A/N: Here's the next chapter, everyone! It's a lot more pleasant to read and slightly cute, if I do say so myself, to make up for the previous chapter.

Alibird1: I know I need him to do that as well. You won't be disappointed by chapter 12, though :)

Cornishrexmomma: Thank you so much! I had such a difficult time writing it, but in the end I just had to force myself to do it. I don't think I will be writing another chapter like that, so we should be in the clear.

Guest: I'm glad you hate him! I do too. I'm trying to write a Holmes character that is so clearly different from his brothers, so I try to explore the difference in many ways, that unfortunately being one of them. And I can't confirm what Mycroft would do if he found out since I've written the outline for every chapter already, but you won't be disappointed.


Alone

When Chelsea was young, she loved everything about Christmas. Her parents, both being high up in the government, had always been able to give their only child the best and the newest toys. Everything was all about her, and that's the way she expected Christmas to always be.

But then she had become a sleeper agent and her definition of Christmas changed drastically. On certain missions that lasted through December and January, Chelsea wasn't able to spend time with her parents, instead having to spend the holiday with whatever low-life her target was at the time.

And this year was no different. Here she was, flipping through channels on the television, trying to find a program that wasn't about Christmas prematurely in the beginning of December. She was in a house that wasn't hers, sitting next to another one of her low-life targets, and pretending to care at all about him.

Chelsea really couldn't care less, but Mycroft Holmes had asked her to do it, so she would do so willingly.

"Anthea, I said I was sorry a thousand times already," Sherrinford pleaded with her, pouting as if he actually thought it would make up for the events of the previous night.

Gazing back at him with a blank expression on her face, Chelsea tried not to roll her eyes. "What you did was wrong, Sherrinford," she stated, returning her attention to the television.

Sherrinford gently took her hands into his, forcing her to look at him once more. "What can I do to make it up to you?" he asked. "I'll do anything."

Chelsea thought about it for a few moments, running possibilities through her mind. She could flat-out forgive Sherrinford with no strings attached, but then she would essentially be telling him that what he had done was alright. On the other hand, she could continue to be angry with him, but then she would be potentially harming the mission.

No, she had to forgive him, but it had to come with some sort of demand to show him that while she would forgive him, he was most definitely wrong, and therefore had to make it up to her in some way that she knew he wouldn't like too much.

And she had the perfect idea what to say. "You know I've never had the easiest family life, what with my real parents being dead," she lied, touching upon the made-up personal history she and Mycroft had devised prior to the mission.

Sherrinford nodded compassionately, urging her to continue. Once again, she fought the urge to roll her eyes at his sudden change of personality.

"And all I've ever wanted was a real Christmas, surrounded by a happy family," she continued, seeing the slightly confused look upon his face, unsure of where she was going with this. "I want to host Christmas here."

Sherrinford cocked an eyebrow at her demand. "You just told me you don't really have a family to invite for Christmas," he protested, but then remembering he was trying to apologize to her, changed his tone. "Who would you invite?"

Chelsea grinned, genuinely excited for the first time in a long time; she was finally going to be able to deal with her personal life and her mission at the same exact time. "Your family, of course!"

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Anthea."

"Why not?" she retorted, pouting. "I met a lot of them at the ball, and they were very nice. I'm sure they would love it… Besides, you asked how you could make it up to me, and this is what I want."

Sherrinford sighed. "I know, of course you can host the party here and invite my family," he conceded finally. "Just… could you not invite my brothers?"

Chelsea tilted her head, biting her lip to avoid laughing at his request. Dislike for the other brothers' presences seemed to be the defining trait between the Holmes boys. "Sher, they're part of your family," she replied soothingly, stroking his hands with hers, hoping the gesture would warm him to the idea. "I have to invite them as well."

Sherrinford slumped back into the couch moodily. "Do I really have to be nice to them, though?"

"What is your problem with them?" she laughed, leaning against his chest, all the while wishing she could strangle him for what he did to her. Apparently, she was very much still beyond angry with him. That anger would fuel her to pursue her mission even more so now. If not to impress Mycroft, then definitely to exact her revenge on Sherrinford once he was exposed for whatever illegal activity he was up to.

"Before Sherlock was born, it was just Mycroft and me," Sherrinford began, sighing once more at having to relive it. "Mycroft was a genius child, and so when I was nowhere near him, my parents were disappointed in me. You remember my father from the ball right?"

Chelsea nodded.

"He's not all that bright, nothing like my mother is, and as luck would have it, I took after him," Sherrinford said. "My mother had a hard time hiding her disappointment in me, so my father tried to get me out of the house as often as he could, teaching me sports and other things like that… Anyways, when Sherlock was born, it was clear within a few months that he was gifted, just like Mycroft was, and mummy and father loved him so much for it."

