Author's Note: I love when we have something big happen because the comments are always amazing – I love your reactions. Thanks so much, guys. Now, this chapter… Well, this came up after much deep thought and multiple conversations with a couple of my friends. We discussed what would be best after something like that blow up. They told me their opinions and from there I developed my idea. That's all I'll say. Please 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 Time He Almost Said It

That Monday fight lead to the most uncomfortable times Anthea had ever had at work. Mycroft and Anthea, who were usually amazing at not letting work and personal intertwined… expect for their relationship… Had suddenly found it extremely difficult to be around each other. It lead to over a week of absolute dread and horror at work.

On Monday as she was leaving, Anthea requested her pyjamas back. She didn't really want the back, not so soon, and not when they'd smell of Mycroft's detergent, but she asked anyway. Maybe she wanted some kind of response out of her ex-boyfriend. Maybe she wanted him to say no, or as why, or beg her forgiveness. Anything, even a jibe at the state of her pyjamas and why she'd event want them back would be better than the Ice Man she'd seen earlier. Any sign that he wanted her to fix things or her would fix it. True to form, however, Mycroft Holmes with his eyes firmly on his computer didn't even falter in his typing as he nodded.

"You'll have them back tomorrow." Ah, there it was. The emotionless, flat routine he wore for most of the day. The one she'd taught him to take down for her. There it was. Anthea nodded, and left.

On the way home Walter stopped the car to give her a hug. He insisted she sit in the front with him.

She did so for the rest of the week.

Mycroft wasn't very happy about that.

Anthea couldn't say she was shocked when she walked into the office Tuesday morning to see a large bag full of her stuff sitting right smackdab in the middle of her desk. She was absolutely hurt, like having her heart ripped out through her throat, but she wasn't shocked and that allowed her to keep her composure. She took a deep breath as she placed her coat on the coatrack and approached the bag.

Pyjamas, of course. Neatly folded, as if with care. As if it wasn't something Mycroft had hated from the moment he saw them.

Clothes neatly folded, too… Shoes…. Perfume.

And a doll. Wrapped in one of her light jackets was Mrs. Holmes' fragile china doll. The ones with the cracks in it, the one so like and so unlike her own mother's one. Anthea fought to keep her eyes dry as she held the little porcelain hand of the delicate doll. She had this sitting on the dressing table in her cream and white room. It sat their looking after her stuff and filling the room with warmth. When Mycroft had gone into there he had wrapped the doll up and placed it in the bag. And yet, her sunflower poster wasn't here. What did that say? Was it still on the wall of the cream and white room, or had he taken the chance to destroy it since Anthea hadn't asked for it back specifically?

That doll.

Anthea loved that doll. It made her heart feel full just to look upon the broken face. But it wasn't hers to keep. It belonged to Violet Holmes and Mycroft had taken it instead of giving it to family. Anthea wasn't family, it didn't belong to her.

Anthea held the doll close to her chest, her chin touching the top of the head, trying to absorb as much love and courage as she could from it. Doll held gently in hand, the brunette woman walked bravely into the dangerous abode of the Ice Man.

Mycroft was at his desk reading a file, forehead resting in one of his hands. He didn't look too great considering how much of a perfectionist he was when it came to his appearance. He looked tired. To be far, Anthea hadn't found as much energy for getting ready in the morning right now. Today her hair had simply been tied back out of her face. Still, Mycroft looking tired wasn't something Anthea's heart liked to see, but she had to go on.

Anthea looked at the doll and cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, sir." It came out like a raspy whisper. Anthea's brows furrowed and she cleared her throat again. Steel eyes flickered lazily up from the file. With a silent sigh Mycroft fixed his posture, sitting up in his chair, and folding his arms on the desk. He didn't say anything, he waited for her again. Anthea licked her bottom lip. "First of all, thank you for my stuff."

"You're perfectly welcome." Not a flash of anything, not in the face, not in the voice, and certainly not in his dulled eyes.

"But this, sir." Anthea outstretched her hand, holding the precious doll. She brought it back to herself and stroked the golden hair. "I can't take this. It's- It's not right." Mycroft closed his eyes and took in a breath. He waved Anthea off with a flick of his slender hand and looked back to his file.

"Miss James, it was a gift. It's yours." For a second Anthea did consider keeping it, but it wouldn't be right. She'd do anything to get her mother's doll back, and if she found out Tim had it, even Robbie, she'd go snatch it from them right this minute. Anthea took a small step forward.

