Author's Note: Well, here it is! The 1000 review special thank you for "A First Time For Everything". Seriously guys, 1000. AFTFE was my first fic to ever reach 100 reviews and look where we are now? What can I say to you but thank you all so much for being supportive of my silly little need to have more Mythea. It's incredible. I really, really hope you like it, though I don't know why you wanted this one in his POV, it was emotionally taxing to write. Please read, review, but mostly enjoy because you're awesome

This is Chapter 58 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 She Kissed Him – Mycroft's POV

"After you." Mycroft gesture calmly to the window he'd just smashed open with the walking boot he currently needed to use on his broken leg. He and Anthea were currently trying to flee from what could essentially be called an ambush and assassination attempt, and the only escape route viable was this window.

For a brief second Anthea looked as if she were unsure and going to back out – but the girl being far too strong and trusting for that steeled herself and nodded. She climbed onto the window frame and sat with her feet dangling out the high window. She shoved herself out the window like a small child shoving themselves down a slide. A soft thud was heard and a quick look out the window revealed that Anthea had landed safely on her hands and feet. Though he knew she would, it was assuring to see the brunette get back to her feet and smooth down her skirt – like that really mattered at a time like this. People. Now it was Mycroft's turn, the issue of course was that he had a broken leg and he knew jumping out the window would cause the injury to take a few steps back, but such facts did not matter when one was running for their lives. Quicker and with far more fluidity than his assistant had, due to experience, Mycroft slid from the window to land on his feet. Mycroft hissed at the burning sensation rocketing up his broken leg as he loss balance and fell. The pain was incredible, far worse than it had felt during the car accident that had caused it, the swelling and bruising still being sensitive. It would not do, however, to let such a pain bring him to a standstill when his and Anthea's life depended on their ability to get away. Worry flashed over Anthea's soft features as she rushed over to her boss. The young woman, without so much of a flinch, took hold of Mycroft's hand and gently helped pull him back into a standing position.

"Are you okay, sir?" Her voice was full of that concern, such feminine intuition leading her to not move her hand away its place on his arm.

"Mmm, no." Mycroft answered, finding it best not to lie in this situation. He quickly scanned his leg and tested a few movements. Yep, there was definitely some damage done. Oh well, that will be dealt with later, when Anthea wasn't clinging to him looking so full of fear and concern in those dark eyes. "But we have to keep moving." As he finished speaking a loud crash, and not the first, came from the building they had just leapt from. Anthea's eyes sparkled as her whole being lit up, looking around the street.

"How far is the club?" Anthea asked, her brain ticking away. Any other time, Mycroft may take a moment to appreciate Anthea coming up with a plan on her own. Not now. So she wanted to get to the Diogenes Club? She'd probably thought about their cardkeys that allowed them entrance at any time. Excellent plan, my dear, excellent plan. Mycroft took a quick scan of their current location and ran possible routes in his head, accounting for alleyways, traffic, and other such variables.

"Two blocks, a turn right, end of that street turn left, and we're on the street." Anthea's mouth pursed.

"Can we run that?"

A beat.

Running, really?

More gunshots.

"Absolutely." It was their only real option. Without a second to think, Anthea's delicate hand move from Mycroft's arm and took tight hold of his hand. Closing his grasped on her hand too, the pair began sprinting across the street as fast as their legs would take them. It had been quite a long while since Mycroft had needed to run away or chase after something with such velocity. It was reminiscent of the days when he'd have to do a lot legwork missions just to get his name out there. He hated those days.

As the club came into sight the pain relinquished their tight grip on each other's hands. Anthea, running as fast as she could, almost ran right into the front door of the club as she gasped for breath. Mycroft swiftly pulled the key card out from its permanent place in his breast pocket and pulled it through the slot on the door. A ting was heard, a green light flashed, and the door was unlocked. In their haste to open it, they'd almost fallen right through the door and into the safety of the Diogenes Club. Mycroft shut the door with heavy force – why he wasn't entirely sure. Anthea and Mycroft fell back, hearts beating rapidly, breathing fast and heavy, leaning against the door that had just saved their lives.

