Author's Note: "A First Time For Everything" has past 500 reviews. That is completely and utterly absurd. I can't believe it! As my big thank you to the readers, this is chapters 26 and 27 re-written in Mycroft's point of view, and containing different scenes. This can be read alone but if you want more of the story, more of what is going on, you can go read Anthea's chapters too in "AFTFE". I'm posting both chapters now so my next A/N will be at the very end. Thank you so much to anyone who has ever shown a passing interesting in my Sherlock fics. Please read, review, and enjoy!
Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.
Her First Ambush – Mycroft's POV
Put the bread in the toaster.
Turn the kettle on.
Get out a mug. Add a spoon full of both coffee and sugar.
Wait.
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 –
Oh.
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.
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.
Her work issued phone had been destroyed in an alleyway close to her home. The alleyway was not a shortcut.
Miss James had been asked to protect the information on her phone with her life.
She had not called to inform her boss that she had destroyed the item.
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.
…
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."
Silence.
"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.