Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Put the bread in the toaster.

Turn the kettle on.

Get out a mug. Add a spoon full of both coffee and sugar.

Fill mug up with hot water. Add milk.

Place the toast on the plate without burning yourself. Butter.

Sit down at bench.

Open laptop.

Check emails.

The morning routine as rehearsed for Mycroft Holmes took place as it did any other day. It did not matter that he had not even gotten home until two in the morning thanks to cleaning up after his brother and the doctor. Really, John was supposed to make things easier on Mycroft, not harder. Well, at least –

Notice of forced destruction – government property.

Mycroft pursed his lips and placed his mug down on the kitchen count. That email meant that someone had felt in necessary to destroy their government issued technology last night. Mycroft clicked on the email.

Notice of forced destruction.

12.25 am

Item – Blackberry Curve 3G 9300

Employee Code – 3021AC

A hand came up to touch Mycroft’s lips as he focused on the email. Anthea’s phone had been destroyed around twelve thirty last night and he was only finding out about it now. If she’d had the opportunity she would have called to inform Mycroft that she had to do that and why. It almost felt like a wave of dizziness hit Mycroft as his hand left his lips and rubbed his brow.

Where was Anthea going last night? She had dinner with university friends and she’d really not been looking forward to it. She was going home first to get changed and then was planning on walking as the location was not far from her flat.

Mycroft tapped his free hand on the kitchen counter ten times before he opened up the GPS location program on his laptop. The last signal received from Anthea’s phone was located... in an alleyway near her flat.

Mycroft closed his eyes and felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach – a feeling he usually associated with something caused by his brother. Dread was the name of it, he was certain of it.

Mycroft carefully observed his fairly new assistant. He would scrutinize how she would take the information he was about to give her. If she took it well then she might actually last longer than expected. He was leaning against his desk, arms folded. She was sitting in the chair, typing away on the blackberry that was just about to come into topic. Her dark curls falling in her face.

 “We’re going to have to install a kill switch into your phone.” Mycroft breathed, stating the facts as they were. Anthea jerked backways slightly, clearly taken aback, as her brown eyes turned up to look her new boss in the eyes. He could see her hand clench on her phone.

 “Excuse me, sir?” Her eyes squinted faintly as she tilted her head. She had so many tells that would have to be dealt with, it was slightly annoying. “Why?” Mycroft placed his arms on either side of the desk and inhaled, raising his eyebrows, preparing to give the young lady the truth.

 “The information you’ll have access to and available on your phone, it will be of an extremely sensitive nature and many people out there would do a great deal to get their hands on it.” The girl looked down at her phone briefly before looking up, an understanding developing behind the chocolate eyes. She would get used to this type of news eventually if she stayed. “And if the situation ever called for it, that information is more valuable than your life.” Mycroft stopped. Anthea’s mouth twitched slightly but she didn’t move, didn’t flinch, she held herself together like a professional. Good girl.

 “Seriously?” She scoffed. “… Sir?” Was added as an afterthought. Yes of course he was serious? Why would he joke on such a matter? Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Mycroft waved his new assistant off.

 “Don’t take it personally, my dear,” Mycroft sighed. “Some if it is more valuable than ninety0five percent of the global population as individuals.”

 “Even yours?” The girl questioned. Mycroft paused to consider this. So much information is inside Mycroft’s head, so much of it stored away safely. He was quite important if he were being honest. Was there any information that he would trade his life for?

 “Some of it, yes.” Unfortunately all lives are dispensable, regardless of how we may wish it were otherwise. “Miss James, I need to know that you understand.” Anthea nodded with determination.

 “Understood, sir.”

Mycroft leaned back in his seat and tried to push the stupid emotion away. Let’s not get carried away here, let’s look over the facts as they have presented themselves.

1.        Anthea James, also known as Alice Clarke, had gone out last night to a location close to her place of residence. She planned to walk home.
2.        Her work issued phone had been destroyed in an alleyway close to her home. The alleyway was not a shortcut.
3.        Miss James had been asked to protect the information on her phone with her life.
4.        She had not called to inform her boss that she had destroyed the item.
5.        Her boss had not tried to contact her since she left work that day.

Mycroft picked up his mobile and entered the phone number for Anthea’s flat.

…

He tried again.

