A/N: A celebration of two under-loved pairs, neither of which I usually ship myself, and perhaps a different take on the Anthea-Mycroft relationship. But I saw someone walking down the street in the outfit I employed here and it was just too good to waste. And I had to appreciate Martin Freeman's cuteness. Enjoy!
-for you!
Athena.
She felt like an Athena today. The Greek goddess of wisdom, well, that was appropriate enough; she tried to exude an air of peace and efficiency and make Mr Holmes feel secure. He did worry so. To complete the image of herself she picked a clip from the pencil-cup on her desk and curled her hair into a French twist. She caught sight of herself in the window opposite and started mentally programming herself to answer to Athena until it was her name in her own mind.
The clock was rather loud in this room. She'd always noticed. It was so obvious when she had the room to herself and the only noises were the clock and the occasional tap of the keys on her laptop or her ever-present BlackBerry.
Do you ever get any free time?
Oh, yeah. Lots.
She'd rejected him out of hand because, well, she'd looked at him and hadn't seen much. But after the hours she'd spent under Mr Holmes' direction pulling up street-camera feeds to watch him, she'd started to change her mind. He was cute, in a funny sort of way. If she ever met him again she'd apologise. Maybe. Depending on who she was that day. That first day she'd been Anthea. It was an epithet for the Greek goddess Hera, and Mr Holmes had been extra-worried about Sherlock that day and had needed a bit of mothering. Or something. Anthea was pretty, too. She'd rather liked it.
The speaker on her desk that linked her 'office' with Mr Holmes' beeped briefly, then the silky drawl she had come to associate with him floated out of it. "I'm going out."
Great. He could have come out of his office for that one, he had to go through hers to get out of the building. "Divert my phone to yours for an hour or two until I get back." She pressed a button on her desk phone.
"Done, sir."
"Could you just check for me that my brother is still in Detective Inspector Lestrade's office?"
Athena had been watching them for the last ten minutes; Doctor Watson was there too. "Yes, sir. He looks like he'll be there for a while."
Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson were sitting at DI Lestrade's desk with three huge boxes of cold-case files in front of them. Over the last half hour, the first box had been slowly emptying and the messy, sprawling pile on the floor behind them slowly spreading outwards like melting chocolate. Every now and then the DI would come in and even though she hadn't bothered bringing up the bugs that would provide sound she could tell how frustrated he was getting by the magnitude of his gestures.
"Good."
The speaker clicked off and the door between them opened. As always, the thin black umbrella made the first appearance. Athena had often thought about that umbrella. Not wondered about it exactly, just calmly reflected on it. He carried it in much the same way the pompous arse characters in period drama carried their canes, rain or shine. It was obviously a status symbol, but it did seem a little ridiculous if he strolled around with it – he never walked anywhere, he always strolled as if he had all the time in the world – especially on a bold London day like today, with nary a cloud scudding across the sky. But somehow he pulled it off; she couldn't imagine Mr Holmes ever looking ridiculous. She had enormous respect for his constant air of calm and authority and control. But sometimes he could get a little overdramatic and that was when he needed her to calm him down.
He walked through the door and Athena promptly consumed that thought. It wasn't ridiculous, exactly, the word she would use to describe his appearance; but it certainly wasn't as dignified as usual.
He had either taken great care over his choice of clothes, or just pulled the first things out of his wardrobe and thrown them on at random. Athena had worked with Mr Holmes long enough to know that he didn't do things at random. No, there was no question about it: he was dressing up for somebody.
And he very clearly didn't do it often.
"Sir?" He turned to her, one eyebrow cocked in question, and she had to blink again. It was worse from this angle. "Um… are you going to Scotland Yard like that?"
The other eyebrow twitched too and she wondered if maybe it wasn't her place, but if she didn't tell him, who would, so she pressed on. "I only wonder if… you looked at yourself in the mirror, sir."
The government mystery glanced down at himself, and if you didn't know him you would have thought he was perfectly calm, but Athena spotted the momentary spark of panic in his eyes.
"Perhaps not… maybe I… what about it should I change?"
She hid a smile. He was brilliant, so diplomatic that he'd blown away that whole situation around the Korean election with a few soft words and well-timed media retractions, but he was so delightfully ignorant about some things. Like fashion.
He was wearing his usual three-piece suit, today black with a sombre grey pinstripe. All in order. But he offset that somehow with a baby-pink shirt shot through with a hot-pink check stripe. The two different angles of stripes clashed horribly, coupled with the garish shade of pink. And she hadn't even got to the tie. A deep beetroot colour, it was, with even more stripes at an angle that was different again.
"It's a bit… busy, sir," she replied honestly. "Maybe too many stripes?"
