Short one-shot on not!Anthea and John. I've always liked the idea of the two of them. ;3 Critiques are appreciated as much as praise is.
Another sibling rival, as John liked to call it. The two Holmes brothers were now arguing over their father, and it was only natural for John to sigh, roll his eyes and stand beside the woman who liked to call herself Anthea.
"Hello," John greeted as she tapped away non-stop at her Blackberry keys, hardly ever looking up. Doesn't she ever get tired? He thought.
"Hello, John." She did not look up; she never did. 'Anthea' had pretty eyes, but he hardly ever got to see them, thanks to that damn Blackberry. John almost wanted to snatch it out of her hands, throw it on the floor and crush it with his shoe, but he didn't; he just waited, like he always did. Waited for her to actually notice him.
After a couple minutes of tense silence, save for the tap tap tap being produced from Anthea's fingers, John spoke up again. "What do you actually do on that phone?"
She stopped typing for a moment, thinking about her answer. The woman looked up, her black curls bouncing on her shoulders as she turned to look at John and her chocolate eyes – the ones that John hardly ever got to see – blinked at him. "Work."
John frowned. "You said you had lots of free time."
It was not-Anthea's turn to frown. "When did I say that?"
The middle-aged man sighed, remembering that she usually forgot things. It would've been nice for him to actually have had a proper conversation with her, instead of just revising over the things that she said – and overlooked.
"What's your name, then?" He asked, a little bit impatient.
"What?"
"What's your real name?"
She smiled as she looked back down at her mobile, finishing the sentence she was typing. John thought he saw a small blush appear on not-Anthea's cheeks, but he couldn't be certain – it was getting dark and it was a little hard to see.
"Mary," she said. "That is my real name."
John thought about it. Mary was a pretty, old fashioned name, and he liked that. Not too common, yet not too abnormal. But it came to as a surprise to him when the woman – who he could now address properly as Mary – pressed one last key and slipped the Blackberry into her trouser pocket. Looking up, she smiled at John and slid her arm through his easily.
"Now that you know my real name," she said, urging him to walk on, away from the scene Mycroft and Sherlock were making, "I reckon we should get to be acquainted with each other maybe a little bit more."
John liked that idea.