…

6.        Miss James was not home.

He knew what it was shaping up to look like. He what direction the facts were heading. That didn’t mean Mycroft liked it. The idea that something had happened to her. To that annoying girl who fell down stairs face first, who called him because she’d gone out drinking without money and her phone, the stupid girl who put a painting of flowers in his house and stuck her nose into his personal business. The idea that she might not come into his office with cookies or bring in coffee from a café first thing in the morning…

He needed more evidence.

Mycroft picked up his phone and dialled.

 “Hello.”

 “Walter, its Mycroft. You’ll need to come to my house right away. I’m afraid I need to attend to urgent business.”

Mycroft peered out the window of the town car into the alleyway. The alleyway so close to Anthea’s flat, the alleyway where her phone had last emitted a signal. He clicked his tongue to himself as he turned away from the window and pulled his black leather gloves from the pocket of his coat. Carefully he put them on, flexing his fingers afterwards to ensure fit and comfort.

 “Walter, I’ll need your gun.” Mycroft called to the front seat. He pulled out his phone to check the time. It was still early, hopefully no one had disturbed whatever there was to find in this alley.

 “Sir, I’m sorry. We both know that this gun is to remain in the car at all times unless it is an emergency. This isn’t an emergency.” Mycroft rolled his steel blue eyes, almost scowling.

 “No, I do not mean the one in the glovebox, Walter. I mean the one you wear around your left calf.”

A moment of silence as Walter sat completely still.

Walter bent down lifted his pant leg up and pulled out his pistol from its holster. He twisted around and handed it to Mycroft. Silently Mycroft took it. He tucked it into his belt safely as he got out of the town car and began towards the ally. The soft click he heard behind him indicated that the driver was following him. Knowing Walter, he’d stop at the mouth of the ally and let Mycroft investigate on his own.

The wall to the left of him had a small smear on the red bricks. Stepping closer and looking at it, it was clear it was blood. Judging from how far down Mycroft had to look at it, it was clearly at around eyelevel with Anthea. Mycroft pursed his lips. Not valid enough but interesting enough to note. His steely eyes scanned the alley for more indications of foul play or of a fight of any kind. About two thirds down the alley he found more. Mycroft found himself having to pause a moment before approaching. He crouched down near it. Not a fatal amount, nor was in enough to be any danger. Still, it told a story. If it were Anthea walking home she’d been ambushed and pushed against the wall. Managing to get away, she’d ran in this direction towards the safety of the lighter street. Mycroft shut his eyes tightly, fighting away the headache that he feared was coming on for no apparent reason.

This was all well and good. It painted a very probably picture. What was needed, however, was the phone. That stupid blackberry that never left his personal assistant’s hands.

Mycroft found it closer to the first bloodstain, against the opposite wall. He pulled out his phone to take a photo of the original location of Anthea’s phone so he could then pick it up without removing any evidence that may be needed. Mycroft turned the phone over in his gloved hand. The screen was smashed. Interesting. This would not be Anthea’s doing.

This would indicate that Anthea had destroyed her phone prior to running. They had caught her again and then went back to look at her phone. Finding it dead, one of them had thrown it at the wall in anger, destroying the screen. They had then idiotically forgotten about the useless phone and taken the assistant with them. Mycroft’s grip tightened on the destroyed phone.

So, all evidence was pointed to Anthea James, Alice Clark, the personal assistant to one Mycroft Holmes being abducted for information. And for some reason this information was making Mycroft’s heartrate increase. This could present a problem. How could one focus properly on an investigation when the thought of what happened affected you physically. That being said, Mycroft would not trust the agencies with this. Not something this important.

Why was it important?

 “Sir?” Mycroft turned around, eyebrows quirked. He hadn’t heard Walter approach. Walter’s hazel eyes were trained on Mycroft’s face, watching the younger man’s every twitch. Mycroft pouted and placed Anthea’s phone, or the evidence rather, exactly where he found it.

 “It seems as if we have an investigation on our hands, Walter. I’ll have to give our budding detective a call.” Mycroft looked at his hands as he began to take his gloves off before he would call his brother. “Perhaps we should look into retrieving a Miss Jamie Thompson so my brother can get a clearer image of the victim…” Mycroft pulled out his phone and began dialling.

