Anthea took a deep breath and prepared for battle: she refreshed her lipstick, took off her suit jacket, popped another button on her shirt, and hiked her skirt up a bit. Then she grabbed the freshly printed pages off the machine, stuck them in a file folder, and went over to knock on the door to her boss's office.

"Come in, my dear," Mycroft called, and Anthea flung the door open and strutted up to his desk.

"The files on the Tehran incident," Anthea said, as she handed the folder across the desk. Mycroft flipped it open and immediately began scanning the pages, muttering an absentminded "thank you" under his breath.

"And the eagle called. Your brother's had a visit from the ambassador of Spain. How should we handle it?" Anthea rounded the desk as she spoke, turning to lean up against the desk beside her employer.

"Ignore it. There's government prints all over that case. Sherlock will see that and quickly abandon it. He's not in the business of politics…serious politics that is," Mycroft murmured, still not bothering to look up. Anthea leaned over the back of Mycroft's chair, as if to read over his shoulder. Of course, she wasn't reading the forms; she'd already done so.

"They're bluffing," she purred in his ear. "They can't have more than 5…6 men at most. Hardly an international threat. Leave it to the local authorities and follow up in a month?"

Mycroft turned to look at her and pulled back a bit when he realized how close she was. There was a long moment of silence as they made eye contact.

"Yes…" Mycroft finally answered. "My…thoughts exactly. As usual, you've anticipated me."

"I'd like to do more than that to you…" Anthea responded with a quiet confidence.

"Anthea…please…" Mycroft sighed. "We've had this discussion." Anthea straightened up suddenly and stared down at him.

"No. You want me. I can tell. Your face is getting flushed, your breathings accelerated…look me in the eyes and tell me your heart isn't pounding," Anthea challenged.

Mycroft only sighed again as he tossed the folder on to the desk top and began to rub his temples.

"You're stressed and tired. You've been spending 18 hours a day in this place. The last thing you need is sexual frustration. So why? Why do you insist on doing this to yourself? To us?" Anthea spun around paced back and forth a few steps.

"It's not appropriate…" Mycroft murmured.

"We're two consenting, unattached adults who want eachother. What's inappropriate about that?"

"You're young and impulsive. You don't know what you want. You spend all day and all night shut up in here with me…you see the powerful man behind the desk and you decide you're in love with him…I won't take advantage of that."

"No. I know what I want. I'm 23; I'm not a child! And I don't give a damn about the power or the man behind the desk…most of the time he bloody well pisses me off. Why can't you accept that I want you for you?" Anthea's tone wasn't desperate, it was more angry frustration.

"Anthea…" Mycroft got up from his chair, at an obvious loss for words. Anthea took advantage of his hestitation, pressing against him and capturing his lips in a frantic kiss. Mycroft tried to gently push her away, but was distracted by the hand which she pressed to the growing hardness at the front of his trousers. He gasped slightly and forgot himself for a moment, returning her kiss, but when she started to stroke him through the smooth fabric, he pulled away sharply, quickly moving to put a few feet of space between them.

"No…Anthea, this is wrong," he said firmly. "I won't. I won't do it."

"But you want me. You want me too," she insisted, her eyes becoming glassy with tears.

"Of course I want you," Mycroft admitted in a gentler tone.

"Then why?"

"My darling, you're two decades younger…and I'm your boss…and I won't…keep you from the future that you deserve."

"I want a future with you."

"You're gorgeous, incredibly intelligent…you cou-"

"Don't!" Anthea cut him off sharply. "Don't you dare tell me I could have anyone I wanted. Because obviously that isn't true, is it?"

Mycroft sighed and tore at his tie. "Why must you make this so hard for me?"

"I'm making it hard? I am?"

Mycroft grimaced and glanced down.

"In more ways than one, I'm afraid," he joked with a humorless smile.

"Then let me…" Anthea began to cross he distance between them.

"No. Get out! Anthea, out! Right now!" Mycroft ordered, turning his back on her.

"Mycroft-"

"I said, get out!"

"Fine!" Anthea turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her. Mycroft sighed as he listened to the sound of her receding footsteps. She was leaving the office, probably heading to the 6th floor to consult with her friend Jessica, a paralegal. He felt bad for shouting at her, but he'd been so close to his breaking point, so close to just giving in, unzipping his trousers and letting her win.

It had become the most difficult problem he'd ever had to face…what to about his secretary, his Anthea. He ought to let her go, send her away to work in some other branch of the government, for some other man, but he couldn't bear the thought of it, couldn't bear to be without her. She was the one ray of sunshine in an otherwise dull, dreary, and depressing existence. She was right of course: he desired her, he wanted her, he loved her. And that was why he couldn't take her. She deserved better and he wasn't going to let her throw that away. At least not yet…but he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.