Author's Note: I am so very very happy you guys seemed to love the last two chapters. I was very excited about them and I'm very pleased with how they turned out! Thank you so much! The feedback for the Mycroft chapter was astounding also! I may have to do more of them in the future next milestone. Now as far as this chapter goes… If any of you follow me on tumblr you'd know that I've had a difficult week for no particular reason. This chapter was not the next one on the list but one I chose to do now to help myself out of my hole slightly. I like where it went so I hope so badly that you enjoy it, its just something lighter after the dark stuff we've had. Thanks so much guys and 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 They Cooked Together
Saturday night Anthea was dressed in tracksuit pants and an old t-shirt with a hole in the shoulder. She wore a headband to keep the hair out of her still bruised face and wore it in a loose and messy bun. She stood out of the way of the electric frying pan desperately trying to spit fat at her as she frantically tried to check the recipe she had written down in order to see what was next. In hindsight she should have gone for something simpler that chicken and pasta, with sweet potato, but when you're doing an activity to keep yourself busy you might as well commit. The frying pan spat once more and she quickly turned her head to make sure it didn't touch her face – particularly the open wound still near her left eye. Since when was cooking with oil more dangerous than her actual job? No she shouldn't joke about that – not after what she was still healing from. Yet, she couldn't help it. Apparently Mycroft took it as a sign of her recovery anyway. She'd made a comment about actually spitting blood in a man's face in a timely and light-hearted manner. Mycroft hadn't laughed but he had muttered. "I see your misplaced humour is returning. Good." And continued looking out the window, causing Anthea took look at Walter through the rear view window and cock an eyebrow.
Back to the task at hand. So she had the chicken frying – good, that would be done soon. She could then just keep in warm in the oven or microwave it or something because she still had to boil the pasta and cook the sweet potato. She still hadn't decided how to cook it yet, baked in chip form, boiled and then roasted, what? She had only chosen to do them because Jamie had said that her mum had said they were really good for you and it sounds like something worth eating when you were recovering from the worst experience of your life. Anthea tiptoed closer to try frying pan, preparing to flip the chicken over one last time when the doorbell rung causing her to jump slightly and drop the spatula into the frying pan. Great. She bent down and opened the drawers to grab some tongs to pull out the spatula safely.
"Just a minute." She called out. Fishing out the spatula, she dropped it into the sink, turning on the cold water tap in order to cool down the handle and make it usable once more. Wiping her hands on her pants and leaving the tap on, she made her way to the front door. Weary of the time, Anthea looked through her peephole to be meted by the back of a brunette man in a suit. Only one person that could be and that person was perfectly safe at all hours. Well, when you're on his side at the very least. He could also be very dangerous. Anthea pulled open the door and leaned against it.
"Good evening, sir." She smiled. Mr. Holmes turned around, still looking smart in the same suit he had worn to work that day, and looked his now very scruffy PA up and down. "What brings you to this side of London?" She asked, tilting her head. He pursed his lips and held out a pile of files – perhaps three – in front of her.
"You wished to catch up on the work you missed during your absence, my dear, and yet you leave the files right in the middle of your desk. On top of your keyboard, no less." Her absence, that's what he called it. It made her want to smile a very sad smile – what a Holmsian way of trying to say something nicely. Her chocolate eyes drifted from watching Mycroft's face down to the files. As the realisation that she had left these very important documents out in the open dawned on her she took a sharp intake of breath, hand running through her messy hair before taking hold of the files with both hands.
"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again." His sharp blue eyes locked onto her brown ones with a collected coolness.
"Completely understandable, given the circumstances. However if it happens again I will have to do something about it." Oh, it almost felt like that USB incident all over again. She had been off her game all week and – while she could tell by small changes in his demeanour that it was irritating him – her boss had been unnaturally understanding for who he was. With a serious expression Anthea nodded once.
"Absolutely, sir. I'd expect no less." As soon as she finished talking, as if on cue, Anthea's smoke alarm began going off. "Oh, shit!" She jumped. The chicken! She hadn't turned it and it was coated in breadcrumbs. She thrust the files back at Mycroft and ran into the kitchen. "Please come in, sir, I just need a moment to fix this." She called out, turning off the sink and pulling out the spatula in order to deal with the kitchen. It took a moment but eventually Anthea heard the soft click of her front door followed by the slow footsteps as Mycroft made his way into her cluttered, messy flat. She turned off the frying pan and began transferring the chicken onto a plate, occasionally burning her fingers.
"Anthea, what are you doing?" His voice came from behind her just past the entrance of the kitchen. She got the last piece onto the plate and went to the cupboard to find the aluminium foil, giving her boss a smile at her own expenses.
"I believe it's called cooking, sir. You know, it's how food gets to the point where it's edible. This is what happens before it gets to us in restaurants and deliveries." She could practically hear him rolling his eyes at her sarcasm as she wrapped up the chicken to keep it warm.
