By the time Sunday was over and Monday rolled around, Sherlock was itching to get the answers he sought from his brother.

"Right then, I'm off. Wish me luck," he called as he put on his coat.

"Hang on a sec," responded a yawning Molly, walking over to the playpen and extracting their daughter, then bringing her over to him. "Don't we even get a kiss goodbye?" She had begun her week of night shift and hadn't had more than a two-hour nap the previous afternoon before preparing dinner, and he knew she would be ready for a long sleep after lunch.

Sherlock smiled. "Of course you do." He kissed his daughter's forehead, then Molly's lips, feeling his daughter reach up to tug a curl as he did so. Gently, he extricated himself from the baby's grasp. "Daddy has to go now," he told Victoria, who did not look very happy about it by the way she thrust out her lower lip.

"I hope Mycroft gives you all the answers you're looking for," remarked Molly, bouncing Victoria on her hip.

"Me too," responded Sherlock. "Want me to pick something up for lunch when I'm done?"

"Don't worry about it. We still have beef left from the roast I made yesterday which we can have on sandwiches, and there are a few roast potatoes and other vegetables left as well I can heat up in the microwave."

Sherlock nodded. Molly had invited her mother over for dinner the night before as thanks for watching Victoria on New Year's Eve, and had made the Sunday roast she only made when they had company. She always said it was not worth going to so much trouble for just the two of them. Molly had also invited Mrs. Hudson upstairs to join them and it had been a very nice evening, although Sherlock had found his mind wandering on several occasions to thoughts of the next day.

But here it was at last, time to get those answers.

When Sherlock arrived at the SIS building in which Mycroft spent the majority of his time, although perhaps not quite as much now that he was a married man, he took a deep breath and entered.

The previous evening he had retrieved his security card from the box in the wardrobe which held important documents, and he held it up to the security guard just inside the entrance. At one time he had been a regular visitor to the building, when he had been involved in doing MI6 missions, but it had been awhile, and he didn't recognise the man on security. At least with the card he could bypass the need to go to the reception desk and wait for Anthea to get him.

Sherlock entered the lift and pressed the button for the underground floor number that housed Mycroft's office.

Upon exiting, he used his security card to gain entrance to the inner section and headed straight to where he knew Anthea's desk was situated.

Before he even had a chance to speak she smiled at him and said, "Oh, Mr. Holmes, your brother is expecting you." She picked up her phone and pressed a button. "Mr. Holmes, your brother has arrived."

Sherlock could just hear Mycroft's response. "You can bring him to my office."

Anthea stood and gestured for him to follow her.

He didn't really need an escort, but he was technically a civilian now with no special clearances beyond that which gave him access past the security checkpoint. There had been a time when he had had level three clearance - the Counter-Terrorism Check (CTC), during the time when he had been involved in MI6 missions.

Mycroft had level four, the top clearance level, Developed Vetting (DV), and he had personally 'retired' Sherlock from active duty soon after he became engaged to Molly. His brother had, quite rightly, informed him that his services would no longer be required with a wife and possible future fatherhood to consider, and Sherlock had accepted his change in status without complaint. He did occasionally miss the thrill of danger, but his life with Molly and Victoria more than made up for the reduction in risk-taking and excitement. Life could be thrilling in other ways with a wife and child to take care of.

"I see congratulations are in order," remarked Sherlock as they walked along the corridor. He had seen the ring on Anthea's finger. He was rather surprised she had a life outside of being Mycroft's personal assistant, but of course, that was nonsensical. Most people did not eat, sleep and breathe work. He had only been like that himself in the past because he had been bored and always in need of the next exciting thing.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Holmes," she responded pleasantly. "It only took four years for Peter to work up the nerve to propose." A wry smile touched her lips.

At least I didn't waste any time once I realised how I felt about Molly. Seven years was long enough, he thought to himself.

He was about to ask politely whether she and her fiancé had set a wedding date when they arrived at the closed door to Mycroft's office.

