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Mycroft was just about to close his computer for the night when an e-mail notification popped up in his inbox. Usually he’d just leave it for Anthea to sort out tomorrow, but the sender was one of his contacts in MI6, and it was…3 AM. Whatever the e-mail was about, it was urgent. He opened it and quickly found out what had happened. Another goldfish got in too deep with drugs, and desperate to pay off his debt, sold some documents he really shouldn’t have been carrying around in the first place. To make matters worse, he did so in Thailand, which meant legwork. Great. He pulled out his phone and dialed Anthea. She’d need to know to be ready for Monday. “Mmm, hello?” Anthea mumbled over the line, her voice cracking.
“Sorry my dear, were you asleep?” Of course she was, but whenever he got straight to business, she always chided him about the importance of formalities. May as well start making it a habit.
“A little bit. Yeah.” He quirked an eyebrow. Odd phrase, certainly not one that was in any way accurate.
“Can to explain how one can be ‘a little bit’ asleep?” he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Not really, at 3am, sir. Can I help you?”
“I’m calling to inform you to pack a suitcase for Monday. We are going to Thailand for an unspecified amount of time.”
There was the click of a lamp on the other side of the line, and the telltale sound of the shift of mattress springs. “Undercover mission? So touristy clothes? It’s warm there, yeah?”
“Yes to all.” Mycroft didn’t need to answer her questions individually; she probably wanted to get back to whatever she was doing previously. Enjoying some male company, perhaps, though he loathed thinking of her in that light for reasons he couldn’t explain and didn’t want to delve into. “One of our favorite politicians got into debt with some rather unsavory drug dealers whilst on holiday. To pay his debt he sold government documents.” Anthea clicked her tongue. At least someone on this planet recognized the repercussions of doing something that stupid. Honestly, sometimes he felt like an over-paid babysitter. “I know. These people obviously don’t know what to do with these documents so have been trying to sell them to anyone who come their way with a little bit of money. They’re practically advertising what they have on a billboard.”
“So we need to get them back?” Anthea yawned on the word back. She’d need to go to bed soon if she wanted to function tomorrow.
“And most likely neutralize the threat.” He could practically see her running a hand through her hair. They’d been working together all of her mannerisms hand ingrained themselves into his head and he couldn’t get rid of them even if he wanted to.
“I’ll be ready first thing Monday morning. But just one question, sir.”
“Yes, my dear?”
“This couldn’t wait until morning because?”
“I-” To be honest he had forgotten the connection between the time and the fact that Anthea might be asleep. Not that he could let her know that. “Miss James, I do believe you are on call twenty-four seven, or have you forgotten?” he said, his voice completely neutral after that brief slip-up. I wonder if she saw through me.
“That’s right. I’m sorry, sir.”
Her voice had a hint of mockery to it. She definitely saw through me. “Yes, well…” What do I say now? Something along the lines of ‘good night’ I think…
“Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.”
“Goodnight, Anthea.” He hung up and took a deep breath. He should probably get some rest himself, if he didn’t want to slip up like that in front of Anthea again. Not that the last part of that matters, simply a statement of where it would happen.
When Anthea slid into the car next morning, Mycroft didn’t even look away from his window, but when her eyes lingered a little longer than most mornings, he flicked his eyes over to find out why. She seems normal…wait. He looked over at her again, taking in her posture, her expression… oh, really? That’s why? He quirked an eyebrow and turned his head to the side, milking this opportunity for all it was worth. “This, Anthea? Really?”
Anthea shrugged and turned to look out her window, clearly embarrassed. He could have quite a bit of fun with this. “Trust me, I’m just as confused by it as you are, sir,” she sighed.
Walter chuckled from the driver’s seat and Anthea glared at him. Maybe I’ll actually keep this the whole week; her reactions almost make it worth it…almost. She glanced back at him and he had to work to keep the smirk off his face. “Are you keeping that the entire trip?”
He played with his umbrella and watched her eyes train on his fingers, trying to keep her eyes from lingering on his face. Yes. As of right now. “I’m afraid so,” he hummed.
At her mumbled curse and pout, he couldn’t hold it in anymore and allowed a single second of a smirk on his face. Luckily, she had turned away from him so she couldn’t see. This week could turn out to be better than he had originally planned.
