A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed the last chapter! Sorry this chapter has taken so long to write, I had trouble starting it, but regardless I hope you all enjoy!
Blood-Sucker-1428: I'm glad you're so intrigued! I love their pairing too and I wish there will be more scenes with her in the show; she's absolutely fabulous in the episodes she's in. I wasn't sure if I was going to have Sherlock attend the Christmas party, but we'll see!
Cornishrexmomma: I couldn't wait for the Christmas party either, but it was hard writing it because I wanted it to be just like I imagined in my head. Honestly, I rewrote it a few times from different characters' perspectives to try to get it right. He'll definitely be quite melted in this chapter and from now on :)
Alibird: Thanks for the review! I completely agree, they're absolutely adorable together.
Both Guests: Thank you so much for your reviews!
Icohbh: I hope you'll love this chapter as well! Your review made me laugh out loud. People gave me odd looks for it :)
AkatsukiShizu3: Completely agree about Sherrinford, he really is. Unfortunately, he'll only get more so, but Mycroft will make it better eventually. Since this story is set a couple of years or so before the beginning of the television series, John isn't in the story yet, but he will be eventually once I get to that point. I have the entire story outlined and so I can definitely say he will be in the story eventually. He will meet Chelsea/ Anthea the same way as he did in the show.
See the Film, You'll Know How it Goes
Meet me behind the garage in twenty minutes. -M.
"Anthea, darling," Sherrinford called her, walking into the kitchen, "Mummy wanted me to check on how tea was coming. She wants to know if you need assistance."
Before he noticed the balled up note upon which Mycroft had elegantly scrawled the demand, Chelsea thrust it haphazardly into a messy kitchen cabinet drawer, fully aware Sherrinford would never find it.
That would require him to actually make something in the kitchen, which, as time showed, he never would.
She wiped her hands on her apron for good measure, keeping the facade of cooking up, and smiled at him. "Tell your mother her assistance in the kitchen would be much appreciated."
Sherrinford approached her slowly, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, placing a kiss on her neck; Chelsea willed herself not to flinch away from the gesture. "Sher, I've got to finish cooking," she whined playfully, even though she was feeling anything but playful.
"Fine," he sighed in annoyance, stepping back from her and raising his hands in the air defensively, "just try not to be too much longer. I'm going insane having to listen to them out there."
Chelsea laughed at his complaining. "Sherrinford Holmes, they are your family. I am sure they're not that bad."
Sherrinford leaned over hors-d'oeuvre platter on the marble counter, aiming to pick through it, but Chelsea acted quickly and swatted his hands away with the hand towel that was previously draped over her shoulder. "Sherrinford!" she cried in mock exasperation. "Go back out to your family."
He pouted like a child. "I don't want to."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Why not? They are lovely people."
"Anthea, you barely know them," Sherrinford retorted, leaning against the counter, his back to the food he wasn't allowed to touch before it was officially served. "They are making my life miserable. That's why I am hiding out in here."
"You are a grown man," Chelsea reminded him, shooting a pointed look in his direction. "What are they doing to make your life so miserable, today of all days?"
"Mummy will not stop raving about you, for one," Sherrinford began, sighing again, this time more dramatically. Dramatic sighing definitely ran in the family.
"And how is that a bad thing?" Chelsea cut in.
"It's gone on for long enough," he explained casually. "Father is sitting on the sofa silently, staring around like he hasn't got a clue in the world… Sherlock won't stop drumming his fingers on every surface in sight and if he doesn't stop soon, I will most definitely amputate them from his hand once and for all."
"That's a lovely thing to say about your baby brother, Sherrinford."
Sherrinford rolled his eyes. "And Mycroft is grumpy as always."
Chelsea put down the mixing bowl she was holding and wrapped her arms around him. "As awful as that sounds, I really could use your mother's help in the kitchen, so could you please go get her for me?"
Sherrinford pecked her on the forehead before leaving the kitchen.
