A/N: Taking a brief interlude from The First Time (don't worry, John is still making his way to the local pub for that drink) for this rather fluffy one-shot.

This is written for my fellow writer, Ephoard, in celebration of her birthday! Hope you enjoy all of John and Anna's reading choices and have a super birthday!

What's in a Name?

Late November, 1914

John Bates sat in the library of Grantham House reading the same paragraph of The Hound of the Baskervilles over and over. It wasn't that Sherlock Holmes didn't keep his attention. This was light reading for him, almost whimsical. He quite enjoyed the detective; his banter with his colleague Watson, his incredible eye for detail and his killer powers of deduction. No, he kept reading the same paragraph over and over because he kept looking over at the open doorway hoping that she would join him. He needed her to join him.

They had only been apart a little over two weeks, but it had seemed like much longer. Lord Grantham had been called to London to assist with the war effort. He once again was commissioned in His Majesty's army albeit in a support position, much to John's relief. The Earl was tasked with organizing and securing vendors from Yorkshire and the surrounding counties to provide supplies for the troops deployed in France. It had been one endless meeting after another for him.

For John, on the other hand, he had nothing but time on his hands during this trip to the city. He had little to do except dress the Earl and make sure all his clothes were in good order. The only staff employed at Grantham house in the off season was the housekeeper, butler and head cook. They all were friendly enough, but John tended to keep to himself. He wandered around the city in his off time. It was good for his leg. Plus, he enjoyed seeing the sights and sounds, so different from Downton. And even though a wartime pallor lay over the city, it still was invigorating. How he wished Anna was with him; to escort her around, visit a museum, sit in a park, take in a concert. Perhaps even have dinner with his mother. He had already visited her several times since arriving and she not so subtly mentioned that she would enjoy seeing Miss Smith again.

Then two days ago, Lord Grantham received word from his wife that she and Lady Mary were coming to London for the week. It seemed the Earl's sister was having a dinner party later in the week and there was a certain newspaper baron that Mary was keen on meeting. John could hardly hide his elation when he heard the news. Anna would soon be joining him.

Lady Grantham and Mary along with Anna and Miss O'Brien arrived in a flurry late in the afternoon with their train being delayed due to engine trouble. John got to share only the briefest of greetings with her before she raced upstairs to ready Lady Mary for dinner, but her smile spoke volumes.

Lord Grantham already had plans to dine at a fellow officer's home, so there was much hustle and bustle to get the ladies ready for the evening. He didn't see Anna again until after the family departed and she joined him in the servants' kitchen for dinner. It was a simple joy to just hear her voice again. Unfortunately, as much as John wanted to monopolize Anna, the sweet elderly housekeeper kept up a steady stream of chit-chat with her discussing the latest cleaning products and dress materials. God, he wanted to be alone with her with no cold looks from O'Brien, no talk of detergents, no others present, just him and her. But he could wait. He would have to wait. With the rush they had arrived in, Anna had yet to fully unpack all of Lady Mary's wardrobe. She wanted to complete the task before the family arrived back from dinner.

So here he sat reading the same paragraph over and over. Outside a steady rain fell. Heavy drops slapped against the library windows in a constant but uneven rhythm. It was the perfect evening to hole up with a good book.

"So there you are, Mr. Bates."

John looked to the doorway and couldn't prevent a smile from splitting his face.

"Did you manage to get Lady Mary settled?"

"I did. Though it seems sort of silly since we will be leaving again in just three days." Anna closed the library door and wandered over to a wall lined floor to ceiling with books. She began to peruse the titles running her fingers over the leather bindings.

"So, what may I ask are you reading tonight?" she queried looking over her shoulder.

"The Hound of the Baskervilles."

"Sherlock Holmes? Well now, that's a change from the tome you were reading before you left." Her lips quirked in grin.

John racked his brain. What had he been reading?. . . Oh yes, Introduction to Principles of Morals and Legislation by the philosopher Jeremy Bentham. Fascinating conclusions, but a tome nonetheless.

"Well, it good to keep a variety in one's reading."

"I agree . . . Any suggestions?"

John pulled himself off the settee and came to her side. He couldn't resist taking a deep breath. Lavender and the slight smell of bleach. The smell of Anna filled his nostrils. It was intoxicating.

Anna continued to inspect the library's collection. "It's sad to think these books rarely get taken off the shelves, except maybe for a dusting. I mean, the family stays here only a few weeks a year and, forgive me for saying, but none of them are particularly ardent readers."

"Well then, let's put the collection to use and find you something. Anything in particular you're in the mood for? Novel? Essay? A book of poetry, perhaps?

Anna smiled up at his eagerness. "A novel, I believe." Her fingers paused upon Great Expectations. John couldn't stop him from issuing a groan.

"Not Dickens. . ."

Anna turned to face him fully. "Oh, why not? I rather enjoyed David Copperfield. It was an engaging story of survival and triumph. A true classic."

