Sherlock heard his brother's footsteps in the stair well and groaned in irritation. "Mycroft, why don't you..." He broke off as he turned and got a good look at the government official's face.

In the kitchen, John sighed. He really wasn't up to enduring another Holmesian sparring match this morning. With a sense of resignation, he got down a third cup and started to make Mycroft a cup of tea own. It wasn't until a couple of minutes later that he noticed the silence. Not that that meant anything. The Holmes brothers could argue for hours without uttering a single word.

The doctor set the three cups of tea on a tray along with some biscuits and steeled himself to face the inevitable carnage that he was sure to find in the living room. What he found stunned him. Sherlock was sat next to Mycroft on the sofa and the younger Holmes looked concerned.

John set the tea tray down on the coffee table, catching his flatmate's eye in the process. He raised a questioning eyebrow as he tilted his head in the government official's direction.

Mycroft gave himself a shake. "Thank you, John." He reached for a cup of tea and took a sip, letting his eyes fall shut momentarily. When he opened them, he looked at the surface of his tea. "Her family has been notified, of course."

John frowned in confusion. He looked at Sherlock for clarification, mouthing, "Who?"

"Mycroft's assistant was killed last night," the detective explained. "There was an attempt on his life and she thwarted the would-be assassin's plans."

The doctor was shocked. How did Sherlock know that? Nevermind, it was Sherlock. "Anthea?" John asked.

Mycroft smiled, looking up. "I believe you knew her by that name, yes." He set his cup of tea down on the coffee table. "She was a bright young lady. In fact, she could have been our younger sister." The government official frowned. "Perhaps she was too much like us." He sighed.

John looked from brother to brother. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, John, that she was dedicated to her career above all else. She didn't have time for a normal life. No goldfish." Mycroft paused, seemingly lost in thought. "And now she's dead. You know, I don't think I ever saw her truly happy. Content, perhaps, but that's hardly the same thing, is it?"

Sherlock gaped at his brother.

"Sherlock. You have a goldfish, should you choose to acknowledge the fact." Mycroft stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. "And I think there's one that might suit me at the Yard. Think about it, won't you. Good day, John." Mycroft slipped silently from the flat leaving behind a gobsmacked detective and a very confused doctor.