 “Kid.” Straight away Mycroft’s eyes shot up to meet Walter’s at the use of that ghastly nickname. He had accepted it at twenty one. Why it was relevant still, he honestly had no clue. People were strange. “Kid, your hands a shaking.” Without shifting his neutral mask, Mycroft curiously looked down at the hand holding his mobile.

 “Oh, will you look at that.” He hummed. Walter didn’t move from his position but you could just feel his urge to step forward in the air. Luckily the driver knew better than that.

 “She’s not an idiot and you’ve trained her well.” Mycroft clicked his tongue.

 “All that matters is that no information is given to whatever enemies are behind this.” No quick response was given. Mycroft kept dialling and pressed call. He brought the phone up to his ear, listening to the ringing, trying to stop his hands shaking.

 “I’ll drop you off at your brother’s and then I’ll take a helicopter to retrieve Miss Thompson, sir.”

 “Thank you Walter.”

 “I thought you made a point to hire smarter people than that.”

 “Sherlock!”

 “It’s a truthful statement, John.” Sherlock sat in his armchair, Mycroft in John’s, while Doctor Watson had pulled over a seat from the kitchen to sit close to the Holmes brothers. Mycroft absentmindedly twirled the handle of his umbrella back and forward.

 “I take no offense to Sherlock’s question, Doctor Watson, he is right. I do make a point of hiring intelligent people and I believe that Anthea made the wisest decisions should could under the circumstances. A trained professional may have done better-”

 “I could have done better.” Sherlock interrupted with a roll of his shy blue eyes. Mycroft smirked sarcastically at his brother.

 “Genius minds not included, brother mine. We’re also all aware of your fighting skills.” Sherlock looked away, disinterest written all over his face.

 “What do you want me to do, dear brother? Find her or stop any information leak?”

 “You really have no filter, do you?” John rubbed his forehead in exasperation. Mycroft lazily shrugged.

 “Whatever the best outcome you can ensure is. You’ll have my resources behind you, of course. That includes agents, myself, access to information on Anthea. Her friend, who is the closest thing to family my assistant has –”

 “I told you she was orphaned.” Sherlock nodded at John. Mycroft shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

 “And we’re all very proud of you for discovering the obvious, Sherlock.” Mycroft sneered before continuing. “As I was saying, the friend should be arriving shortly if you wish to talk to her. What about it, brother mine?” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.

 “It sounds boring.” He stated.

 “Sherlock, don’t be horrible.” John gawked. He turned to Mycroft and shook his head. “Of course we’ll do it, Mycroft.” Mycroft nodded. He turned back to his brother.

 “Do you want the casefile or not, Sherlock?”

 “Why would you have me do it?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head.

 “I’m sorry, I was under the impression you were some form of detective. Have you swapped careers without notifying me?”

 “Defensive.” Sherlock half smirked at his brother before his face dropped serious once more. “Surely you have people capable enough for this. As you said, brother dear, you have resources.” Mycroft’s face fell into a look of disdain.

 “Because it’s either put up with your whinging, Sherlock, and have the case solved quickly, or have petty little yes-men getting lost following false leads.”

A pause. Sherlock smirked again.

 “You want to make sure we find her quickly. You want her back alive.” Mycroft sighed.

 “Assistants are so hard to train these days, and Anthea knows the filing system better than I do.”

…

 “Fine, give me the casefile. I’ll have John call if I need anything.”

After further discussion with his brother, Mycroft left 221B Baker Street to find his town car parked out the front. That could only mean one thing. Mycroft opened his usual door and slid into the car with practice ease.

 “You!” Sitting in Anthea’s usual seat next to the passenger side window, looking positively aghast was none other than his assistant’s best friend. Blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing salon black clothing, the girl had clearly been picked up during work. Mycroft faked a smile.

 “Ah, Miss Thompson. How nice of you to join me.” He practically sung. Jamie’s hazel brown/green eyes widened and her very emotive face pulled into a dramatic look of shock.

 “Join you? Join you? You kidnapped me!” Mycroft looked down at his umbrella at Jamie’s very untimely choice of words. “I was working! Does Alice know about this? Does Alice approve of you just stealing people in the middle of their day to day lives? Does she do that?” Mycroft twirled the umbrella, raising his eyebrows.

