Author's Note: Hello! First of all, thank you for being so lovely about last chapter. While many of us could agree it certainly wasn't the crème de la crème, you still seemed to enjoy it a lot, which is fantastic. This is a nice little chapter for us, I think. This is what I wanted to follow last chapter even before I knew how I was going to end last chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. I had fun with the title here, it's kind of like her saying to herself 'the kiss didn't count, that was adrenaline', which is was. Doesn't take it and all that followed it away, thought. Anyway, I really hope you like this one. 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 Move She Made (With a sound mind, that is)

Generally when attending a small fringe theatre production in some small playhouse in the middle of London, it would be sufficient to turn up in jeans and what one might call 'a nice shirt'. Anthea normally would follow this pattern, but maybe swap the jeans out for something else. However, this particular night, getting ready for a little fringe theatre show took double, even triple, the amount of time it usually took. She wouldn't admit it to anyone else who asked, but she had reached a point where she could admit it to herself, she was doing this because she was spending an evening out with Mycroft Holmes not as his assistant. Sure, it was a friendly thing, an apology for being a bit of a douche, and nothing more. Anthea knew that, she knew at best this was another 'non-date', but she couldn't help herself digging through the bottom of her wardrobe to find the right shoes.

She'd ended up looking quite nice in her honest and very modest opinion. She'd chosen a sleeveless black blouse with a collar, paired with a black pleated skirt, and closed in heels. Her chocolate curls tied back in a neat pony, with very neutral make up. Anthea felt like it was the right amount of effort to make it look like she'd put in hardly any effort. Of course, Mycroft would see through it, but he'd see the effort it took to look effortless.

Anthea sat on the end of her bed, playing on her phone, as she waited for the text that signalled the arrival of the town car outside. It may seem weird that she were hiding out in her room, but she was excited and was not in the mood to be brought down by Jamie's questions. James was out there also. She didn't need James' inane prattle about the whole thing right now, she'd deal with him when she got home… if they were still here.

Ding.

Anthea didn't even check the message. She snatched up her blackberry, tossed it into her clutch and ran to her door. Carefully and quietly she pulled it opened and peaked out down the hall. No sign or sound of James and Jamie, either they were out to get some food or in Jamie's room. Excellent. Anthea stepped quietly out of her room and all but sped walked on her tiptoes – which in heels is quite the accomplishment – to the front door. Once there she could take the stairs down to the entrance floor easily.

As expected, the shiny black town car was at her curb, waiting for her like it always did. She smiled warmly to herself as she shut the door to the building. That car felt like a constant in her life that would never change. She skipped down the steps blithely, and made her way to the car. Anthea opened the door and fell gracefully into her usual position, closing the door with a soft thunk. Mycroft, in his dark beige suit was doing his best to conceal an amused smile at Anthea's generally cheerful mood as she smiled brightly at him.

"Hello –" Anthea almost said 'sir' but cut herself off. She closed he mouth, pursed her lips, and titled her head to the side as she watched those glittering silver eyes watch her. "Just hello." She smiled warmly once more.

"Hello." Mycroft echoed, humour in the usually bored voice. Anthea turned to the front seat and gave it a gentle nudge with her toe.

"Hi, Walter." She sung.

"Good evening, Miss James. I can't seem to get rid of you today." He brightly spoke, looking at her through the rear-view window.

"That's not a bad thing, is it?" Antea crinkled up her nose at the driver.

"I don't think so." Mycroft hummed from her side. Anthea turned to see him busying himself by twirling his silly black umbrella. Was that some form of Holmsian compliment she'd yet to hear. Anthea sniffed a single laugh under her breath. She looked over her boss as he twirled that umbrella. His graceful movements, the bored but focused expression, he always worked so hard to keep all those barriers up, to make himself so unreadable. Just as she was watching him, steel eyes crossed over to meet her eyes and she quickly looked down. "Would you like me to see if I could organise a dinner reservation until after the show?" Anthea's eyes shot up once more.

"Oh." She sung, shaking her head. "The play doesn't start until eight, sir. Didn't I tell you? I thought we could go to this really cool place down the road from the playhouse." Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, mouth pulled in a taut straight line.

"I don't like the sounds of 'really cool', my dear. Particularly when you can apparently just walk in." Anthea rolled her eyes at the totally expected behaviour of the genius.

"Don't worry," She almost said 'sir' again. "I mean I thought it looked interesting. It's this place that has a whole menu devoted to chocolate. Including some savoury dishes." Mycroft turned to peer at the back of the seat in front of him.