Phuket was humid. Mycroft didn’t mentally state the obvious often, but this had to be one of the exceptions. He could feel himself sweating under his jacket and shirt, and his trousers were unbearably hot. Were he alone, he would have simply ducked into a shop and bought a pair of khaki shorts, but appearances had to be kept up. Of course Anthea could get away with wearing a light blue sundress and sandals, and if it weren’t for the fact that he would have to deal with certain unpleasantness once a month he would have wished that he could have been born female to wear something cooler. Anthea’s hair was curled naturally today, bouncing with every step she took. He was painfully reminded of his own hair issues when a few curls fell down into his face and he had to push them back. He didn’t understand how Sherlock could live like this every day.
They walked up to the dealer’s street, wading through unsavory characters who were trying to get a few more takers of their pornographic-natured shows and a few so-called musicians hoping to get a quick buck or two. Mycroft shifted closer to Anthea as they walked up to the building where their ‘business transaction’ had been scheduled to take place. Couldn’t have his best PA be taken by some delinquent goldfish roaming the streets. She was a valuable asset on this mission, nothing more. He knocked on the door in the pattern he was told, and the door flew open with a very angry man on the other side. “Why are you here?!” he barked in Thai.
“We’re English tourists, here to see your boss about some papers.”
“Wait here,” he commanded and slammed the door, causing Anthea to flinch.
“He’s verifying that we’re expected,” Mycroft murmured.
“He seems absolutely charming,” Anthea muttered.
Mycroft turned away, sniffing a single laugh and smiling, folding his hands in front of him. Charming, indeed. They had probably interrupted his morning fix. The man yanked open the door again and said, “Come upstairs.”
Mycroft nodded and walked inside with Anthea close behind, the door slamming behind them. This time, both of them were completely expectant of this and collected.
The inside of the house was bare, save a few furnishings on their last legs, with tourists and locals alike sitting around splitting up their drugs-cocaine most likely-and Mycroft silently but furiously chided them about the dangers of such actions as they stared at the two. The entire floor reeked of bleach and Anthea took a deep breath. Mycroft turned to ensure she could continue, and she waved him off. He drew his lips into a line of disapproval but said nothing.
“Up the stairs,” the man said in English, his Thai accent thick on his tongue. Mycroft gestured for him to lead the way, but the man grew angrier (who knew that was even possible) and said, “No. You go first.”
Mycroft bit his lip and raised his eyebrows and Anthea put on her own disbelieving gaze. This screamed of some sort of trap. “Very well.” Mycroft breathed. “I’ll be a step behind you, A.” He didn’t know where the nickname had come from, exactly, but it seemed appropriate as he nodded to the stairs.
She nodded and started up the stairs, and Mycroft rested his hand on her hip. They had to maintain the cover, after all. They were at the top all too soon and Mycroft knew he was close enough for his breath to brush her neck. When she opened the door they walked to the center of the room, the angry man slamming the door behind them and guarding it. “Boss is coming,” the man said in a normal volume, but with a defensive tone, as if they wouldn’t believe him.
Mycroft nor Anthea responded. The space in-between his and Anthea’s shoulders was painfully obvious to Mycroft, but he refused to show his confusion and discomfort about it. After all, they shared cars, planes, offices; one more example of close quarters shouldn’t bother him. He desperately wished there was something in this room to distract him, but the room was just as bare and derelict as the floor below them. Just one couch in the corner of the room, a coffee table, and some throw pillows. The room smelled like dirt and something that could only be described as filthy people, only making Mycroft even more uncomfortable.
Anthea nudged him with her shoulder, and he cleared his throat, shaking his head to clear it. “Smell is a strong sense,” she muttered to him in French.
“I could say the same to you,” he whispered back.
Anthea pursed her lips and nodded as the door by the couch opened and a man is his late 40s walked out. He had bleached blonde hair and a box hidden in one of his trousers’ pockets. He grinned right up to the moment he saw Mycroft. “Oh, hello…” Mycroft sung under his breath, surprised at this turn of events. Images of drugs popped up in his mind, along with a string of bodies, and several important people getting caught up in something they had no clue about. And then there was a little curly-haired teenager in a back alley, trying to get away from the world. But it was best not to think about that.
“Are you the people who wanted the papers?” the man said, rushed.
“Yes, that would be us,” Mycroft replied. Not once did he let his mask slip.
The man started talking to the guard, and Mycroft translated for Anthea. “Do you know who you’ve brought here?” the boss asked. “English tourists,” the short man responded. “No. Idiot. This is a spy.” Mycroft scoffed at that statement. Spy? “That’s quite the demotion,” he remarked.