This door had just saved them. This door separated them from the imminent danger of a gun to the head. Someone, the first person in a very long time had just tried to kill him. When was the last time that happened so directly? When had Anthea ever been threatened like that? And the woman had gotten away practically unscathed. Mycroft broke into a smile against his will as he tried to catch his breath, hands flat against the door. He and Anthea, had just literally ran away from a gunfight. He was fine, he always was. But Anthea. Little Alice Clark who went to a boarding school and was always a little lost in life had jumped out a window, helped her boss up, and dragged him down the street as she sprinted for their lives. And with not a pleat out of place on her black skirt. He couldn't contain himself, it was the adrenaline and the absurdity of it all. Mycroft burst into what could be called a joyous laughter. For an ordinary person who at the beginning of their career was only given a brief training, and only had a slightly above average IQ, Anthea had been instrumental in getting them out alive. Even this door, this thin little structure that protected them, was her idea. He turned around to tell her how brilliant she'd been, how amazing that was. He'd gone to speak, but there had been something in her eyes that had never been there before.

Anthea placed both her hands on Mycroft's face, pulling him into a deep kiss, shutting her eyes. Mycroft froze, his whole body turning to rigid stone, under Anthea's soft, tender hands. What had she just done? Why was she doing this? Mycroft knew he should stop this before it got anywhere and talk Anthea down. Mycroft more than knew that, his brain was yelling at him to get out of her touch, to move, to get to the other side of the room and away from human contact. But his body refused to listen to his mind, not wanting to pull away from those soft pink lips, and the smell of Chanel and exhilaration. His body just wanted to stay put, to feel her thumb stroke his cheek and… It won. His mind gave up, shutting off as Mycroft fell deeply into the kiss, heart thumping in his chest. He took her gently by her shoulders and pushed her against the wall, essential trapping her between him and it. Her heart thumping just below his, almost in time with it. Anthea threw her hands behind Mycroft's head and interlocked her fingers on his neck. As if his body was reacting to her own actions, one of his hands found its way into those rich dark chocolate curls while the other leaned on the wall to keep them both standing. Hormones and pheromones flying around the room, as Anthea pulled him further down to her level. Every small action this woman did, Mycroft reacted in an equal manner is if by instinct, like he knew her on such a deep level that their bodies could just connect. Running on instinct, adrenaline, heat, and perhaps a few emotions. Never had he felt as human as he did right now.

Ring Ring.

Ring Ring.

The entangled form of Mycroft and Anthea froze as Mycroft's phone began ringing in his trouser pocket. The sound caused the engines in Mycroft's brain to begin whirling once more, and the struggle between body and mind continued. He needed to answer that phone, it could be very important. It could mean life or death. But Alice, Alice with her easy gentle touches and her lovely smells, and the warm way she looked at him. Why should he have to pull away from this warmth? Mycroft closed his eyes as he removed his hand from Anthea's hair and rested his forehead against hers. He needed to answer that phone, he needed to stop this right now. But her hair smelt so good.

Ring Ring.

Anthea's hands dropped from Mycroft's neck, the girl who understood how these very human like reactions worked was preparing to pull away. Surely then, his brain could take control once more, to step out of this warmth and back into the ice. And the phone, it needed to be answered. It would be important. He just needed to file away the smell of her hair first…

Mycroft took out his phone and stepped out of Anthea's space. He cleared his throat and walked further into the club, letting his carefully created icy persona fall back into position as he pressed answer.

"Yes, James."

…

As Mycroft hung up his mobile, Anthea walked over with a tissue in her hand. She almost looked as if not a single thing out of the ordinary had happened today. Her hair was neat, though styled more natural, clothes in place, makeup clean. Though it should noted that it appeared as if she'd readjusted her blouse – the top button only just poking through the whole like she'd done it in a hurry.

Did that mean it had been undone at some point?

Did she do it? Did he-

No. Surely not.

She had that professional look back on her face, playing the perfect assistant as she held out the tissue for him to take, like he had asked for one. It seems they'd both transitioned back into work mode.

"Wipe your mouth." She advised, nodding towards his face without a flicker of emotion. Mycroft nodded, took the tissue, and did so, wiping away any lipstick that might be evidence to his little slip. Keeping his face neutral, he examined the tissue and took in the colour of the lipstick. It was one of her older shades – he'd first seen it three months into her working for him. As he tossed the tissue into the nearest waste basket, Anthea pulled out her blackberry and began typing away like she always did. Mycroft suspected it was merely to hold herself together and in character. "I'm going to organise an X-ray for your leg tomorrow." She spoke very carefully, eyes firmly on the phone. "I'll try to get it before work one day soon." She'd began to mumble.

