Author's Note: I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sick, stressed out, and insanely busy so I told people I'd take an extra day or two for this chapter. Guess what? Instead I write it all in a night and post it on time anyway. What is with that? Am I human? Anyway… Thanks for the absolutely lovely reviews last chapter! I enjoy your feedback a lot. I'm not sure what you'll think of this chapter because I just finished it but I hope you'll like it. 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 She Snooped

Anthea pushed the loose strands of brown hair that had fallen out of her pony tail out of her face. She stepped back, placed her hands on her hips and looked around empty space that was the room. She was trying to spend her day off prepping the room for painting it tomorrow, which she'd probably be doing by herself unless she could rope Jamie, Molly, or Carol to come help her. She'd covered the floor and removed the curtains, now she was trying to put up tape around the edges and cover whatever didn't need painting. Not so hard, right?

This tape, this specific roll of tape, was giving Anthea a hard time. She was trying desperately to rip it with her fingers or with the aid of her teeth. Every time she was successful the force of the effort caused the tape to crinkle or fold over making it useless. So Anthea had just come up with a solution. She was going to go get a bottle of water out of the fridge and get a pair of scissors like anyone with common sense would. The big question was where were a pair of scissors in this bloated house?

Anthea checked all the kitchen drawers as she got her bottle of water. She expected to find a pair with the cooking utensils but came up empty. She had always figured that was a pretty common place to keep them. Standing on her tiptoes, she checked the shelves. Nope. She took a step into the family room to begin looking when she remembered that the coffee table drawer was empty, and even Mycroft's piano stool held no music in it. The next step was one of the bathrooms. She could have sworn she brought a pair with her, but maybe she hadn't unpacked them yet. That was an option, to finish unpacking everything to find them, but she wanted that room done before she tried to find a home for all her stuff. She came up empty in the bathroom but she did find an unopened packet of strong headache tablets. She casually placed them on Mycroft's bedside table. A quiet reminder that he should look after himself and not be so stubborn. Where else could there be scissors?

There was always the study…

Anthea opened the study door slowly and quietly. She felt like she was breaking a solemn vow or some greater law. She wasn't, though. Her books were in here, and they had work files in here, she was allowed in here whenever. That's what she told herself as she held her breath and stepped into the room. She walked over and sat at Mycroft's desk. As she ran her hands over the top of the desk she told herself that she lived here and she was allowed wherever she wanted in her own home. An office was the perfect place to keep a pair of scissors. If Mycroft had a gun in here, and Anthea knew he did, he had to have scissors.

Anthea pulled open the top drawer of the desk. She rifled through the items. A few documents, a stapler, spare ink cartridge, and a program from when he had to go to Les Mis with his parents. Anthea smiled at that. The program was curved and dented. He had been ringing in his hands as he tried to get through the play, how cute. The second drawer was much the same. She found a couple of unopened letters from Mycroft's uncle Rudy in here. She felt momentarily bad until she remembered that Mycroft's family was probably used to the two Holmes boys acting weird and ignoring people. Picking them up, she could feel that there were cards in them. Birthday or Christmas, then. Well, if Anthea had anything to say now, she'd make sure Mycroft began to acknowledge these holidays.

Anthea shrugged to herself, resound to the fact that she hadn't found a pair of scissors, but as she began to shut the drawer she noticed something. Pulling the drawer out once more, Anthea moved to better see the outside of the drawer. She cocked her head to the side and frowned.

Huh.

That didn't look quite right. The dimensions seemed off compared to the space she had just explored. Anthea looked over her nose into the drawer again.

Yup. It definitely appeared like a shallower space by a good five centimetres. Anthea got off the chair and sunk to her knees on the ground. Placing one hand on the ground and one on top of the desk, she leaned down to peer under the drawer. The bottom of it was smooth. There was no gap between the wood of the sides and the floor of the drawer…

Now, a few reasons for Anthea's following behaviour could be given. You could say it was her training, it was her instincts, or it was just that she'd been involved in a devious underworld for far too long. However you justify it, it didn't matter. Anthea's mind immediately went to one conclusion.

False bottom.

And she absolutely had to find out what was in there.

Anthea jumped back onto Mycroft's seat. She began pulling the items out of the drawer and placing them neatly on the clean empty desktop space. She cleared the entire draw so that she may better examine it. On the inside she could see nothing. She tried running her finger around the sides, ever using her nail to try and get into the seams of the wood. Coming up empty she pushed back her chair and examined the outside of the drawer. Pulling it out as far as it would without falling out, she found a miniscule metal switch. Feeling smug and a little smart, Anthea pushed the small switch with her thumb.

Click.

