Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you for the kind responses last chapter. A lot of you had strong reactions and that means so much to me. Unfortunately I don't think this chapter will be any cheerier. This one was very difficult for me to write. Not hard to put to paper, it was easier – it was hard on my emotions :P. 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 A Friend Died

The town car was parked outside the Aquarium. Why an Aquarium, Anthea really didn't know. It could have been Sherlock's choice or someone else's. In the end it was dramatics and suited anything the Holmes brothers were involved in. She sat in the back of the car with Walter in the driver's seat. They made small talk occasionally but for the most part they sat in comfortable silence while Anthea worked from her phone. As often happened with these types of things Anthea was only here as a precaution. She was asked to come in case something happened, in case back up was needed, in case a phone call needed to be made. So she always sat in the car and waited because she was supposed to be invisible. She wasn't here until she had to be. Then she had been here all along.

"How is you friend going, Miss James?" Walter asked from the front. Anthea looked up from her phone to meet Walter's kind eyes in the rear-view mirror.

"Jamie?" Anthea asked, cocking her head to the side.

"Yes." Walter said. Anthea smiled, thinking about how kind it was of him to ask. "Is she enjoying being pregnant?" Anthea laughed, shaking her head.

"No, she hates it." Anthea said. "She hates being restricted and the bigger she gets the more she hates it."

"Oh no." Walter clicked his tongue. "My wife loved it until the last month."

"Not Jamie." Anthea crinkled up her nose. "I got a teary phone call yesterday about how she couldn't tie up her shoes. She was already upset at wearing flats." She hadn't wanted to call James about it because she was determined to appear strong and independent to him in some ways. What Jamie didn't know is Anthea and James often told each other what the other didn't know. They laughed and sympathised with the blonde at the same time.

"Everyone feels different about it, I guess." Walter chuckled. "I knew an agent who-"

Bzzzzt.

Anthea's phone began vibrating in her hand.

Mycroft – mobile.

Anthea pursed her lips and quickly pressed answer.

"Sir?" She answered. The one second pause may not have caused alarm for anyone else but for Anthea, knowing Mycroft, it immediately made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"Your assistant is required." Mycroft spoke softly and professionally. As Anthea sat in the car and looked around she became aware of the ambulance parked behind the town car. She had missed it arriving somehow. It was parked right outside the aquarium with them. It had to be there, even if there was no connection to what was happening with the people she knew in there, it had to be there. "Immediately."

"Yes, sir." Anthea could see Walter watching her through the rear-view mirror. His posture was tense with all the signs of an agent listening. "Sir, are the EMTs with you?" She asked. Walter met her eyes.

"Mmhhmm." Mycroft's hum in confirmation was the only response she got.

"I see." Anthea spoke lowly. "I'll be right there."

Click.

Anthea and Mycroft hung up in unison. She pulled on the handle, the door of the car opening with a soft click. She took a moment to compose herself and place the mysterious assistant mask firmly in place. She met Walter's eyes in the mirror one more time and he gave her a knowing look as she exhaled dramatically at him.

Once more into the breach.

Anthea walked the dark twisted blue corridors of the aquarium, the fish looking at her with disinterest like she was an exhibit. She walked through, eyeing the occasional marine life until she came to where Sherlock had asked them all to meet. She saw Sherlock first and immediately knew something was wrong. The detective held his hands to his mouth, covering his nose, eyes wide and red. When he looked at Anthea as she approached he looked like a lost frightened little child. It set off so many of Anthea's internal alarms but she had to keep her mask securely in place. So all she did was hasten her step, her heels echoing ominously as the sound reverberated off the glass. Next she saw Mycroft and Detective Inspector Lestrade standing near each other, or rather she saw their backs. They both had their arms folded tight across their chests. Mycroft turned at the sound of her heels to peer over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised – face stern and sombre. When he saw it was her he turned around completely. Lestrade noticing did the same. Anthea looked at Sherlock once more before walking to Mycroft.