 “Miss Clarke does not know that you are here because she is not here.” Jamie squinted at the statement trying to comprehend it.

 “What do you mean she’s not hear?”

 “I’m afraid she has been abducted.” He turned to face Jamie with a bored expression. “And actually abducted, Miss Thompson, not delivered to people that she already knows.” To categorize all the emotions that passed over the blonde makeup artist’s face would take time and effort Mycroft really didn’t want to invest in the girl. He did note the tears beginning to well up.

 “Oh my God! That’s horrible. Is she going to be okay?” The girl squeaked. Mycroft pursed his lips, eyes trained on his umbrella, heart skipping a beat for some reason.

 “The odds are about even.”

 “Oh my God!!!” Jamie croaked. Mycroft glanced over to see her hands covering her eyes.

 “Please don’t cry in my car. This is a no crying zone. I don’t do tears, Miss Thompson. Please.” The girl laughed in shock and disgust.

 “My best friend is kidnapped and you’re telling me I have a fifty-fifty percent chance of not seeing her and you tell me I can’t cry? What is wrong with you? Do you not care at all?” Mycroft’s grip on his umbrella tightened. He could feel the wood against the bones in his fingers. “She doesn’t shut up about you.”

 “Don’t make assumptions, Miss Thompson. Just because I choose not to weep like some school girl does not mean I do not care about Alice’s welfare.” He looked out the window.

Mycroft watched the scenery whiz past out the window, knowing this route intimately. Jamie was fidgeting behind him, he could tell by the sound of the seatbelt grazing her shirt and extending.

 “Why am I here? What can I do to help?” Her voice was quiet and slightly hoarse from her crying and very loud usual tone. Mycroft took a moment to breath before turning around to face the emotive blonde once more.

 “Your first task will be to assist my brother in the investigation.”

 “Your brother?” Jamie tilted her head.

 “Sherlock Holmes, he –”

 “Oh yeah! Alice sent me his roommate’s blog! He’s kind of cute in an intense way.”  She smiled sadly. Mycroft rolled his eyes but was somewhat relieve by the elevation in mood.

 “He or Doctor Watson may want to talk to you about Alice.” A thought came to Mycroft’s mind. He closed his eyes and groaned. Why was he about to say this? “Do me a favour and don’t use Alice’s name. Just call her your friend.” The confusion on Jamie’s face equally matched Mycroft’s confusion as to why he was telling her this.

 “What, why?” Mycroft took a breath.

 “She has yet to tell Sherlock her name. She wants to see if my brother can work it out on his own. It’s a weird game she’s playing with him and I have an unfortunate habit of indulging my brother’s games.” Jamie smiled, her eyes warm.

 “No problem. My friend, not Alice. Got it. I wouldn’t want to ruin her game.” Mycroft sniffed back a laugh that threatened to escape.

 “Secondly, if we manage to get Alice back-”

 “When.”

 “When.” Mycroft nodded. “She will need all the help you can give her.”

 “You’re going to have to call my boss and get me the time off. As long as you think she needs.”

That wouldn’t be a problem at all.

Each day that passed felt like agony. Each day got slower and slower and the nights barely moved at all. This anxiety that was keeping Mycroft up at night, he hadn’t felt it in years. Not since he’d stay awake just waiting for a call saying his brother had died from an overdose. Letting people in, even the slightest, that’s what causes this. This is why you shouldn’t let people make you laugh or indulge their whims because once they worm their way into your lives it was almost impossible to shake them off. Somehow this girl with the mischievous smile and soft brown curls had made herself somewhat important.

It was her and her humours fault that Mycroft now sat in her flat silently with the blonde makeup artist in absolute silence. He’d visited out of politeness and to fill her in on the details. He had visited because it had been days and the smell of Chanel number 4 was starting to dissipate from his office but he knew Anthea’s flat smelt of it. He’d visited because every time Jamie smiled he thought about how often Anthea had been the cause of that smile. In other words he was being a masochist.

The pair had run out of updates quickly but it was rude to just leave and if he left he may never return to this flat and that just didn’t seem right. When Mycroft’s phone buzzed he lazily unlocked it.

I know where she is. – SH.

 Mycroft’s heartrate increased and he felt as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. He must have audible hummed because Jamie was now on the edge of her seat.

