Author's Note: Thank you guys for the feedback last chapter. I know it was small and silly, and a little rushed, but I'm glad you liked it none the less. I had a good weekend with my friends, despite leaning on my arm for too long and then spending hours stretched out on my friend's couch just saying "ow" whenever dialogue wasn't happening. I'm so glad I put this chapter off until now for the sake of time because I am SO excited for you all to read it! I've been excited about it since before I started writing it. So guys; read, review, and please enjoy!

Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

The First Time She Encountered C.A.M.

C.A.M.

There it was, in their schedule once again without any explanation given to Anthea about it.

C.A.M.

No details, no specific time, no address, no agenda. It just sat there in Mycroft's schedule on Thursday for this week. Just;

C.A.M.

From the very beginning of Anthea's employment under Mycroft there had always been specific meetings and people she was not allowed to meet in person. For her safety, Mycroft had explained, but he'd tell her all about it later – and the details in the schedule would be filled out in full. Anthea would be allowed to come and wait in the town car, or coffee shop – as long as she stayed a good distance away from the meeting point. This C.A.M. was different. Anthea didn't even know what "C.A.M." in initials like that even meant. No clue. Once every couple of months the mysterious label appeared in the schedule she maintained for Mycroft. No details, nothing. Just;

C.A.M.

The day "C.A.M." was scheduled carried out like any other day at the office. Then Mycroft would emerge from his inner sanctum, take his umbrella from the coatrack, and inform Anthea that he was going out and to take his calls. An hour almost to the dot later, Mycroft would return, his neutral professional mask firmly in place, as if he'd only just popped down to see someone else within the same office building. It was curious. "Curiouser and curiouser…"as Anthea's real namesake would say.

And it was back again.

C.A.M.

On Thursday, for the umpteenth time in all these years Anthea had been working here, Mycroft would disappear to an undisclosed location to meet with whoever or whatever this "C.A.M." was.

It could be classed as a coincidence that Anthea was unusually cold that day, shivering underneath her suit jacket. Mycroft however, did not believe in coincidences, and Anthea liked to think it was more of a premonition of things to come.

Really, Anthea had been extremely lucky. Any confidential works open on her desk earlier that day had already been filed away safely, nor was she working on anything sensitive on her computer. All she was doing was watching the footage from 221B Baker Street. John was leaving today. He was packing up his stuff into boxes and a single suitcase for his clothing in preparation to leave that flat forever. That flat that had the yellow smiley face painted into what used to be lovely wallpaper that was now littered with bullet holes. There was no essential reason to be watching this – Mycroft had already dismissed the idea completely but Anthea secretly had more to do with the fact that John was still furious at Mycroft and had warned the government worker to stay away from him. Mycroft obeyed, he'd have Anthea do what she wished, but he'd stay a little while away… for a month or two. Anthea, on the other hand, felt like she was obligated to watch this sad footage of the small flat becoming lifeless. It was an era ending far too soon. She couldn't take her eyes off the screen.

As the entrance to their wooden office was pushed open, Anthea's hand jumped to the mouse, pausing the footage on her screen. She allowed her annoyance to show, a faint crease on her brow, as she watched two rather brutish men trying to look neat in suits like James' men wore enter the office and begin to look around.

"Can I help you?" She asked flatly from behind her desk. One of the men hazard a quick, harsh glance over at the PA before continuing his light search. The other completely ignored Anthea in her own space. Anthea snarled at the disrespect. This was her abode, this is where she had the most power – you do not ignore her in these offices. "Excuse me, this is a very important office and if you don't answer my questions I'll have you removed from the premises and interrogated." Her voice full of authority. The door opened once more and the temperature dropped by at least ten degrees.