"Sir." She spoke softly as to not shatter the fragile glass that bounced with her footsteps alone. Mycroft licked his bottom lip and swallowed his breath. Lestrade looked moved. The man had an expressive face and it was no exaggeration to say he looked bitterly devastated. Perplexed and apprehensive, Anthea continued to walk into the space.

She saw the EMTs first. Both of them with their attentions on someone else. Anthea's gaze followed their line of sight downwards. It was one of those moments when the ground beneath you trembled but no one else seemed to feel it. Where all the breath and life-force felt like it was sucked out of your body with such force it was surprising that you didn't tumble over as it happened. Anthea was too familiar with this feeling but it never got easier. John Watson sat crumpled on the floor cradling Mary. Mary – his new wife, the brand new mother of a beautiful baby girl. Mary who had run away and had just come home. She was bleeding profusely from the chest, so much so that it made Anthea's fingers curl up. There was that moment of disbelief where anything held onto a maybe not before she looked upon the woman's face and all hope was pulled away. She was dead. This vibrant exciting woman was gone. A woman who embraced Sherlock with open arms and not only accepted him as someone who had to come with John but loved him, a woman who was hilarious and bright and one of Anthea's favourite people to talk to, a woman who'd gotten a life with a husband and family she always wanted. She was gone. What John sat cradling was a shell of an amazing woman. Anthea didn't become aware of her barely ajar mouth until she closed it and blink away the moisture building up in her eyes.

No wonder Sherlock looked like his world had been shattered. It had been.

"Dr. Watson won't let the EMTs take her away." Mycroft's voice rung hollow and empty in Anthea's head. It took her a few seconds to even registered he'd said something. She tore her eyes away from Mary's face and looked up to realise Mycroft and Lestrade stood on either side of her. Later she'd reflect on Mycroft's choice of words – how he'd said her and not her body or the body – and think about what that meant. Right now she was too busy trying to kick her body and brain into action to notice. Anthea swallowed nothing and nodded as she blankly stared into steely eyes that were trying to keep walls up and build new ones up around them.

"We figured since you're more Mary's friend than John's,' Lestrade began. She heard the way he still used present tense and felt something within her soul break. It was always so difficult to get used to past tense but using any tense hurt like it was a lie. Poor John. Poor, poor John. "You might have a chance of getting him to listen." Anthea didn't realise she was frowning until Lestrade looked over her face and felt like he had to elaborate. "'Cause you know, the rest of us might be thinking about him but you'd be thinking about her." Anthea looked at Mycroft. The genius had looked down and was avoiding eye contact.

"Your brother-" She began.

"Was saved by Mary." Lestrade stopped her. Ah. Again Anthea must have pulled a face without realising it as Lestrade nodded sombrely. She looked to Sherlock. The younger Holmes looked so frightened as he pleaded with her silently with large sky blue eyes to help. In anyway, just help. Silently she nodded to Sherlock.

Anthea's feet dragged her forward. Her heels didn't click so much as they scuffed against the ground. Inch by inch she approached the doctor and the lifeless form of his wife – Anthea's wife.

"John." Anthea croaked. She silently cleared her throat, took another step forward, and crouched next to the detective. The metallic smell of blood hit Anthea right in the face, it was all she could smell and taste now. She gritted her jaw. "Hey John." Anthea placed her hand gently on John's shoulder. The doctor looked at her and she could see nothing but pain written all over his face. His face was tearstained, his eyes red. The look of the solider cut Anthea like gutting a fish. "You're a doctor, John." Anthea spoke sweetly and gently. "We've got to let the EMTs do their job now." John turned back to his wife and he squeezed her shoulders tighter to his body.

"I can't leave her." His voice was mournful and shattered Anthea's glass like inner barriers built around the hole in her heart. She choked on a sob in her throat and blink her eyes clear again.

"I know." She sniffed. "I know John, and we're not." Anthea clenched her teeth and swallowed nothing again. She felt like something was squeezing her heart. "But that's not really her anymore, is it?" The tears were trying desperately to escape – she just held them at bay. "We've both lost people and seen people leave us." She avoided saying dead or die. "It stops being them. They're not there anymore." She could see that John was shaking.