"What I should say is, why are you doing so? After a long day at work. Miss Thompson would not be pleased to hear you are not resting." This whole Jamie and Mycroft working in cahoots together to make sure she was okay was getting extremely annoying and extremely weird. Anthea liked it better when they were only names to each other and not allies in the 'Alice needs looking after' game. Anthea sighed, turning around to her boss. She shrugged at him, deciding to be honest.
"Yeah I know, I'm just trying to keep busy." She sighed. "Days are fine, sir, send me to deal with anyone during the day and I'll be ready. Being home alone at night though." She took a deep breath, noting how Mycroft was watching her very carefully making his mental notes. "I need to be doing something or I don't know what I'll do." She picked up the foil and moved over to put it in her cupboard and she thought she heard a sigh.
"What is it you are attempting to win a losing battle against, then?" Anthea hummed, turning to her boss.
"Chicken, pasta, and some kind of sweet potato." Mycroft raised an eyebrow, hiding a smirk under his mask.
"That is," a pause. "An interesting combination." Anthea fought the urge to laugh as she smiled, not quite being able to wrinkle her nose again but getting there.
"Well, I thought loading up on carbs is the best way to fit into my skirts and pants again." She shrugged, trying to play off the weight she lost lightly. Mycroft's eyes scanned her kitchen, taking in the details. The room was a mess but Anthea was going to own it. While Mycroft's was clean from lack of use, Anthea's was a mess from using only for simple things and therefore leaving commonly used bowls and plates on the counter rather than putting them away.
"And 'some kind of sweet potato' you say?" He was mocking her. Anthea sighed to herself.
"Well, if you're going to stand there and mock me, sir, you might as well help. I still have the pasta to cook." A pause as Anthea watched Mycroft silently weighing up his options in his head. In all honesty she'd expected him to chuckle and leave, not to even consider staying. She knew it was out of pity, because Mycroft Holmes doesn't have friends, but she hoped it wasn't out of pity. Mycroft took off his jacket, placed it on the counter, and began rolling up his sleeves.
"Where do you keep your peeler?" He sighed. Anthea inwardly beamed, only an amused smile showing on the outside.
"Bottom drawer, sir."
Sitting at the kitchen bench, that she had only just cleared documents and DVDs off of so they would have somewhere to sit, Anthea stared at her plate of food she had just tried. She looked between it and her boss next to her, who was inconspicuously running his finger around the rim of his glass of water rather than paying attention to the food. The chicken had been dry – either due to the smoke alarm situation or from reheating it too long in her microwave, and she had under cooked the pasta. The sweet potato was fine but really, how can you screw up a boiled vegetable. She tried desperately to search for one nice thing to say about her own food.
"It's…" Anthea paused as she winced at her own plate of food. "Not bad." Her tone was high.
"It's not good, either." Mycroft mumbled, raising his eyebrows but not taking his attention off his glass. Anthea sniffed a laugh.
"The chicken is much better than the pasta." She reasoned with her own mind.
"I suppose no chance of getting salmonella is a positive of overcooking poultry, yes." Anthea actually let out a single laugh at the comment. Accepting defeat, Anthea got out of her seat and took both plates, depositing the contents into her bin. Anthea placed both plates in her sink to await washing later. She washed her hands and then took her hair out of the messy bun it was in, running her fingers through it in order to part it.
"I'm sorry, sir." She laughed. With a huff, she placed her hands on her hips, looking around her kitchen. "Well that was a waste."
"It kept you occupied, did it not?" Anthea looked over, chocolate meeting steel blue. That was a good point, making a fool of herself in her own kitchen in front of her boss had indeed kept her mind busy and away from other thoughts.
"I still need dinner though." She hummed to herself, biting her lip as she absentmindedly watched Mycroft's finger still trailing circles around the rim of the glass. "There's that twenty four hour diner a few streets away, we could go there." The finger stopped dead in her tracks, Anthea's gaze shot up to see Mycroft looking at her in aghast.
"My dear, I am not stepping foot in a twenty four hour diner. I dislike staying in a café for too long." Anthea tried to crinkle her nose despite the little bit of discomfort it caused her.
"But sir, that was my dinner. I need to eat something." She argued.
"I am not stepping foot in a twenty four hour diner." He repeated.
"I can't go alone, sir. I mean, even before I never went there this late alone."
"I am not stepping foot in a twenty four hour diner." Anthea breathed out heavily and shook her head. She was not defeated yet, however.
"Well, I suppose McDonalds is still open. We could go there." Almost an entire minute of silence went past as Mycroft stared at his glass. Anthea watched him carefully, waiting for the reply.
"Fine, we'll go to the diner." Success!
The reason why Anthea – and also Jamie – loved this diner was because it always looked like something straight out of an American movie. The blue vinyl chairs, the white marbled countertop, it was knish all over and she loved it. All it was missing was some dreary radio station playing and for the waitresses to all be depressed and in uniforms straight out of the fifties. As it was most of these waiters and waitresses were people working while studying and wore the usual all black uniform with a name badge.
