Author's Note: Here we are guys! The 1500 review special for AFTFE. You DID read that right 1500 reviews. GUYS! HOW? WHY? The fact that so many of you read my Mythea fic is incredible. Thank you for being so awesome! This fic has been incredibly fun for me and I hope you continue to enjoy it. I just, I don't know what to say… I should say, I guess, that this will be a two parter. I plan to do the second half around Christmas – just before or just after, I don't know. But around then. Please enjoy this little treat and thank you once again! Please read, review, and enjoy!

This is Chapter77 of my Mythea fic "A First Time For Everything" written in Mycroft's point of view rather than Anthea's. It could be read without the original but I'd suggest not for back story reasons.

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.

The First Time He Pulled Away – Mycroft's POV

When you have a highly sought after skillset and are in a very demanding position, it is expected that once in a while you might have to fit two days' worth of work into a single day – and some change. Some would say that it is completely acceptable for you to expect your assistant to keep up with you, while others may suggest that it is inhumane to expect any other human to run to your ghastly schedule. Just because Mycroft expected Anthea as his assistant to willingly keep up didn't mean he didn't feel vaguely bad about the whole thing.

The meeting in Italy had demanded both of their attentions fully and completely. An issue that was such a complete and utter mess that Mycroft had to actually put a large amount of effort into fixing, that was annoying. Watching Anthea try to keep up and take notes with Italian as her third language – that was a tad hard to watch. Of course they'd then had to work on the flight home just to keep up with their strenuous London schedule, particularly when the piolet had the gall to be late. The entire flight was nothing but papers and computer screens. The only time Mycroft and Anthea shared a word was when they were swapping documents to read.

The relief to be on home soil was clear on Anthea's already exhausted face as they stepped out of the plane. If it were anyone else, Mycroft would be concerned that they'd collapse then and there and be a nuisance to his plans, but not Anthea, she'd keep going. But Mycroft didn't want to ponder on Anthea's exhaustion right now, it would lead to his own mind wandering and he'd begin to become aware of how dry and sore his eyes were feeling and that would only lead to trouble. Instead he ran through his mental checklist of documents, making sure he still had them all on his or Anthea's person, and began to walk to the town car waiting to take him to their next appointment.

"Ready for round two?" He hummed as he passed his assistant. He smirked to himself when he heard her moan in response, followed by dragging footsteps. No, she wasn't, but she'd do it because she was determined and when she committed to something she saw it through.

Thus the day that followed was busy yet mundane. The mundane list of meetings were broken up only by the slightly less mundane ones, such as a meeting that if you asked him about it, Mycroft would have to deny and may have taken place in a building that doesn't exist anymore officially, and a meeting at Downing Street. Words after words spewed at him, and Mycroft was expected to digest it all, file it away correctly, and come up with a solution in milliseconds flat. Mycroft often got fed up with people and wanted to be alone, but it wasn't this often that he became physically and mentally strained to the point of just wanting to go home and lie down for twenty hours without disturbance. Anthea, the poor girl, looked worse than he felt. At one point she'd closed her eyes in a meeting for a good two minutes before startling herself awake. Every time someone stopped them after a meeting, Mycroft liked to take a moment to visualise all the different ways he could kill them for making his and Anthea's day longer before letting them continue.

To say that seeing Walter's car at the end of the day was bliss would be cutting the feeling short. It's was bordering on euphoric... For about three seconds before the exhaustion kicked in again. But to be able to sit in that car quietly and not have to think about what meeting happens the one after the next one was incredible. Sure, he was reading the over yet another document and finding it difficult to concentrate on it – but at least he could focus on it. No distractions. Just the plush interior of the town car, the hum of the engine, and the smell of Anthea's recently reapplied Chanel perfume.

Mycroft hazard a glance over to his assistant on her side of the car. The poor thing had her head leaning back, eyes closed, breathing deeply. It was obvious she wasn't asleep – her breathing was timed therefore she was trying to relax. She'd tried so hard to keep up all day, and for your average person she'd done spectacularly. Always with her cheeky smiles, and bright comments, despite her weariness. She was an asset on a day like this, one that Mycroft was always pleased to have around. He should reward her for her hard work – give her a bit of a sleep in or something. God knows, she deserved it. Mycroft turned back to the document before speaking – he didn't want to be caught looking at her with her eyes closed.

