Author's Note: You know how people often write sickfics when they're feeling sick? Yeah, that's what this is. I wanted to write something and I don't feel well so I wrote about someone not feeling well. That's all. Anyway, just a quick one-shot. I hope you like it. Please read, review, and enjoy!

This can be read entirely alone but does technically take place in the "A First Time For Everything" fanfic world.

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.

In Search Of Warmth – By Blood-Sucker-1428

This was it. This was the end. Anthea was going to freeze to death right here, in the middle of her flat. She was being dramatic, part of her could see that, but when you're ill and sitting in an icy flat you're not going to really think logically.

At first, Anthea thought she might just have a headache. The headache stayed for days, then her neck began to ache – or more likely her glands, then her ears. Then, well, she just felt like death. With Mycroft dealing with business out of time, that at least mean she didn't need to turn up to work this week – that was a well-timed illness. They always say you get sick when you finally get a chance to relax. What made matters worse was this freezing cold December her heating had decided to stop working. She'd called the building maintenance to learn that they entire building's heating had stopped working. That was great, well timed again, Anthea. Well, how long until it's fixed? A week. A whole week. Anthea was stuck feeling like a corpse in a morgue freezer.

Anthea had her electric blanket plugged in to a socket in her living room, and was laying on her couch, still shivering. Repeats of some daytime telly show on a very low volume playing in the background – any sound above very quiet current made her head ache like crazy. Anthea sat up on the couch, pouting to herself. This wasn't good enough, and it would not do. The mysterious assistant of Mycroft Holmes would not be found frozen in her own flat. She needed to do something about this. She picked up a tissue and blew her nose as she thought. What could she do about this? What would be an efficient way out of this? All she wanted was to be warm and cosy, like sleeping in front of a fire. The thought alone made her close her eyes and lean back on the couch.

Mycroft had a fire place… His lounge room had that expensive couch, arm chairs, and a lovely big fireplace that could heat the entire first floor no problem. Oh, the thought of it, made Anthea's insides feel warmer already. But the man was away on business, she couldn't go there. She'd have to think of something else.

But she did have security clearance… Really, she could go in, spend a few hours in front of the fire to defrost, and then leave once the fire died out. No big deal, right? But this was Mycroft, and he'd know instantly that someone was there – a quick check with security would give her away. They'd only just began exploring the possibility of something more than just friendship or a work relationship together and how would it look that she was letting herself into his house? To be fair he'd let himself into her flat without her permission on at least one very notable occasion that directly lead to the pair of them deciding to explore their relationship further. So really, if he argued, she could use that. He did technically still owe her big for that.

Yeah, not a problem.

As she stepped into Mycroft's estate, the place already felt one thousand times warmer than her flat did. There was a good chance that this was simply her mind playing tricks on her, but whatever, it was a comfort. Just like the smell of books and Mycroft's cologne was more comforting than anything she'd seen, heard, or smelt in days. Anthea, feeling dizzy and lightheaded, leaned on the front door and closed her eyes, enjoying the familiarity of the big empty house. It had to be a minute before Anthea felt like she could be sturdy on her feet and made a beeline for the lounge room.

As expected, the staff had the fireplace set up with wood like you'd find in a home open. They always tried their best to make the place looked lived in, despite Mycroft only really using a handful of rooms. They even had a small basket of kindling – how efficient of them. But there wasn't anything to light the fire with. Anthea looked on the mantelpiece and under ornaments, she opened the drawer on the little tables next to each arm chair, but came up empty handed. She closed her eyes again and rubbed her forehead, feeling the thumping in her skull increase. She needed to lie down, but she needed to get that fire started first. Opening her eyes, Anthea placed her hands on her hips and sighed. Mycroft smokes… well, not official, and only on occasions… So he must have a lighter somewhere. Maybe in the kitchen, maybe near some furniture in the backyard, or maybe in the laundry. If she could even find matches that would do, because she knew there was a stack of newspapers on the kitchen table. The staff kept the newspaper from each day he was away in case Mycroft wanted to check how any particular story was written up. If Anthe could find a lighter or a match, she could take the sports sections of a few of those papers, scrunch them up, and use that to light the fire.