"I don't want to lose her." He sobbed, not looking at anyone but his wife. Anthea bit her bottom lip and nodded furiously a few times.

"I know." She said again.

"What am I supposed to do without her?" He finally looked at Anthea again. She pursed her lips and shrugged, shaking her head.

"I don't know." She exhaled. "But she's not gone gone, is she?" Anthea smiled despite the single tear that escaped down her cheek when she blinked. "Rosie." She said. "Not only is she part of Mary you can never lose but now you know they share a name, too."

"Oh God, Rosie." John sobbed. He looked down at Mary again. Anthea stroked his shoulder.

"We've got to move, John." She said after a few minutes.

"I don't want your people to make her disappear." John's words hit Anthea like daggers. "I don't want them to take her away and I'll never see her. I -." He broke off. "I want to bury her and not just have a stone with her name on it but nothing there." Anthea rubbed his back. She was going to say something about Mycroft ensuring that but if he didn't want to talk to Sherlock he wouldn't want to hear Mycroft's name. So she went with the next best thing, her own name.

"I'll see to it." She nodded as she vowed. "I'll make sure you get your wife back, but first we need to let the EMTs take care of her."

"You promise?" John looked her dead in the eye.

"I promise." She let him read her face. She let him see how much she meant it. John's grip around the Mary slackened. "There we go." Anthea whispered. She let him take his time letting go of his wife. Then, hand still on his shoulder, Anthea slowly got the doctor standing. A few kind and gentle words later and they managed to step back from her so that the EMTs could get to work. It was an excruciating experience for all.

It was bound to happen eventually. In reality they were so very lucky that none of them had been lost by now. In this work people disappeared and died constantly. In the end time runs out one way or another. Or maybe they were unlucky that it took this long for something to happen. The more time they were given the more bonds could be forged and the deeper they could become. Families created only to be torn apart. The funny thing is how much they weren't expecting it. Like a lulled sense of security had settled in and that's when the universe chose to act. Like causing the biggest impact possible.

And how are you supposed to leave these moments? How was Sherlock supposed to leave, go back to Baker Street and pick up a case? How were Mycroft, Anthea, and Lestrade supposed to file all the correct documents about someone they knew? How was John supposed to go back to his house with his daughter without his wife there? Anything that followed this moment would feel surreal, bordering on impossible. Life wasn't supposed to be this way. Mary was supposed to be there.

Nevertheless life did what it always did and continued on. The EMTs took Mary away and that moment stuck in slow motion was dragged kicking and screaming back in line to march on once again.

Anthea and Mycroft watched from a distance as Lestrade said goodbye to Sherlock. The detective had a firm hand on Sherlock's shoulder and was saying something to him while John waited in his car. The detective was going to stay with John for a few hours and make sure he was okay. Normally that would be Sherlock's job. Today, however…

Mycroft took a long drag of his cigarette. As he exhaled, stress escaping his body and his posture relaxing, Anthea chose to ignore how the smoke that billowed around them bothered her. The cigarettes rarely came out and who was she to comment on life and death today?

"I'm going to take my brother home." Mycroft announced. He flicked his cigarette and the ashes fell to the pavement except for the few strays that got swept away in the wind. "I should think its best that I stay with him for a few hours. If ever there were a danger night it would be tonight." His voice was so lyrical that at times like these it could be so easy to get lost in it. Anthea nodded like the good assistant she was.

"Absolutely, sir." She said. A pause as she watched Mycroft take more smoke into his lungs. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can go lock up the office early for me." He said. Was that really it? Was that all she could do? She would certainly do it but she'd like to help more.

"Yes, sir." She nodded. Mycroft dropped the cigarette to the floor. He stepped on it and put it out by grinding it between his shoe and the pavement.

"Thank you, dear." He hummed.

The following moments fell strange. Numb, acting on autopilot, Anthea got into the town car and told Walter to drive her back to the club. They'd been working out of the Dungeon today. She sat, staring out the window. She watched silently as they drove past people carrying on with their lives. She felt nothing as she watched these people and she darkly considered if this is what it felt like to be a Holmes. To feel a strange numbness whenever the world tried to push you to feel something. A pang of guilt stopped her from lingering on that thought for too long.