"Excellent idea." Mycroft answered, holding his work persona in place. It couldn't slip now, not when he had work to do. He smoothed down his suit and fixed his tie, can't look like a mess when one is about to deal with employees. "James and Carol say the threat has been eliminated. I'm going to meet them at the site now." He sighed, making sure his tie was tucked in correctly. Anthea nodded. She was working hard to stay professional but her eyes showed how much force was going into it – so much more than usual.

"Do you require my presence, sir?"

What, and have that warm body sitting in the back of the town car with me?

"No, you're free to go home." He answered. Though there was work for her to do, he couldn't risk having her so close. The Chanel alone could be problematic. "Perhaps write out a statement first thing in the morning."

"Yes, sir." The brunette with the flowing curls nodded, sounding the flattest he'd ever heard her. Mycroft faked that carefully constructed half smile before turning to walk to the exit.

Are you forgetting what can't leave these doors?

Ah, right. Mycroft stopped. Time to bring up what they'd both been expertly avoiding since the phone rang. He slowly turned around to face his lovely assistant.

"Miss James." He began. Anthea's mouth quivered faintly and she seemed to swallow hard.

"Yes, sir." She squeaked.

Alice. Don't, please.

"What happened… It was –"

"Adrenaline and human instinct working together." Anthea forced a smile of her own. "No one was thinking straight, I know." She was trying to sound sure of her words, but Anthea just couldn't get the volume behind her voice to make it sound convincing. Even so, she was trying, he could see that. Mycroft tilted his head, eyes focused on Anthea's. He needed to confirm this.

"So you understand, then, that this changes absolutely nothing between us?" Mycroft held her gaze as Anthea held her professional smile in place – no sign of her cheek and warmth anywhere near her face.

"I wouldn't expect it any other way, sir. Hence saying 'sir'." She tried to joke, tried to bring life and light into that smile.

Mycroft nodded.

Business as usual.

When Mycroft got home he settled down in his sitting room with a glass of scotch, preparing to unwind for an hour or so after such an ordeal before getting sleep. One can't just jump into bed without sorting and filing such adventurous memories, they would never sleep.

However, as he began to get comfortable the weight of the situation hit him like a tonne of bricks and his whole being sunk into the leather of the chair.

Oh no.

His face fell as he ran a hand through his hair.

What had he done?

Anthea, with her emotions and high off of the escapade, had kissed him, and instead of doing the correct thing and pushing her away, Mycroft Holmes, the Ice Man, had kissed her back.

He had kissed her back.

His assistant.

Alice Clark who slept in old clothes and made sarcastic remarks at everything.

His one remaining confidant with the absence of Sherlock.

Mycroft had just pushed his one and only friend against the wall.

His friend who already had feelings for him.

What was wrong with him?

This was not good, this was so not good. Mycroft gulped half of his glass of scotch down in one mouthful, wincing at the initial burn. He took a moment as the burning settled before taking a gentler sip of the remaining amber liquid.

This wasn't something he could just take away – it had happened and was a part of history. He couldn't change it and now it would change everything. Who knows what it was doing to Anthea's chemicals and what it would make the young lady feel. She already watched him when he moved about, this could only lead to trouble. It could only deepen her feelings. Those would eventually turn to resentment and hatred as she found them unreturned. She'd have to quit or be fired. She'd be a liability. She wouldn't be able to look at him.

He'd lose her.

Just like he'd lost Sherlock.

And again, it would be his fault.

He couldn't lose another person who'd weaselled their way into his life. There was a reason he hated people getting close – it was because losing them could compromise everything you were. There was no room for love or loss when you had a career like his.

This is not allowed to happen. Anthea can't be allowed to think that anything can be developed so she can become bitter. This must be nipped in the bud. He needed to let her know that these emotions can't be tolerated, not if he wanted to her to stay, and he so wanted her to stay.

He'd spoken to her – sure. He was also without a doubt certain that when she agreed in the club that it was nothing she meant it, but time likes to twist our memories until they're unrecognisable. That tiny bit of hurt can become all you remember from that moment. He'd be the man that hurt her.

If he dealt with this somehow, and in a very professional manner. If he talked to Anthea as a boss talking to an employee then maybe some firm ground rules could be set and a deeper understanding could be met. Better yet, perhaps he could remove those fond feelings she had of him altogether and just leave the good bits.

He'd have to do something quickly. Get her to sign something. Yes, surely that could work. He'd need some time to create something suitable.

