Author's note: I needed to write this. No, really, I did. First of all, I want to continue to write both in present and past tense, and second of all – a reviewer requested it, and I realized it would make a good oneshot.

This is a follow-up to "They Eye Beholds, The Heart Remembers", but you don't need to have read it. I didn't write it in the description because I'm greedy and want more readers. Sorry.

I don't own anything, please review.

She isn't surprised often. In her line of work, she can't allow herself to be. When you're the PA of the British Government you can't be surprised because another war broke out in the Middle East, or because another British tourist got kidnapped in Africa. You just get the information and act upon it. But, still, she must admit –

Realizing that Sherlock Holmes might actually be alive, unbelievably, wonderfully alive, is enough to surprise her.

It's just a normal day at the office, about a year after Sherlock's death. Mycroft Holmes isn't the man he was before his little brother jumped – but he's as close to it as he can be, in her opinion. He grieves, he's still angry at himself. But the defeated look has left his eyes, and now and then, she imagines that she helped him to reach this... sort of equilibrium he now calls his life, although sometimes, when she turns up in his office unexpectedly – she checks up on him, she can't help it – he's gazing out of the window with a faraway look in his eyes, and it's not difficult to guess what he's thinking about.

But that's only to be expected. Sherlock was his little brother, and she, of all people, should know that they cared about each other. She watched over Sherlock, after all. And she still watches over her boss, because everyone needs someone to care whether they live or die.

And then she realizes something, is surprised for the first time in years, and mankind's greatest tormentor – hope – rears its head.

She is just sitting at her desk, going through some reports. Like she does every day. Even Mycroft Holmes can't read everything, and she decides what to put in front of him, which information is important enough to put on his desk. She reads that a drug cartel in South Africa has apparently stopped operating – they leaders seem to have disappeared without a trace – and puts it away, because, really, her boss has more important things to deal with –

And then she realizes, all of a sudden, that the drug cartel was part of Moriarty's web. They know about people like consulting criminals, of course they do, and she knew his dossier by heart even before he – before he convinced the world Sherlock was a fraud, which caused him to commit suicide. Something stirs in her memory.

She looks through other reports she's read and laid aside in the last year and realizes that several of Moriarty's "business associates" have either disappeared without a trace or been arrested. Since Sherlock jumped, since the consulting criminal disappeared himself – though Anthea is rather sure he's dead, seeing as Colonel Moran seems to have taken over the business.

But all this – it can't be coincidence.

Someone is hunting down Moriarty's web. Someone is trying to bring them behind bars or put them out of business in another way.

There are only a few people in the world who know enough about Moriarty to want to try it, and even fewer who would.

And this someone, whoever it is, is succeeding.

Actually destroying Moriarty's web.

There are only two people she can think of who'd be able to do this.

One she knows for sure hasn't done it.

The other one is dead.

At least he's supposed to be dead.

But maybe, just maybe –

He isn't.

She knows it is impossible that Sherlock Holmes is alive. She checked it was really him in the morgue, just to be sure.

But hope has already entered her heart, and she can't deny that she hasn't felt this happy in months.

She starts collecting more data.

In the next six months, three more parts of Moriarty's web are dealt with. No one else notices, because no one else pays attention. But she does, and they way it's done – no traces left, and even in the cases where there are arrests, the police can't say who tipped them off and gave them the evidence – tells her that she may be right.

Sherlock Holmes might be alive, destroying Moriarty's web.

Alone.

If he is alive – and she already believes it, despite trying not to – she doesn't want him to do this alone. And she doesn't want Mycroft to grieve any longer.

So she makes up her mind to tell her boss that his little brother might have cheated death.

One year and seven months after Sherlock jumped – seemed to jump to his death, she does so.

She takes a deep breath before she knocks on his door. She hears his usual "Enter" and walks in. He's busy. Of course.

But when she clears her throat and says "Sir, we need to talk" in a voice that brooks no argument, he looks up from the file he's reading and raises and eyebrow, and she knows she has his attention.

So she sits down and shows him the files she's put aside, the ones about the destroyed parts of Moriarty's web. He listens to her, brows furrowed, and she's aware that not even Mycroft Holmes knows what she wants to say.

So she tells him.

She's never seen him that shocked before, and she reminds herself to cherish the expression on his face later, because right now he looks like he might faint. He wouldn't to anyone else, of course, but she sees he's even paler than usual and his hands are clenched to fists.

He tries to speak. Fails. Clears his throat. Tries again.

"I don't think we can say for sure that Sherlock is still alive" but he's already hoping, she can tell "but we might be able to prove it – if it is true. Do you have an idea where he might be?"