"If you wished to arrive an hour later tomorrow morning, my dear, I'd completely understand." He spoke in a soft voice in case he startled her. She opened her tired eyes, blinking them at the ceiling to focus, before turning to her boss. Mycroft kept his own eyes on the page of this document while he felt Anthea's searching him. What she was looking at in particular, why she searched him so thoughoughly – she was concerned and her sleep deprivation was causing her not to be aware that she was showing it so much. She tended to do it more often these days since they'd be spending more time out of the office – really taking the time to try and deduce, for lack of a better word, how Mycroft was feeling from any little crack she could find in the ice, and she was getting a little too good at it. It sometimes made Mycroft feel a little uncomfortable, so he was happy when she took a light inhale and shook her head.

"Not a wise idea, sir." She hummed. Oh? Mycroft looked up from the page to meet Anthea's gaze. She was so tired, yet there was such a warmth in her eyes as she smiled wearily. "I can't leave you alone to sleep longer." And there it was, that concern for his wellbeing. Something not many people displayed. He sniffed and looked down at the page, mouth threatening to pull into a smile at his hard working assistant. He should tell you not to worry about him, that he'd be fine.

"Very well." Was the response that came out of his mouth however, and Mycroft was painfully aware that it was due to his ridiculous want to have this snarky doll around him.

Then she was doing it again. Staring at him. Looking him over while Mycroft tried to keep his own eyes on the page. Thinking she saw things that no one else did in him, things that weren't there. Treating him like you could treat anyone else – looking at him with a deep level of kindness that it would hurt him just to catch a glimpse of the look in her eyes. She leant forward, raising a hand.

"Here, let me…" Anthea was on the verge of whispering as she spoke, pushing Mycroft's hair off of his forehead and automatically, on instinct, as he's trained to do when someone comes so close to him, Mycroft pulled away. He yanked his body into the upholstery on his side of the car, frowning at the hand that had just tried to touch him, weary that something had just tried to hurt him.

And then it dawned on him, his brain whirring to a start at full speed once more. He was aware of what had just happened. Anthea, with her hand still in mid-air was frozen, staring at Mycroft in horror at what she had just done and what he had just done. Anthea had gone to kindly, on instinct, push Mycroft's hair back, and equally so, not used to people coming so close into his physical space without intention of damage, Mycroft pulled away. And here they were, both exhausted, full of confusion and fear. Fear at what will happen now as they were frozen, looking at each other, wondering how the other was going to react, afraid to say or do anything.

Anthea swallowed her breath as she slowly lowered her hand, pulling it close to her chest protectively.

"Sorry…" She mumbled quietly, the china doll now looking like a hurt puppy who wanted to apologize to its owner for getting in the way. She looked dishearten, and now completely and utterly exhausted. Yet all Mycroft could think about was the moment as it had happened. It replayed in his head at least ten times before he managed to shift back up into seated position. Not having the heart to meet Anthea's hurt gaze once again, Mycroft positioned himself facing his window.

"Yes…" His voice almost cracked, so Mycroft cleared his throat, left hand grabbing blindly for the comfort of his umbrella. Something to focus on. "Well…" He tried to continue but found no words.

Maybe apologise also? That could prove to be quite effective.

But every time he tried to open his mouth again, no words would come out.

So the car lulled into silence.

Deep, painful silence.

And it stayed that way.

The remainder of the ride to Anthea's flat building was spent in silence, with neither daring to speak, neither daring to look each other's way. Mycroft stared out his window, Anthea stared forward at the back of the seat in front of her. The tension was thick, the air was tough to breath, but no one wanted to relieve the tension in case in made way for an argument. That couldn't be.

As the car pulled up in front of Anthea's building, Mycroft's grip on the handle of his umbrella increased. Anthea, whether she wanted to say something or wanted Mycroft to say something, tapped her fingers on her handbag. Mycroft didn't want to see an apologetic look in her eyes, or fear. He couldn't handle fear in her eyes, not after they'd be getting along so swimmingly recently. So, when Anthea placed her hand on the handle and looked Mycroft's way, he could do nothing but look out the window and grit his teeth. There was a pause, a brief hesitation, before Anthea pulled the car door open and left.

Not even Walter dared to say something after that.

Despite his deep need to get some sleep, when Mycroft arrived at home he found himself with thoughts flying too rapidly in his head to even consider the idea of sleeping straight away. Instead, the man did what he often did when wracked with a personal dilemma. He poured himself a glass of scotch – the medium stuff, this wasn't worth the good stuff – went to lounge room, sat in one of his nice chairs, and tried to sort through his thoughts.