Anthea peered into the drawer to see that the false bottom had lifted ever so slightly. Just enough so that she may stick her nail into it and carefully pull it up.

But should she open it?

Anthea raised an eyebrow as she looked at that slight lift in the wooden plank.

This spoke of secrecy. Not the big world ending secrecy Anthea felt whenever she looked at that locked drawer in Mycroft's office at work, no this wasn't that big. If it were that big he'd have it looked away, not just hidden. This spoke more of something close to him.

It was really none of her business.

But she had already opened it, already tampered with it. She might as well commit and go all the way.

It was her house, too. She should know where things were.

Anthea lifted out the false bottom, placing on top of the stack of documents.

"Oh." Anthea frowned.

The drawer was filled with more paper.

That was it?

Paper?

It didn't even look remotely important. All these pieces of paper were of various shapes and sizes. She saw lined paper ripped form note books, loose leaf paper, printing paper, receipt paper stained with coffee, a tissue with a very odd coloured stain on it, and the very top one had a letterhead from St. Barts.

That's it?

Scrap paper?

Why on Earth did Mycroft Holmes have a drawer full of used pieces of paper? She's surprised he even picked up the tissue or the receipt paper. She could only imagine him holding between the tips of two gloved fingers before throwing it in a bin, not keeping it in a hidden place.

Crinkling her nose, Anthea picked up one of the less diseased looking pieces of paper. The Barts one was the cleanest.

She read the words…

It was a list.

A list of prescription drugs, in this case opiates.

Anthea picked up another.

This was also a list of drugs, though this one was far less legal.

Anthea picked up the receipt paper.

This one could only be the cocktail for a near perfect overdose. And by perfect Anthea meant one that someone doesn't come back from lightly.

She picked up another.

And another.

They all read the same. Some lists were short, others of very large quantities, some made Anthea almost choke on her breath.

Most of them were in an illegible scrawl. Like the person wrote it all out afterwards while high. Two were in Sherlock's handwriting. The tissue was in Mycroft's handwriting.

Anthea bit the inside of her lip as she read them all over again. What were these and why were they hidden in Mycroft's office? Anthea got the sinking feeling that they had to do with Sherlock somehow and she hoped her first thought wasn't correct. She hoped it was something to do with a case rather than where her mind was jumping.

Even then, even if it had to do with Sherlock and his colourful past, it didn't explain what exactly these paper lists were or why Mycroft kept them all.

The worst part of this all was that Anthea couldn't ask. She'd have to know this was here and never be able to ask about it. It would be a mystery and it might eat her alive.

Anthea put all the paper back. She clicked the false bottom back into place and carefully placed the documents and items back where they belonged. Closing the door, Anthea shook her head. That was certainly something…

Maybe she should just go open the sterile scissors in the First Aid Kit and then replace them with a new pair at a later date.

"Hey!" Anthea chirped happily from above her book as Mycroft entered the living room. He looked over her sitting on the couch in a tank-top and her sweatpants, hair still in a messy pony. He wasn't observing her, he wasn't deducing her, he was taking her in. His mouth twitched and he pursed his lips. Anthea knew he was trying not to smile as he began walking to the kitchen.

"Did you achieve much today, my dear?" He asked as he got out two glasses and opened his bottle of scotch. Anthea crinkled her nose and hummed.

"Enough." She laughed at herself. "I spent an hour looking for scissors today." She could see the sarcastic smile on Mycroft's face as he poured the scotch. "I ended up borrowing some for the medical supplies." Her eyes followed him as he left the kitchen and began walking towards her, both glasses in hand. "I'll replace them later." He offered her a glass and she took it, taking a sip of the warm amber liquid.

"Security have some." Mycroft answered in his flat tone. "Why didn't you call them to bring a pair up to the house?" Anthea frowned up at the man.

"Oh, I'm new to living with security." Anthe scoffed. "I figured they were here for protection and not to help me with my scissors need." Mycroft pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows fleetingly.

"You'll get used to it." He hummed. "They've wonderfully useful when you don't feel like leaving the house to pick up dinner."

Anthea blinked.

"Mycroft, I was joking." She smiled despite herself.

"I know." He answered. "I chose to ignore you for comedic effect." He looked into the liquid in his glass. "Although they will pick up dinner if you ask." Anthea felt like hiding her face in her book as she laughed. Mycroft walked off without another word, as he always did. He was either going to have a shower or to continue working from his office.

"ANTHEA." Anthea sat up and frowned. She'd heard Mycroft calling her name from the office upstairs. He wasn't one to just call out like that, it was too uncouth. He was far more likely text her or come to speak to her.