Anthea barged into Mycroft's office without so much of a knock on his door.

Ah, so she'd found the NDA.

One look up to see the fire in Anthea's eyes was enough to confirm this, and the fact that she wasn't happy. Hopefully she didn't want to create a scene, Mycroft was not in the mood for a scene. Not after they'd fallen back into familiar behaviour so easily. Perhaps if he played it down, perhaps if he talked to her in pleasant tones some of that anger would be forgotten. They way dogs automatically wag their tails at high voices and happy tones.

"Hello, my dear." Mycroft hummed his usual greeting to his personal assistant. Yet the girl had still come right up to his desk and practically thrown the legal document down the centre of the wooden desktop.

"What the hell is this?" She demanded, her tone matching the heat in her eyes. Slowly Mycroft peered down at the document, though he knew what it was. It could be nothing else.

"Ah, yes." He sung, pretending as if it were at least somewhat of a surprise, keeping up the happy, diffusing tones. "It's a document I need you to sign." Anthea folded her arms across her chest, her top lip pulling up slightly. It seems this would take some work, she was not going to be placated.

"No, I saw that." Anthea seethed. "I need you to tell me what it was doing on my desk?" What did she think it was doing on her desk? Was this some kind of trick that emotional people used on other emotional people? It's a document, you read it and sign it. Mycroft closed the file he was working on and folded his hands together on his desk, preparing himself. This would be easier if she'd taken it to lunch to read over, it would have given her time to cool off.

"If you read it" He was speaking slowly and articulately, demonstrating the stupidity of her question. "You'd see it's a confidentiality agreement protecting me if –"

"If I blab to the press or some bigwig about that kiss, I know. I did read it!" It seems he was doing nothing but making her angrier. Surely she saw what he was doing – surely she saw why this was needed. He needed her to know that these emotions are not tolerated. They weren't allowed. She knew that, what was the problem? Now she spoke to him the way people did when he was a small child, like he was another one of those dullards. "What I want to know is why. It's. On. My. Desk." Mycroft pursed his lips, keeping the frown that wanted to cover his face. That tone. You do not speak to a Holmes like they need assistance understanding – they understood more than someone like her or John ever could. He knows where he put the NDA, he doesn't need the ill treatment. Still, he needed to be careful with what he said.

"Anthea, you of all people must understand how I can't let information such as this leak out." It was true, sure. This couldn't get out, it would be damaging to them both. It was not his true reasoning, but it was far more understandable. Anthea would understand that they needed protection, right? She looked at him perplexed, curls framing her face as it filled with a confusion. A look like he'd just said something in gobblygook. She shook her head, the curls dancing.

"I get that. What I can't understand is after all this time, how can you not trust me?" Mycroft had what only could be described as multiple reactions to this question. One, that he did trust her, more than most people anyway. Secondly, that she didn't get it, that she couldn't see why this would keep them both safe, from the press and from each other. He was… well, perhaps a little offended. He scoffed and looked over to the side of the room. How could she not get it? He'd have to play along, maybe her anger would get rid of the unwanted emotions. Maybe her reaction was good, in a way. Maybe he could still save their current relationship.

"I wouldn't trust anyone after something like that." He sneered. Anthea was perplexed, eyes darting about the room. She was shocked and couldn't understand the whole thing. This was good, Mycroft convinced himself, this could be used to make her forget she ever developed a crush on him. She could go back to chasing her pretty boys and their working relationship would be safe. No hard done, just a few quickly hurt feelings.

"Oh, okay." She laughed bitterly and it didn't sound right coming from her mouth. "So you trust me to be your emergency contact, and you trust me to keep your brother's secrets, but you don't trust me not to go to someone maliciously about an accidental kiss that we've already agreed didn't happen?"

A pause.

What is the best cause of action here?

A long pause.

If he says yes, if he lets her believe that this is more important than Sherlock, then maybe she'd stop.

"Yes." He answered. Anthea looked up to the roof in exasperation and laughed again. This was new, she'd never been so mad and shocked. Bitter laughter did not suit her, it did not suit those kind naughty smiles and knowing humour.

"You are such an idiot." Anthea spat.

What?

Mycroft felt himself twitch. He slowly tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes onto Anthea.

An idiot? Oh no, my dear, you are the one who can't see it. You're the one who is oblivious to what is best for us. I'm trying to fix us. I am not an idiot. I am the very polar opposite of the word. How dare you.