"I know, and I love it, I do." She looked at the doll and frowned. "But it's a family heirloom." Mycroft's right hand clenched and unclenched in its position next to the file.

"My mother gave it to you." Mycroft spoke without looking up. "I asked specifically to give it to you and she was more than excited at the notion. Just take it."

"She said that before." Anthea shrugged. "But now we're -." Anthea cut herself off as Mycroft looked up. "Given the new set of circumstances she might want it back." Mycroft clicked his tongue and looked to the side of the room.

"Anthea. She won't." His words were sharp. "No one is going to hunt you down for a broken doll. Keep it." Anthea frowned, lip begging to pull up into a snarl.

"Hey, calm down, this is a civil conversation."

"I am calm." Mycroft placed his index and middle finger on his temple lobes. "You're the one who can't understand the concept of a gift." He looked up and shook his head. "You don't have to give those back, my dear. A gift means it's yours." Anthea scoffed.

"Sorry, sir. I did know that but you know what they say about goldfish, three second memory." The sharp edge that usually existed behind Mycroft's eyes returned.

"This whole ordeal I have not once called you a goldfish." His voice was a normal volume but it had that dangerous tone to it. Anthea smiled.

"But I am stupid, right?"

"Those are your words, not mine. But if you insist." He was almost at a whisper, and Anthea couldn't even find a voice to respond to that.

She was so sick of this. So sick of fighting against the sharpest mind. So sick of losing on technicality. Anthea looked down at the doll and tried to find some strength. She ran her thumb over the crack in the face where Mycroft had superglued it back together. She sniffed a quiet laugh as no matter what happened that image would always be cute to her.

"I'll tell you what, sir." Anthea spoke quietly without looking up from the doll's little Alice in Wonderland like face. "I'll keep the doll, but I'll keep it on my desk here. That way it's in my possession but if you ever feel the need to take it back, you can just take it. Okay?"

Silence.

Thirty seconds.

"Very reasonable." It was quiet and kind of melancholy. Anthea nodded.

"Good." She croaked. "Sorry for the interruption." She walked very calmly and very collectedly for the door.

It was two hours later that Mycroft emerged from the inner sanctum to stand confidently yet apologetically in front of Anthea's desk. Is this how it was going to be from now on? Standing in front of each other's desks to communicate the simplest work details? Anthea hoped not, because already it was beginning to feel old and nothing but sad.

So she tried to counteract that and go for the exact opposite approach Mycroft had taken hours before. Anthea stopped working and turned to look up at Mycroft with a polite – yet very forced – smile.

"Yes?" She raised her eyebrows. She was pretty sure that's what she did when she was in a good mood. A chirpy voice and light expression. That was right, yeah? Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and winced.

"I want to apologise for my behaviour this morning." He breathed. He was looking behind Anthea, at the wall, rather than look at her. "I was perhaps a little too… harsh." A quirk of the eyebrows on the last word. So Mycroftian. So cute. So painful. Anthea shrugged and shook her head.

"I'm not mad over that." She answered honestly. "Now that I've had time to read into the conversation I appreciate that you wanted me to keep it." She tried very hard to keep that fake smile on her face even if Mycroft wasn't watching her properly. Her eyes would probably give her away anyway.

"Nevertheless," Mycroft sounded pained, "I'd like to fix my mistake. Allow me to pay for your lunch, or something as amicable as that." Speaking of food, Anthea was once again brought to how tired Mycroft looked. She sort of nodded and sort of shrugged.

"Sure." She sounded so unsure. "That's fine, pick me up something when you go to lunch." Mycroft's face contorted and once again he flicked his hand at her.

"I'm not hungry today, Miss James." He dismissed the idea. Anthea bit the inside of her cheek. She subconsciously went to tuck a curl behind her ear before her hand realised there was nothing to push out of the way.

"Are you not eating well?" Anthea asked. Sure enough she was rewarded with a sneer.

"It's none of your business, my dear." There was a hint of venom there. Enough to sting, not enough to kill. Anthea looked the man up and down.

"As your assistant, it is my business, sir." She scoffed. "How can you work properly if you're not eating?" Mycroft cocked his head to the side, finally laying his eyes on Anthea.

"I'm afraid you're giving me very mixed messages here, Miss James." He clasped his hands together in front of him. "Only yesterday you brought up my history as a fat kid." Now that word had enough venom to kill. Anthea didn't even wince. "Now you're concerned that I'm not eating enough?" He paused as he chuckled. "My dear, make up your mind." Anthea rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Mycroft." She huffed. "You know I didn't mean what I said yesterday. Think of all the times I've tried to help you, like I'd mean something like that."