"Are you serious? It's trite and sentimental. The characters are never developed beyond a superficial level," huffed John. Then he noticed the mischievous gleam in her eye. She knew of his dislike for Dickens. She was just teasing. Anna couldn't hold back any longer and a laugh escaped. It was musical. John couldn't help but join in.

"Well, perhaps not a classic, but what great characters with the most unusual names . . . Uriah Heap, Wilkins Micawber, Ham Peggotty." Anna paused in thought leaning her back against the books. "Why is it that names are so outlandish in novels? Have you ever met someone named Uriah in real life?"

"Not I," John smiled down.

"But really, Mr. Bates, what's in a name?"

"Ah, 'What's in a name? That which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet,'" Literary banter with Anna. He could not imagine a better way to spend an evening.

"Precisely right. Do we really need such unusual names if the character is what matters?

"Of course, those words were written by Shakespeare and he was rather fond of uncommon monikers."

"True. I don't know anyone named Romeo. . ."

"How about Tybalt or Mercutio?" John gaily added, fully enjoying himself now.

"Nor those either," giggled Anna.

"I suppose an author attempts to convey certain emotions and sentiments with names. Take Uriah, it has such a course and ugly sound to, it fits with a vile character.

"But with a more common name, say Edward or Lucy, the reader is allowed to determine the character's nature, motivations without being influenced," Anna reasoned.

John shifted his weight and braced himself against the bookshelf. His leg was beginning to ache, they should probably sit down, but he didn't want to interrupt such an entertaining discussion.

"You make a good point, but the question comes would you rather read about a Mary or a Desdemona? A Charles or a . . ."

"Sherlock Holmes?" Anna supplied gleefully. God, what a face when it lit up with merriment. She made him feel young and so alive.

"You know," she continued on, "when I was growing up I hated my name. I thought it so dull and ordinary. I was extremely jealous of the neighbor girl. . ."

"No?" John interjected in mock disbelief. "You . . . jealous?"

"Oh, hush now," Anna reprimanded giving him a slight swat on the arm. "As I was saying, the neighbor girl was named Josephina and I so wanted to be her . . . or at least have her name. It sounded so regal like she could have been a princess and I was stuck being plain, old Anna."

Despite the jovial nature of their conversation, he could detect that deep down the school girl who wished to be a princess still existed.

John lifted his hand and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes followed his hand, but made no attempt to stop this new intimacy. His hand then traveled down to gently cup her cheek.

"I don't think Anna is either plain or old, especially not the Anna standing in front of me. I will forever associate the name with beauty and grace."

He could see a blush creep up the face he still cupped. She swallowed once. Her cheek felt incredibly soft.

Bong…Bong…Bong…

The grandfather clock across the room began to chime and they were shaken apart at the sound. Anna continued her inspection of the books. Her blush still in bloom.

"Oh! A Room with a View. I've wanted to read it for awhile now. When it was purchased for the library at Downton, the family was getting ready to travel to Italy on holiday. This was before you came on, Mr. Bates. Mary was just a teenager then. I suggested to her she might enjoy it before their upcoming trip. Well, she took my advice and then promptly lost the book. So I never got a chance to read it."

"Well, now's your chance. Here now, let me get it down," John offered. It was on the top shelf. Anna's fingers could barely brush the spine.

The book was on her other side. Instead of walking around Anna as propriety would dictate, John leaned around her, against her to reach it. He wasn't sure why he was doing what he was doing, but it felt entirely too good to stop.

As his fingers took hold of the book, his body further melded with hers. An uneven sigh escaped from Anna's throat. Her hands reached out in front of her and grasped the bookshelf for balance. Her back arched and her head lolled back against him.

Lavender all around. Silky hair grazed his cheek. He was conscious enough to know he wasn't thinking straight. But he couldn't stop himself from bringing his head down and nuzzle the back of her neck.

"Speaking of names, don't you think it's time you call me John?"

His lips grazed the skin along her black collar. He could feel her rapid pulse and her ragged breath. It matched his own. The rain continued it pound against the windows.

Just as his lips fully found the skin just below her ear, the library door creaked open.

"So, you found yourself a hidin' place, I see," O'Brien jeered from across the room.

Anna straightened up, feathers ruffled, now standing feet away from John. "We weren't hiding. Just discussing books. Not that it is any of your business."

"And I'm a giraffe," the older maid declared rolling her eyes. "I just wanted to let you know the family is back."

"So soon?" It was only a little past nine o'clock.

"With all the rain, I guess there has been flooding and they didn't want the car to get stuck." With that O'Brien turned and left.

Silence engulfed the room. Neither spoke. After being so close just moments before, they were at a loss for words.

"Well, this is yours." John handed over A Room with a View.

"Thank you." Taking the novel from him, Anna walked to the doorway and paused. "I had a lovely time tonight."

John met her eyes. She was talking about more than their literary discussion. "Maybe we could do it again. . ."

"I would like that, John. I would like that very much." A shy smile on her face as she left the room.

Never in his life had heard as sweet sound as his name upon her lips.