"Excuse me?" Mycroft asked, his voice in a dangerously low range. The way she was looking at him, it was like she didn't even know him. It was with the same confusion and hatred that other people looked at him with, not Anthea. The cabinet was allowed to look at him that way, the police were allowed to look at him that way. Anthea shouldn't look at him that way.

"Only you would be cold enough to put something so small, so petty, above something as important as your treasured little brother's life." The girl shook her head, biting her lip. Mycroft felt that twitch again, that uncomfortable feeling. "Do you really love him as much as you pretend to or is this all a really elaborate act?" It was a pang this time, right in the chest. Anthea had been there after the fall. How could she? How dare she doubt-? No, this aching she was causing was unacceptable. This must be stopped immediately. No one gets to do this. No one. Mycroft got out of his chair and slowly walked to his door and pulled it open. Still holding the doorknob, he turned to face his assistant. To face Anthea, who was supposed to know better. She didn't apparently.

"It is far more complicated than that, Miss James, and I suggest you take that contract, sign it, and get back to work before you do something you will regret." He was controlling his own annoyance and anger, letting only his famous ice seep through. She viewed him like the rest of them did, then she would only be welcomed to that side of him. The girl would be wise to head his advice. Anthea was still sneering as she looked him over, quirking an eyebrow.

"It's complicated, is it?" She mocked. "Is it too big for my inferior brain?" She shrugged, crunching up her soft features to pull a face, proving furthermore that she saw Mycroft Holmes as the weird icy genius who put himself on a throne. He just rolled his eyes, what else could he do when he was giving her the Ice Man show she so desperately wanted. Anthea pouted, jutting out her bottom lip, and shrugged once more. "I'm not signing anything." Such defiance, learnt from her rebellious period when coping with her parent's death.

Silence fell over the room. Mycroft watched the brunette, with her adamant stance and angry eyes. He watched her with a blank unfeeling expression, just waited for her to crumble, to back down, and to realise who she was speaking to.

"You have to sign it or you're fired." Their eyes locked, both determined, neither backing down.

"No."

"It is not an option, Miss Clarke." Mycroft almost spat the girl's real last name as he spoke. The use of the name showed his seriousness, and he was. With the level of insubordination she was showing, with the hatred in her eyes, with her lack of understand of the whole point of the NDA. If she didn't sign it, she couldn't stay here. Anthea placed her hands on her hips and dug her heels in.

"It's not an option for me to sign it until you tell me what this big complicated reason is." He didn't respond. "Don't worry, if it's so big my little mind can't comprehend it I won't lash out and tell the press that we've held hands before." She gasped jokingly, acting like holding hands was a shocking scandal, and Mycroft felt that chest pang again and his spine run cold.

Don't you dare mock me now.

Mycroft allowed the room to turn deathly silent as he scanned the PA once more. She wasn't backing down. She was playing with the big leagues and she wasn't backing down. She'd already proven that she didn't understand him the way he thought she did, what more did she want? No one gets out of this room with the upper hand. Mycroft scowled, feeling the ice flow through his veins.

"You don't want to do this Alice." He was giving her an out, and it was her last chance. "Go back to your desk. Now." Mycroft ordered, venom dripping from his tongue. Anthea ran a hand through her hair as she took a breath, before those orbs of hers landed back on his face.

"Thanks to you I've been kidnapped and torture. I was in a drug bust. I've had to kill people. I helped bring down the greatest criminal mastermind of our time. I've even been cheated on and found out about it in the worst possible way." She through their entire history back in his face. As if he didn't think about that kidnapping often, as if didn't have a hatred for Tim he couldn't quite understand. As if she suspected him to have enjoyed those things. She cocked her head and smirked smugly. "Try me." Anthea whispered.

She'd pushed the last button. There was no turning back. She wanted to play with fire, well he had to douse the flames. You don't get to say what you want to Mycroft Holmes and get away with it. She knew that this game didn't work this way. You don' get to talk about his personal life like a list of accidents and expect to walk away. Mycroft fell into the shadowy government roll as he adopted his intimidating grin, chuckling as he stepped closer to Anthea. To give the girl credit, she stood her ground, the fool.

She got to say what she wanted about his personal life? She got to hit nerves? He was going to go for the jugular vein. Not just any insecurity, her big one, the one about family and bonds. She touches Sherlock, he gets the parents.

