he was afraid of people trying to stick themselves into his life. He frowned to himself as he tried to come up with a response.

"As I have stated previously, I do not require any assistance from outsiders when it comes to my precarious relationship with my brother. However, if I were to ask around, yours would be a valued opinion just as it is in business, my dear." Watching Anthea's eyes soften and her smile relax at the terms of endearment was strange. It created a warmth in Mycroft that he wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with – that doesn't mean he didn't like it. She smiled warmly at her boss, eyes glistening.

"And Sherlock doesn't hate you, sir. Anyone can see that. It was just a payback comment." Mycroft stared at the bookshelf behind Anthea, swallowing nothing. He wished he could believe her but there were so many fractures in that relationship, it was way too hard to say. Maybe she could see something Mycroft couldn't see between the brothers but he doubted it. He could accept Sherlock hating him, however, as long as Sherlock still allowed Mycroft to keep an eye on him.

"Like I said, my dear," Mycroft spoke softly, "you have an evening to return to."

Mycroft emerged from his office on Monday afternoon, preparing to go get some food before heading off to work at the Diogenes Club. He had just spent a ridiculous amount of time placating politician's egos and now he wanted nothing more than a decent slice of cake. He walked over to the coatrack, taking his umbrella – of course- and his coat in hand.

"Working at the club this afternoon, sir?" Anthea's lovely tone was light as she worked on her emails. She had one of her more delicate work smiles plastered on her face.

"Indeed I am, Anthea." Mycroft said as he put on his coat. He took a moment to smooth his suit and tie down and to pull the sleeves of both his shirt and suit jacket down comfortably within his jacket. "After a quick lunch, if you'd like to join me." Anthea's polite smile was replaced with a faintly worried from as she looked away from her computer to make eye contact with Mycroft.

"I wouldn't like to intrude, sir." Mycroft genuinely smiled at this. She was being completely honest, after the previous week she was trying all day not to step on any toes. He wondered for a moment how many events this orphaned girl must have missed out on, not wanting to intrude. Multiple dinners with her friends' families, most likely, multiple birthdays with boyfriend's families. It was quite interesting, really.

"Nonsense, my dear. I am about to spend the rest of the work day in a club that requires silence. The last thing I need is for an equally silent lunch. I'd even sit through your account of your lovely evening Saturday." He pulled a face as Anthea laughed and locked her computer. She stood up, walked over to the coat rack and took hold of her own coat. Mycroft gather that was her accepting the offer of lunch. As she went to put her coat on Anthea paused and regarded Mycroft with a distant and warm smile, looking him up and down. It concerned him. This was a very similar smile to the one she had given him after she'd met his parents, only more… wistful is the word for it. Mycroft frowned and tilted his head. "Why is it that lately you have all these new expressions? What is it?" She was still smiling as she shook her head.

"It's nothing, sir." She gently shrugged, looking him over once more from head to toe. "I just think I missed you." Mycroft was taken aback by this.

"Missed me?" He scoffed. "My dear, the amount of time spent in each other's presence barely changed. I've been in that office with you in here every day. How can you have possibly missed me?" Anthea rolled those dark eyes of hers, putting her coat on.

"You know what I mean." She groaned.

He did. Regrettably, he did.

Author's Note: Well there you have it! I hope you all like it! I love every single one of you, I really do. Every single reader or reviewer makes me so happy. Thank you so much for the support over on "A First Time For Everything" and I plan to keep it all at a high standard for as long as it keeps going. Thanks so much!