There was no way Anthea was going to step outside – she was going to try all the indoor locations first. She tried the kitchen first. In one of the drawers she found a long nozzle lighter. She tested it a few times and found it to be running out, and not working too well. She'd come back to that if she had to. She looked in the pantry in case there was a spare one, but she came up empty. It took a little while to find the laundry, having never stepped foot in there before. She checked the cabinet beneath the sink, and the cupboards, and came up empty. Then a spark hit her. She thought about the places one might hide an emergency packet of cigarettes – like on top of the drier. Standing on her tiptoes, Anthea felt around blindly on the top of the mounted drier. She smiled as her hands landed on a small box. Pulling it down she was rewarded with an opened box of cigarettes. She opened the box, her eyes lighting up, to find a small lighter tucked into the cardboard amongst the smokes. Anthea took the lighter out, and placed the packet back on top of the drier. She'd grab the stack of newspapers and head back into the lounge room.

Anthea sat down hard on the floor, crossing her legs on the soft rug. Feeling fainter and fainter by the minute, the brunette took her time scrunching up page after page of newspaper, being very careful not to destroy any section that Mycroft might be interested in reading. She filled up the fireplace until it bordered on excessive since she really didn't feel like doing this again, should it fail, and it was better safe than sorry. She light the paper from various positions and watched and waited until the whole thing was ablaze – the heat hitting her in the face, she felt something close to comfortable for the first time in days. Once she caught sight of the kindling pieces of wood catching fire, it was enough to satisfy her that her adventure to set the fire had been successful.

Trying to keep her eyes open, and failing horribly, Anthea slowly got back on her feet. She stumbled over to the couched and flopped onto it. She slipped off one shoe after the other, sneakers and for once not heels, god forbid she wear heels when she can barely stand. The PA slid to lay on her side facing the fire, tucking her hands together under her cheek. The heat from the fire was already making the room toasty and it was beautiful. She wanted to watch the fire for a little while, just to watch the beauty of the flames, but before she knew it Anthea had closed her eyes and quicker still, she'd fallen asleep.

The sound of the front door closing startle Anthea into a state of consciousness. Her head felt thick and groggy, but she forced herself to open one of her eyes as she heard the jingling of keys. Curls falling in her face, Anthea tried to focus on the lounge room door and the figure standing in it. Once her vision clear, Anthea could see Mycroft Holmes, wheeling a small suitcase with one hand, keys in the other with his umbrella hooked over his arm, his mouth in a straight line, fierce blue eyes taking her in, judging her. His eyes flickered to the newspaper, to the lighter abandoned on top of the stack of papers, and Anthea curled up with her feet on his expensive couch. Anyone else might feel frightened, had she been properly awake then Anthea might have felt either intimidated or guilty, as it was, Anthea just felt a little pleased to see the man she cared most for.

"Hello, Mycroft." Anthea's voice croaked, sounding more like a breath than her usual voice. Mycroft sat is suitcase up to support itself, and folded his arms across his chest.

"Dare I ask?" He hummed, his tone matching the disappointed one he gave Sherlock whenever he had to bail the detective out of weird situations.

"My heater isn't working." Anthea blinked up at him, pouting. "And I'm sick." A pause as his deep blue eyes held her gaze. He rolled his eyes and let out a steady sigh.

Turning away, the genius took hold of his suitcase again and walked out of the room. Anthea took that to mean he wasn't pleased with her presence, but he wasn't going to force her to leave, not yet at least. It was good, it showed his care for her that he hadn't just tossed her out then and there, but at the same time it was a little disheartening. If she had an actual boyfriend, then they might actually care for her state. They might actually feel really bad that their girlfriend had fallen ill and had no heating. Mycroft, being her… slightly more than friend, simply put up with her. Anthea was a strong woman, fierce, independent, and patient. She didn't need someone all the time, nor did she expect much from Mycroft Holmes. But she was ill and when you weren't feeling yourself, everyone could use a little bit of comfort. Even bratty little kids who rebelled from their parents needed a hug from mum from time to time.

Anthea watched the fire dancing away in front of her eyes. She'd wondered how long she'd been here so far, and was quietly impressed that her fire was holding up. It was nice in here, and it was comforting, but she knew her time in this lovely warm room was drawing to an end. Pretty soon, an hour if she tested her luck, Anthea would have to throw her shoes on and leave. At least she'd have the memory of the warm fire dancing.