"You want to know the truth Alice, my dear?" Familiar words used for affection filled with such contempt. Her eyes lost heat for a fleeting moment. "The truth is; being orphaned during puberty has left you needy and desperate to find a sense of belonging. The moment someone shows you any love or appreciation you cling on and never let go." Exaggerated truths. "It's the reason you were never going to dump Tim even though you found him boring." Plain and simple truth. "I was afraid that you'll now place me in a vice grip and if I try to pry myself free you'll feel betrayed and abandoned. In search of affection, you'll get your revenge." Lies mixed with fears of possible outcomes, merely to put the final nail in the coffin.

Anthea's heat dissipated from her eyes as a cool hurt filled them.

…

Anthea's hand, her soft hand full of gentle touches, hit Mycroft against the cheek so hard his head was sent rocketing to the side. The utter aching already was strong, heat and blood already rushing to the location of impact. He was furious that she'd slapped him, no doubt about that, but he'd seen how his words had broken her. He'd seen the look of hurt and betrayal that had filled them as he'd finished, the way they'd began to glisten, and that hurt equally as much as the blow to the face had. Her turned back to look at her again. Her eyes were welling up but her anger was returning with the tears.

"How dare you suggest that I'd ever betray you." She yelled, pointing her finger right into his face. So that was what had hurt her the most? Really? "After everything I've done for you, everything I have sacrificed, you think I'd be so petty?" He couldn't answer, not after her voice had broken and wavered. "I know you, I know what you're like. I know how important your job is to you. What would ever cause me to betray you so atrociously?" There was that aching in the chest again. "But maybe I don't know you. Maybe you're so cold and icy inside that you presume everyone is as hurtful and as calculating as you are. I'd warn you that in the end you'll only have your job and no one else but I think that's what you want." She was still so angry but she was so broken. He'd broken her. The fragile china doll he'd saved from the kidnappers and pieced back together. He'd broken it again. He hadn't meant to.

"Alice." He'd wanted to reach out and touch her but he couldn't, he'd just break her further.

"No!" She spat defensively. "Don't you dare use my name like that! That's for the people I love. I don't need your fake pity." She ran her hand through her curls. It wasn't fake pity. He didn't give out fake pity. It wasn't even pity. "I put up with so much from you, and you don't even trust me." She was losing the fire again as she shook her head. Anthea looked defeated, he had won. "And I deluded myself into thinking that we were friends. Did you know that you are one of the most important people in my life?" The aching in the chest began to eat its way into Mycroft's stomach and up his throat. "Maybe I was just something to distract you from your boredom. I'm just another goldfish to you. A pet goldfish for you to watch as it swims into walls of the bowl, feeding it occasionally." As she finished Anthea looked up to the roof and desperately blinked her eyes, trying to stay as dry as possible, afraid to break further in front of the Ice Man. She began heading towards the door but the issue remained. The NDA needed to be sign, for both of them. Why couldn't she see that?

"Alice you have to sign the forms if you want to consider yourself employed." He put no effort into making the words sound menacing, it was just a fact at this point. One cannot make threats if they don't intend to follow through. As she turned around the girl still looked broken, yet she smiled sadly.

"Well," She sighed. "It's a good thing I have a whole bunch of sick days and paid vacation days built up. I might use it all for a nice break." She shrugged. Mycroft felt the dread fall upon him, he knew what was to come next, the one thing he had been trying to avoid happening. "I'll let you know if I'm going to come back or I'll let you know when I'm hand in my two weeks resignation notice."

She was leaving.

Anthea turned back to the door.

Don't go.

"How long?" He was barely above whispering.

"At least a month." Anthea breathed shakily. "I might go to Hawaii. Some place warm, get this chill out of my bones." That hurt, but he deserved it.

She stepped out of the office, slammed the door, and walked out of Mycroft's life.

She was gone.

She'd left.

And he'd done nothing to stop it.

Anthea had given up and once again Mycroft Holmes was all alone.

All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.

And yet, here he was.

Author's Note: So? What did you think? Did it clear a few things up? What do you think about Myc's side now? I was writing when my best friend was over and I just kept saying "Lauren, I don't want to write this part!" because it was hard feeling what both of them were feeling. Let me know your opinions! If you're really good, I'll eventually do the second half ;).

Thanks to everyone who has even just read a chapter or two of "A First Time For Everything", you all are awesome. I'm not sure I'd be coping so well with my post-operative physiotherapy if I didn't have this fanfic and the Sherlock fandom to keep me going.