 “What? What?”

 “It appears as if my brother may have delivered.”

I’ll get the rescue mission set up. – M.H.

Chapter Text

The mission was quite routine, really. Simply even. Mycroft, Sherlock and John were to go ahead with the first wave of agents to begin the clear out. A second wave, led by James, would be in charge or securing the location. Once Anthea was located John would stay behind with her a keep her safe until James confirmed their safety. That was if she was alive, of course. Mycroft and Sherlock would keep going ahead with the agents in order to locate anything of interest or people of interest. It promised to be routine and quick, and it was. It absolutely was a very quick mission. One cannot account for emotional responses and how they shade your view of a mission. To Mycroft it would always be a failure because they could have gotten there sooner. They could have got to her when she still looked like her.

John Watson, being the soldier he was, gun in hand, was the one to kick the heavy metal door as hard as he could. It crashed against tiles as it ricocheted open. The first thing that hit you was the stench of the room. It smelt of bleach, blood, and rust. The bleach was the most assaulting smell, the blood and rust feeling more like a disgusting aftertaste left in your mouth. Then in the centre of the room, chained to a metal chair, there she was. Anthea James, Mycroft Holmes’ assistant, born Alice Clarke, sat looking far worse for wear, trying to blink through the bright light that had just landed on her face. Mycroft’s blood ran cold.

 “Mycroft!” Anthea exhaled through cracked and bloodied lips. Her voice croaked when she spoke and it only added to Mycroft’s cold icy anger. Mycroft kept his face still, masked of any emotion, as he looked over Anthea more carefully than he ever had before.

He face was bloodied – the origin of the blood being multiple locations. One being her bottom lip, the laceration on her left cheek, and a horrible looking gash just across from her left eye. Minor cuts in multiple locations, her wrists appeared very raw against the handcuffs and the girl seemed to be favouring a shoulder. Dark painful bruises littered her small frame. And he meant small frame. She looked thin. So thin. It caused Mycroft physical pain to see her like this and made him want to rip every single person within this building to shreds. Anthea, so sophisticated looking, so proud, looked so broken. He knew they should move on but Mycroft was stuck looking his personal assistant over. It was reminiscent of the time nine year old Sherlock had accidentally knocked over one of Mummy’s porcelain dolls her own mother had given her. Seeing that porcelain cracked and broken, it was hypnotic in a most heart breaking way. If one allowed themselves to feel such emotion. Anthea wasn’t broken beyond repair though, the way her warm chocolate eyes clung to his cold steely ones made that obvious.

Sherlock tapped Mycroft on the shoulder, breaking him from the hypnotic trance of the broken doll. He looked over to see sky blue eyes with something that might be concern mixed in them. Sherlock gestured for the two of them to move down the hall.

 “John.” Sherlock took the lead, giving John the go ahead. He tossed the keys they’d kindly required off of a now deceased man to the doctor who caught them mid-air.

 “Got it.” John nodded, his head clear and focused. With a slight hesitation Mycroft and Sherlock headed down the hallway at a quick pace. Time to finish this off as quickly as possible. Time to make these people realise who they were dealing with. Time to get the broken doll to safety.

Mycroft stood in the doctor’s surgery set up of the safe house meticulously reading over the doctor’s findings. Most of these he had discovered for himself just by glancing at poor Anthea, right down to the fractured cheek. Most of these were things you could clearly see just by looking at her. Yes, alright, he knew what those injuries were, he knew they could be fixed. It was what he could not see that he was concerned about. First of all was mental health, which needed to be assessed. He’d deal with that when Anthea was ready to deal with that. Secondly, what a group of men could do with a beautiful girl, or anyone for that matter.

Mycroft looked up from the document and eyed the doctor suspiciously. The doctor, a greying man of about Mycroft’s height and slightly slimmer build, gulped under the steely gaze.

 “Have you checked for everything? Internal bleeding, infections, diseases, STIs?” The doctor cleared his throat and gained a bit of his courage back in order to talk like a professional.

 “All of them. All of my findings are listed there for you to read-”

 “Yes I can see that.” Mycroft interrupted, his tone slightly on edge without him meaning for it to happen. He pursed his lips, reading over the report quickly once more. “Nothing more?” He asked. “You are absolutely certain?”

