Author's Note: Thanks for the feedback last chapter! I'm glad you were all pretty happy with his reaction and were understanding of it. I also love that you guys love Jamie! That's awesome. I'm doing a bit better, I got some more tablets from my doctor and the exercises are getting a little easier, so again, the quality of this fic should be normal by about now. I've had this chapter stewing around in my brain for maybe a month or so now, and I'm excited to finally use this idea. I hope you enjoy it. Read, review, and 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 Accidental Date

The lighting in the restaurant was dim, almost to the point of being annoying. Sure, it was romantic – Anthea understood that – but when you were here to sign contracts with a client, you tended to want a little bit of lighting. Just to see what you were doing, it tends to come in handy. This was the last time Anthea was ever letting a client choose the location of a dinner meeting. She and Mycroft currently sat in the dimly lit room at a table covered in a red table cloth with a candle in a crystal bowl spewing a little more light onto the document in front of Mycroft. It was one of those small Italian places that had some sort of live music playing. Tonight it was a violinist – that had made Mycroft rolls his eyes automatically and made Anthea a little happier than she'd been upon seeing the lighting.

None of this was particularly annoying to either of the pair, however. What was particularly annoying was the fact that they'd been sitting at this dimly lit with candlelight table, waiting for their client to arrive for the last half hour and the staff were becoming annoying in insisting they order soon. Anthea and Mycroft were sniping back at them, of course, but it didn't take away how rude they were. And the client! This big wig of a client, a client so important that Mycroft had relinquished some of his beloved control and let him pick the restaurant, had betrayed their display of trust by being late! Five minutes late to a meeting was acceptable, fifteen was annoying but survivable, but half an hour was just rude.

Anthea's fingernails tapped impatiently on the table as she stared right through the violinist. Mycroft was still pretending to read over documents, but the line his face had been drawn into screamed of boredom, the way he occasionally clenched his hand and unclenched it spoke of rising impatience. Anthea turned to watch Mycroft rather than the violinist. Her dark eyes watched his long sophisticated fingers as they curled or lightly flicked a page. She looked up at Mycroft's face and took a breath, garnering his attention as steel eyes flickered up.

"Do you think something happened?" She asked lightly. Mycroft's eyes fell back to the document in hand.

"He would have called." The man mumbled with a sigh in his voice. Anthea frowned and turned to look at the door to the restaurant.

"Not if something happened."

"Then one of his men would call." She turned back to her boss with a quirked eyebrow. Always has to be right, doesn't he? Her stern mouth pulled into a faint smile.

Ring Ring.

"And here's our call now." Mycroft smirked as he put down the paper, leaned back in his chair and pulled out his mobile. A sparkle in his eyes as he read the number and Anthea already knew Mycroft had predicted the future. Still, the man turned the phone around to Anthea to show off and make her read the name. Her smile grew sarcastic and she nodded for him to answer his phone.

"Holmes. Yes. No, I expected us much." Mycroft looked at Anthea, raising his eyebrows and rolling his eyes. She returned the gesture, having a feeling she knew where this conversation was heading. "No, it's understandable, I assure you. I'll have Anthea call you in the week to reschedule." Mycroft hung up the phone and placed it back in his breast pocket of his jacket with a heavy sigh.

"I'm not calling him until next week." Anthea spoke dryly and flatly, earning herself a small smirk in response.

"My dear, I was going to suggest the same thing." She could sense the faint amusement in his voice that no one else could hear.

"He made us wait, we'll make him wait." Anthea crinkled her nose. Mycroft leaned forward on the table, smirking.

"An eye for an eye." Anthea laughed brightly. They were certainly the wrong pair to annoy, even mildly. After the moment had passed, Anthea leaned back in her chair and huffed. Her eyes briefly fell back onto the violinist, then to the door, then back to Mycroft who was placing his documents back into his briefcase.

"What do we do now?" She asked. Bright eyes flashed up to her face, looking confused as if she'd just asked a question with only one single and obvious answer.

"Leave." Mycroft stated. Anthea scoffed and pulled a face.

"We can't just leave." She gestured lazily with her hand. "We've wasted half an hour of these people's time." It was just a small restaurant with a limited amount of seating – probably a family thing. Mycroft's eyes scanned the room, making the robot like observations his brother was known for.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" He asked. Anthea shrugged her shoulders.

"Order something, I guess." She shrugged again. "Like some drinks, or an entrée to share?" Confusion faded away to a brief flicker of fear as Mycroft was taken about. He looked down to the tablecloth and began smoothing it out.

"Miss James, do-?" Mycroft cleared his throat as he scratched the side of his eyebrow with his ring finger. Finally he looked up at his personal assistant again but couldn't quite reach her eyes. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Oh.

A whole meal?

Mains, deserts, and everything?

It was Anthea's turn to become bashful. She mimed her 'oh' and looked down, tucking a long chocolate lock behind her ear.