"Oh really?" He sung. "Then why did you say it?" Anthea stood up at her desk.

"Because I was still embarrassed from the other night, and incredibly hurt. I wanted to hurt you the way you always hurt me. The way you do every time you make some poor little orphan girl comment." Their eyes were locked. Neither said anything.

Anthea sat back down. With an angry shake of her head she got back to her work.

"If you're offering to do something for me then go lie down. You look like you're about to pass out." Anthea muttered angrily.

"Says the woman who didn't even try to hide the bags under her eyes." Anthea didn't even answer, she just rolled her eyes.

Mycroft went to the club half an hour later. Hopefully to do what Anthea said.

Wednesday the pair couldn't even look at each other and barely spoke a word unless they had to. Which they did have to during meetings, and they did a wonderful job of pretending like nothing was wrong. Anthea even made a joke here and a sly comment there, and Mycroft made a point to say something to her about someone attending, all to appear perfectly normal. As soon as they got in the car that was gone. Out the window, if you will.

The one major upset of the day was when Mycroft had asked Anthea to deliver a cheque to a man who was at the event the other night. One who was close by when Charlotte had her little shining moment. Mycroft had asked her to do this by placing the cheque in envelope and placing it on her desk with a post it note on it.

Anthea ripped off the post it, placed her own on it, and dropped it onto Mycroft's desk. Her post it spelt it out very clearly.

If I have to deliver this I'll quit.

- A.

Ten minutes later Walter came up for the envelope. Mycroft walked him out of the office. As Mycroft closed the door behind Walter he turned to Anthea. He stood there, arms folded across his chest, looking at her with that smug smile on his face. He let one laugh escape his mouth.

"There." He hummed. "Your precious ego is intact. I hope you're happy."

"Delighted, sir."

"I am so pleased for you." And with that he swiftly returned from whence he came.

On Thursday Anthea had entirely forgotten that they were to visit Downing Street. When Mycroft returned from the Diogenes Club to retrieve her for that meeting Anthea buried her face into her hands. This is what happens when you're too wrapped up in your personal issues. You screw up at work. She hadn't slept the night before and she'd practically forgotten what day it was.

"That's today?" She whined into her hands before pulling them down and away from her face. She huffed out of annoyance and exhaustion. "If I'd remembered I would have tried to look nice." She stood up from her desk, scooping up her handbag. "Just give me a moment sir, to do my hair or something."

"Why?" Mycroft asked flatly, as slight crease in his brow. "The natural loose curls frames your face wonderfully." Anthea froze. She blinked and waited for her body to register that her heart had been stabbed again. She didn't know whether to cry or to smile, so she did neither. The PA simply looked at her boss as if she was confused by what he just said. She opened her mouth to speak but found nothing. She closed it, swallowed a breath, and tried again.

"Thank you." She finally managed to stutter out. Mycroft pursed his lips.

"There is nothing to be gracious for, I was simply stating a fact…" Anthea would have laughed if he'd said that about a week ago.

Thursday was a decent day as far as this week was concerned.

It was a step backwards, but Friday seemed to being going down the same road that Wednesday had. At least having mostly paperwork to do, it meant time in the office separated by a wall and a wooden door. Minimal interaction seemed to be the best way to go at this time.

That was until Anthea heard cursing from the kitchenette.

Anthea looked up from her computer and listened carefully. That was odd. Part of her wanted to ignore it and leave Mycroft to his own devices. Another part of her – a rather large part of her – knew not to take this lightly and wanted so badly to go check on Mycroft. It seemed like he hadn't been sleeping well this week and her heart just wanted to help him. So, after a mental argument between two sides of her heart, Anthea huffed a breath. She locked her computer and walked to the little office kitchen.

Anthea very slowly opened the door and popped her head it. She saw Mycroft holding his left hand within his right and in was covered in blood. A panic filled Anthea instantly but all Anthea did to show her concern was step into the room properly.

"What happened?" She asked sounding more like a disappointed parent than a concerned friend. A flash of something cross Mycroft's eyes as he continued to look at his hand rather than turn to face Anthea.

"I cut my hand, obviously." Anthea rolled her eyes.

