Disclaimer: Just so you know, I hate boats! The sea, channel, whatever is choppy as Hell because of a storm and I'm puking my guts up. When I went to the middle of the Aegean Sea it was smooth as glass. I really don't like this boat! We should be landing in Velestino soon and then I swear I am never getting on a boat again. I only hope Lestrade is worth all this trouble. Oh, who am I kidding? We all know he is. For now though, I still don't have him or any of the others.

A/N: Okay so the Sunday Blitz is only one chapter. I apologize. I had a really hectic week and meant to write this weekend but it was like this week sucked my ideas dry. Anyway, unless we get home from church early this is the last chapter of the Blitz but not the story. There is at least one more after this.

Sherlock

The lift was broken. Of course it was. I don't think I'd ever been in a building in this part of town where the lift did work. I followed Mycroft up the dark stairs. There were no windows here and the light bulbs were obviously either gone or broken. The stairs creaked as ominously as the door had and I felt another shudder work its way up my spine.

I walked a bit faster to stay close to Mycroft. Who knew who or what would jump out of the shadows in a building like this in this part of town. I shifted and felt the reassuring weight of both the gun at the small of my back and the knife strapped to my inner thigh. I also knew that if I pressed a particular series of buttons on the phone grasped tightly in my hand it would shoot out an electric charge, similar to a stun gun.

I was comforted knowing that the umbrella had a sword hidden in the handle and that Mycroft was trained as I was in the martial arts. He may look stuffy and aristocratic but I had seen him spar with his coach. The man moved like lightning when it suited him.

He paused at the top of the stairs on the fourth floor and drew in a deep breath. What was he gearing himself up for? I'd never seen Mycroft act in this way before and it made no sense. He'd been cool as a cucumber when we'd been held at gunpoint in Libya only four days before and yet here he was nervous? Worried? Something anyway.

"Should I go first, sir?" I asked. I was his bodyguard.

He turned his head to look at me, one eyebrow lifted in faint surprise. "No. There is no danger here."

I looked around the hall we were standing dubiously. "Really?" I asked him dryly.

He grimaced in disgust again. "Well, not from our mission today. We're merely here to drop in on someone and prevent World War III from erupting in London."

I know my face showed my shock at this statement. Mycroft had the rare ability to completely break through my masks. No one had ever done that before but he managed it effortlessly. "World War III?" I asked.

"Mmm," he hummed. He walked a few steps down the hall to the door to one of the flats on this floor, raised his fist, paused, lowered it and turned the handle. It opened and there was no creak.

Sunlight suddenly spilled from the flat into the hall, lighting it up and bringing the scent of spring and fresh air into the dark, dank corridor. I felt better, immediately. Safer and warmer too. Some of the tension bled from Mycroft's shoulders and I breathed a bit easier.

"John?" He called into the interior of the flat. "Sherlock?" The names meant nothing to me. Sherlock had deleted his own name and every single mention of John from Mycroft's file. Mycroft entered the flat with me hot on his heels. No matter his faith in our safety there was no way I was letting him enter an unknown situation alone.

The front room was light and airy. The windows were thrown wide to let in the spring breeze. The light glinted off of a violin sitting in the corner of the room. The only dark spot in the whole room was the face of a teenager on the sofa. "Go away, Mycroft," he growled. "You are not wanted or needed here." I took a step back at the viciousness of his tone and then straightened my back and stood at Mycroft's side.

"Sherlock," a warning voice I didn't recognize said. I shifted my eyes to the direction of the voice and saw a blond man. He was short with hazel eyes and an uncompromising posture. He had crossed his arms over his chest and was shooting the teenager a mild glare. He couldn't have been that much older than the boy. "Be nice."

The teenager turned his fierce glare away from my boss and to the blond man. "You have no say in what I do. You're leaving, remember?"

The blond sighed. "Only for a week, you plonker. I have survival training. It's kind of mandatory." He squeezed the bridge of his nose and shook his head a bit. "We've been over this a hundred times, Sherlock."

"And I have said every time that I will not allow you to leave me." Sherlock, the teenager shot back. "Why you insisted on not allowing Father and Mother to pay for your schooling so that you could stay with me, I'll never understand."

The man seemed to rub his nose harder. "Sherlock…" he shook his head more violently this time and stood up straight. "I have to pack." He turned his attention to Mycroft. "You deal with him." He stalked out of the room.

Mycroft was silent for a moment and then looked over at the sulking teenager before sitting in an armchair across from him. His umbrella tapped lightly against the floor. "Sherlock," he sighed. "You've known he'd be leaving for months. It's only a week."