"Sure." She spluttered out. Anthea frowned at her own words and shook her head. "I mean I guess so." She smiled. Her heart was racing fast and sending her into panic, but thankfully her natural reaction to fear was to be funny. She leaned forward and pulled a cheeky grin. "Only if we get chocolate cake for desert." Mycroft laughed, but his laugh had a faint shake to it. His eyes sparkled as he smiled at the brunette still dressed for work.

"It's a deal, my dear." Anthea felt her heart skip a beat.

It was happenstance. A client had picked the place, after all. Of course, Mycroft didn't believe in coincidences, but this wasn't a date, this was happenstance. The client had cancelled, they were there, and this wasn't a date. It was a government official having dinner with his personal assistant out of necessity and convenience. It wasn't a date.

If it wasn't a date, though, then why was it so perfect? Why did the red wine have to be amazing? And the food perfect? Why did Anthea have to tell jokes that made Mycroft's eyes sparkle in a way that no one else could make them sparkle? Why did he have to make her blush and look away? Why did the conversation have to be the most pleasant, and funny, and perfect conversation in the world? It was like that kiss all over again, it was perfect. Anthea and Mycroft, Mycroft and Anthea, they fit together like two puzzle pieces. Or rather, Anthea completed Mycroft's puzzle and made it finished and understandable to the eye.

It wasn't fair. Why couldn't a date with anyone else in the world be this perfect? Why couldn't Robbie fill up her glass of wine just as she was thinking about doing it? Why couldn't Tim say something so funny but so cleaver that it went over the waiter's head and he had no idea they were making fun of him? Why couldn't Damien listen to her like everything she said had some importance to it? Why did the one man Anthea wasn't allowed to fall in love with, why did the Ice Man have to be the perfect date on what wasn't a date? Why couldn't Tim be a part of Anthea's puzzle, on even John? No, she had to fit so well with the Ice Man that she couldn't be anywhere else. It didn't help that she was wearing that sapphire droplet necklace, or the fact that he had his cufflinks that she'd given him years ago on. It didn't help that he knew to ask if they could replace the rocket lettuce in her salad with another type because she didn't like it very much. It didn't help that she'd known he'd avoid any soups because his mother makes better soups than any restaurant in his eyes. Why did her boss, her weird and wonderful boss, the most complicated man in the universe, have to be the perfect date? On a non-date, of course.

Happenstance. Happenstance was a bitch.

Mycroft chuckled as his fingers circled the rim of his glass of wine in that beautifully hypnotic way.

"Allow me to guess what happened next." Mycroft's light and friendly tone of voice breaking Anthea out of her trance of watching the fingers dance. She nodded and motioned forward lightly with her hand.

"Be my guess." She spoke playfully. Mycroft folded his arms on the table and leaned forward.

"You pretended to your school that it was your mother's last wishes that she had her ashes scattered in London, and convinced Jamie to go with you." Anthea's smirk grew wider as Mycroft's version of the end of this school story continued. "The head mistress, having no idea what to say whenever you brought up your dead parents merely let you two off with a couple of evening detentions and a stern letter to Jamie's parents and your uncle." He nodded. "Correct?" Anthea was beaming by now.

"You are so correct." She laughed, rubbing her arm. Mycroft leaned back into his chair triumphantly. Ah, but he'd forgotten something. Anthea quirked an eyebrow at the brunette. A lock of hair had escaped his style and was falling on his forehead. If Anthea didn't have this story to distract her, she'd have leaned over and swept it off his face by now.

"What about our fake IDs?" She asked, smirking mischievously.

"Your IDs?" Mycroft asked. Anthea nodded. "The ones you used to get into the clubs?" She nodded again. "The headmistress placed them in her desk drawer." He stated in a bored voice. Anthea nodded slowly.

"But?" She urged on. Mycroft titled his head as he looked at the PA.

"But?" He repeated. Anthea turned her head to the side but continued to watch Mycroft, looking sly and naughty.

"Yes, but?" Mycroft observed the brunette woman, trying to take in all of her hints. His eyes widened and he sat up.

"You stole them back almost immediately." He shook his head. "Anthea!" Anthea burst into laughter.

"I told you we're dangerous together."

"I should have her shipped away this instant before any harm can be done."

The slow, young waiter finally arrived with a single plate of dessert, their large slice of a delicate and moist looking chocolate cake. Anthea moved the candle over in order to allow the waiter to place the desert in the centre of the small round table. Gingerly, he placed a fork in the correct side of both Anthea and Mycroft's place settings.

"I brought two forks, sir, for you and your wife." The atmosphere froze. Steel bright eyes shot up and met equally shocked dark chocolate eyes. Neither knew how to proceed from here. A simple mistake to be made with anyone else, particularly with a couple who looked very close. With this government worker and his employee, it was like opening the floodgates all over again.