"I can see that." She came to stand behind him. "But how?" Mycroft gestured to the counter with a nod of his head. A knife and a packet of coffee beans lay on the counter. With an unrested mind Mycroft had accidentally cut himself. The silly man. Usually he'd ask Anthea for a coffee. What was wrong with them? Why had it come to this. Anthea clicked her tongue, and even she didn't know whether it was out of sympathy or judgement. She wanted to say that she could have gotten the coffee or ask him why he didn't ask, but she didn't want to be met with a harsh comment. So she settled with. "I see."

Quiet.

"You're going to need stitches, sir." Anthea spoke calmly.

"Yes, I can see that." Mycroft hadn't meant the edge that came out with that but it still stung Anthea.

A pause.

"Go get the first-aid kit from my office. I have a stiches set in there."

Another pause.

Anthea laughed.

"What? No. You need to go to a doctor for that, Mycroft." It sounded almost like an order.

"Why?" Mycroft hissed. "I can get it done here in half the time." Anthea stared him down, placing her hands on her hips.

"With one hand? Are doctors beneath you now, too?" She smirked sarcastically. Steel eyes rolled and she could see Mycroft biting his tongue to stop the knee-jerk reaction coming out.

"Not with one hand, don't be ridiculous." He answered. "You're going to help me." Anthea widened her eyes and contorted her face.

"I don't think so." She scoffed. "How about you stop being dramatic for once in your life and let someone else be the professional for once?"

"If we have established anything recently, my dear, it's that one can only truly rely on themselves." Mycroft matched her tone. "Now will you please accept the faith I still have in you and help?" Anthea grinded her teeth. She looked from Mycroft's face down to his hand. She really wanted to say no just to see what he'd do. She groaned and went to retrieve the first-aid kit from Mycroft's office.

When she left his office he was sitting on the couch in the main space and had already washed off blood. He was holding a tea towel against his hand. Anthea placed the kit down on the coffee table. She opened it and retrieved the gloves, putting them on her hands without a words. She went into the kitchen and got a bowl and a fresh towel. She sat down next to him and took the saline solution from the kit and poured it into the bowl.

"Take off the tea towel." Her voice was flat as she dabbed her towel into the solution. Mycroft removed it without any arguments. Anthea took Mycroft's warm hand in her left hand, holding it gently so she could see the cut on his palm. As carefully as she could the personal assistant began dabbing at the wound. She was frightfully aware of how much she loved his hands, of the delicate and swift movement they were capable of, and how even now the warmth of his hand against hers sent tingles up her arm and down her neck. She tried to ignore it. She didn't even want to look up at Mycroft to see if she could read anything from his face. "How many stitches?" She asked quietly, trying to focus on anything but how she loved his hands.

"Three or four." Mycroft's voice sounded raw and quiet. Anthea didn't want to know what that meant. She cleaned the wound as gently as she could, and without making Mycroft flinch once. She smirked to herself as she placed the bowl down on the table. "Not bad." Mycroft hummed to himself.

"Not bad for someone so beneath you." Anthea sung sarcastically.

"No, not bad in general." Mycroft snapped, raising his voice. "And will you cut it out with all this beneath me garbage. Never once did I say that." Anthea had only ever seen him this angry a hand full of times. Once at Magnussen and once at Sherlock. He was usually a quiet angry to her, and she preferred it. This, this made you go cold and listen. Mycroft Holmes was not one to get this passionate about anything. "If anyone is beneath anyone in this room I'm beneath you. You're beautiful, kind, and loyal." It was strange to see his eyes fiery rather than icy. "You're the one who chose to break up the relationship, not me. You're the one who overreacted, stormed off, and got into a taxi leaving me in the middle of the street absolutely alone." His face pulled into a scowl. "You did it, Alice, not me. You gave up and left, and I was left alone and with a rather large reminded of why I never wanted to fall i-" Mycroft cut himself off.

Anthea's heart stopped beating.

She watched in slow motion as Mycroft closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and looked away. He'd cut himself off.

He was about to say…

He almost.

He was in love with her.

Time returned and Anthea's heart began beating again. It was hard and painful against her ribcage. She couldn't look at Mycroft – she couldn't look at those steely blue eyes lost in thought and his own pain. The woman looked down to his hand still in hers. His freshly cut hand open in her soft one, at her mercy.

She hadn't really thought of it. She hadn't thought that he.

He wasn't supposed to.

He should have said something.

She'd ruined it.

Anthea looked at that hand in her own and realised she'd ruined it. Not Mycroft, and not Charlotte. Mycroft had been the reactants, and Charlotte had been the catalyst, but Anthea had been the reaction itself. When Mycroft came to speak to her, to work it out, she'd still been raw and hurt from Charlotte that she couldn't see Mycroft's pain. She was supposed to be one of the few people who could see through his façade and it seemed in this case she had chosen to ignore it. And she'd ruined the relationship.

