"Wait, wait, you said Mycroft gave us a clue," John said as Sherlock paced the room.
"Anthea. She doesn't work for him yet he had her bring a car for Lestrade."
John shrugged. "Maybe...she owes him a favor?"
"Or she still loves him but I'll wager that's merely a small percent chance," Sherlock said.
John's eyes widened. "She, what?"
"He had someone we know pick up Lestrade. He could've easily told Lestrade to get a cab. Anthea will know what happened and where they are," Sherlock explained.
"You're saying...something's happened to them?"
"Obviously," Sherlock replied as he dialed Anthea's number on his phone.
"Dear God," John mumbled as he rubbed his temples.
Sherlock got ahold of Anthea and she told him of the warehouse where she dropped of Lestrade. Sherlock hung up and put his phone in his pocket.
John looked up at him. "So, where to?"
"She's agreed to meet us a few blocks down. We'll be walking."
"Walking? Your brother has just been recently kidnapped, possibly twice now, and you want to-"
Sherlock was already out the door and John gave a small sigh. With a shake of his head, he dashed out the door before muttering a curse word.
Claire left the kitchen as she walked upstairs to the flat, surprised that Sherlock and John were also gone. With a shrug, she went to her bedroom and grabbed her satchel. She opened it and took out the notebook Mycroft had given her when they had first met.
She scribbled down the events of the past few days. It was a journal she kept where she mostly wrote of her students. She would write their names the first day and label them accordingly so she'd remember their names. Extremely helpful since she thought it rude for a teacher to not know her students by name.
She wrote of Mycroft and how she hoped he would feel better soon. With a sigh, she tossed the notebook in her satchel. This called for an iced coffee. She jumped when she heard her door opening.
"Oh, God, sorry," Claire gasped, putting a hand to her chest.
Irene just smiled. "All the gentlemen have gone, I see."
"Yes. They're all away on business, I assume. I was going to go out myself."
Claire walked to the door until Irene blocked the door. "I'd like to join you, if that's alright."
"Oh. Okay. It's just next door, come on."
"It's...I just need to.."
Claire's eyes widened a bit as Irene looked as though she were about to cry. "Oh, no, no. It's alright."
Irene wiped her eyes. "I need to talk to another woman about it. It's a bit personal.."
"Oh, of course. We'll just talk here, if you want. I'll go get us some tea from the kitchen."
Irene shook her head as she wiped her eyes again. "Please, let me. I need to cool down."
Claire shrugged and smiled. "It's up to you. I'll just wait here, then."
Irene slipped into the kitchen and grabbed a tray for the pot and cups. Mrs. Hudson gave her tea before heading to her own room to rest. Claire wrote some more in her journal and gave her pen a nibble.
*flashback*
"I told my students that exact thing. They just never listen," Claire said on the phone to one of her roommates from college.
She heard several noises coming upstairs and grimaced. "Hang on, I'll call you back."
She put her phone on the table and hurried up the stairs. Quietly, she walked through the hall and stopped outside one of the spare rooms.
Closing her eyes, she gave a sigh. "Oh, dear God."
As she opened the door, she folded her arms as Mycroft ran on the treadmill. He had used the spare room for working out of all things. He spotted Claire and stopped running.
"Mycroft," she began.
He took a long drink from a water bottle before answering. "Yes?"
"Do you remember that little talk we had?"
Gasping for breath, he shrugged. "Well, darling, you and I have so many 'little talks' I can hardly keep track of when we had them and what was said."
Claire gave him a look and walked towards him. "You have one of the greatest minds in the world, Mycroft. So, I find it hard to believe you don't remember, but I'll gladly remind you."
He raised his eyebrows waiting for her to continue. "Very well."
She out her hands on his arms and rubbed them gently. "I told you that you're quite fit and all this nonsense of you being overweight-"
"...should remain as nonsense," Mycroft finished, deadpanned.
She nodded and side-smiled. "I know you're very insecure about your weight-"
"Ah, ah, wrong. I'm not insecure. Insecurities are for teenage girls who desire attention. I'm merely cautious and very strict on my diet."
Claire raised an eyebrow. "That's not what it looked like when you had second-helpings from the dessert table at my father's private party last night."
He looked away in guilt. "I prefer to think of it as a way of giving a silent compliment."
She gave his stomach a poke. "Indeed."
He pulled her into a hug and she gave a loud gasp and sound of protest. "Mycroft, you're all sweaty!"
He placed a kiss on her cheek as she pulled away and gave him a small shove. "Well, I'll be cooking downstairs. It'll be fried chicken, so you'll have to settle with something else. Wouldn't want to ruin such a healthy streak."
"I think I can make an exception. Your cooking isn't entirely unhealthy."
"Oh, thank goodness. You approve," she said, sarcastically.
She walked out of the roomroom. Mycroft smiled when she was gone and looked at the treadmill. He started back towards it but stopped. Shaking his head, he turned it off. He had done enough for one day, he thought.