"Don't listen to the British girl." A cocky, accented voice filled the room, bouncing off the wooden walls as the man entered the space, commanding it. "She has no authority without her boss' consent, and Mycroft would never allow for such an idiotic thing to happen." The man stopped just past the doorway, giving Anthea a shark like smile that caused her skin to erupt in goose bumps. There was something very wrong with this well dressed, otherwise innocuous man. It was his eyes. They were blue. Bluer than Mycroft's eyes ever could be, and far deeper in colour than Sherlock's. But where Sherlock's gleaned of excitement and Mycroft's sparkled of humour, these eyes were cold and dead. Anthea remembers the time she looked into the eyes of a tortured Moriarty and commented on the lack of life in his eyes but that was when he was trying to shut off, trying to be utter cold, ruthless, and unfeeling. Even Jim Moriarty could been extremely animated. His eyes would glisten when he was winning, and fill with a fire so hot when he was mad. As horrible as it could be to look Moriarty in the eyes, it was nothing compared to this, this nothingness. Maybe it was because Moriarty was mentally unstable and could have a mood swing akin to a volcano exploding out of nowhere while this man felt as if he were the grim reaper searching for the next name on his never ending list.

Anthea swallowed the ever growing lump in her throat. She acted as calm and neutral – as the mere observer – as she always did. The brunette cocked her head to the side casually at the leader of the intruders.

"Are these your men?" She asked, again channelling her inner authoritarian. The man's smile widened as he nodded. Anthea ignored the shiver down her spine. "Please get them to stop rifling through our things. There's nothing good here but a couple of old celebrity magazines and something about Hawking's theories." The man spoke in Dutch and the two ruffians stopped rummaging through stuff to go and stand either side of the door. Were they trying to make her a prisoner in her own abode? It wasn't going to work. The man's eyes scanned the room.

"I can't say I'm surprised to see that Mycroft's office is so bland." The humour in the man's voice made Anthea want to jump across her desk and slap him if she wasn't frozen to her desk by the cold he'd created with his very presence. "He is so very English he'd be boring if he wasn't wound so tightly." Dead eyes landed on Anthea's face once more. "Don't you agree?" Anthea had to stop herself from snarling again.

"Excuse me for my bluntness, sir, but why are you here?" The man laughed and looked around the room, the way one did when they were unsure if you were being serious or making a joke.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm here to see Mycroft. Or I suppose, that's Mr. Holmes to you."

"He isn't expecting you." Anthea's dark eyes narrowed dangerously. "We have a tight schedule that can't just be interrupted."

"Oh, he'll want to see me." Anthea should have pressed on the intercom and she knew it, but there was something about this man, something that she didn't want anyone she cared about near. Instead her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her palms to keep her calm. Dead eyes flashed to her hands and the man chuckled. "You have absolutely no clue as to who I am? Do you? And you've been working here how long? Years. My apologies." The man walked over to Anthea's desk and she had to resist the urge to back away. "Charles Augustus Magnussen."

C.A.M.

Alarm bells began ringing at a deafening volume in Anthea's head instantly. So this was "C.A.M."

He held out his hand, palm to the roof. The way a gentleman does instead of shaking a lady's hand, or when offering her a dance. The way Mycroft would if he were helping her stand up, or offering her a dance… Anthea eyed the hand doubtfully before hesitantly unfurling her own and placing it in his clammy grasp. His hand closed on Anthea's, pulling it forward towards him. Magnussen bent over and took a long, hard, loud, sniff of Anthea's arm from elbow to wrist. The girl felt frozen even as she heard the door to her side open with a soft creak.

"Anthea, my dear, I n-" Mycroft emerged in time to see Magnussen land a wet kiss in the centre of the inside of Anthea's wrist, right on the tendons and the veins. Anthea's eyes flashed over to her boss. He was frozen, eyes harsh and cold, mouth in a firm straight line. Magnussen, bent down over Anthea's desk and face close to Anthea's hand, turned to grin up at Mycroft with that animal like smile.

"Your assistant wears Chanel No. 5, Mycroft." The thick accent made it sound even more sinister than Anthea imagined it was supposed to. Magnussen stood up and smoothed out his suit. Anthea's arm fell hard on her desk with an audible thud as soon as it was released. "It's no surprise this Anthea, as you call her, has exquisite taste." Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "I wonder if this was always true or if you have rebuilt her from the ground up."

"Charles." Mycroft's voice was empty of anything but malice as he glowered at the other man. "We were to meet at your office on Thursday. Dare I ask why you are currently standing in my office?" He too was holding a snarl from invading the neutral mask. Magnussen tilted his head and sniffed a single laugh.