This was not a hard one to work out – it was merely a hard one to lay to rest. When Anthea had gone in, violating practically all their unspoken rules, and moved to do a kind, familial gesture, she'd unwittingly broken them. She had done it completely on instinct – her brain working at a low state of energy, much as he did when he flinched away from a hand coming towards his face. No, he was not at all annoyed with Anthea for doing what she did, though he ought to be. The fact that they'd gotten so close that she instinctively thought she could do that really should frighten Mycroft about their relationship. It didn't, however. And that's what was the most frightening. That he was not put off by her trying such a thing – a thing he hadn't even let Mummy do since his university graduation.

The fact of the matter was, he was put off by the look of panic, guilt, and horror on Anthea's face after he'd pulled away. How hurt she'd been by him, and how embarrassed she was by her own behaviour. Those eyes full of more terror than he'd ever seen. It was haunting him. Anthea couldn't be blamed on that, Mycroft completely understood her motivation – or lack thereof. Sure, she shouldn't have done it, but it had been his reaction that had cause that look.

As he stared down at the half empty glass of scotch, Mycroft realised he'd have to do what he hated doing most. He'd have to apologise. He'd not say he was wrong – he was running on less sleep than Anthea – but he'd say if he was in control of his entire self, then he wouldn't have done such a thing and set out to hurt her. He'd tell her that there was nothing she did was wrong, per se, and that she really didn't have to have apologized in the car.

And really, he didn't completely mind it if she wanted to make such a kind gesture…

But that was a far more complex thought for his brain to comprehend right now. The idea that Anthea's touch was not completely unwelcomed. No, that can stay away for now.

Right now, Mycroft would finish this glass and then hopefully get some sleep.

Mycroft had spent a good portion of the morning steeling himself in order to talk to Anthea. Deciding precisely what to say – how to save her from any hurt feelings, how to stop himself coming off as needy in any shape of form, and how to say sorry in a way that she knew he meant it. He'd been working at the same time, of course. One can't wait all their efforts on something that isn't productive… or destructive.

Mycroft exited his office and found himself standing to the side of Anthea, her eyes wandering up to his face almost immediately. Finding his efforts to steel himself not as effective has he thought – hesitation emerging – Mycroft pinched his nose and winced as he turned to face Anthea.

"Miss James," He sighed painfully. "About yesterday-" A knowing look crossed Anthea's soft features as she smiled, held up her hands, and shook her head lightly.

"No, it's okay sir." Her kind tone was concerning. "I know what you're going to say." Mycroft pursed his lips. He highly doubted that she expected him to say sorry, but he allowed Anthea to continue regardless – to see if she could find a way to describe what happened any better. Make Mycroft understand better why he felt so bad about it. The brunette lowered her hands, placing them on her knees. The rigid pressure in her grasp was also concerning – it suggested that she too was steeling herself to say something she didn't really want to say. "I realise what happened yesterday was wrong, and that I was out of line." Mycroft narrowed his eyes. No, it wasn't wrong. It was perhaps out of line, but he wasn't going to tell her she was wrong. She wasn't wrong. Anthea tilted her head, her body trying to come off as playful as she normally did to hide the tension below the surface. "I think I needed yesterday to happen. I think it was the shock I needed once and for all to prove that tis attraction is all one sided and that I was just getting myself into a deeper hole."

Oh?

Well…

Mycroft willed himself to not so much as quirk an eyebrow. He stayed perfectly still with no tells.

She was right. She was digging herself deeper and deeper into a pit. Then again, somewhere along the lines, hadn't he began to help her dig the pit?

When did he start digging her pit deeper?

When had he fallen into the hole?

He'd slipped and almost fallen in a few times. Might have even got his shoes covered in dirt that never came off after that whole dress thing. Might just stopped himself from falling in when she kissed him. But when had he fallen in and instead of climbing out decided to help her dig?

Good Lord, falling in to pits could only lead to broken bones and sprains.

Apparently Anthea had paused at that moment, and Mycroft was aware of how fast his thoughts were racing by how long it seemed to take Anthea to brush a single curl out of her face.

"You don't need to tell me to behave better because from now on, I'm going to try and move on." And there was that physical pain in his chest that she sometimes caused in Mycroft, except this time it was strong enough for him to have to avoid visibly reacting. The PA shrugged her shoulders and let out an almost defeated sounding breath, that sad smile plastered on her painted lips. "Now I can just focus on being your assistant and your friend only if you want it."

Ah.

Friend.

Yes.

That's….

Mycroft blinked. He turned to look past Anthea at the wall behind her.