"Anthea." He sighed. Anthea held out her hand to stop him, smiling sweetly.

"I know, the diet, I know. It's just one night." She'd almost said 'sir' again, it just came so naturally. She shrugged playfully. "I'm forcing you into apparent torture, you might as well enjoy just one fun thing tonight." Fiercely intelligent eyes searched her face, searching for deception or some reason to say no. Anthea allowed herself to be as open as possible, only shielding her stupid school girl like feelings. Mycroft rolled his eyes, sighing, as he turned back to play with his umbrella once more. "Well?" Anthea nodded.

"I can't say I'm not intrigued." That was a yes if she'd ever heard one.

"Good." Anthea nodded again, settling down in her seat, as she pulled out her blackberry. "To make up for ruining your hard work at healthy eating, I'll pay for us both." She hummed.

"You most certainly will not." If she didn't know better, Mycroft almost sounded offended. Anthea turned her head to look over to her boss, as she pursed her lips to stop smiling to herself.

"It'll have to be a race to the bill then, won't it?" Mycroft turned to face her, eyebrow quirked, eyes sparkling with the same defiance that Sherlock and Violet's did.

"My dear, is that a challenge?"

"Maybe." Anthea laughed. She turned back to her phone and began responding to an email, lulling into silence. After about a minute she added a thought that popped into her mind. "You're going to find a way to pay ahead of time, aren't you?"

"Please." Mycroft scoffed, looking out the window. "I already have a way."

When it came time to order some food, neither ended up going for the curious savoury items on the menu. A Spanish hot chocolate each, Mycroft had gotten himself a tiramisu cake, while Anthea had gotten a fondue set and was trying desperate not to spill anything over the table. It was a mix and match of chocolate cultures, and it was more fun than it probably should be. She must admit she was very proud of herself for not getting anything on her skirt or the table.

With the food gone, and very little remaining of their warms drinks, the pair sat in the small little hybrid of a boutique café and a restaurant, talking about things they never had time to talk about at work. The type of conversations that only happened in Mycroft's kitchen or in the seemingly increasing time spent in restaurants and the like. It was… delightful to say the least.

"Oh, come on." Anthea leaned back in her little wrought iron chair, folding her arms across her chest. "You did not hate your brother's dog."

"What good was it for?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "Besides keeping Sherlock company, all he seemed to do was sit there and drool, or destroy things. Usually while keeping Sherlock company." His upper lip twitched into a scowl. Anthea tilted her head to the side and pouted as she observed Mycroft.

"I'm not accepting that as an answer." She shook her head, pony tail hitting the back of her neck as it bounced. Mycroft gave her an incredulous look, but the PA decided to stand her ground. "I'm not changing subjects until you tell me one good story about your dog."

"He wasn't my dog, Anthea, he was Sherlock's." He argued. Again, Anthea lightly shook her head.

"He was Sherlock's dog, but he was a member of your family." She held up her index finger close to her lips. "One good story." Mycroft sighed, running his hand over his hair. His eyes darted to the ceiling as he thought.

"Fine." Steel eyes landed back onto her face. "There was one time, I suppose. It was after I tried a social experiment at school." Anthea felt the dread well up in her throat.

"What experiment?" Her voice was low.

"I wanted to see how effective a rumour could be, and there we're a few relationships in my year level who were complete wastes of time. I decided to test if one simply constructed rumour could break them both up." Anthea's head fell into her hands on the desk and she laughed silently. She was not surprised.

"Go on." She muttered from her hands.

"I made the mistake of telling Sherlock, and he let the whole thing slip in front of my parents. My father was furious at me for acting so coldly, if only he knew what I did on a day to day basis now. It was the first time I was ever yelled at by a parent. Redbeard sat on my feet the entire time, growling at my father. When my father finished his lecture, the last thing he said to me was 'and for goodness sake, give that dog a hug for protecting you or I'll have to'." Anthea sat in silence as Mycroft pursed his lips, indicating his ending and last brief second lost in the memory. Her eyebrow's tilted up, slowly Anthea's mouth pulled into a warm smile. Mycroft's eyes narrowed faintly as he shifted his head slightly, questioning Anthea's facial expression. Habitually, Anthea tucked the hair from around her ear behind it.

"Where do you keep it?" She breathed. "That heart I know you must have somewhere." Mycroft looked down to his mug, smirking.

"It's in a safe at the bottom of the Thames." He was rewarded with a chuckle. Anthea placed her hands down on the table, making a soft taping noise.