"Not everything can always go your way, Mycroft. But you already know that." He looked down casually and pulled his shirtsleeves to neaten them. Mycroft merely stood there and took it. Why? What was it about this shark of a man that stopped the Ice Man from retaliating? "I can't make Thursday and it occurred to me that I haven't been to your office in the government building." He looked back up at Mycroft, adjusting his thin glasses. "I took the opportunity to come and check it out, and also to share my condolences for the loss of you brother." The room lowered a few more degrees, this time originating from the Ice Man to Anthea's side. "I'd believe the fake genius angle most of the papers are selling had I not met you." Mycroft's fingers were twitching – he was trying not to turn his own hands into fists. In fact, Anthea could see how her boss was fighting to keep his entire calm and neutral persona intact.

"Yes, well, thank you, Charles. You've given your respects and informed me that Thursday is no longer viable, you can go now." Magnussen sniffed again as he looked Mycroft over once more. His eerie eyes fell onto Anthea again. He looked her over carefully, from the loose brown curls, to her painted nails.

"Your assistant is a very beautiful young lady, Mycroft. Tell me dear, I see no ring, ever been married?" Anthea felt that lump in her throat return and her heart drop to her stomach.

"No." She practically spat. Magnussen looked her over the way the Holmes' do, adjusting his glasses again. Mycroft seemed to stiffen further next to her. He placed a single hand on Anthea's desk as if it were to protect her from the demons in the room.

"But you could be by now. Why are you not?"

"I haven't met the right guy yet." Her answer sounded short.

"Haven't met them, or won't settle for ordinary after you've been introduced to the extraordinary?"

"It's my role to psychoanalyse my personal assistant thank you, Charles, not yours." Mycroft sighed, though you could still hear that venom seeping through. "Now if you'd be so kind, we have work to do." Two sets of cold eyes caught each other, firmly staring each other down.

"The British, always so polite." Magnussen chuckled to the men behind him. "Very well, Mycroft. Take care and don't be too hard on yourself over all this fake genius business. Next time we meet at Appledore, do bring your lovely assistant, she deserves to see something beautiful." Mycroft was still frozen in place like an ice statue as Magnussen turned, clicked his fingers, and left with his brutes in tow behind him. Both residents of the office stayed firmly still as they listened to footstep receding until they faded away. Anthea let out a sigh of relief once she heard the footsteps no more, but Mycroft besides her had his eyes shut and was counting down.

"Five… four… three… two… one."

SMASH!

Anthea jumped as her small white vase hit the wooden door, smashing into little pieces. The few yellow roses that Anthea had picked from the bushes outside her flat fell to the ground wilted and lifeless. She pouted as she looked at the poor dead buds. Anthea looked at Mycroft worriedly, eyes blinking in surprise. He looked positively furious – eyes burning with a fire she did not know he could possess. Mycroft Holmes never lost his cool. Ever.

"That sneak!" He roared, point at the door he had just assaulted. "That filthy, cold, cruel, conniving little man!" He stepped towards the door and Anthea's sad little roses. "That slimy, disgusting, snake!"

"What's the problem, sir?" Anthea asked, sincerely concerned. "He's really creepy, but so what if he came to the office?" Mycroft's head snapped back to face Anthea, his ice blue eyes still alive with flames.

"That man, Anthea, is the most dangerous man in the world and yet we can do nothing about it. For one, he's never directly committed a crime, secondly he has power over the entire globe. He has something on everyone, a pressure point. A way to make police squirm, and governments bend to his will." Mycroft was still livid, his hands now balled up since they were alone. Any longer and his palms might start to bleed. "If I am the Ice Man, then Magnussen is the Arctic Circle itself." Anthea had known from one look that this man had been no good. Where Mycroft had fascinated her from the moment she laid eyes on him, this man made her want to back away as far as she could. T get a reaction so lively from Mycroft… That just proved her intuition.

"Why did he come to the office if he's never been here before?" A shaky hand ran through Mycroft's hair as he turned back to the door and heaved a very heavy sign. A moment of contemplation before he turned back to look his PA in the eyes.