"ANTHEA!" She heard him again. Oh, well. This could only mean one thing. Anthea, putting in her bookmark, closed her book and placed it down on the coffee table. In one gulp she finished her scotch for liquid courage, and headed for the stairs.

When Anthea got to the office Mycroft was sitting in the chair facing the door. He was resting his elbows on his legs and had his fingers firmly pressed together. The genius' entire body was stiff and screamed of tension. Anthea didn't speak, she simply offered the Holmes a weak smile. He did not return it, boy did he not. The man was entirely hidden behind every single wall he had ever constructed.

"You went through my private belongings?" He hissed, voice as cold as the ice people claimed he was made out of. Anthea crinkled her nose nervously.

"I told you I was looking for scissors." She shrugged. Mycroft nodded.

"Yes," He hummed sarcastically. "So much so that you found your way into a hidden compartment?" The daggers his steely eyes were digging into her were painful. Anthea, a bit unsure as to what to do, dug in her heels.

"It was a false bottom, not a lock." She scoffed, causing Mycroft to laugh darkly.

"So a lock you'll respect, but a hidden compartment is a welcome sign, is it?"

"I live here, you know." Anthea crossed her arms over her chest protectively. "I am allowed to go through things."

"If that is the case then, my dear," Mycroft cocked his head to the side. "Am I to assume that you were allowed to rifle through your uncle's private items when you lived with him?" Anthea looked down to the floor.

"No." She answered.

"Or when you roomed with Jamie in school. Did you get to read all her letters to her parents before she sent them out?"

"No."

"And whenever Robbie stays with you. Is he allowed to read all our work files?"

"Of course not." Anthea raised her voice in defence.

"Then how is this different?" Mycroft raised his, the walls cracking.

"It's not, okay." Anthea rubbed at her arms. "I get it."

"No!" Mycroft spat. "It is, because I had my items hidden away. You had to purposely go looking for that switch. You had to make a real effort to invade on me and you did anyway." Anthea stood silently as Mycroft ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He shook his head. "I can't believe you, Anthea. I cannot comprehend how you thought this was a good idea."

"It's not like you had anything in there, Myc. Y-"

"Mycroft."

"You have weird scraps of paper with lists of drugs on them. I don't even know why you keep them." As she finished her words she saw the masks absolutely collapse. Mycroft suddenly looked like he was feeling everything he had ever hidden. There was guilt, sadness, shock, anger. All of it in one deep heartbreaking expression. He leaned back in his chair.

"You weren't even supposed to know about them, of course you don't know why I keep them!" He ran his hand through his hair again, this time leaving there momentarily as if he were considering ripping his hair out.

"Well, what is it?" Anthea asked. Mycroft looked at her as if she'd just betrayed him.

"How dare you ask that." He hissed at her. Anthea gave him a light one arm shrug.

"Well maybe if I knew why you kept them, then I'd know why they're so important to you."

Silence.

Mycroft shook his head so faintly that you had to be watching him so carefully to even see it.

"Mycroft. I don't know what the big deal i-" Mycroft got out of his seat. He walked right past Anthea and towards the door. Anthea watched him with a frown and only begun following him as he reached the stairs.

"Mycroft?" She called out after him. "Where are you going?"

"To the club." He answered flatly, the walls back up. Anthea felt a coldness rush over her as if hit by a tidal wave. She rubbed at her neck.

"No, Mycroft, wait." She breathed. "If you want to be alone I can leave."

"Don't be absurd." He scoffed, not looking back to her. "This is your house too, I'm not kicking you out." They reached the door.

"Well…" Anthea tried to think of something to say. Anthea. Something to stall him. "Don't forget you have breakfast at the palace tomorrow, and then a meeting at 11."

"I know." He closed the door behind him.

Funny how the house suddenly felt more empty than it ever had before.

By lunch time the next day Anthea had heard nothing from Mycroft and she felt absolutely horrible. She tried to distract herself by painting but even as she did the weight of her actions weighed down on her. She had messed up. Badly.

At least Mycroft's reaction had revealed one thing to Anthea, to react in such a way these lists absolutely had to do with Sherlock. Sherlock was Mycroft's greatest pressure point and cause of negative feelings for the older brother. It was more than a pressure point, Sherlock's sordid past was a sore spot for Mycroft. She didn't know if he felt guilty, but he felt responsible for everything his little brother did. Sherlock was the only one who could ever create that kind of emotion from Mycroft.

At 1pm and unable to shake any of her building guilt, Anthea called the club.

"Hello?" The manager answered. Anthea rolled her eyes just at the sound of the man's voice. She cleared her voice and put on her nicest tone.

"Hi, this is Miss James." She was even fake smiling to help herself sound nice. "I understand that Mr. Holmes stayed in his suit last night?" She heard typing on the other end.