 “Absolutely, Mr. Holmes.” The doctor nodded, adjusting his glasses so they sat further up his face. “Miss James has a substantial amount of bruises, a sprain or two, irritation to her skin, and her cheek is fractured. That is all. Other than the antibiotic for the infection she’s perfectly fine.” Perfectly fine? What a horrible choice of words when talking about a torture victim to their…. Employer. Doctor Watson would have put it better. She will be perfectly fine. In fact, he’d said that very thing when filling in Mycroft and Sherlock after the raid. Mycroft placed the paper down and folded his arms across his chest, eyes narrowing on the doctor.

 “Say I was to take her to another professional. Are you one hundred percent sure that they would arise to the exact same results as you?”

 “Definitely.”

 “Would you willing to risk your career on it?” Mycroft stepped forward. His tone was dark and low. This was not a threat, it was a promise. If there was something else wrong, anything else. This doctor would find himself working in a fast food restaurant. The doctor stood his ground, despite breaking eye contact that demonstrated fear.

 “Mr. Holmes, I double checked your PA, she’s all set to go home.”

The bathroom door creaked as it opened. Both the doctor and Mycroft looked in the direction of the noise. Mycroft once again found himself scrutinizing Anthea with excruciating care as she stepped out of the bathroom. She still looked bruised and broken, no doubt about that. It looked as if certain movements would hurt her, including smiling. She had such a cunning smile, too. That wasn’t point, however, the point was, now she was in those ugly things she calls pyjamas, with her body washed of blood and the open wounds closed he could see Anthea again. Mycroft found himself calming down at this thought and managed to school his expression back into a well-practiced facial expression. The doctor made an excuse to leave the room but Mycroft wasn’t listening. He didn’t care in the slightest. Once the door closed behind the doctor Anthea tried her best to smile at her boss. It was only a faint lift of either side of her mouth, her eyes glittering with both sadness and relief.

 “Hi, Sir.” Her voice cracked and something tugged at Mycroft’s chest. He felt his expressionless face slip away faintly. She needed to be comforted, but how? Mycroft tilted his head and faked a warm smile.

 “Hello, my dear.” He hummed. Apparently that’s how she needed to be comforted. At the sound of his voice, Anthea stepped closer to him. Closeness. Closeness and familiarity are what she was craving. Of course she was, being alone in an alien environment for so long. Should he step closer to her? Yes, of course he should. Mycroft hesitantly stepped closer to the girl in her band t-shirt and flannel trousers.

 “Sorry I missed work.” She shrugged. Once again Anthea attempted to smile, this time it was that cheeky grin, the one with the crinkled nose and the sparkling eyes. The sparkling eyes were there, none of the other features were, they would have hurt her too much. And there was that tug at Mycroft’s chest again. “Something came up.” Still joking around, that was good. She was still Alice. Mycroft shrugged, playing along.

 “Perfectly understandable.” He waved her off. “Just this once, however.” Anthea sniffed a noise. It was supposed to be a laugh but clearly that would cause her discomfort by the way her voice croaked and cracked. Anthea gestured up and down her body lazily with both hands. She cocked her head to the side in a very Alice like manner.

 “How do I look?” Absolutely amazing because you’re walking around and talking and making jokes. Mycroft smiled.

 “As stunning as you always look.” And he meant it. A warmness crossed Anthea’s features and she probably didn’t notice that she’d taken another step forward, dangerously into Mycroft’s comfort zone. Mycroft inwardly sighed as he searched those dark eyes of Anthea’s. “Alice, have I ever told you that bravery is the kindest word for stupidity?”

1. No. That was a mistake. A bad choice had been made. This was not the intended outcome.

Anthea’s eyes became glassy, filling with tears. She looked up at the lights as if trying to banish the tears the same way one brought out a sneeze. The girl tried desperately to blink them back, one or two escaping and falling down her purple and yellow stained face.

 “I was just doing my job, sir.” She croaked in a quiet voice. She looked back at Mycroft and Mycroft could see how desperately the stoic character was trying to remain strong and not break to pieces. “I didn’t let them have anything.” Without even thinking, Mycroft began stroking Anthea on the arm, the way Mummy or Father would when comforting him or his brother when they were little.