“Oh, great.” Anthea inhaled.
“We mean you no harm, give us the information and no one will be hurt.”
“Liar. Get out of here and call your dogs around here off before I shoot you,” the man threatened.
“I’m not lying. Give us the information,” Mycroft said, calm but firm.
“I am owed too much money. This is my payment. Now get out!”
“Either you give us the information or I call my men in to arrest the lot of you. Your choice.”
The man didn’t get a chance to answer before Anthea wrapped her arms around Mycroft’s chest and shoved him to the ground. Pain shot through Mycroft’s left arm and he hissed. He watched Anthea get up and pull out her own gun, shooting the guard in his right arm, causing him to drop the gun, and then the left kneecap, causing him to drop to the floor. She took the magazine out of the gun and threw them to opposite corners. Mycroft considered getting up, but the pain in his arm and now his back was so intense he decided not to push it. Though that meant he had to watch helplessly as the boss held Anthea at gunpoint above his head. “Well, you weren’t prepared for two English tourists, were you?” She threw the blonde a lopsided grin.
“You want to take our documents. You want to steal them.” He spoke calmly, clearly. Accusingly. Anthea shrugged playfully.
“It’s hardly stealing when they belong to you in the first place. The British Government doesn’t play finders keepers.”
“We’re owed money,” the blonde said, completely ignoring Anthea’s light-hearted comment. He jabbed the gun forward as he spoke and Mycroft clenched his jaw in anger at how this man was talking to Anthea.
“Easy, easy. I have the money, my purse is full of it.” That was a lie. Clever girl, now you have some time to negotiate. She nodded to his pocket. “Is that the item?”
He frowned and gulped. “Yes, that is it.”
“What we’re going to do is we’re both going to put our weapon’s down. Okay?” She held her gun in one hand, up in the air, with both hands raised. It was risky, and they both knew it. But it was the best course of action. “Okay?” she asked again.
The man nodded and held his hands up in a mirror of her position.
“Now we’re both going to slowly lower to the floor, put the guns down and stand back up unarmed. Okay?”
Both Anthea and the boss lowered their guns to the ground, and Mycroft felt like he was dreaming. The way Anthea had complete control over the situation, despite the circumstances…a lesser man might find it intoxicating. She knew how to show who was boss, and Mycroft felt a swell of pride. That’s my girl. He paused and considered the phrasing. It was simply a figure of speech, but since when was Anthea his girl? Clearly, she worked for him, she was his PA, and the rest he could chalk up to blood loss. He was rationalizing, but there was no logical way he could describe why she was important enough to him for him to be proud of her, so it would have to do.
By this point Anthea was jabbing her knee against the boss’ incredibly thick skull and pulling a USB stick out of the box. “Nice try,” Anthea laughed.
As she put the USB in her purse, a rather large man snuck through the door that the boss had come through. Mycroft whipped out his gun, forced himself up on one knee, and shot the man.
BANG!
Anthea watched the man fall to the floor with a dull thud and whirled around to face Mycroft. “Always keep an eye on the doorways, my dear,” he scolded, but there was no malice in it.
After grabbing her purse, Anthea stored the USB in it and came over to him. He started to stand up, using his hands to heave himself to his feet, and groaned. At this point Anthea (presumably) saw the gunshot wound and gasped. She rushed closer to him and helped him to his feet, which he allowed though didn’t particularly like. “Oh, yes. I forgot, blood makes you touchy and brings out maternal instincts,” he mumbled sarcastically, trying to inject some humor into their situation, if only to make Anthea stop worrying so much.
“Mycroft, you’re shot,” she reprimanded.
And you don’t consider that there might be other people in this hole, Mycroft mentally retorted. If you can do that and play it off, I can be sarcastic. It was petulant but it made him feel a little better to bring up he wasn’t the only one with problems. Even if it was only in his head. The only thing he actually vocalized was, “It could have been far worse.”
She gave him a look he didn’t understand and grabbed her gun. “Okay, what next, sir?” she asked.
“We get out of here and then we call the support team,” he answered flatly as he looked all around the room to find a suitable and easy exit. “The front door looks like the simplest exit.”
Anthea nodded her agreement. “Right, sir.” She made her way over to the door that lead to the stairwell and pulled on the handle.