Anthea had gotten herself a plate of waffles – taking advantage of the all-day breakfast menu and the fact that she would never be able to cook them herself – while Mycroft, feeling particularly dubious of everything on the menu had merely gotten himself toast. He was much more interested in his cup of tea than he was ever going to be with that toast he was lightly picking at.
"You know they're most likely premade straight out of a packet, and not cooked fresh here, I hope." He nodded to her plate of food. Anthea merely rolled her eyes and chuckled quietly, not caring nearly as much as he did about that fact. The silence remained as Anthea ate and Mycroft pretended to eat, sipping on his tea. She liked this place at night, it was nice to have someone to come with her, regardless of how completely out of place Mr. Holmes looked in his three piece suit. They probably thought he was meeting some sketchy business associate, dealing with a down on their luck relative, or meeting the mistress. Perhaps she'd ask him what all the staff were thinking when he walked her home – he could probably tell already just by the occasional side glance and the way they took the menu off of him.
As she was nearing the end of her food, Mycroft, placing his knife and fork together on the plate, pushed his food aside. He sat up straight, folding his hands together on the table and regarded Anthea with a long look. Something was coming, she wondered what as she pretended not to notice.
"Anthea," He began. She put her own knife and fork down and looked up at him. "There is something I have been meaning to discuss with you and now would seem as fitting time as any." He looked around the diner with dismay. Oh great, what could this be? She felt dread in her stomach.
"Yes, sir?" She asked carefully, watching him.
"My dear, I think it's time you consider moving to a better neighbourhood within the city." Anthea frowned in confusion.
"Why, because of what happened? They could have found me anywhere, sir." She argued. Mycroft nodded in agreement.
"I am aware of this, however, the fact that Alice Clarke has been the sole renter of that apartment since she graduated from college makes it entirely too easy to track you." Anthea leaned back in her chair, biting the inside of her cheek. He had a point, he always had a point, but surely that could be fixed.
"Well, maybe you can help me buy the place from the owner under an assumed name, then, sir?" His eyes softened in the faintest way that if she did not know him the way she did, Anthea wouldn't have noticed. He tilted his head.
"Anthea," He sighed. "We walked past that alley to get here and your heartrate increased dramatically." Anthea looked down at her plate, slightly embarrassed. Really, she should be stronger than that. It hadn't been that long, sure, but as Mycroft Holmes' assistant she should take less time than your average person to get over stuff like this! She had to! The softness disappeared and gave way back to regular Mr. Holmes. "You can afford to buy a much larger flat in a much nicer area, I know you can." Anthea leaned forward again.
"But, sir." She sighed. "I know this area like the back of my hand. Like this place," She gestured to the diner. "Jamie and I used to eat here when we didn't have the money to go anywhere nice. The café down the street does that cinnamon tea I like to bring in for us on cold mornings. I know exactly how many steps there are up to my flat from the three months the elevator was out of service."
"Sentiment." Mycroft spoke in a sing song voice. Anthea waved him off.
"I know, but-"
"The bottom line is, Miss James, do you feel safe there?"
"Well-"
"During the day is not a sufficient answer." Anthea looked down at her plate.
"Not entirely, no." She huffed. Mycroft leant forward.
"Do you feel that your friend would be upset at you for moving to a nicer location?" Anthea scoffed.
"Of course not."
"Do you think it would be time efficient to move closer to the office, your lawyer, and myself?" A pause.
"Also money efficient with petrol." Mycroft smirked ever so faintly.
"Would you like to be able to leave home in the evenings and not have to walk past that ally?"
"Of course." Mycroft leaned back in his chair, picking up his lukewarm cup of tea.
"Sentiment, my dear, it is clouding your judgement." Anthea watched him bitterly. She watched the smug look in his eyes like he had already won. It was moments like this she could see why Sherlock did things he knew was wrong just to spite his brother, Mycroft was so smug when he was correct. Anthea clicked her tongue.
"I'll think about it." She mumbled.
"Excellent." Mycroft breathed, raising his eyebrows and smiling. Anthea cocked an eyebrow at him.
"That's not a yes, sir." She pointed a finger at him. He shrugged with one shoulder, smiling into his cup.
"It's not a no, either, my dear." He hummed. "I planted the thought into your head, that's all I needed to do." Holmes', they're so weird.
If Jamie brought up the idea of moving within the next few days over the phone… Well, then Anthea would know they had discussed this while Jamie was still in town. If they were working together – even if it was for Anthea's own well-being – they were going to be in so much trouble.
Author's Note: I liked this chapter so I hope you did too! Do let me know, every review means the world to me. Time to thank the guests! Corrine, ValkyrieDefender, Guests x2, Wheezzy8, Wink, ovejalucifer, Nelsh, JohnsStethoscope, Connie, toolazytologin, and marie. Like I said, the comments mean the world to me and being able to recognise you guys and know what you like due to your names is great. Hope you all enjoyed this little chapter!