 “I know.” He whispered.

Alice has been retrieved and seen by the physician. On our way, be prepared – M.H.

Awesome! Great to hear. Cya soon – Jamie.

… You know you’re not talking to some work person. Text like a normal human – Jamie.

Use a period at the end of your text and maybe I will. – M.H.

Mycroft walked Anthea up to her flat. He had to, the girl was inching forward to him every chance she got. She was not aware that she was doing this, but Anthea was clearly venerable and needy. The broken doll needed and escort and someone to hold the pieces together. Mycroft would have to do that until Jamie could do it.

They reached her front door and Anthea patted the left side of her body, feeling the absent of her purse. Her brain seemed slow on the uptake but that was to be understandable. She blinked a few times, pouting slightly. She looked up at Mycroft, brown eyes full of confusing, and shrugged.

 “I don’t have a key.” Her quiet voice cracked on the last word. Ah, you made the connection, well done. It’s a good thing they didn’t need a key to get inside the flat today. Mycroft quirked his eyebrow and faked a smile as he leant over and knocked on the front door. Hopefully that annoying little thing inside the flat would be of some comfort. Jamie must have been in the middle of one ridiculous task or another as there was rustling and frantic noises from within the flat. Confusion crossed Anthea’s face at the noise. The door was pulled open. Jamie’s face flashed with the same list of emotions as before when she lay her eyes on Anthea but this time the final emotion was relief. Anthea’s expression was still confusion, plain and simple.

 “Oh, Alice!” Jamie cried, Mycroft winced. Jamie placed her thin hands on either side of Anthea’s face and stood on her toes in order to give the taller girl a warm kiss on the forehead. She then pulled her in for a gentle and warm hug. “I was so worried about you! You can’t do that to me! I’m so happy to see you again!” Anthea’s eyes were warm and sparkling again, good. If there’s one thing the annoying blonde was good for, it was to restore Alice to Anthea.

 “Jamie?” Anthea pulled out of the hug a few centimetres in order to look her best friend in the eye. “What are you doing here?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed onto Mycroft.

 “He sent a helicopter for me.” She nodded to him, accusing him of some great crime. “Without warning.” He eyes still narrowed and angry, but Jamie’s mouth pulled into a playful smile reminiscent of her best friend’s. Mycroft rolled his eyes at her. “Honestly, I thought I was being kidnapped.” Jamie then pulled Anthea back into a hug before the girl could even respond.

This was all getting too touching and emotional for Mycroft’s liking. He needed to get out of there. This was not something he was comfortable with, he was merely getting in the way at this point. Mycroft cleared his throat to get the girls’ attention. They pulled out of the hug and both looked at him with vastly different coloured brown eyes. Mycroft pulled out his phone and pretended to look at the time.

 “I best be off.” He sighed, feigning reasons to leave. But there was one more topic that needed to be approached before he did leave. Placing on his strict boss persona, Mycroft regarded Anthea with a serious expression. “My dear, I do not expect to see you back at work until next Monday.” The broken doll’s warm expression shattered and she shook her head.

 “But-” She whispered.

 “No buts, Ali.” Jamie cut her off, shaking her head in return. “Mycroft and I knew you’d argue so I’m here until Sunday to play doctors and nurses with you.” So you had someone to lean on. Jamie could be your familiarity, she would be much better at it.

 “What about-”

 “My work?” Jamie finished Anthea’s sentence for her.

 “Her boss has agreed to a paid vacation.” Mycroft finished it off. Anthea looked between her boss and her friend, looking bewildered. The two of them working together didn’t make sense to her. That was fair enough, it didn’t make sense to Mycroft either. Mycroft turned back in the direction of the stairs. Time to leave before things got too emotional again. “As I said, next Monday, Miss Clarke. Miss Thompson.”

 “Bye Mycroft!” Jamie called out like an eager child saying goodbye to a family friend. “Say hello to your brother for me!”

Sunday generally meant the day off. If you had a personal assistant, Sunday generally meant the day off. Having gone without an assistant for about two weeks at this point, Mycroft was working today. He was sitting in his home office dealing with emails that Anthea would usually sort and answer or delete. It was a very time consuming process. After this he’d move on to signing all the contracts that needed to be signed.