Anthea knocked at the door, then stood back.

"Enter," came the response. Anthea opened the door and Mycroft said, "Thank you Anthea, I will summon you once we have finished our business."

"Yes, sir," she responded and gestured for Sherlock to enter. She closed the door behind him and he heard the clicking of her high heels walking away.

Sherlock walked until he stood directly in front of Mycroft's desk.

"Well now, brother mine," said Mycroft mildly, leaning back casually in his chair, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting you have requested of me?"

"Information."

"Information?" questioned his brother, cocking an eyebrow, then gesturing to the chair at the back of the room. "Do take a seat and make yourself comfortable."

Sherlock pressed his lips together. He was not going to relax into a chair. This was too important. "I prefer to stand."

"Suit yourself." Mycroft crossed his legs languidly. "So, what information do you require now? Do you have some urgent case from Lestrade for which you require my superior assistance?"

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back. "Not at all. This is information of a personal nature."

Mycroft gave him an interested look. "What kind of personal information? Do you feel the need for me to elaborate further about the past for which you have only fractured memories?"

Sherlock shook his head then blurred out, "I want to know about your true connection with Mary, not the little snippets you've told me in the past about your dealings with her through A.G.R.A."

Mycroft suddenly looked a little uncomfortable and shifted slightly in his chair. "I don't know what you mean," he said finally. "I knew Mary only indirectly through her association with A.G.R.A." He didn't quite look at Sherlock as he spoke, and Sherlock knew his brother was lying through his teeth. He was having none of that.

He unclasped his hands and slammed both fists down onto the desk, startling Mycroft. "Bollocks!" he exploded. Sherlock rarely cursed, but this time it was warranted, and he knew that Mycroft would understand he was not going to tolerate any more lies. He was going to go on the attack.

He looked directly at Mycroft and said with a glare, "I know you were the one who got Mary the job at the clinic so she could keep an eye on John for you while I was away. That implies a much deeper connection than you would otherwise have me believe."

Mycroft's eyebrows lifted in astonishment. "How did you discover that? Who let the cat out of the bag?"

Sherlock gave his brother a supercilious smile. "You just did. Thank you for confirming my deduction." He suddenly recalled using much the same tactic several years earlier when trying to determine where Irene's camera phone was hidden. She too had fallen prey to his tactic of pretending to know something he really was not sure about.

Mycroft let out a heavy sigh. "Well played, brother mine. It seems I have some explaining to do."

"I want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," demanded Sherlock, invoking the words usually used in a court of law. He folded his arms and waited for his brother to respond.

"Do sit down, Sherlock. This may take some time." Mycroft spoke in a resigned tone, and Sherlock knew he had won. Obligingly he pulled the chair from the back of the room, set it in front of the desk and sat, crossing his own legs before looking expectantly at his brother.

Mycroft took a deep breath, expelled it slowly and began to speak. "My personal association with Mary only extends as far back as the events at Tbilisi. Before that, she was merely one of the members of A.G.R.A. and I had no reason to speak directly with her, although she, like the others, knew I was considered the head of the initiative to use freelance agents. Each of the members also had a code name. Mary, or rather Rosamund as I knew her real name to be, used the code name Gypsy."

He paused for a moment, as if trying to order his thoughts, then continued. "After the Tbilisi incident, we all assumed the team had been killed along with the hostages until I got a phone call from 'Gypsy' two days later. Suffice to say, I felt I had to ensure safe passage back to London for her and made the arrangements. Once she-"

"Why didn't you just send her back to her roots, the country she originated from to return to whatever she had been doing before she was recruited?" interrupted Sherlock.

Mycroft frowned. "Deduced that she isn't an English native, did you? Clever of you. She was initially recruited from Glasgow University in Scotland. I am not fully aware of the details of her past except that she was an orphan. In any case, once Rosamund arrived in London and was debriefed, I arranged for her to have a new identity, the one you are familiar with."