Anthea broke their hearts.

Anthea was the reason they couldn't even look at each other.

And Anthea was about to start crying.

Anthea's breath was shallow and shaky, and her eyes were beginning to fill with water. She shook her head to try and clear it away but it was coming on heavier and heavier. She was about to burst into tears and she couldn't stop it.

"S-sorry." Anthea croaked out in her shaky quiet voice. She pulled her hand free and rubbed at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I – I have to go to the bathroom." Anthea didn't even try to act composed she obviously wasn't and there was no use saving face. She got to her feet and ran to the bathroom locking the door behind her.

She fell to the ground, her back to the door and burst into tears. Eyes buried in her hands, crouched over, shrouded in a sea of curls, Anthea cried until she couldn't anymore. Her body felt like it'd collapsed upon itself as she heaved for breaths. Her tears eventually became silent tears as she stared up at the florescent light and let them fall down her face. She cried for herself, she cried for Mycroft, and she cried for all the stupid mistakes she ever made in her life. Mycroft Holmes had almost just told her, his silly little personal assistant, that he'd fallen for her, and instead of kissing him out of surprise and happiness, Anthea was crying on the floor of her office bathroom. Anthea hated crying. She hated appearing weak, and she'd shed enough tears in her teenaged years to last a life time. But this, this deserved her tears.

Maybe she really was an idiot.

Anthea heard a muffled voice coming from outside the door. She was awaken out of her sombreness by it. The PA held her breath and listened carefully, ear against the door.

It was James, and he sounded alarmed.

Anthea released her breath.

It was just James here for a meeting, and he'd probably seen Mycroft's hand. Anthea leaned forward once more, burying her face in her hands again as she tried to gain some composure. She took ten deep breaths in and out. She breathed in – counted to five, she breathed out – and counted to five. She thought of nothing but her breath and slowing her heart down.

Once her world expanded to no longer just be about her sadness, Anthea got to her feet. She looked in the mirror and had to laugh a little. Messy curls, bloodshot eyes, and smudged eyeliner. She looked an utter wreck. What was this, a Sunday morning after going out? The laughter felt good, it lightened her soul a little. And yet, the thought of continuing to work today made her feel ten times heavier.

One step at a time. Anthea turned on the cold water and splashed her face a few times. She took some paper towel and tried to clean up her face. She went her hands and used her fingers as a comb, neatening her hair greatly. She looked okay, but she didn't feel okay.

Anthea stepped into the office to find Mycroft and James sitting at the couch. James had been roped into Mycroft's 'I can do it myself' routine as was currently helping Mycroft do the stitches. Anthea managed to crack a smile at that. She walked past them to pick up her handbag and briefcase. James' eyes followed her to her desk.

"Hey there 'Thea." He beamed happily. His brow furrowed slightly as he caught her red eyes, but he let the smile remain. "I took over as nurse." Anthea laughed.

"You'd make a great nurse James, great bedside manner." She smiled at him. James chuckled, looking back at what Mycroft was doing. Anthea tucked a curl behind her ear as she stepped forward. "Hey, um, Mycroft." She croaked. Mycroft stopped what he was doing and looked up to look as his wreck of an assistant. "I'm not feeling well. Will you be okay if I go home early today?" Steel eyes searched her own eyes.

"That's fine." He nodded. James looked between the pair, his brain ticking away. When the blonde looked back at Anthea he looked quite concerned.

"Hey, Ali. If he needs anything I'm here, okay? I'm done with official duty for the week. I can play assistant until Monday." Anthea sniffed and forced a smile.

"Thanks James."

"And call Jamie, yeah?" He added.

"Sure." She waved him off. "Bye." Anthea began walking for the door before she began crying again. She could feel Mycroft's eyes on her as she walked away.

"See you." James' voice made it through the door before it shut behind her.

Author's Note: Don't kill me. This wasn't a rash decision, this was well thought out. Please don't kill me, if you kill me I can't fix it. That's still my defence. Again, I really can't wait for the reviews for this chapter. A quick thank you to our guest reviewers; Britta, Loyal Elf, Sophie, Tadaa, Mars, Nana, Chulija, Guests x3, Anna, SwtPea, Louise Pond, DD, enola, and Wink. Thanks to everyone who reads this. Please let me know what you thought about this chapter! Also all the comments about Charlotte needing to disappear last chapter… Hilarious.