Surely only a few seconds passed, but when moments like this happened between these two, it tended to drag on for an eternity. Both fearful of what the other might do, or how they would react to an answer to this poor, naïve waiter. Anthea felt like her words were stuck in her throat and she wanted to claw them out, but that might spook Mycroft or annoy him. The waiter looked between the pair. He was young, really young; this was his part time job.

"Ah, I'm sorry." He winced as he stood up straight. "Are you two not?.." The waiter trailed off. Mycroft waved him off.

"No, but it's an honest mistake, don't get yourself worked up about it." Was that directed at the waiter, Anthea, or Mycroft himself? It was hard to say. Whatever the case be, the situation had been successfully defused. The waiter nodded and apologized once more before heading off to the kitchen. Anthea looked down to the table and smoothed the table cloth as she cleared her throat, free her words from their prison. She picked up her fork and plastered a smile on her face.

"So," She peaked up. "Let's find out if this cake is as good as the staff claims it to be." Mycroft scoffed.

"I highly doubt it." His fork was already slicing of the point of the cake. "The staff has already proven to be prone to hyperbole." Anthea quirked her eyebrow and paused in motion.

"What?" She cocked her head. "And neither of us are?"

"Absolutely not." Mycroft argued playfully. Anthea shrugged and continued forward into the cake with her own fork.

"Because the baby really was determined to give you a cold, and I really did make cupcakes that tasted like angles in uni." Mycroft didn't even flinch as he brought the cake forward to him.

"Okay, perhaps you are, but I refuse to be called dramatic."

"You're such a liar." She was rewarded with that smile. The one that made his eyes gleam with the defiance of a naughty little boy. It was one of her favourites, and one of the rarest.

Mycroft insisted on walking Anthea up to the door of her flat. He hadn't done that since her kidnapping and she'd been living in her old place near to the alleyway where it had happened. It was oddly nostalgic and very nice to feel his presence by her side, to hear the tip of the umbrella taping on the concrete of the sidewalk. Maybe it was because she was tipsy and feeling very light, or maybe it was because of the stupid revelation Jamie had thrust upon her, but Anthea was finding this all very wonderful. A business dinner had turned into one of the best evening outs she had ever had in her whole life. It was moments like this that made her realise why it was never going to work out with any of her boyfriends. If they walked around with an umbrella while she was tipsy, she'd find the noise annoying. With Mycroft it was endearing and made him feel human and more real. Something not so unattainable. But he was. He was so unattainable!

But Anthea wouldn't think of that right now. Instead, she'd enjoy walking up the wet path with Mycroft Holmes by her side, walking her home. That was a much nicer thought for a dizzy and dazed mind.

As they stopped at the door of the building, Anthea leaned against it, for both support and to be playful.

"That was fun tonight…" She said as her finger traced patterns onto the door. She'd meant to say 'sir' but it had been lost in her mouth. Oh well. "Thank you." Mycroft had a very gentle look on his long features. Anyone else would say it was absurd to see him looking so calm and gentle. Anthea would call it lovely.

"We certainly made the best out of a bad situation." He hummed.

"That we did." Anthea nodded. Mycroft huffed what could be a laugh as he looked his assistant over, deducing whatever he felt like deducing. Anthea didn't care what that was at the moment, she was just enjoying the whole thing while it lasted.

"I should go." He was using that shield over his voice – the one that made him sound flat, the one that took away whatever emotional response he may or may not have. Anthea's smiled faltered slightly as she shrugged against the door.

"Alright. Night." But Mycroft didn't look away. Instead he frowned and continued to look his assistant's face over like he did when he worked out Jamie's revelation. What did he want? What was he wrestling with?

"Miss Clarke," Anthea's real last name melted off of Mycroft's tongue as he continued to frown like he was in pain. "It truly was an entertaining evening." The man lifted his hand to shoulder height, hesitated, and pulled back, before deciding to go through with it and stroking Anthea gently down her arm. It was one of the most affectionate gestures she'd ever received from Mycroft, it was so full of warmth. "Thank you." His words too were warm as he flickered a half smile once more before retreating into the darkness and back to the car. God knows what Walter was going to say to him.

Anthea blinked and watched Mycroft retreat. Even after he'd left she leaned against the door and stared after him for a few moments. It was nothing, sure. It wasn't even the first time he'd given her a physical sign of sympathy or affection, or the like, but it was the first time it had felt gentle and warm, and not forced. It was lovely. It shouldn't have been lovely, it was a stroke on the arm, but it was so kind.

Screw what Mycroft was going to say to Walter in the car, what was Anthea going to say to Jamie in the flat?

Author's Note: There we have it! What do you think? Not quite everything I wanted to get out of it but it's 90% of what it was like in my head so I'm ok with that. I just hope you all liked it. I can't wait to hear what you think. Since I can't thank them personally, it's time to thank the guest reviewers without an account. Thanks to; Loyal Elf, Guest, Enola, Corrine, Cumberkale, Wink, ovejalucifer, and Wheezzy8. Every review makes me extremely happy, and every reader means the world to me. I hoped this chapter was ok!