Moments later, Mrs. Holmes, in her holiday finest, entered the kitchen. "Anthea, you're doing a marvelous job, dear!"
Chelsea smiled and thanked her for her compliment. "Sherrinford said you'd like to help me?"
Mrs. Holmes nodded. "I wanted to show you how to make one of Sherrinford's favorite dishes," she said, taking Chelsea's arm and leading her into the walk-in pantry. She shut the door behind her. "Sorry I had to do this Chelsea," Mrs. Holmes whispered conspiratorially.
"It's not a problem," Chelsea said. "How can I help you?" she asked, knowing the Holmes matriarch was addressing her as Mycroft's agent and personal assistant, not as Sherrinford's fake girlfriend. She was the one to ask Mycroft to spy on Sherrinford, after all.
"Did you get the note tucked into the tray of biscuits I brought?"
Chelsea grinned and nodded. "I hid it away as well," she replied, checking her watch. "I'm supposed to meet him in a few minutes."
"Have you found anything?"
"I cannot report anything specific, official secrets and all," Chelsea started, "but I can confirm that I have found evidence of illicit activity carried out by your son. I have made Mycroft aware of the situation and the evidence collected thus far."
Mrs. Holmes smiled and patted her arm. "You really are a keeper, Chelsea," the older woman praised. "It's too bad you have to be with the black sheep of the family."
Chelsea laughed at her insinuation. "It won't be for too much longer, I can assure you," she replied. "I hope to have this mission completed before this time next year."
"Good," Mrs. Holmes said approvingly. "I will make sure that my eldest son gives you a proper raise and promotion. You were always more than just his personal assistant, you know."
As the two women exited the pantry, a few ingredients in hand to disguise their reason for going into the pantry in the first place, Chelsea nodded her head, smiling to herself. "I know."
"I was beginning to think you were ignoring my request, Chelsea," Mycroft drawled, rocking on his feet forwards and backwards as Chelsea snuck out of the house to meet him behind the garage.
Chelsea wrapped her coat tighter around her body, regretting wearing a dress. "What was so pressing that you wanted to meet me outside for? We could get caught."
Mycroft chuckled and looked around them. "By whom?"
He had a point; everyone was in the house and the land around them was lifeless and silent. She laughed lightly. "Point taken."
"I was pleased to receive your invitation," Mycroft admitted, feeling his heart rate begin to increase, knowing the reason why he asked her to meet him outside today, instead of waiting until their next mission meeting. "The party allows me the opportunity to give you something I was going to give you in a few weeks at our next meeting."
Chelsea reached inside her coat pocket, her hand closing around the small box inside. "I, too, have something to give you." She had grabbed the box just in case Mycroft intended to give her a gift.
"Let me," Mycroft said, reaching into his suit jacket, pulling out a delicate gold band. Chelsea's eyes widened he took her right hand and placed the ring upon her palm, closing her fingers tenderly over it.
"Mycroft," Chelsea breathed, "what is this?"
Mycroft swallowed and averted his eyes, knowing what she probably thought it was. "A few days prior I received a visit from your father and he told me he was worried about you being on another mission."
She didn't understand where this was going. "I thought he didn't know about the mission."
"Yes, well, when you didn't show up for your mother's birthday, he talked his way into my private office to tell me everything he thought about my allowing you on a mission," Mycroft groaned, thinking back on the uncomfortable and annoying experience.
Chelsea rolled the ring between her fingers; it felt warm against her skin, the ring having been heated by Mycroft's body heat.
Mycroft watched her play with the ring, mesmerized, and continued explaining. "Your father thought it best that I find some way to track your person."
"Oh, yes," Chelsea said, finally understanding, "the ring's interior contains the same kind of technology found in satellite navigation systems. The ring relays my coordinates to a satellite, which, I assume, either you or my father have access to at any time."
Mycroft nodded, impressed at her expeditious conclusion. He reached out, closing her fingers over the ring once more, his hand lingering on hers. "Precisely."