She does. There is no visible pattern – the unknown (she has to remind herself not to think of him as "Sherlock") vigilante is as likely to be in Europe as in America, most of the time, but he seems to get rid of the biggest parts of the web first, and there's only one big organization left: A human-trafficking syndicate in Spain.

He trusts her enough to fly to Madrid the next day, Anthea at his side, where she belongs. She has all the information they need about the syndicate, but they don't know where – he may be hiding. However, there is a bar the members of the syndicate like to hang out, and whoever has been destroying Moriarty's web definitely does his research before he strikes, so there is a chance he might be there.

It's the first, and she suspects it will be the last, time in her life she's ever seen Mycroft Holmes doing legwork without complaining. He's standing next to her, in the shadows, at a corner, where they can overlook the bar.

For two hours, nothing happens, and she's starting to lose hope, the hope that she's been clinging two for seven months, but then –

At the corner opposite theirs, there's a shade.

Barely noticeable.

But tall and thin and –

She feels her boss tense ever so slightly next to her and she knows it's Sherlock. Never underestimate Mycroft Holmes' instinct. Especially concerning his little brother. He's only been wrong once before, and they just might make things right tonight.

She wants to follow the shade when he turns around, but her boss has other ideas. He puts a hand on her arm. "Wait. I'll go".

She wants to protest, but when she tries to look into his eyes without really finding them (it's rather dark here in the shadows), she knows it's useless. He wants to talk to his brother alone.

"Go back to the hotel" is all he says as he slips away, so she does as she's told.

She can't sleep. She didn't expect to. Mycroft hasn't been in touch, and she shouldn't be bothered by it, but she is. She is a little annoyed; she was the one who pointed out that Sherlock might be alive, she deserves confirmation.

A moment later, she feels guilty for being so selfish. Mycroft hasn't returned, so it must be Sherlock after all, and they have a lot to talk about. If anything happened, Mycroft would call. He always does. She's the only one of his colleagues he trusts on a personal level.

Four hours after he left her standing at the corner, she hears the door of his room open. They are staying at a small hotel, for once; her boss didn't want to attract attention by staying at an expensive hotel.

She goes over immediately and knocks. He opens the door, looking tired, but the traces of grief have disappeared and her heart feels lights, all of a sudden, because that's all the proof she needs that Sherlock is alive.

He steps aside and she walks into the room. He beckons her to sit down and after a short deliberation she sits down on his bed.

Mycroft clears his throat. "He's – it's him". He sounds surprised, and she can't blame him.

"Moriarty forced him to jump, otherwise his friends would have been shot by snipers" he continues, and she knows by the way he pronounces "friends" that he wasn't one of them.

"He shot himself. Someone – most likely Moran – must have got rid of Moriarty's body. We should have known about this. Tell Agent Danvers his services are no longer required."

Agent Danvers, the agent who was supposed to look after Sherlock on the fateful day. She nods. It won't be much work. The letter he's just told her to write has been sitting on her desk ever since the funeral. She's always prepared, and she knows Mycroft Holmes.

His voice is strangely quiet as he adds, "He's been hunting down Moriarty's web, all alone. He's – he's very thin. Has been injured a couple of times."

She could say a lot, but she knows what he needs, so she asks, "What do you want me to do, sir?"

He tells her to organize an account for a certain Martin Tomson, Australian, and to put money into it that can't be traced.

They fly back to London on the next day, and she's never seen him happier. There's a small light in his eyes, and the worry lines have disappeared.

For the next year (and four months), she keeps tab on Sherlock's aliases, makes sure he gets the money he needs. Then she organizes his return, watches his and John's reunion through surveillance cameras and tries not to cry with relief. She manages, but only barely, especially when she hears Sherlock has been to the Diogenes Club and her boss actually smiles for a whole day. It scares her colleagues, to be honest, because not one of them has seen Mycroft Holmes truly happy.

A few tears escape, however, on the day he is officially cleared. She's just thinking about going to bed – Mycroft has given her the next day off, as a "token of his appreciation" – when she gets a text. It's short and to the point, but she wouldn't expect anything different from Mycroft Holmes' younger brother.

Mycroft told me in Spain that you were the one to alert him that I was still alive.
Thank you.
SH

She grins even as she's crying. She can't help it. There are once again two Holmes' in the world, and she was the one to point out that there might be.

It's on days like these she's glad she accepted the job, all those years ago.

Author's note: The suggestion that Anthea finds out that Sherlock's still alive was just too good to resist.

I hope you liked it, please review.