Right. This was good. This was what was necessary. Anthea had found a way out of the pit, and she was extending a hand to help him out of it too. Friends. That's what they do, correct? Help each other out of difficult situations?

This is what he'd always wanted, right? For Anthea to be his amazing, astounding, incredibly talented personal assistant, and nothing more? Mycroft was frozen somewhere in his mind, but he knew he had to speak, had to say something. Just. Anything.

"… Yes." He hummed, brow furrowing deeper. "Well…" His body began to turn towards his door. Come on. Add something.

That's not what I was going to say.

Only if that's what you want.

Are you sure?

Any of those would do. Any of those would work fine. But none of them would sound correct.

"That does sound like me…" What she had said, it suited everything he'd been telling her up to this point. It was long overdue that the young lady move on. That she find a new Tim, a better Tim, and find some form of happiness in her personal life. The idea that she wouldn't be around so much for dinners and events, that hurt. It hurt a little too much, but it's what he had wanted for a long time. Then why was he staring at the metaphoric hand now outstretching to pull him out of the pit as if it had just tried to touch him? "Back to work, then." Mycroft began walking forward, back to his office, back to his solitude. He couldn't say what, but he turned around to look at Anthea once more. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to the girl with the chocolate curls and the deep confusion in her eyes, but then… what would he say? She was free. It was good. It was what he'd always wanted.

Mycroft continued the automatic footsteps to his office, closing the door softly behind him.

A week passed where things, as far as Anthea or anyone was concerned, returned to normal. To Mycroft, it was a week of keeping himself busy. When he wasn't at her actual job, he was doing freelance work, or sleeping. He dared not give his mind time to rest, or to wander. Every time it did, it went back to Anthea and how she'd managed to get herself out of the pit.

Surely she wasn't out of it. She'd dug it so deep, there's no way she'd conveniently be able to climb out of it on sheer will alone like that, no. Definitely not. She'd simply finally dedicated herself to try and get out with all her energy. She'd stopped digging it, and now she was going to put all her effort into getting out. And rightly so. For so long, Mycroft had tried to push Anthea away, to get rid of these feelings so he wouldn't lose someone so dear to him to the follies of the human heart. It was good that she'd dedicated herself to moving on. If someone deserved to find happiness in their private life, it was Alice Clarke. If it was such a good idea, then why did it keep plaguing Mycroft's mind? Lurking dangerously in the shadows of his thoughts, just waiting to grab him by the ankle.

That week passed, and Mycroft and Anthea found themselves stuck in a meeting with finance. Budgeting, overspending, yada, yada, yada. Stuff that didn't really matter. If they really wanted Mycroft to watch his spending he'd throw some of his own money into it – he was going to spend whatever he needed to. Really, who was more important? Advertisement for the next election, or the person who saw to the election? After enough negotiating, Mycroft ended up with a far nicer budget than he'd had in a couple of years. That should teach them not to negotiate with someone so far out of their league.

With that completed, Anthea was itching to get out of the board room, and Mycroft was itching to get back to their quiet abode. Both made no effort to hide their relief when the meeting was completed as they began packing up and chatting only to each other. That's when that accountant approached. The young one who started the week after Anthea. The one who'd passed most of his university units with only a few marks. The one who fell in love easily and let it affect his work. The one who clearly spent more time at the gym than he did looking over his files. He was lucky he was harmless and easy to get to look passed certain expenses. The young man with the ill placed priorities approached Mycroft and Anthea. What was his name? If Mycroft searched he'd find it…. Kiernan…. David. Yes.

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes." He interrupted the pair's talk with a polite tone and a light nod. To give the boy credit, he didn't flinch when Anthea and Mycroft looked upon him like he'd interrupted them in the middle of diffusing a bomb. The boy's breathing was erratic – but it didn't seem to be because of intimidation. He'd spoken to Mycroft enough not to be intimidated. Then what was he nervous about? "I was wondering if I could borrow your PA for a moment." Oh! That's why.

Well.

No.

No. No. You could not talk to her. No.

Mycroft scowled.

"Anything you wish to say to my assistant, Mr. Kiernan, you may say in front of me." Mycroft hummed, keeping his tone characteristically void of emotion. One side of David's mouth pulled up into somewhat of an embarrassed smile.

"I would, but you see, this is a rather personal matter…"

Yes, I understand that. That is why I'm trying to get you to go away.

"Oh." Anthea perked up in her seat as she turned to look at Mycroft, who was doing his best not to glare at the young accountant. He turned to meet Anthea's gaze. As soon as he met those eyes, he felt his façade almost falter.

