A/N: Here's the next chapter! I was bored today, so once again, it's another quick update. It's easier writing this story than the other one, but I'll get to the other one eventually when I have more plot bunnies. Speaking of those plot bunnies, if you have any small ideas for Mycroft/Anthea interactions, please PM them to me! I'd appreciate it a lot. Even if it doesn't make it into the story, it will still put more ideas into my head, which is a good thing. Anyways, thank you to everyone who reviewed!

Send Villains to Hades

"I do hope you're compensating the owners handsomely, Mycroft," Chelsea announced jovially as she draped her trench coat over the chair and leant her umbrella against the table, sitting across the table from her boss. "These clandestine meetings must be costing them valuable customers."

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders and crossed his legs, moving into a more comfortable position since the two of them were alone in the darkened restaurant. One stolen glance at her thin, silken blouse and form-fitting pencil skirt that drew his attention hungrily to her devastatingly-full hips was enough to plunge his thoughts into absolute filth that was definitely not appropriate for the current circumstances.

"They are paid finely, I assure you," he replied tightly, forcing himself to not watch the subtle heave of her ample chest that looked so full and soft that all he wanted to do was kiss each breast until they both were achingly swollen and all his precious asset could to was moan for more of his attentions.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. This was neither the time nor the place for that, so he continued, "as is the landlady upstairs who I've convinced to keep watch on the street during these meetings."

"You have an old lady in your employment?" Chelsea laughed, taking a sip of water from the glass in front of her, not at all aware of the obscene reveries taunting Mycroft's self-control. "How philanthropic of you."

Mycroft's lips drew into a tight grimace as he practically had to pry his gaze away from her plump lips, now wet from the water she just drank. He could have groaned from how difficult his lustfulness was for keeping his composure. "One can never be too careful, especially when one's favorite asset is involved."

"How much does she get paid? I do hope it is more than you pay your personal assistants," Chelsea teased, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the straw.

She had no clue what she was doing to him, how much she was inadvertently teasing him.

"I recently learned that her husband is in quite some trouble in the States for drugs," Mycroft explained, forcing thoughts of the older landlady and her husband through his mind as a pathetic excuse for a distraction. "I told her my brother could be of assistant to his case."

Chelsea cackled with mirth. "Sherrinford? How on Earth could he help anything? He's not exactly the brightest Holmes, sir."

"Of course not Sherrinford," Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I am obviously referring to Sherlock."

"Obviously," Chelsea repeated sardonically. "Let me rephrase my question... How on Earth would Sherlock defend the man in the States without a proper license to do so?"

"He won't."

Chelsea scrunched her nose up in confusion. "Surely the man will lose his case then."

Mycroft sighed, too distracted by his desire to lay her pliant body across the table between them to properly delve into the landlady-Sherlock saga. "That would be the desired result... It should keep Sherlock busy for... about one week, so the inevitable execution of the landlady's husband will be a good thing for all parties involved, it seems."

"Right," Chelsea said slowly, deciding to change the subject to something more pertinent. "I have been able to gather more evidence," she informed him, handing over a manila folder containing photographs of papers and files in Sherrinford's study.

Mycroft flicked through the folder quickly, eagerly focusing on something that wasn't her body, pausing only to skim through its more coded contents. "Yes," he drawled, not taking his eyes off of the photographs, "it seems your fiancé has been absent more so than usual from your abode." He raised his gaze to meet hers intently. "Do you know why that is yet?"

She remembered the list of names on the telephone records she took off of his computer the other night. "He seems to have quite a lot of friends," she said, "but I found the name Snow Bird among them, so I assume it must be something regarding drugs. Perhaps he is doing drugs with this Snow Bird?"

Mycroft's lips twitched into a barely-perceptible smile before he smoothed his expression into a cocky one. "That would be correct," he began, pausing to allow Chelsea to feel proud of her deductions, "if that were not completely wrong, as I am afraid that is."

Chelsea rolled her eyes dramatically at his response. "Not everyone can be a genius such as yourself, sir. Why don't you share what you know with the class?"

