For John Watson, I am always "Anthea". That was the name I first gave to him, the name he immediately knew wasn't mine. First impressions left a lot to be desired. I lied to him, and he flirted with me. However, the awkward flirting in the car contrasted with the quiet defiance he showed my employer that first night.

After learning he shot a man to save Sherlock Holmes' life later that evening, I knew that the awkwardness was the act.

"Thank you for seeing me, Doctor Watson." I walked briskly to the seat that John held out for me.

"And thank you for agreeing to meet me here." John walked and took the chair at the other side of his desk. "Flu season is keeping me busy, but I have a few minutes left til my afternoon appointments start."

I opened up my briefcase and pulled out a file. "I know that Mr. Holmes has approached you many times about the younger Mr. Holmes' will over the past year. As executor of the estate, Mr. Holmes is legally bound to have you hear the terms of the will, as you have been named as a beneficiary."

"As I have told your employer many times already, I have no interest in receiving anything from the will." John's lips formed a straight line. I knew that his words to Mycroft Holmes had not been as polite as those he said to me.

"I completely understand. So if you just allow me to say a few things to satisfy the legalities, I can be on my way." I opened up the file, but then allowed myself a moment of genuine curiosity.

"If you do not mind my asking, why are you unwilling to accept any of the inheritance that the younger Holmes left for you?"

John let out an almost silent laugh. "If I accept his will, then it's like admitting that he is truly dead."

I arranged my face in what I hoped was a convincing friendly yet professional expression. "And do you have any reason to believe that Sherlock Holmes is alive?" I hoped he did not notice how my fingers were ready to press the sequence on my mobile that was designated for such an event.

With a face that looked both wistful and amused, John responded, "No, but if anyone could fake his own death, it'd be him, wouldn't it?" He sighed. "I just keep seeing him, you know? Different clothes, different hair, but him. Just yesterday, outside this surgery, in fact. Keeps me feeling like I should be waiting for him to return."

The doctor seemed lost in thought for a few moments, and I took advantage of his distraction to hit the sequence of numbers that had been programmed for such recklessness. Selfish prat of a man.

John shook his head, as if shaking off clinging memories. "Anyways, let's get this over with, shall we?"

"In short, Sherlock Holmes left all of his assets to you."

"What?" John seemed startled.

I continued. "There are only two restrictions on how you can use the assets."

"No, wait."

I forged on. "The money and personal property are yours to do with as you wish. The two restrictions are…"

"Please, stop."

I looked the doctor, who seemed truly distressed. I allowed myself a crack in my professional demeanor and called him by his first name. "John, just let me finish, and then you can ask questions. Okay?"

He clutched the armrests of his chair to calm himself, then gave me a curt nod.

"As I was saying, the two restrictions are as follows. One, if you decide to sell the violin, please allow Mycroft Holmes to set up the auction."

At this, John smiled slightly. "That screechy thing is worth something. I knew it."

I felt relieved by the interruption. John seemed more himself. I worried that the next restriction would change that. "Two, the cottage in Sussex is not to be sold. Even if you do not utilize it, the cottage is to be passed on to your heirs with the same restriction, in perpetuity. There is a trust that will cover the maintenance costs, and my employer took it upon himself to set up those arrangements already."

His voice was shaky. "The cottage? There is actually a cottage in Sussex?" His left hand trembled as he placed it over his mouth.

I did not know how to respond to that. I sat quietly and waited for any follow-up questions. Finally, John asked, "When did he make this will?"

I looked at the papers in front of me. "January of last year."

"And when did he purchase the cottage in Sussex?"

Once again. "January of last year."

John buried his face in his hands, and I heard him murmur something that sounded like "Yes, you are."

Our surveillance had shown continuous improvement in Doctor Watson's emotional state. I did not like being the cause of a setback. In order to keep him from spiraling deeper, I drew his attention back to the matter at hand.

"There is paperwork to be signed. My employer set up two forms. One, for you to transfer the assets into your accounts, which is the option my employer and obviously Sherlock hoped you would choose. The second set of documents will still leave all of the assets in your name, but with my employer as manager. The funds themselves will not be touched."

"Second option, please, " said John, hollowly.

I placed the documents in front of him, along with a pen. "You are aware that Mrs. Hudson is receiving financial support from my employer."

"Yes, " said John. "She claimed it was compensation for putting up with his brother." A tiny glimpse of a smile.

I smiled back. "She deserves it, don't you think?"

"God, yes." He pushed the signed papers back towards me.

The tension having dissipated, I placed the documents in my briefcase and rose from my chair. John walked me to the door, where I paused with one more question. "I know that Sherlock's belongings are still at 221B Baker Street. Did you take anything of his with you when you moved?"

"Just Billy."

"Billy?"

John grinned at me. "The skull."

Breaking and entering was so boring. Especially when the office of John's therapist had such pathetic security measures.

Dealing with the man who had followed me to and from the therapist's office? That was much more interesting. And satisfying.

I walked into the popular bistro where John sat with Mary Morstan. We had reason to believe that John was going to propose this night. But I was not there for the purpose of changing his mind. I was on a different mission.

I saw John's eyes widen as I approached. It had been eighteen months since our last encounter. Mary noted his distraction and glanced over her shoulder as I approached their table from behind her. John always sat where he had a clear view of the entrance.

I paused at their table and looked directly at Mary. "Good evening, Doctor Morstan. I'm sorry for the interruption."

Turning to John. "Good evening, Doctor Watson. Mr. Holmes requires your assistance. You are to come with me."

"John, who is this?" asked Mary.

"One of Mycroft's," answered John with a justifiably bitter edge to his voice. Still, it saddened me to hear it. He looked me with a challenge in his eyes. "And why should I assist Mr. Holmes?"

"Please, Doctor Watson, Mr. Holmes requires your assistance. A car is waiting for you." I aimed a fake, yet professional smile towards Mary. "Another car will take you home."

"Nope, not going to happen," said John.

I shifted my feet slightly, in a calculated maneuver to let John know that I would prefer that he not make a scene in the crowded restaurant. "Mr. Holmes knew that you might desist. Therefore, I was sent with a question to ask you. If you give me the correct response, I'll tell you all you need to know."

John squared his jaw, then nodded once.

I lowered my voice, focusing on the intonation of his name. "John, do you know what happened to the giant rat of Sumatra?"

He gasped, a combination of fear and hope rippling across his face. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then barely whispered, "That is a story for which the world is not yet prepared."

I knelt by the table, close enough to touch his hand and force him to meet my gaze. "It's a trick. It's just a magic trick." I smiled, a genuine one this time.

"Jesus. I can't…" John stuttered, grasping my hand in both of his. "How do you know that?"

"Because it was just a magic trick, and now the world is prepared to hear the story. But he requires your assistance first."

"Mr. Holmes requires my assistance… Mr. Holmes…"

John Watson looked at me with wonder. I slightly tilted my head in Mary's direction, reminding him that his girlfriend was still there.

"Mary, I'm so sorry, I must go." He stood up and stepped around to touch Mary's face. "I can't explain, but I must go." He kissed her cheek chastely. "I'm so sorry, really." John walked out of the restaurant without a second look behind him.

I looked at Mary Morstan, a perfectly good woman who would no doubt hear the real story soon enough. "Doctor Morstan, I cannot tell you what is going on and you must not mention anything that's happened this evening to anyone, even family."

"Can you tell me anything at all?"

I placed enough money to cover their meal on the table and gestured that she should follow me. "Doctor Watson will always choose Mr. Holmes." I smiled. "Always."