He looked down at it again, an almost lost sort of look on his face that she labelled 'cute' before she realised who she was thinking about. "Yes, perhaps you're right…" he said absently, turning back to his office.
"Sir," Athena opened in a moment of boldness, "can I ask who she is?"
Mr Holmes turned back to her, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry?"
She thought about backing down – it wasn't her place, after all – but her curiosity got the better of her for once. "The outfit, sir," she persisted. "I was just wondering who it was for."
"Good Heavens," the international Man of Mystery said softly, swinging his umbrella distractedly. "Don't be absurd. Dressing up for somebody… whatever next."
But Athena detected the barest touch of pink in those impenetrable cheeks as he walked back into his office.
She glanced back at the screen she was watching; Sherlock had just grabbed Doctor Watson's shoulder and called his attention to something in the manila file in his hand. It was the shoulder he'd been shot in, according to his medical records. She winced as he grimaced; he deserved somebody who wouldn't forget. Not her. She didn't have time for a romantic relationship, want it or not. Her free time would never coincide with his, especially not if the two of them were at the beck and call of two different Holmes brothers. But someone.
Hang on. She glanced up at Mr Holmes' door, and back to the screen. He'd said he was going to the Yard. Could it – no. He'd been around Doctor Watson before with not even a flicker in his calm exterior. So who…
Detective Inspector Lestrade stomped into his office again, and even though there was still no sound she could see a frustrated Sherlock! form on his lips. He was a nice-looking man, stocky and strong and sensible-looking, the beginnings of a fu-man-chu squaring out his face. She didn't think Mr Holmes had ever met him, though she knew he had spent a fair amount of time watching him because of his relationship to Sherlock.
Was it a fair amount? Or was it, perhaps, ever-so-slightly more than fair?
The door opened again and a somewhat more subdued government official came through. She eyed the pale blue shirt and wine-red tie. Much better. Enough to get one noticed, but not glaringly, oh-my-god-yeuch noticed. He glanced at her and she smiled. "Better, sir."
"Thank you," he said shortly. "I'm going to Scotland Yard. I'll be an hour or so. I need my brother's assistance on a matter of some importance."
Except if it was a matter of national importance, he would have told her what it was, and she knew that should he, incidentally, desire to be casually introduced to anyone at Scotland Yard, Sherlock would be the only way that would happen. She looked back at the Detective Inspector, bending over the heap of manila files in a vain attempt to tidy the pile. "Yes," she replied gently. "You do."
Mycroft Holmes watched his PA for a few seconds, then 'mmm'd and flicked his umbrella towards the door. "Sir?" Athena said hesitantly as he moved off. He turned back. "Um… could you say hello to Doctor Watson for me? I was rather rude to him the first time we met and I'd like to apologise."
A shadow of a smile haunted his face and she returned it. She knew he knew she liked the army doctor, but then, she knew about Detective Inspector Lestrade. Everyone had a soft spot. "What name shall I give him?" he asked simply.
"Anthea."
The twitch of an eyebrow, the minute widening of the knowing smile. "Not Aphrodite?"
She allowed herself the barest of laughs. "I hardly think so, sir. He wouldn't know who you were talking about."
This time Mr Holmes did smile, warmth and kindness sitting strangely on his face, and tilted his head in remonstration. "Yes, he would."
She smiled back. She thought she was lucky to have a boss like him, who trusted her and relied on her and respected her until sometimes she wasn't sure who was mothering who. She wanted to say something, but 'good luck' seemed wrong somehow. Mr Holmes never needed luck, and she couldn't imagine him believing in it. "I hope you get what you're going for, sir," she said instead.
He smiled again, but it didn't quite cover the attack of nerves that showed in his dark eyes. "Thank you, Anthea," he said softly.
"I think it'll be Athena today, sir," she replied lightly. Her BlackBerry buzzed and she glanced at it, breaking the moment. The Japanese Ambassador: yes, she should probably answer that.
Mr Holmes turned briskly back to the door. "Athena," he repeated musingly as he walked out. "Yes, yes… very wise."
She hid the grin as she answered the phone, her eyes on her laptop feed, privately thinking that Detective Inspector Lestrade would have to be either very strong-willed or very stupid indeed to refuse the advance that was about to be put to him.
A/N: So, thoughts? This is my 'nice' take on Mycroft. I'm in the process of doing an absolutely horrible one as an experiment on style for my fic 'Twist of the Knife', which I would of course appreciate feedback on. And I loved the way that actress did Anthea. Her voice was especially fantastic. But for now, there's a blue hyperlink at the bottom of your page that really, really wants some love. Hardly anyone clicks on it these days. It gets lonely.
-for you!