Andy, check John's blog.

"I'm right here," Andrew replied. "You could just tell me. Put that thing down for once, why don't you?"

Check John's blog.

"For God's sake –"

And change your ring tone, it's rubbish.

"I like it!"

Check John's blog! Then get in there! Because John's with him!

"What – oh, all right, fine."

Anthea waited, smirking slightly, for Andrew to do as she had instructed. She reread the post and looked at the picture – it would need to be run through some analysis software, but at first glance it did not seem faked nor did they seem like they were posing for it. She suspected it was genuine because when Sherlock was faking happiness, he never completely looked convincing.

She'd never mentioned this because she was the only one who thought so. Possibly Mycroft did, but Sherlock never seemed happy around his brother. Anthea had two older brothers of her own and had never had these problems – but then again, her brothers weren't Mycroft Holmes.

And she – thankfully – was not Sherlock.

"Oh, shit!" Andrew cursed, smacking his head on the roof of the car when he fairly jumped out of his seat.

You all right?

"Dammit, Karen!" he snapped.

"Stop with the Karen," Anthea replied, glancing up momentarily from the screen. She'd moved on to checking the Asian markets, followed by a quick diversion looking into the situation with the Icelandic volcanoes, which had been mercifully silent. But it was coming up on Christmas and air traffic was always bad at this time of year, even without any input from natural disasters. She checked the weather forecasts for the eastern United States and saw a snowstorm predicted – that would shut down the major airports, delaying incoming flights from North America.

Hmm.

That would annoy Mycroft.

It always did.

But not as much as this would, if Andrew didn't get in there first and let him know before John sprung it on him. She checked the time on her phone – 7:45PM.

"Andrew!" she snapped.

"You should do it – he'll be less angry with you!"

Busy, she texted. Go.

He had to. She outranked him.

With a glare that she completely ignored, Andrew sighed and opened the door, slipping out of the car in a hurry and slamming the door shut again, causing it to echo once, sharply, in the nearly empty parking garage.

When she was alone, Anthea let herself smile a triumphant, knowing smile.

Oh yes, Mycroft was going to be annoyed.

To say the least.

She paused a moment, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

Well, might as well give him full justification for the annoyance. She didn't often do this because he was her boss, but it was fun to take liberties sometimes and besides, how often did her boss' brother get married?

Only once.

She did some quick searching and found a quite expensive bottle of champagne and paid to have it delivered to the Baker Street flat on one of Mycroft's credit cards and with his compliments. She ensured the bill was emailed to her boss' account so that he would at least hesitate before going over to Sherlock and John's and very politely and pointedly dressing down his brother. Because now it looked like he'd sent a congratulatory gift.

Which he had.

He had paid for it, after all.

Best to keep the situation under control with those two. It made her life so much easier.

That done, and Andrew presumably having failed to one-up John Watson, Anthea went back to her work, opening a chat session with one of their contacts in Bangladesh while thumbing through the recent Al Jazira, Canadian, Australian and Japanese news to see what the rest of the world thought England was doing at the moment.

She wouldn't post anything on John's blog – she never did. Sherlock was a bright man. When the champagne arrived, he'd know who was behind it.