Anthea raised an eyebrow at Mycroft as he read the Sunday paper. He was seated across from her at their dining table, his tea growing cold and his breakfast of pancakes topped with chocolate syrup and whipped cream untouched. She huffed and held out her hand to him expectantly, saying, "Hand me your phone, Mycroft."

The British Government had the good grace to blush before forking over the device he'd been trying to hide behind the weekend periodical. "How did you know?"

Anthea smiled sweetly at her husband before answering. "Let me count the ways: One, you're holding the Comics section. Two: You've been reading the same four lines for the past five minutes. And three, to top it all off," She reached out and righted the broadsheet before giving it back to him. "You're holding it upside down."