Sherrinford ran a hand through his hair, a distant look taking over his face as he continued with the story. Chelsea had to admit she was beyond interested in everything he was saying; she had always wondered what Mycroft was like as a child. "Even though Mycroft was seven years older than Sherlock, he took him under his wing from the moment he was born. I was forgotten by the two of them for years, but then once Sherlock was six, I found out that being forgotten by Sherlock and Mycroft was a good thing."

"What makes you say that?" Chelsea asked, but she knew where this was going. She had worked for Mycroft for years; she knew his personality well, how he dealt with those he deemed to be idiots.

"They never left me alone," Sherrinford replied with a sneer. "They always insulted my lack of intelligence, how mummy loved them more because I wasn't smart like they were. Sherlock was the worst, but he was always such an insufferable prat. I just wanted the love of my older brother, yet he never wanted to give it to me."

Chelsea placed a kiss on his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Sher."

Sherrinford shrugged, still not looking at her. "Ever since then, I've always distrusted overly-intelligent people. They always are looking to make fun of me, and I can't stand it."

"That's understandable."

Sherrinford finally looked down at her, a forced smile on his face. "But, no matter, Anthea," he said lightly, changing the subject. "A Christmas party with my entire family is what you want, so a Christmas party with my entire family is what you shall get, even if I despise two of those who will be in attendance."

Chelsea smiled and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you Sherrinford!" she exclaimed happily. "Do you want to start planning it now? There's so much to do!"

Sherrinford untangled himself from her embrace and stood up, backing away from the couch. "I think it's best for you to do the planning yourself," he said. "I'm far too busy with my work at the moment."

Chelsea's professional interest was piqued. "What work?"

Sherrinford narrowed his eyes at her. "Never mind that, Anthea," he said. "Just focus on the party."

Chelsea shrugged as he promptly left the room; his moodiness didn't matter to her anymore. She was going to be seeing Mycroft in a few weeks and it excited her to no end.


Mycroft had always hated Christmas, what with all of its fake cheer and forced interactions with family members he could do without seeing for the rest of his life.

He sighed and closed yet another file, tossing it to the edge of his desk, on top of the 'finished' pile. His temporary assistant was supposed to have come by his office already to collect the files, but once again, she was late.

Is there any reason why you are neglecting your duties, Betty? -M.

It was almost laughable to hear the clanging of things dropping outside of his office, his assistant scuttling to the door to attend to him.

"Sorry, sir," she apologized, taking the files from his desk.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows expectantly at her. "Well?"

Betty shifted uncomfortably, pulling the files closer to her chest for comfort. "Well what, sir?"

Rolling his eyes, he leaned back into his chair. "Is there any reason why you are neglecting your duties, Betty?" he repeated.

"I was just collecting the mail, sir," she stuttered, reaching into her bag and pulling out a bright red envelope. "This came for you, sir," she said meekly, handing him the envelope.

Mycroft examined the handwriting on the envelope intently and dismissed his assistant, telling her to close the door behind her on the way out.

When he was alone once more, Mycroft stared at the envelope. He had known it was from Chelsea the moment he saw her delicate handwriting upon it.

Mycroft was not a sentimental man, yet he had to repeat that mantra to himself multiple times per day, much more so lately. It had been months since he had seen Chelsea last and he missed her a lot.

He missed her; he could finally admit that to himself. It took a large bottle of brandy and a long night alongside a roaring fire, but, yes, he could admit that he missed her now.

Retrieving his letter-opener, he opened the envelope carefully, unwilling to make a mess of Chelsea's hard work. She always was frustrated whenever he made a mess of whatever she had just spent a long time working on.

Mycroft smiled at the memories of Chelsea rolling her eyes at him and telling him that he was such an idiot sometimes; she was the only one allowed to call him that. Everyone else was too afraid to, and besides, she was the only one he acted like an idiot around. He couldn't help it.

The invitation, much like the envelope, was handwritten. It must have taken her forever to address and write all of the invitations by hand, Mycroft thought as he read it over. He decided that he would have to make an appearance at the party, if only just to see that his real assistant was alright.

Making a mental note to have his temporary assistant respond to the invitation in the morning, Mycroft put the invitation onto his desk, spotting a small script on the back of it that he hadn't seen before. He lifted it closer to his face to get a better look at the small sentence.

I miss you, you idiot. -C.

Mycroft smiled at the strangely endearing message and without thinking, he pressed the invitation against his lips, wishing the mission was over already so that his favorite assistant would be his once again.