Anthea got out of the car, muttering a small thank you to Walter. She walked through the club without a single care about how much noise her heels were making. She didn't even revel in the disturbance like she sometimes did when feeling particularly rebellious. She didn't look around to see who was here – her eyes were too heavy and too tired. She walked down the stairs right into the depths of the dark dungeon office.

First was Mycroft's office. Anthea went in there, turned off his laptop and packed it up – it would come home with her. She switched off his desk lamp, locked all cabinets and drawers, and locked the door behind her. Onto her desk she filed away all files that were not coming home in her briefcase. She switched off her computer, turned off all the lights on the entire floor and locked the door on her way out. As she shut the door behind her she exhaled a breath between barely parted lips. She hadn't realised her breath was still shaky until she heard the interruptions in it like someone tonguing on a wind instrument.

She got back in the car with both her and Mycroft's briefcases placed in the empty seat next to her and asked Walter to take her home. Another hushed drive of looking out the window and feeling numb.

The key slid into the lock with practiced ease. With one simple twist the door clicked open and Anthea was allowed to take solace in her house. Mycroft's and her big, empty, house. The house that had once hosted Mycroft alone. All these rooms, all these halls, with just Mycroft. The darkness in the entrance hall on amplified how empty it was. A haunted house that hadn't been inhabited in years.

Anthea walked through to the living room. She found the light switched and flicked it on with her index finger. Light filled the space. Anthea could see the couch. She could see Mycroft's piano with her candelabra on top of it. She could see into the darkness that was the kitchen with the almost empty fridge and the overused coffee machine and teakettle. Right. She was home now. Now what? What happened now? She'd done what she'd been asked to now it was her time. What does one do? What did she normally do after this sort of thing?

Anthea chose to ignore her brain as it asked her a million questions she couldn't answer. Right beside the door she dropped both briefcases. She was home. She didn't have to do anything. She could… Do what? What do you do when you're still alive? Do something? Read a new book? Try to learn play that beautiful old piano? Learn to cook something and surprise Mycroft with dinner? The questions invade Anthea's head again. She didn't have an answer. All she had to do was something this very moment other than standing at the door. The couch. The couch was a good solution. Anthea slipped off her heels and kicked them so that they were out of the way of the door and closer to the briefcases. The tiles were cold through the fabric of her stockings. Squaring off her shoulders, Anthea walked over to the couch and commanded herself mentally to sit. She did so.

She sat on the couch.

Now what?

Anthea sat on the couch in the big empty house. She rubbed the palms of her hands against her knees and looked around the space.

She looked around into the dark kitchen and the dark entrance hall. There was no one, nothing here.

So this was it.

The day was over.

It was just Anthea here.

She couldn't help John and Rosie – Lestrade was on that now and later Molly or someone would go.

She couldn't help Sherlock – Mycroft was with him and then would leave him with Mrs. Hudson.

That was the most affected parties dealt with.

Who else?

By how many names of the list were affected or… well crossed off now, Mycroft would be one to need help. But he'd need help looking after these people and they were taken care of.

So what did that leave?

No one.

Nothing.

Nothing but the grim reminder that another person Anthea held in high regard was gone.

Anthea closed her eyes and tried to keep herself in one piece.

She'd lost a friend today. A good one, too. A funny, bright woman. A woman whom Anthea could joke with about double lives and dangerous jobs. A woman who fought for the life she wanted. A woman who had more faith in Anthea's future than she had. A woman who had saved Sherlock and John so many times. A woman who had Mycroft's respect.

Anthea ran her fingers through her hair.

There was a small part of her that bitterly thank God that it wasn't James or Mycroft. That it wasn't James' kid that would grow up without a parent or it wasn't Anthea who had to wonder about funerals. That small part made the rest of her shiver with guilt and anger at herself. How dare she have these thoughts? Mary was fantastic and deserved to be here just as much as they did.

Mary.

Mary was fun to be around.

Mary knew what all this was about.

John loved her.

Sherlock loved her.

She'd completed the weird little family the Holmes brother's had built for themselves.