"Yes, that would be true," Mycroft continued to smirk. "Not everyone can be a genius like I am... I received intelligence from another operative I have following a potential political scandal in the making. One week ago, that operative relayed word that your target made contact with his, the operative's that is, target."

"You wouldn't be telling me this, unless it was pertinent for me to know," Chelsea deduced. "Why is this target being followed?" she demanded. "And do not give me the standard, 'This is official business' nonsense, Mycroft. I need to know what Sherrinford is up to."

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together on top of the table. His features took on an amused, mocking expression. "It would seem that your fiancé enjoys frequent sessions with a dominatrix."

Chelsea's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me correctly, Chelsea," Mycroft chided her flippantly. "Do not make me repeat myself."

"Sherrinford Holmes, your brother, is seeing a dominatrix and you are not going to do anything about it?" Chelsea asked, feeling her notoriously quick temper begin to flare up. "What would your mother have to say about that, sir? I bet she would not be too pleased."

Mycroft tilted his head as he began deducing her to understand why she was acting in such a manner, but doing nothing to calm her down; her anger was sexy. "I find it curious that you are so upset by this information. Tell me, why would that be?"

"Why would I be upset that my fiance is seeing a dominatrix?" she repeated, glad that the restaurant was deserted as her voice raised an octave. "Seriously, Mycroft? As if I didn't have it hard enough dealing with such a Neanderthal, now I have to put up with this new development? This is ridiculous. The least you could do is eliminate this issue."

As she ranted, she saw his expression harden and his eyes gleam just as dangerously as hers. "It is not my job to handle Sherrinford," he reminded her, trying not to lose his temper as well. If he did, the results would be devastating to their barely-professional relationship they tried so hard to maintain. "You assured me that you could handle it, so handle it."

Chelsea held her head high and pushed her chair loudly from the table as she stood up and shrugged into her coat. "Fine. I'll handle it. Without your help," she muttered angrily. "Thank you for nothing, sir."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and stood up as well, taking his umbrella into his right hand and leaning on it. "If 'handling' it entails confronting him about his little sessions with the dominatrix, I suggest you do otherwise," he warned darkly. It wasn't his decision to visit The Woman. He had more self-control and self-respect than that... at least when it came to a woman of any name other than Chelsea Daniels.

"Oh? and why would that be?" she challenged him, grabbing her own umbrella.

"If you let him know you are aware of his activities," he said as if he were speaking to a child, "then he would begin to question how you found out. He is not the smartest, but he is not that clueless."

Chelsea knew deep-down that her boss was right, but she was still too enraged that he wouldn't help her just the smallest bit to even consider what he was saying with a cool head. "No, you would rather my fiancé to go to another woman for sexual attention because you, Mycroft Holmes, are jealous of your younger brother!"

Mycroft stepped closer to her and took her arm, preventing her from taking a step away from him. "I am not jealous," Mycroft growled, articulating every word dangerously.

Chelsea laughed derisively, smirking up at him. She had figured him out. "Yes you are!" she exclaimed. "That's why you refuse to do anything about the dominatrix. You think that because Sherrinford is getting off with another woman, he won't want to touch me in the ways that you want to touch me. Admit it, you are jealous," she taunted him, lowering her voice to a sneering whisper.

She sucked in a breath as his hand tightened its shackle around her arm. Mycroft greedily looked her body up and down, eating her appearance up hungrily. "What would you know about jealousy?" he rasped rhetorically, lowering his head towards hers to bite one of her ear lobes sensually.

The feel of his warm lips on her sensitive skin sent her mind into overdrive, yet she was too stubborn to give in. "Clearly not as much as you do," she retorted, ignoring the fact that his other hand, having released the umbrella, found its way inside her coat to languidly stroke the small of her back.

Her present opposition to him was having a devastating effect on his self-control and it showed through the way he pulled her against him, the way his hands roamed her body demandingly and possessively. "You will let him see the dominatrix," he cautioned her, nipping at the exposed skin at the base of her neck. Chelsea stifled a moan. "You will because I told you to. Do you understand, Miss Daniels?"

"Yes, sir," Chelsea murmured, finally consenting to his ministrations. Her grasp tightened around his lapels, pulling herself closer to him, as if that were even possible. "Whatever you want, sir."