A/N: Hi everyone! I decided to write a Sherlock story about Mycroft and Anthea because she is an absolutely fascinating character. The story and chapter titles are based off the song "Man for All Seasons" by Robbie Williams because the the song always reminds me of Mycroft.
"Phoenix to Willow, how are things on the ground?" Chelsea whispered into the small microphone in her jacket collar as she crouched behind a box of powdered drugs.
"Willow to Phoenix," the woman responded, "five minuted until touchdown. Hold on until then."
Chelsea closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, praying to any and all deities to help her not die before reinforcements arrived. She had been a part of an undercover MI-5 operation for the past two years, and all of her work culminated in the events of tonight. Nothing could go wrong; everything must be perfect.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Chelsea stood up and approached the group of men once more. The tallest one smirked at her return and pulled her to his side with a muscular arm. "What took you so long, Darcie?" he asked gruffly.
Chelsea grinned back at him and stood on her toes to kiss him on his rough cheek. "Sorry, baby," she cooed, "I thought one of my rings fell off back there when we were walking in. I just wanted to check."
Her boyfriend nodded and turned back to the group. "Right, so the pick-up will be arriving in the next ten minutes or so. Give them exactly what we agreed upon, no more, no less. If they do not fork over the money, you let me know immediately and I will personally make sure they come through."
Chelsea watched him advise his grunts with an admiring expression, but inside, she was counting down the seconds until her team would bust in and break the smuggling ring up for good. The ring, led by Duncan Price, her boyfriend, was responsible for the deaths of forty-some homeless persons, and many more others who were unknown, in the past year.
"Yeah?" one of the grunts challenged, "And how do you plan on doing that, Price? You traded our guns the last time."
Chelsea stepped away from Duncan, feeling him place a hand on the pocket that held his knife. Duncan grabbed her arm to prevent her from moving. "Darcie, why don't you tell him how I plan on making sure everyone cooperates?"
"Sure baby," she swallowed down the nervousness bubbling up in her throat, knowing everything was about to go to hell in a hand basket in a few minutes, "do you see over there?" she asked, gesturing towards a large pile of crates in the corner of the room, "Those are extra-flammable incendiary devices. One shot, and boom!"
Chelsea hoped her team had heard her warning; this was a new addition they weren't able to prepare for.
The men calmed, realizing one misstep could cost them their lives and the drugs. "Any questions?" Duncan asked, staring each man down. Satisfied with their submissive reactions, Duncan smirked. "Good… Let's go."
The men began moving the boxes toward the door, preparing for the trade-off. Chelsea slipped into the shadows, hoping she would go unnoticed. As she ducked behind a tall shelf, she heard the crushing sound of glass shattering from above. Instinctively, she crouched down and put her hands over her head.
All around her, men were shouting at each other as they struggled for control of the guns and drugs. "Willow to Phoenix," the woman called through the hidden earpiece, "Phoenix, remain in current position."
Chelsea pressed herself closer to the shelves. While she was an agent, she was not a tactical agent; she was what they called a sleeper agent. Sleeper agents were placed into the field in a domestic capacity, only to be called upon when the time was needed, usually years down the line.
She had wanted to become a tactical agent, but her parents were high up in the government and prevented her advancement past her current position.
Perhaps it was for the better, she thought as she cowered, hearing the sound of footsteps approaching her.
She looked up into the bloodied face of Duncan.
"Phoenix to Willow," she cried into her microphone, "I need back up!" She wasn't trained to disarm a man twice her size.
Duncan raised the gun in her direction. "I always thought you were loyal, Darcie," he growled, tightening his grip on the fun, "I guess I was just wrong about who exactly you were loyal to."
Chelsea stood slowly, raising her hands in front of her to show she was unarmed. "Please, Duncan," she whimpered, "I love you."
While she was certainly lying about that, she wasn't lying about how terrified she was. She was trembling almost uncontrollably, asking herself where her backup was.
Duncan sneered at her, "And I love me too much to be taken down alone," he replied cryptically.
Before Chelsea could jump out to grab the gun from his hand, he tilted it above her head and fired into the box on the shelf above. Chelsea spun around to read the contents of the box before everything went black.
"Caution! Extremely flammable incendiary inside."