Anthea began to cry.

She wept into her hands as she held her palms to her face. Her sobs wracked her chest, emptying her lungs until she needed to breathe. She cried until she couldn't cry anymore. Until the feelings were expunged and nothing but the dull ache of sadness hurt her. Until she lulled into calm and her breath steadied.

Then she decided if she couldn't do anything to help she was better off helping herself and she went in search of her DVDs.

Somewhere in the middle of a classic 90's slasher film Anthea heard the front door creak. She hadn't expected Mycroft home until late. She looked at her phone to see that it was twenty past midnight. Oops. She had meant to go to bed hours ago but after one film that allowed for a bit of mindless entertainment ended Anthea put on another one. If she had gone to bed she wouldn't have been able to sleep.

The footsteps followed the noise of the movie and surely enough the door was opened. Mycroft peered tiredly into the room. Anthea sniffed her nose as she picked up the remote and quickly paused the movie.

"Oh, hey." She said. "Are you okay?" She asked as she stood up. Anthea held her hands in front on her chest and picked at the nail polish on one hand with the other.

"Fine." Mycroft hummed an automatic response. He looked around the room – starting from the floor, to the pile of DVDs, to the blanket and pillow on the couch. Then the grey-blue eyes took in Anthea next. He scrutinised her clothing, even her shoeless feet still wearing her tan stockings. He looked at her mouth, her hair, and fixated on her eyes. As he looked around and in her eyes he breathed in from his nose and quirked an eyebrow so faintly it would be easy to miss. "Ah." He raised his eyebrows. Anthea purposely ignored the deductions.

"Do you want a cup of tea or something?" She asked. Mycroft looked down to his feet. He rubbed the side of his nose with his index finger and looked back up straightening his posture.

"Forgive me, my dear." He said. "In my haste to look after my brother I had forgotten that you liked Mary." It seemed he wasn't going to let her brush past his deduction. Anthea pursed her lips as her brain refused to respond. She crinkled her nose and shook her head.

"It's fine." She brushed it off.

"She was one of the few people you deemed a friend if I recall correctly." He added as he continued to scrutinise and read her face. Anthea tried to push away whatever it was that was trying to squeeze at her heart. She forced a smile onto her face to reassure Mycroft.

"I'm fine." She laughed despite herself. "It's…" She tucked a curl behind her ear and looked up to the roof. "It's nothing compared to what John, and even Sherlock are going through." She shrugged. "They need us." Mycroft hummed to himself.

"Even so," He said. "You really connected with Mary." Anthea help her gaze up to the roof and fought the tears that tried to fall. She didn't want to cry again. She wasn't so weak as to cry at everything. But it was no use, the tears escaped and began trailing down Anthea's cheeks to trace her jawline. She licked her lips, looked at Mycroft with watery eyes, and nodded.

"I did." She sobbed. "I really did." Mycroft's eyes flashed with life. His whole body stiffened seeming to rebel against whatever thought crossed his mind. He looked at the doorframe and clicked his tongue, relaxing again. The original thought clearly had won. He walked into the room, arms extended. Anthea stepped forward into his space as the genius wrapped his arms around her. She leant her head against his chest and allowed herself to be encapsulated by the rarest form of affection from the elder Holmes. She felt it when he began stroking her hair.

"I can't offer you comforting words." He whispered. "I only know how to act." Anthea buried her nose into the fabric of Mycroft's suit.

"I know." She heard her voice bounce of his chest.

"If you smoked I wouldn't have to hug you."

Count on Mycroft to make her laugh while she's crying.

Author's Note: How was it? Was it okay. I ALMOST cried writing this. ALMOST. Held out, though. Please let me know what you thought. Also, if you're interested while I wrote this I listened to Blind by Placebo, The Forgotten by Green Day and Pullet Proof… I Wish I Was by Radiohead. I listened to Blind the most because Placebo is my heart and soul. Thanks to our guest reviewers last chapter: Madalina, Christie, Eva's Dreaming, B, and Guest. Thanks to all my reviewers. I love you guys. Please, please let me know what you though! I'll see you in five days.