"Okay, I'll trade you a pet story for that pet story." She could tell by the shift in expression that Mycroft was already losing interest. "No, it's not long." She assured. "It's quick and painless."

A pause.

"Go on." He echoed her earlier words.

"I only ever had this little yellow budgie as a little kid. I remember, and don't worry, this is essential to the story," She nodded. "That it had green tail feathers." Mycroft's face still looked despondent, but he was listening either way. "So I get home from, funnily enough, my Uncle's house when I was four and I ran to see my bird. I noticed that it was all yellow and I tried to tell my mum it wasn't my bird." That got his attention a little bit, as he shifted to face her more in his chair. "She was saying it was and I explained that I knew it wasn't, and I wanted to know what happened. Maybe an hour later she admitted that it wasn't my bird. She said that her cat, this eighteen year old fat and grumpy thing, had gotten into the cage and tried to cuddle it, and the little thing had a heart attack." Mycroft scoffed.

"Anthea, my dear, you didn't believe her, did you?"

"I was four, and not a genius, of course I did." Mycroft sniffed a laugh. "I was about nine or ten that I thought back to it and questioned it. My dad admitted to me that the cat had tried to eat it." Mycroft leaned his forehead on his hand and shook his head, but there was an honest to God amused smile on his face.

"Oh, Anthea." He murmured.

Beep Beep.

Beep Beep.

The alarm on Anthea's blackberry began going off. She took it off the desk and ended the alarm.

"And with that, we are due at the theatre." She picked up her clutch off the floor, and dusted any crumbs or possible dirt off her lap.

"Can't I just stay here and you go?" Mycroft asked flatly.

"I'm afraid not." Anthea spoke with mock sympathy as she rose from her seat. Mycroft did not move to get up, he merely sat, hands folded on his lap, staring up at his assistant. Anthea stood, looking back expectantly. Neither moved. The silence continued for a minute.

"Wouldn't it be easier to kill me?" Mycroft groaned as he finally made to stand up.

It might be, it just wouldn't be as fun.

They walked to the tiny playhouse building, where Anthea picked up the tickets from the box-office on the first floor, sharing pleasantries with the lady behind the desk with the fading velvet. After a nod and a thank you, she turned around and handed Mycroft one of the tickets. He eyed it carefully before taking it as if it could carry a disease. His thoughtful eyes read over the details written on the ticket.

"Theatre two?" He questions.

"Mmm-hmmm." Anthea nodded over to the stairs for her and Mycroft to climb them. Still, eyeing the ticket suspiciously, he followed her to the narrow and steep steps.

"Pardon me, but this hardly seems lucrative for one theatre." Anthea laughed as she shrugged, carefully taking the steps in her heels.

"Well, they do more mainstream stuff in the theatre on the second floor. Because this is a little different it's in the tiny theatre on the third floor." Mycroft stopped in the middle of the staircase. Anthea turned around and frowned as she peered down at him.

"Third floor?" He asked in disbelief. "Anthea, how small?"

"Maybe twenty-five people per showing." Eyebrows were raised. He sighed and seemed to be having an internal struggle as he continued up the stairs. "My dear, for Shakespeare to be shown on the 'small stage' of an obscure playhouse, there has to be something seriously wrong with this adaption."

"Well," Anthea winced. "I didn't tell you that they'd adapted it to be Epic Theatre." He stopped moving again, this time staring in her eyes, disbelief shining bright.

"Anthea, a bullet would be quicker." She looked back down at the drama queen of a man with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, biting her bottom lip.

"I did tell you there would be a lot to make fun of. You've been to musicals this will be a lot less painful than that." She tried to assure her weird boss. "And they've cut it down to an hour and a half." He did not seem convinced with his flat expression.

"Whatever you say, my dear." Mycroft breathed before stepping up to the same step as her. "Come now, we're blocking the only way up or down." A lightning bolt went up Anthea's spine as a hand was placed on the small of her back, urging her up the steps. Her body acted under the gentle nudge and began its ascent, leaving her brain frozen in the middle of the steps, staring up at their fleeting frames.

The play had been shocking. Absolutely shocking. The cast and director had apparently taken the term "Epic Theatre" and used it as an excuse not to create a real set or costumes. People were miss cast, apparently for effect, and everything a theme or moral was somehow expressed, the dramaturge would ring a bell. It was jarring, a waste of Anthea's money, and absolutely hilarious. Once the initial boredom (on her part) and horror (on his part) had faded after half an hour, Mycroft and Anthea began just finding the whole thing hilarious. Eventually they picked apart everything that happened, and everything about all the actors. It was a waste of Anthea's money, but it had not been a waste of her time.

