A/N: This is a personal headcanon about Anthea's younger years and her relationship with the Holmes brothers.

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock, I'm just visiting around with them.

Daintily perched on a stool in the small bakery, Anthea waited on her order of one blueberry muffin with extra cream cheese crumble. It was an old tradition of Mycroft Holmes to a have a blueberry muffin every Saturday.

Knowing that it would take precisely three and a half minutes for her order to be ready, Anthea pulled her mobile from her coat pocket. Oh joy, she had a text message from the Brother. She was used to Sherlock sending all type of texts, mostly insults about Mycroft and occasionally asking where she had taken John that day and when she planned to return him.

She raised an eyebrow in amusement as she read the text.

Not-Anthea, kindly inform Mycroft that delivering prank gifts via Royal Mail rather defeats the point. –SH

One day Sherlock and Anthea should sit down and have a nice chat about names. It was rather unlikely though, since Anthea was not one for chatting.

Anthea was also rather tired of the name "Anthea" but it seemed as familiar to her as her real name. She didn't feel like changing it just because Sherlock knew it wasn't true and had fun reminding her that he knew it. With swift fingers she sent off the replying text.

You would know all about sending pranks through the Royal Mail. I wouldn't be surprised if this was revenge for the potato you mailed him last month. Oh, and don't forget to take the cold medicine that John left out for you. - NA

She sent Mycroft a copy of Sherlock's text and made a mental note to warn John to prepare battle stations. The man only deserved fair warning and she would let the brothers fight it out between themselves like they always did. Being the messenger between the two Holmes brothers could be amusing but also rather tedious, except when it got too overheated like it did the last month.

The fight had started over some classified files that Mycroft had taken from Sherlock and Sherlock, in retaliation, had 'borrowed' Anthea until Mycroft finally gave in and made a compromise. Anthea didn't mind, it was rather fun being kidnapped and held hostage in the 221B flat for a few hours; sitting beside John Watson on the settee and drinking tea while watching the fight of two childlike geniuses escalate.

Silently returning her mobile into her coat pocket, Anthea slipped off the stool. Like clockwork, she accepted her packaged muffin with a polite smile and casually left the bakery without looking back. There were very few things in Anthea's life that ever made her turn back.

After her visit to the bakery, Anthea had one more stop to make before going to Mycroft's office. She needed to pick up a schedule that she had written out for next week's dinner party. It wasn't like they really needed a schedule because neither of them ever forgot anything, but schedules made everything seem official and Mycroft had sent a text requesting her to bring it with the muffin.

As the car made its way to her flat, Anthea glance down at the package sitting on the seat beside her and thought about Mycroft's simple yet important Saturday muffin tradition. It had started so many years ago, before John Watson appeared and when the world had less color.

He had started eating them during the danger diet days, when he was heavier than he had ever been in his life; trapped and consumed by strict, tasteless portions, diet pills and the burden of a little brother trapped in a world of drug abuse.

Even men thought to be made of ice and machinery had their weak points to prove their humanity. During those black nights when the brilliant minds would surrender to chaos, Anthea was there, quiet and ghostlike, to offer a helping hand.

She was always with them in the dark times, whether it was with one brother that was suffering in the clutches of detox; sweat running down his tormented face, or the other brother, kneeling in front of a plastic bin with tears streaming down his cheeks. The presence of the ghost was not always welcomed or accepted, especially by Sherlock, but they knew that it could be counted on unfailingly.

A silent witness to the noises of a binge purge, some of them being the aftermath following a long night of watching over Sherlock, Anthea would always go behind Mycroft, clearing away the evidence and leaving a glass of water for him on his desk.

One Saturday morning after a few weeks of colorless diet food and non-binging, she silently placed a blueberry muffin beside his usual low-calorie breakfast with a note that said. Something for your victory. Keep up the good work.

The following weeks were filled with victories, tiny victories at first and then they gradually started to be complete and the muffin turned into a tradition and not just a light at the end of a bleak tunnel.

She pushed aside the memories as the luxurious company BMW dropped her off before the door and upon unlocking and entering her flat; Anthea was slightly surprised to find a beautifully wrapped box on her coffee table.

Black silk ribbon wrapped around the dark green wrapping paper and it formed into an expertly twisted bow at the top. There was no card with the box, which would have made anyone else suspicious and afraid of what it contained, but Anthea was not worried. Whatever it was and whomever had sent it, would not have escaped the intricate layers of protection built around Mycroft's person and, by extension, her. Whatever it held was probably another errand from Mycroft and could wait till tonight since there were no immediate instructions about it.

She quickly located the schedule. It was right where she had left it of course, and ignoring her growing curiosity about the contents of the box, she walked past it and to the front door. However, even though she tried to put it out of her mind, Anthea realized there something about the box that she couldn't completely ignore.