Chelsea slipped the ring onto her right hand ring finger. "If Sherrinford asks about it, I'll tell him it was my grandmother's," she decided, admiring the way the ring looked on her. She had to admit she loved it. "You know, if anyone else saw this, they would think you were proposing to me," she smirked teasingly, missing all the times she used to do that when she worked for him.
Mycroft smirked down at her in return. "All in good time, my dear Elsie," he drawled, winking at her.
Chelsea's smirk faltered and her heart beat rapidly, before she calmed herself once more by reminding herself that he was just bantering with her. Breaking eye contact with him, she reached into her coat and pulled out the small velvet box, handing it over.
Mycroft turned the box over in his hands. "I genuinely hope that you do not intend on tracking me, as well?"
Feeling her cheeks redden, Chelsea rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide her emotions. "Just open it, sir."
Looking at her once more, Mycroft slowly opened the box, revealing a pair of silver cufflinks. "Umbrella cufflinks," Mycroft chuckled, closing the box and hiding it away inside his jacket. "They are perfect."
Chelsea grinned, delighted that Mycroft liked her gift. She thought, perhaps, that she was overstepping some boundary with her gift, but she was glad she took the leap.
Before she realized what was happening, Mycroft stepped closer to her, enveloping her in a warm embrace. "Thank you for the present, Elsie," Mycroft whispered with a low voice in her ear, making her skin raise with chills.
"Of course," Chelsea stuttered, her head resting against his chest, not wanting to let go. Unfortunately, Mycroft pulled back slightly, but his hands remained around her body loosely.
In a moment of boldness, she looked up into his eyes. "I wish this mission was over already," she told him, her voice barely above a whisper. "I miss working. I miss driving to work in the mornings and getting to make ridiculous small talk with Peter." She took a deep breath. "I miss you."
It was like she had read his mind. Deciding 'to hell with' propriety, Mycroft placed his hands on either side of her face, tenderly caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. Chelsea unconsciously pressed her body against his, melting him with her wide, chocolate eyes. His gaze lowered to admire her seductive plump lips, and before he could control himself, he pressed his lips against hers in a passionate kiss, fueled by longing and devotion.
Chelsea clutched his jacket lapels needfully, deepening the embrace. She felt his tongue run across her bottom lip, begging for an entrance, which she most definitely granted.
As his hands began lowering to the arch of her back, they heard one of the house doors open, arguing voices interrupting their kiss and making them freeze mid-action, their faces touching, but lips no longer connected as they listened.
"It is not my fault that you raised a simpleton!" Sherlock's exasperated shout drifted through the gardens, followed by a door slamming.
"We're hidden behind here, right?" Chelsea whispered under her breath.
Mycroft tightened his arms around her, leaning closer to her to whisper back in her ear, his breath hot against her skin, making her crave his touch and kiss once more. "Yes, he went back inside," he replied.
"How do you know?"
"If he was outside," Mycroft explained, "we would still hear him complaining. He talks to himself when he's alone."
"That's…" she broke off, trying not to laugh at his odd baby brother, "interesting?"
Mycroft chuckled lightly and rested his cheek atop her head, pulling her head against his chest. "How is your mission coming along? I want you back at work some time this year."
Chelsea smiled, even though she knew he wouldn't be able to see it. "I'm closer to getting much more evidence," she lied. She should have felt upset at the fact that she had to lie to cover up the fact that her mission was slowly falling apart and her target was treating her in a less than ideal manner, but she was still in unbelieving ecstasy from the kiss.
Mycroft took his head off hers and lifted her chin towards him with one of his hands. "I am so proud of you for following through with the mission," he said tenderly, gazing into her eyes. "But please, do be careful."
She nodded, mesmerized by the sound of his voice. "Of course, Mycroft," she breathed, closing the distance between her lips and his. "I would do anything you asked me to do," she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her body to his in another passionate kiss.
It truly was Christmas.