Mycroft heard footsteps and a gun being cocked as the door was halfway open, and only one thought was in his entire mind: Alice is about to be shot. He yelled, “Anthea!” and pulled her out of the doorway by her hand just as the bullet fired. He guarded her bodily up against the wall and quickly fired a few rounds into the hallway until a thud was heard. Anthea let out a breath and Mycroft felt a wave of relief just before anger took him over. Someone had tried to shoot Alice, and it would take more than a shot to the shoulder to keep him from expressing exactly what he thought about that course of action. “An unguarded doorway!” he scoffed incredulously, shaking his head. “We know what’s going to kill you one day. That is twice in less than ten minutes.”
“Hey! I’m a PA, not a minor government official with a background of MI6 work. And I saved you, didn’t I?”
He rolled his eyes but conceded she might have a point. “Try to stay away from doors,” he sighed, nodding through the doorway.
They made their way down the stairs, Mycroft’s head reeling. When he lagged a little too mug behind, their hands jerked from where they were connected. He stiffened, hoping she wouldn’t bring it up or let go. It was one of the only reasons he was still standing, and it felt nice besides. He wasn’t one for much physical contact, but he could see the appeal when he was shot and needed to know someone was there beside him who had his back.
They sidestepped past the body and down to the closed door at the bottom. Mycroft let go of Anthea’s hand so she could grab her gun. His arm was throbbing less, he was probably going into shock from it, but he might be able to use the lack of pain to his advantage if he could keep himself awake. He held a finger up to his lips, to show they needed to be as quiet as possible. Anthea nodded once and held her weapon at the ready. Standing as far back as possible, Mycroft very slowly turned the doorknob until he heard a soft click. He looked over at Anthea, and once they were both ready, he pushed the door open. After what felt like an age bullets flew in and Anthea and Mycroft flattened themselves against the wall. Two men outside the door started talking in Thai about why the door may have opened, and what the gunshots upstairs meant. Just as Mycroft’s vision was getting too fuzzy to fight properly footsteps came up towards the door. Mycroft shoved the first guy into the wall, and Anthea shot the second man’s kneecap before knocking the first guy out with the butt of her gun.
“That’s it? Two guys downstairs?” she asked, incredulous.
Mycroft leaned against the doorframe and rested his head against it so he wouldn’t fall over. Each breath was getting steadily harder than the last. “The women and tourist would…have fled upon…the first gunshot.”
“Myc!” Anthea inhaled sharply. “Sit down.” Anthea gingerly placed a hand on each of his arms and softly eased Mycroft to sit on the first step. Normally he would have argued against the nickname and the touching, but he was too exhausted to argue.
She pulled out her phone and began composing a text to send to multiple numbers. “I’m getting the support team and medical help to come here right now,” she explained before Mycroft could ask or question her choice.
He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, wondering how he was going to stay awake. “You did very well, Anthea.”
“Except for doors,” she pointed out.
“Except for doors.” He echoed. I need to say something here, don’t I? Just saying ‘good job’ isn’t exactly high praise… “The move to get the plans… I saw that.”
“I learnt from watching the best,” Anthea laughed.
He felt her rubbing his arm gently and frowned. He was a million miles away from this house, with that pesky hole in his body causing him to lose enough blood to be like this, that he couldn’t quite pin down why Anthea was doing it, or if she was doing it at all. But it was soothing, so he said nothing. As the last of his consciousness slipped away, he thought that if he were to die from blood loss in this house, on this step next to his…friend (though he still loathed the word), he wouldn’t mind, really.
And then there was just blackness.
“Miss James, why are you pouting at me?” Mycroft asked from the opposite side of the private jet with a scowl on his face to match her pout.
“You shaved,” Anthea stated.
Oh. We’re playing that game again, are we? He raised his eyebrows at her and did an exaggerated oh with his mouth. “Congratulations, you can see.” Anthea rolled her eyes as Mycroft smiled. “Back to the office when we land, I can’t have that on my face.”
“Of course not, sir.” Anthea pulled out a book but before she started reading she put it down and asked, “How are you feeling, sir?”
Mycroft waved off the question. “Absolutely fine, which has a lot to do with your fast reflexes, my dear. You made good choices this mission. About eighty percent of the time, anyhow.” He raised an eyebrow and gave Anthea a half smile.
“I’ve got your back and you stop me from making stupid mistakes. The perfect team.” Anthea split into a pleased grin. "Like John and Sherlock.”
“I believe Alice and Mycroft have a far better record than John and Sherlock. We get into far less trouble.”
“Not out of lack of opportunities!” Anthea laughed.
Mycroft scowled as he turned to look out the window to his side. “I really do despise legwork.”
~End~