"Mary Morstan, stillborn in October of 1972," answered Sherlock, bringing up the information immediately from his mind palace.

Mycroft nodded. "Exactly. I arranged for her to find work in the profession she had been initially pursuing at university and thought that was the end of it."

"Until everything happened with Moriarty and I had to fake my death," noted Sherlock, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward to put his elbows on the desk so he could pose his fingers in their usual steepled position.

Mycroft mirrored his move. "After your 'death', I kept tabs on John. He was not doing well, was overindulging in the use of alcohol, and I decided it might be prudent to find a way to bring him out of his depression. You know Ella of course, Mummy's therapist friend, who I recommended John see after your 'funeral' in order to cope."

Sherlock nodded. "Of course, I had a couple sessions with her myself after Mary's death, not that they were particularly useful. She was the one who suggested I might have Asperger's Syndrome and made me do an online test that seemed to indicate I did have the neurological condition."

Mycroft nodded slowly. "Ah yes, I recall you telling me that after your honeymoon. But your responses were not truly accurate because your behavioural change occurred as a result of Victor's disappearance. In any case, Ella, although not allowed to discuss the details of her sessions with John, indicated he was not doing well. That was what prompted me to get in contact with Rosamund - Mary."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "So you found her a job at the clinic in order for her to spy on John?"

"Not at all," responded Mycroft defensively. "I merely asked her to befriend him, and after I provided her with a dossier on his background, she agreed. As you know, they eventually formed a romantic attachment, and I was quite pleased that your friend had finally moved on from his grief at your loss."

"But that's not the end of the story, is it?" said Sherlock pointedly. "You were the one who helped her escape London during that whole case with the Margaret Thatcher busts."

Mycroft cocked his head slightly. "Well, well, brother mine, I'm impressed that you managed to deduce that as well. I had thought it would never be brought to light. So, what do you plan to do with this information? Will you reveal it to John?"

Sherlock smiled slightly. "My wife was the one who deduced that, actually."

"Clever woman."

"That she is." He unsteepled his fingers and sat back slowly in his chair once again. He hadn't actually thought that far ahead in regard to telling John. He had only wanted to know the truth from Mycroft.

Mycroft watched without further comment as Sherlock spent a few moments thinking about what to do next.

Finally, he made a decision. "As for your question about John, at this point, with John happily remarried with another child on the way, I do not think it would be prudent to bring up shadows from his past. They could only serve to hurt him to know that his initial meeting of Mary was because of your machinations."

Mycroft cringed slightly at his rather cutting words before Sherlock continued. "I do not believe John has even thought about that, nor who helped Mary leave London, so in this instance I think it best to let sleeping dogs lie. However, should he ever develop a curiosity about the circumstances surrounding her precipitate departure from London and who might have assisted her in accomplishing it, I will not shield him from the truth." Sherlock's tone was firm. He was quite certain this was the correct course of action. He had only required validation from Mycroft to settle his own curiosity.

Mycroft leaned back also. "I think that is a wise decision, Sherlock. Is there anything else you need to discuss at this moment, or may I return to my work?"

Sherlock stood and returned the chair in which he had been sitting to its former location. "I think I have spent enough time in your office for now. I'd like to go home and have a nice lunch with my wife and daughter."

Mycroft gave him what Sherlock felt was a rather relieved smile. "Do give your wife my regards. And how is your offspring doing?"

Sherlock pulled out his phone from his trouser pocket and brought up a recent photo to show Mycroft. He extended the phone to his brother. "She has been a little grizzly lately, cutting her second top tooth."

Mycroft peered at the photo, which displayed Molly grinning and lifting Victoria's gum to expose two top teeth. The second had poked through yesterday, and Sherlock had snapped a picture.

"I must acknowledge that you and your pathologist have created a most endearing specimen of life," remarked Mycroft as a smile played about his lips.