"He came because Sherlock was my pressure point for so many reasons." He sighed, sounding almost defeated. "With him gone the snake came slithering by in search of a new sword to dangle over my head." Anthea frowned as she cocked her head at her boss.

"He didn't find anything though, there's nothing here." Anthea said. Mycroft stared at her flatly and quirked a single eyebrow. Anthea blinked. "What," she pointed to her chest. "Me? My feelings about you? How can they be used? It's not like their reciprocated." Mycroft pursed his lips momentarily – Anthea caught it. What was that supposed to mean? She shook her head and continued anyway. "Plus, I go under an alias. What is my pressure point that will help get to you supposed to be?"

"He'll know your name by the evening." Mycroft spoke barely over a whisper. "He'll have a file about your uncle, about Miss Thompson, about Tim. He has his ways, such is the life of the head of a newspaper." Anthea frowned, looking at her desk but seeing nothing at all, worried about what may be. How can someone do that? How can someone just dig up your life like that? How could this be possible? The man with the dead eyes could be a force to be reckoned with. Then again, what did Alice Clarke have to hide?

"What do we do about that?" She asked quietly.

"Nothing." Mycroft stated simply. "He won't use any of it unless he wishes to get to me for one reason or another. It's all about leverage, my dear. You know that, you've played your cards once or twice whilst playing the game." Anthea searched Mycroft's face carefully. He was no longer furious – simply lost and distant. His whole face seemed drawn down, eyes readably lost, breathing heavy and slow. That Magnussen using Sherlock as some sort of leverage against his brother, that would make Anthea angry too. But why should Mycroft care if this man knew who Anthea really was? Only Anthea should be overly concerned about that. Why would he care if Jamie was used as leverage? Didn't he view the blonde as an annoyance?

Still…

"Sir," Anthea breathed. "Look, I'm a big girl who can take care of herself. I don't really care if he knows who Alice is. I have no family left and neither of my parents held a deep dark secret in the first place. The only person he could use against me is dating our best agent. No one is going to touch her with that blonde idiot around. Alice has no secrets, and Anthea only keeps yours."

A pause. Mycroft looked at his feet and then back up.

"You're right, my dear." He forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're absolutely safe." Anthea shrugged, placing a coy smile on her lips.

"Well, I'm not safe. I could have contracted something after been sniffed and slobbered on." She shivered. Mycroft chuckled lightly but it just didn't sound right. "That was the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me."

"If I were you, I'd go wash my arms immediately. Both, to be safe." Dark eyes flashed to the bottom of the door. White pieces of china littered the floor along with yellow petals. Anthea pouted and pursed her lips.

"After I clean that vase up." She hummed. Mycroft turned to examine the mess, hands in his trouser pockets. "I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."

"Those were from your flat, were they not?" He asked.

"Mmm." Anthea nodded.

"Yes, well…" Mycroft hummed. He said no more and simply moved towards his inner office. Anthea sighed as she stood up. She went to the kitchenette to find the dustpan and broom.

The next morning a new vase sat on Anthea's desk. It was full of red and white roses, very reminiscent of the very first Alice in Wonderland joke Mycroft had made. The thought of the stupid joke alone was enough to make her smile, let alone his attempt to right a wrong.

Well then, apology accepted.

Author's Note: So? So? Did you like it? Did I get the atmosphere right? Ooh, I hope you all liked it! I loved writing it, I really did. Thank you to my lovely guest reviewers since I can't thank them personally; Corrine, Guest, Loyal Elf, Wink, Anon, Another Guest, and Wheezy8. Every reviewer is wonderful and so are all readers. I love you all! I'd also like to thank my best friend Lauren, and my dear twitter friend ovejalucifer for helping through the worst part of my OCD related anxiety break down. I'm still in half of it but their support got me to work and got me through the day. My mum too, but she doesn't read this because I won't let her.

Mycroft's chapter isn't ready yet but the chapter has been chosen. Best case scenario it'll be up with next chapter, worst case it'll be the chapter after. I've already started working on it – as in highlighting and writing on the original version of the chapter.