Sighing, she glanced at her watch. She was already at least ten minutes late to the office but finally, Anthea decided to indulge herself just this once as she surrendered to her curiosity.

Sitting on the settee with a feeling of pleasant anticipation she was not wont to usually feel, she placed the box in her lap and delicately undid the wrapping. She froze abruptly as the contents came into view, her fingers clutching the thick, expensive black ribbon. She looked down in shock at a tattered and dog-eared copy of The Princess Bride that lay nestled in dark green tissue paper.

She had not seen a book like this since…

Shakily, the woman reached down and picking up the book, she opened it.

Her heart almost stopped when she realised it was the same book, her book; the one that she had read over and over when she was young.

They had told her the day she arrived that it was her home now. As she looked at the dull grey bricks and down the long dark hallway, she knew that she could never call this home. It would always be the House. Just another cold place to silently haunt and survive.

Memories filled her mind; old forgotten recollections of hiding in dirty secret corners, trying to drown out the noise of yelling, the smell of alcohol and rage and the fear that came with the yelling. She could remember how it felt to clutch the book; her small, eleven year old self trying to hide in the comfort and protection of the words that spread before her.

"Don't just stand there, I'm talking to you, kid. No wonder they gave you away. You're broken and useless."

Her fingers nervously opened the book to page thirteen and her eyes traced the familiar streak of blood that ran across the paragraphs and smeared the words. Anthea's blood; now brown and faded. She still had the scar, hidden in her hairline above her forehead.

"Do you know what it means to cry, Spook? All the other girls cry. Can you do anything but hide in corners and stare into space?"

With a low sigh, the woman closed her eyes as the painful memory of hot blood running down her face threatened to overwhelm her. In her mind's eye, she could see the blood dripping on the pages of her beloved book, and she forced herself to be void of feeling.

Anthea was quite surprised to discover tears burning her eyes and escaping from underneath her lashes. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried and Anthea was someone who never forgot anything.

Don't be ridiculous, A. You never cry.

The tears fell unbidden, mixing with the dry blood that stained the page. The liquid lightened the stain; making it look almost fresh.

The blonde girl knelt beside Anthea, her knees resting in the droplets of blood that dripped from Anthea's face. "They'll stop if you cry," the girl pleaded, fear in her voice. "Just do it this once and they'll leave you alone."

Anthea remembered the old man who had given the book to her before she went to the orphanage. He had told her that the book held the secret of what it meant to be brave and as she looked into his kind, life scarred face; she had been young enough to believe him.

"But I'm not brave," Anthea whispered shakily as he bent down, handing her the book. "I'm a spook, I'm nothing. I see everything and I'm invisible. The man smiled and closed her thin, cold fingers around the book. "You don't have to be brave, kid, you just have to pretend that you are. It's all just a magic trick."

She gently laid the book back into the box. Anthea knew there could only be two men who could have found out about the book and who would be bored enough to even want to do so. No one else ever knew or had the ability to discover her book and deduce what it meant to her. No one except those two men but of the two, only one would care enough to return it on this day of all days.

Anthea smiled softly as his name filled her mind.

Of all people in the world, it could only be him.

She had left the book behind as she was leaving the House. She had hidden it in the bottom row of an old, dust-covered book shelf the day she left. The book had been Anthea's only escape from reality in the House and any new arrivals, would need it more than she did now.

She stood on the large, faded grey porch, silently waiting as the large black car arrived for her. She was leaving the House forever. She could feel the eyes full of hate and envy watching her as they peered behind curtains. Her heart ached for her book. She was terrified of facing the world without it, but she could not look back.

With a start, Anthea realized that she had sat in her flat for over ten minutes; lost in her girlhood memories. She would be terribly late now, Mycroft would be getting irritated and she didn't have the energy for dealing with him at the moment. Rising, she wiped her eyes and grabbed the schedule. As she left, she couldn't help but glance back at the box.

After she had returned to the car and it was on its way back the office, she decided to send another text.

Thank you for the book and for the sentiment. It has been a long time since I have seen either. -A

As she looked out the car window, Anthea didn't see the scenery. All she could see was that book and she knew that there would be some late night reading under the duvet; hiding in the safety of her very old and brave friend.

Reaching up, she absently ran her fingers over the hidden scar and she smiled softly as she read the replying text.

It is the least I could do. Happy Birthday, A. -MH

A/N: I promise I have not forgotten about updating "Ghosts That We Knew" and 'You Were Never Supposed To Leave"

I just got sidetracked with this project and had to write it down.

I hope you enjoyed it and I'll enjoy reading your thoughts and comments about Anthea and the boys.