Sherlock scowled at him and then stared at me. That stare from those otherworldly grey eyes was unnerving. Mycroft had the same eyes only not so intense. This must be the brother, I thought to myself.

"I am," the boy told me. "Unfortunately. The only brother he has, much to his shame. Unless you count John, which I don't because he's mine and not Mycroft's."

"Pardon?" I asked.

He scowled even more and turned back to Mycroft. "Another stupid one, brother. When are you going to get an assistant that actually has a brain in their heads?"

Mycroft matched his glare and I scowled. "I do have a brain," I told him. "I have the CAT Scan to prove it. Would you like to see it?" I knew that wasn't what he meant but I get a bit…literal when I'm angry. I also thought it would at least confuse him a bit. I wasn't quite sure I liked this brother of Mycroft's with his acid tongue.

Those unearthly grey eyes swung back to me and widened. The boy's lips twitched and then he scowled. "Do you really think you're funny?" He hissed.

I raised a brow at him. "I wasn't intending to make a joke, Mr. Holmes. I was merely stating
a fact. It would be very difficult for me to function without a brain now wouldn't it?"

"We are getting off track," Mycroft interrupted before his brother could say whatever it was that he was thinking. "John called me because you are upset."

Sherlock's head whipped around back to Mycroft so fast I swear I heard his neck creak. "I am not upset," he snarled. "I don't care what he does." He crossed his arms over his chest and sank back onto the sofa in a sulk. "I do not sulk." He growled at me.

"Really?" I drawled. I had known boys like him before. At first I had thought that he was spoiled but something about his anger said that this was something a bit different. He reminded me a bit of a friend of mine when I was young. Aaron had been a high-functioning autistic. He would become angered or depressed for no reason at all. So I did with Sherlock what I'd done with Aaron; be an absolute pest until he stopped being angry. "If you say so." My tone was light and airy as though I didn't believe him but was willing to let him think I did.

He stopped scowling and confusion spread over his features. "I don't." He sounded unsure now.

"Of course you don't," I agreed and moved to stand beside Mycroft who was staring at me in something akin to surprise. "You're only angry because your…John is leaving. Perfectly understandable."

Sherlock's grey eyes drifted to the doorway that John had stalked through. "He's my fiancé," he said.

"Congratulations," I told him immediately. "I'm sure you will both be very happy together." It was just something people said but I did mean it. Finding someone to love is never just something people say. I'd seen enough sadness and pain in my life that anyone finding even a modicum of happiness makes me feel overjoyed.

He stared at me some more and I could feel Mycroft's eyes assessing me. "You mean that." Sherlock stated.

I nodded. "Now why are you really angry, Mr. Holmes?" I asked him now that he seemed to have calmed a little.

He cocked his head to the side as he studied me. Those grey eyes blinked for a moment. "What is your name?" He asked instead of answering my question.

I thought about that for a moment. Oh, I had no intention of giving him my real name. I barely remembered it myself sometimes. He was like my friend Aaron and I was Agent A because I'd been top of my class. "At," I said finally.

"At?" He questioned. "What kind of a name is that? It's not even a proper name! It's a preposition!" His scowl was back but behind those grey eyes there was curiosity. "And I'm not autistic."

"He has Asperger's," Mycroft informed me. That was a whole new kettle of fish. But it didn't change anything. He still reminded me of Aaron and in memory of my dead friend I would do what I could for this boy.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock spat. "She didn't need that information! Now where in the world did you come up with the name of At?"

I shrugged lightly. "It got you out of your mood, didn't it?"

Sherlock frowned and then his lips twitched again. He looked at me consideringly. "Don't let Mycroft near your morning pastries," he warned. He looked back at Mycroft. "Don't do anything stupid to chase her away."

And that was that. We ended up taking John and Sherlock to lunch and then Mycroft had his meeting with the PM to get too. I found Sherlock an intriguing young man and John an engaging conversationalist. They seemed to have been made for each other. Their separate strengths only reinforced the weaknesses of the other. Sherlock claims to not have a weakness but we all know that's not true don't we?

I am unsure what I said, exactly, to make Sherlock like me but I am thankful for it. Maybe he saw something in his deductions that convinced him that I wasn't as stupid as the rest of humanity. I don't think I'll ever know because I shall never ask him. He would find that an idiotic question. Maybe if I die first I'll ask him on my deathbed. I can always claim senility then.

So that was how I met John and Sherlock and between you and me, even though Sherlock reminds me of my friend Aaron whose father killed him when we were twelve I prefer to spend time with John. John is…well, comforting. He just makes me feel as though I can handle anything. Sometimes I think he is like a house. Just there and always ready for someone to enter his life and make a home.