"He did, Miss James. Would you like us to connect you to him?"

"Ah, no. That's alright." She answered quickly, knowing better than to interrupt him during work or a sulk where she was the cause of the sulk. "I was hoping you could send him up some of your tiramisu and a bottle of your finest scotch and charge it to me." More typing.

"We can do that. Anything else?" Anthea tucked a curl behind her ear and licked her lips.

"One more thing. Could you pass him a note for me?" Shuffling was heard on the other end.

"Absolutely."

"Please tell him that the snoop in his employees has been dealt with and she is very remorseful. She claims to regret her actions deeply."

"Anything else?"

"No… that's it." She hoped that was enough, anyway.

The following day at about eight in the morning Mycroft returned home. Anthea was in the middle of making herself a coffee when she heard the front door close. She added a sugar to the current cup, put it on the counter, and took out a new mug to make herself a new cup of coffee.

Mycroft, rings around his eyes, face in a disgruntled expression, silently walked into the kitchen. Anthea watched him from the corner of her eye as he sniffed the coffee and deciding it was for him he took a sip. When he didn't move away from the counter and off into another room Anthea figured it was safe to talk.

"You look tired." She muttered quietly, the chinking of the spoon on the mug as she stirred her coffee was louder than her voice.

"What a wildly astute observation." He was mocking her but he didn't sound angry. He just sounded… numb. Anthea leaned against the counter. She tucked a curl behind her ear and then rubbed her arm.

"If you're going to be mean to me at least put your heart into it." She sighed. "Otherwise I feel like a goldfish."

Silence.

Mycroft put his coffee cup down.

"Sorry…" He mumbled so quietly Anthea almost didn't hear it.

Silence again.

Anthea looked down at her feet.

"Do you want some breakfast?" She asked quietly. "I could make some poached eggs or something."

"I ate at the club."

"Oh."

Silence again.

Anthea began scratching at the nail polish on her thumb. She took a shaky breath.

"Did you get my message?" She watched as Mycroft turned his mug around.

"I did. Thank you."

Silence.

Anthea huffed a breath and scratched the bridge of her nose.

"Myc, I'm really sorry." She blurted out. She saw as Mycroft's shoulders slumped.

"Anthea." He clicked.

"I shouldn't have opened the false bottom. It was rude and insensitive." She continued despite the interruption. Mycroft raised his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. "I don't need to know anything about that, okay? Because I shouldn't even know they exist." She wanted to step closer to Mycroft, to touch his arm but she didn't want to invade his space or send him off again. "I mean, obviously it has something to do with your brother but I've always known how important that is to you. It's both of your lives and what you two have been through. It's no one's business."

She stopped.

She expected a remark of any kind. Sarcastic, dismissive, anything was better than silence.

She got silence and a slight movement of his head.

"I'm always the one to break the trust, aren't I?" She laughed to stop herself from doing something else. Mycroft inwardly sighed. "I just…" She searched for the words. Coming up empty she shook her head. "I don't know. I worry about you, and I'm sorry. If you ever want to talk about it I'm here, and if not then I'm going to pretend I never saw those papers. Okay?"

…

Come on.

Sarcasm would be great.

A nice comment would be better.

Even a scathing mark would be acceptable.

Anthea rubbed at her neck. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know what she could do. She was pretty sure there was nothing else she could do.

"Okay…" She breathed, talking mostly to herself. "I'm going to finish this coffee and then I'm going out to pick up some more paint for the room."

…

Anthea took a sip of her coffee.

…

As she looked down at the mug she suddenly didn't feel like it anymore.

…

She tossed the coffee down the sink and rinsed the mug out.

…

She began to walk out of the kitchen.

"Since when can you make poached eggs?" It was quiet, it was very quiet, but it had indeed been spoken and it sounded open. Anthea turned around to face Mycroft. His face was blank and steel eyes were trained on her face. Anthea's mouth pulled up into a small unsure smile.

"Since last night." She answered proudly. "Without vinegar, too." Mycroft pouted his lips together looking impressed in a bored sort of way. He looked down to his coffee mug and pushed it to the side.

"You better give me a demonstration." He nodded over to the stove. Anthea's smile pulled into her trade much cheeky one.

"Do you want one egg or two?" She asked as she waltzed back into the kitchen.

"Two. I need to see repeat results to believe you."

Author's Note: What do we think? This only came to me a day or two ago but I felt like I absolutely had to do it. I really hope you all liked it or have some form of reaction to it because I really liked the premise. PLEASE let me know what you think! Thanks to our guest reviewers; Sophie, Guest, and mEEEm. I adore all my reviewers. See you in five days!