She wants to move on. This is her business. Help her. Let her.

But I don't want to.

Why? Why did he not want to help her? She needed to stop caring about him so much. And he needed not to care. Caring is not an advantage. Mycroft turned his head, looking away, as he waved her off before his brain could argue again.

"Be quick." He moaned. He meant quick as possible. He meant for her to dismiss the boy quickly and then they'd carry on because really, Anthea James, the mysterious assistant, could get anyone she wants and why would she settle for a second rate accountant? Anthea hopped out of her seat to follow Kiernan to the other side of the conference table. How that was private when Mycroft could still hear every word being spoken anywhere in the room, he had no idea. People. Mycroft began tapping his nails on the desk at a very fast pace. He was impatience, and irritated. This needed to be quick so they could get back to work and he could get back to feeling normal.

"So…" David began. Taking his time, trying to find his words, the buffoon. Anthea smiled warm and sympathetically, like she did to all the idiots who she felt sorry for.

"How can I help you, David?" She asked kindly. The accountant cleared his throat, looking at the ground to gather his thoughts, before looking up at Mycroft's assistant. Mycroft's nails were beginning to hurt due to the force he was putting into the tapping.

"I was wondering if you would like to go to dinner with me sometime this week." Mycroft froze, feeling momentarily ill. He felt his stomach twist. Anthea frowned as she looked at David in the eyes. A recovery breath, and Mycroft continued tapping to avoid suspicion, at a slower pace so he might hear better over the noise.

"Oh…" Anthea tucked a curl behind her ear nervously and looked at the floor. She seemed very unsure. Good. David rubbed the back of his neck.

"I understand if you're not free…" He trailed off.

No. She's not free. Her weekend is split between her friends, her books, and me. Where are you supposed to fit in?

"No. I'm free." Anthea shook her head, sending her curls dancing forward to frame her face once again. She smiled brightly. "I have no reason not to go out." She was trying to assure herself. That was somewhat true… somewhat… And what about the time they'd been spending together on the weekends? "I'd love to go out with you."

The tapping stopped.

Mycroft felt sick. His stomach churn, and all the air was sucked out of his lungs, leaving him breathless and feel like he could be sick any second.

She can't.

She's climbing out of the pit.

She can't leave me in here, not when she pulled me in.

I didn't want to be in here.

Mycroft had to close his eyes momentarily to settle his stomach.

"Great." He heard David chirp happily. "Text me your number and we'll arrange something." Mycroft looked back in time to see Anthea playing with a card in her hand. He'd given her a card. How pompous. How conceited. How disgusting. But Anthea was smiling.

"Okay." She brought the card closer to her heart, clearly enjoying the scenario. "I will." And with that David walked out of the room grinning from ear to ear, with Anthea watching him walk away with a small smile on her face. And all Mycroft could think about was how this meant Anthea would spend less time with him out of work and how that just didn't seem fair.

As Anthea approached Mycroft found he couldn't force himself to appear bored of casual, the ill feeling in his stomach not going away. So he settled for stony. He settled for nothing. Anthea kept her coy smile as she began packing up, ignoring the genius to her side. If this was a sign of things to come Mycroft didn't like it. He looked the brunette woman up and down, wondering how she could do that. How could she so easily go out with another man when she was supposed to be in love with him? It's not supposed to be that easily to stop loving someone. It's not supposed to be a switch. Then again, what did he know about love?

"Well, that was forward." Mycroft bemoaned, finding his voice.

"What was?" Anthea asked lightly.

"Asking you out right in front of your boss." His voice was snippy, Mycroft could hear it but he couldn't stop it. Anthea chuckled lightly, ignoring Mycroft's tone completely.

"Not really." She laughed. "People meet at work all the time." She picked up her briefcase and her handbag. "Plus, I think it will be good for me."

"Yes…"

It might be very good for you, but it might kill me.

Author's Note: So? How was it? Okay? Man, I hope it met expectation. Actually, I hope it was at least just as good at the original version of the chapter. Writing Mycroft chapters are always such a gamble because I never know if they will be good enough. I had fun writing it, and that's usually a good sign… but I just owe you guys a lot for 1500 reviews and I hope this was worth it. Don't forget, part two will be around Christmas.

A big thanks to everyone who has ever read "A First Time For Everything", even just skimmed a few pages, even those who started and never came back. You all are awesome, and you inspire me every day. Thank you for being the drive this whole year for me to continuously work on my writing because writing makes me happy, and the Sherlock fandom makes me happy.