That's when Mycroft walked back into the room, carrying his laptop, and a blanket. Placing his laptop down on one of the tables, he unfolded the blanket and silently placed in on top of Anthea's crumpled up form. He then walked over the fireplace and placed a new log in, stoking the fire once with the fire poker. Without another word, he took his laptop and sat down in one of the armchairs. Soon Anthea heard the clicking away, indicating that Mycroft Holmes had decided to do his work in here with her. She blinked a few times, frowning, as her tired brain took a moment to analyse this. As it turns out, she wasn't just being put up with, though her presence was indeed just being put up with, but he'd also wanted to make sure she was okay. Or at least didn't freeze to death. As it turns out, her something more knew that she needed to be here.

Anthea smiled to herself, shutting her eyes. Happily she felt the heat against her face, the warmth of the blanket, and the comforting noises of the crackling of the fire and the tapping of the keyboard. She was welcome in the house of the loner, and it was wonderful.

However, that didn't seem enough. It was the headache that was keeping her away, that headache that wouldn't go with any number of tablets. That was the real reason she couldn't fall back asleep, but it also made her feel venerable in a way that Anthea really didn't like. Any other day this should be the perfect environment to just rest and recuperate in, but it wasn't. Her head was thumping and she just wanted a little bit more care.

Anthea turned her head so she could see the profile of Mycroft Holmes, his face illuminated by the blue light of his laptop. After thirty seconds the man pursed his lips, clearly aware that his assistant was staring at him. Eyes still on the screen, the man quirked an eyebrow.

"Can I help you, my dear?" He asked, this time at least a hint of amusement in his voice. "Water, perhaps?" How best to ask a man so against people, relationships, and physical contact to come be closer to you. In a better frame of mind, Anthea would have come up with an entirely solid argument for why she deserved comfort. She'd have points, she'd be able to rebuttal any points he made, and she'd bargain for it with promises of a favour or extra work. As it was… she came up with nothing.

"Why are you so far away?" She asked, her voice still squeaky. Mycroft turned his head to look at her.

"There's no room on the couch." He pointed out. "And I do prefer this seat anyhow." Anthea pouted her lips.

"You can sit here." Was the best response she could come up with.

"Where?" He spoke though a scoff.

"I'll sit up." Mycroft looked at her with an incredulous look.

"You look as if you might faint if you attempt to stand." He was probably right, she certainly felt that way. But she'd light a fire, hadn't she? Surely she could sit up for Mycroft… and yet, she didn't seem to have the energy to argue, so instead she shrugged and turned to watch the fire once more. Then she heard him sigh that exasperated sigh once more, then heard him shift. She looked over to see the man standing up with his laptop. He walked up to the couch, and gestured to the second seat with a nod of his head.

"Move your feet." He argued. Anthea shifted to sit up. "No." He stopped her. "Don't move, just lift your feet up." Anthea did so. Mycroft sat down in the now free second seat. "Okay, lower them." She hesitated at first, frowning to herself, but Anthea did what she was told, lowering her feet onto Mycroft's lap. Mycroft placed his laptop on his knees, and using Anthea's legs almost like an armrest, he continued working over the top of her. Anthea looked down the couch, a smile growing on her face. This was it. This was better than a boyfriend comforting you. This was Mycroft Holmes comforting you. This was a big deal. Mycroft broke so many of his unspoken rules by doing this, and he only did it for her.

"Look at you." Anthea would have hummed her words if she had a voice, as it was she had to do her best just to speak. "Thank you." Mycroft's lip twitched faintly as he continued watching his screen.

"If I get sick from this, my dear, there is no one to blame but you."

He didn't get sick, and that day alone was enough to make Anthea start to feel better. She liked this place far better than her own flat. It just always felt warmer to her.

Author's Note: There we have it. What do you think? Was it alright? I hope you enjoyed it. Fun fact, while I like the look of the fire, I hate it when we light our fireplace because I find it way too hot and way too dry. But I'm Australian. Our cold weather is like… mild weather for most countries, and warm for others. Anyway… Thanks for reading!