Sherlock gave him a rather shocked look. Was Mycroft actually giving him a compliment? Was his brother actually more fond of his niece than he typically let on? It certainly appeared so.

He restrained himself from making a teasing comment however and merely said, "Thank you, I would tend to agree."

Mycroft handed back Sherlock's phone and picked up the handset for his phone. "Anthea, you may escort my brother back to the front entrance."

"Of course, I'll be right there," Sherlock heard.

"How are you going to function when she is off on her honeymoon?" asked Sherlock curiously.

Mycroft waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, you observed she is wearing an engagement ring. As it happens, she is only planning to take a week off. I can manage that long."

"When is she getting married?"

Mycroft thought for a moment. "Some time towards the end of winter, I fear the exact date has escaped me. Late February, I believe; rather precipitate if you ask me. It will be far more difficult to function efficiently without her if and when the time comes that she decides to procreate with her husband." Mycroft gave him a rather mournful look.

Sherlock laughed. "Perhaps you need to train a new personal assistant in the meantime."

Mycroft huffed. "There will be time enough if Anthea informs me she is in the family way. Perhaps she will be one of those people who chooses career over family."

It took a little longer than Sherlock expected for Anthea to arrive, and when she opened the door, he noted her pale complexion and a slightly nervous look on her face. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes," she apologised to both men. "I had to make a quick detour."

Sherlock gave her a suspicious look. Five years to propose, suddenly pale complexion, hands still slightly wet from an apparent hasty detour to the loo. He looked over at Mycroft and made an oblique comment. "That thing we were discussing? Perhaps you had better look into it sooner rather than later."

Mycroft gave him a rather perplexed look, and then his own expression changed as comprehension dawned. "Er, perhaps so. Goodbye for now, brother mine." He addressed Anthea. "After you have escorted my brother out, would you please return to my office?"

Anthea bit her lip. "I'll do that, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock sincerely hoped his brother would be kind to his long-time assistant. Once they were at the lift, he said, "Don't let my brother intimidate you, Anthea. He may be disgruntled about you having to take maternity leave in a few months, but you are entitled to it. God knows you've been there for him long enough to deserve as much time off as you want. Molly took three months of maternity leave herself. If you need any pregnancy tips, I'm sure she would be happy to offer her advice if you need it."

Anthea looked at him in astonishment, blushing as he began to talk, but then a smile appeared on her face. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

"If you have your phone handy, I can give you Molly's number. Oh, and I suggest you call me Sherlock from now on. Really, there's no need for such formality away from my brother."

She looked surprised, but nodded, taking out her phone and Sherlock gave her Molly's number. "Thank you...Sherlock," she said hesitantly when she had put in the contact details. She added shyly, "And when my employer is not around, you may call me by my real name, Andrea."

Sherlock nodded solemnly. He had always known Anthea was not her true name. John had informed him of that fact shortly after they had met, and he felt rather honoured that she would volunteer her real name. "Andrea," he said slowly, testing out the unfamiliar, yet similar name. "I like that. Perhaps Molly and I will have to have you and your fiancé over for dinner sometime."

She gave him a sweet smile. "I'd like that."

Sherlock was wearing his own smile of satisfaction as he left the building and headed home. It had been a rather productive morning.

Author's note: So, the truth is finally out. Did you like the addition of Anthea to the story? Her character is one I've rarely written about. Incidentally, we know her real name is not Anthea. According to something I read, her real name is Andrea, so I thought it would be fun to address it.

I tried to visualize the SIS building from looking at TST when Lady Smallwood is denied access at a security checkpoint. Obviously, it isn't something I cam be sure about, but hopefully it comes off as believable.

The clearance levels I described are accurate, I researched them, and there are four revels of clearance in the UK.

You can find the conversation about Sherlock potentially having Asperger's in my story, A Honeymoon Journey.

So, what next - do you think John should know about what Sherlock discovered? I look forward to hearing what my readers think!