Mycroft is never surprised by the ringing of his phone – he turned to look at it vibrating on his desk – he is merely annoyed at its bad timing. Mycroft sighed as he picked up his phone and looked at the number.

Anthea

Of course. It was Sunday, Jamie was leaving and therefore Anthea was left on her own. Anthea would be in that flat so close to the abduction site and still most likely feeling so uncharacteristically needy. Mycroft had been half expecting this call.

 “Yes, Anthea?” Mycroft answered the phone using his trained bored and neutral tone. She may not be able to face her home alone, but some normality would do the girl wonders. Silence followed for thirty seconds, Mycroft counted.

 “So um, Jamie just left…” The PA trailed off, losing her nerve. Mycroft looked at the pile of contracts on his desk. He’d have to keep working, he couldn’t keep her company if he wanted to. Still… Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.

 “Bring a book to entertain yourself.” He sighed.

She was looking better as she stood in his at his front door waiting to be let in. Her bruises and wounds were all pretty much the same but the swelling had come down and she was starting to look like herself again. Anthea had a little bit of that spark back that made her so…. Her. She could smile a bit more now, too.  She had Wuthering Heights clutched in her hands as she smiled sheepishly at her boss.  Mycroft stepped aside to let Anthea in without saying a word. He shut the door behind her and began his way back to his office. Mycroft turned to look at Anthea with a bored expression, establishing some normality once more in such an abnormal circumstance.

 “I’m ordering out this evening. The menu is in the kitchen, write down what you wish to have for dinner. I’ll be in the study.” He began to walk away but paused mid-step. “You may bring your book in there if you must.” A little bit of metaphorical hand holding won’t hurt her recovery.

A few minutes after Mycroft had gotten back into his work, now onto the contract, Anthea slipped into the office. He felt her pause at his desk, most likely she wanted to help. Luckily she kept walking and made her way to the couch near the bookcase. She opened her book and began reading with a contented sigh. Mycroft looked up to watch her. He quirked an eyebrow at her choice of book.

 “Wuthering Heights again, my dear?” In the time Mycroft has known her, Anthea has read that book at least twice a year. It was almost always within her purse. It was quite curious really. Anthea rolled her dark eyes and smiled at her boss. Good, even more of Alice was coming back.

 “It’s my comfort book, leave me alone.” The broken doll huffed. Mycroft sniffed a laugh and went back to signing the annoying contracts that apparently no one else had the authority to sign. “Do you mind if I put my feet on the couch?” It was a quiet voice and a thoughtful request. She knew better than to just presume but how could Anthea think that given the circumstances Mycroft could even say no to such a request? Mind you, he would normally say no and he was trying to establish normality.

 “Be my guest.”

Mycroft sighed heavily as he signed the last contract.  He leaned back in his office chair and stretched out his back, relishing the feeling.

 “That’s the last of those.” He hummed. “Now to see if any other idiot needs me to sort out their issues via email.” Mycroft turned back to his desktop and opened his web browser. “Honestly, I’m impressed with how you can tolerate reading these all day, my dear.” No answer. “Anthea?” Mycroft looked away from the computer and glanced over to the couch. Immediately his hands dropped from the keyboard and he leaned back in his chair to take in the sight.

Anthea had fallen asleep somewhere within the last hour. He hands were tucked under the less bruised side of her head, her ankles crossed. The book still sat slightly open as it leaned against her chest as it softly raised and fell with every breath she took.

Really, Mycroft should wake his assistant up and send her off to bed. Her room was far more comfortable than this couch. But her face, oh her face. It was so serine and she had the gentlest smile on her lips. Mycroft could not bear to wake her up and burden her with real life. Very quietly Mycroft picked up her book, closed it and placed it safely on the side table. He walked out of the room to fetch a blanket from the linen cupboard. Mycroft chose his mother’s red blanket. The one that used to sit on the couch at home. The one she’d given him when she bought a new one in case he was even inclined to feel nostalgic of childhood. He wasn’t so it sat in the cupboard. It was the perfect choice for now, however. It smelt of home and Anthea needed to feel safe. This would do nicely.

Mycroft snuck back in the room and gently draped the blanket on top of Anthea’s sleeping form. He took one last look at his assistant fast asleep on his couch, committing the image to memory before leaving the room and turning off the light.