She was still laughing at the soliloquies turned into direct speaking to the audience out of role as Mycroft walked her up to her door. He wasn't walking her to the door of her building, he was walking her to the door of her flat. She sighed out the last of her laughter as she leaned against the wood of her door, unable to remove the smile from her face.

"I'm so sorry for dragging you to that, Mycroft. It was a mess." She took the band out of her hair, loosening it, and ran her hands through it to let out the curls.

"It was absolutely ghastly." Mycroft agreed with a serious expression. "It nearly killed me, and yet I do not entirely regret wasting an evening of my night." Anthea snickered.

"I'm going to take that to mean you had fun."

"Now, I wouldn't go that far." He scoffed.

Here he was, once again in a light mood. Mycroft without the weight of the world on his shoulders was always a sight for Anthea to behold. Mycroft, not so moody, with his gentle smile and glittering intelligent steel orbs. She could look at him forever when he wasn't scowling at one thing or another. In fact, that was probably why she was having trouble putting words together and finding something to say now. It was situations like this that got her into trouble. It was this that had made her kiss him, and that had led to their entire friendship and working relationship falling to pieces.

And yet, she was still in love with the eccentric, serious, man. Here she was, once again, encumbered with feelings and just wanting to lean out and touch his face. She wanted to do something but she didn't want it all to fall apart again. She'd ruin everything if she tried something again – he'd fire her or send her to Russia as a correspondent or something.

"We made the most of it, didn't we?" She strung something of a sentence together. The way Mycroft's face shifted, Anthea was certain he could tell something was up with her. That didn't help, if anything his mild concern might make it worse.

"We certainly did." He hummed, thoughts on what was wrong with her rather than the topic at hand. Still, she had to do something… She just, couldn't ruin what they had. Who would Anthea be without Mycroft Holmes?

Anthea stepped forward and slipped her left hand into Mycroft's hand and gave it a very gentle squeeze.

"Thanks for wasting an evening of your life with me." She couldn't get the normal volume behind her voice as some words almost got stuck in her throat. That was not like her. Anthea cleared her throat. "I can't have that type of fun with anyone else." Mycroft's reaction was… mixed at best. The initial freeze that happens upon any contact did not last quite as long as it normally did – nor did he attempt to pull away, that was a huge step. Yet he did not reciprocate, either. He just let Anthea hold his warm hand. She really didn't know how to take that.

"You're welcome, Alice." He'd schooled his voice to lack any emotion besides classic polite, neutral tones in order to avoid anything that may give away whatever his genuine reaction might be. Anyone else, this would be a very bad thing. For Mycroft Holmes, Anthea wasn't sure how to take this. She forced her smile to stay on her face as she pulled her hand away and placed it on her doorknob, turning it open.

"See you Monday." Anthea forced herself to make eye contact and give out the most calm and relaxed expression she could before disappeared behind her front door. As she shut it, she rested her forehead against the wood and shut her eyes. Anthea stayed this way for five whole minutes, angry at herself for getting carried away.

With a loud huff, Anthea dragged herself away from the door and stomped into the kitchen. She found James and Jamie having tea and biscuits at the counter. Anthea walked right past them, straight to the fridge, and retrieved a bottle of water.

"Hey beautiful." James called out, voice muffled from the biscuit still in his mouth. "How's everything."

"Oh, fine." Anthea shrugged as she pried open the bottle. "Except, you know, I'm going to die alone." James frown, while Jamie rolled her hazel eyes.

"Einstein giving you a hard time?" Jamie asked as she was bringing her warm drink up to her face to enjoy the heat. Anthea shook her head furiously.

"No!" She heaved. "Mycroft was positively charming tonight. But that's the issue isn't it?" Anthea walked out of the kitchen and off to her bedroom. "And that's why I'm going to die alone, because I'm going to be stuck on him forever." She yelled back as she stomped off. Just as she made it to her room she heard James turn to Jamie and speak.

"I'm confused." He muttered

"They are too."

Anthea slammed her door.

Author's Note: There we have it! Did you like it? Opinions? The very end with Jamie and James was the first part I came up with, as a little anecdotal fact. Thanks to the following guest reviewers; Britta, Corrine, Mary, Guest, Jr, FIF, Delta667, and ovejalucifer. Thank you my dear friends, and thank you to all the reviewers with accounts to… and anyone who reads this. Thanks so much :).