Author's Note: Hello! Thank you for the kind words last chapter. I thought you all might want to see James² get engaged, so I'm pleased I included it. Yes they're moving fast, but to me they always were going to, based on their personalities. This chapter… my best friend (Lauren) and I planned this chapter a while ago. I'll explain more at the end. I hope you have fun with this one. 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.
Her First Family Heirloom
The long walks to and from lunch had begun again. Anthea couldn't say what had spurted up Mycroft's diet again, but she didn't really know how to ask about such a delicate and personal issue yet. Instead, she played the supportive PA and… whatever she was… and came along for the walks and suggested reasonably healthy places to eat for lunch. Anthea would put up the argument that she thought Mycroft looked perfectly fine, and she always thought he looked good in his suits, but she suspected that it would fall on deaf ears.
This day in particular, Anthea had found a quite nice little place that focused on organic food. While neither of them ended up particularly enjoying the food, it had led to a good afternoon of laughter, and not focusing on their busy work schedule. Of course, that had to end within the space of an hour and soon they had to return to the real world and walk back to the office. In fact, to save time, Anthea even decided to check any emails on the walk back to the government office.
It was on the walk back when they passed a lovely little antique store window that Anthea had to stop, one of the items in the window taking her breath away. With a frown to himself, Mycroft stopped and came to stand by Anthea. She held her hand, with phone held in it, to her chest, miming a silent 'aww'. In the window of this little store was a little china doll in mint condition. It had brown curls down to its tiny little waist, and a little grey cotton dress with lace trim. It was so beautiful, sitting in a little wicker chair that was too big for it. It filled her with a wave of nostalgia and a sense of wonder she hadn't experienced since she was a little girl. Her eyes flickered up to the man besides her before she turned back, smiling at the doll bashfully.
"It reminds me so much of the one my mum had." Anthea explained to the man with a straight mouth and a bored expression. "It had hair just like her, and these amazing blue eyes." A noise that might have been a laugh escaped her lips as she briefly looked at the floor. "When I was a little girl I thought it was modelled after her when really my Grandmother had bought it for her when she was a little girl because it looked like her." Anthea turned to look at Mycroft again, who was still straight faced as he examined the doll. Anthea sighed. "I was supposed to get it 'when she died', you know how parents talk like that. But I don't know what happened to most of our stuff." The nostalgia was still upon her, her childhood whimsy, but it became bittersweet as a wave of melancholy washed over her. If her uncle had just let everything sit until Anthea was of age, then she could have dealt with everything. She understands that he was just trying to tidy up… But all of the little family trinkets that she had no idea where they were.
"Why don't you buy this then?" Mycroft asked, turning to look at his assistant. Anthea waved him off as she shook her head.
"No. It's not the same." Mycroft's brow furrowed as he pursed his lips.
"The description sounds very similar." Anthea sniffed.
"No, it's not about that." Anthea shoved her hands into her coat pocket, shaking her head. "It's not special." How to explain this to a Holmes? That it was about her mother's doll. About the doll her grandmother had bought for her mother, not a china doll. "You don't get it, its sentiment." Mycroft quirked an eyebrow.
"This is about sentimental value. As much as I don't fall for sentiment, I do understand that, my dear." Mycroft nodded. "If this can recreate any of that emotion, why won't you buy it?" Anthea looked up, her dark sad eyes meeting curious steel eyes. She pursed her lips and shrugged again.
"This isn't the one I was supposed to get. It's not something special to my family." She turned to the doll. "What am I supposed to say, if I have a family and to hand it down one day? Mummy bought this from a store because it reminded her of the one her mother had?" Anthea shook her head. "As soon as I get it, the feelings are going to diminish. It was just kind of cool to see." Mycroft searched her face, his brow furrowed once more in confusion as he tried to work out the science behind sentimental value. You could see the moment he gave up by the slight widening of his eyes and the inhale of breath as he turned to begin walking again.
"I'm not pretending to understand," He breathed as they started walking once more. "But if that's how you feel, I won't argue with you." Anthea smiled and gave the man a light little nudge with her elbow. They were technically on a break from work – that mean she could do silly affectionate things like that.
"Sentiment defies all logic, Mycroft." She laughed.
"Clearly." The genius mumbled sarcastically, rolling his eyes and earning himself another light jab.
The next few weeks became insanely busy for Mycroft, and therefore for Anthea. They'd completely lost their track on Sherlock, and the detective seemed to have gone missing without a trace. Anthea and Mycroft crammed their work into the smallest amount of time possible, so they could spend the rest of their work hours sending people to follow up leads on Sherlock Holmes' location, and locate any related intel. Anthea knew that at home alone, Mycroft was on the phone on sending emails, secretly the concerned brother, only stopping really when she made him. Sherlock would turn up eventually, he'd be okay… because they alternative… Well, if he wasn't okay, then Mycroft wouldn't be okay, and Anthea didn't want to see that.
Anthea wished to have someone to talk to about this other than Mycroft. She'd love to tell Jamie, to be able to tell the blonde her concerns about the over working genius and what Sherlock disappearing could possibly mean, so close to the end of his mission too. But no one was allowed to know that Sherlock Holmes was still alive, particularly those closest to them, so she couldn't. The best she could tell Jamie was that there was a lot of stuff going on at work, and that it was stressing them out. Pretty soon, James, Carol, and their men were placed on the assignment and that certainly helped Anthea out. James would be James, working hard with Mycroft, and assuring Anthea that he'd find him. Carol, Anthea could actually talk to. Realistic, fierce and harden Carol who though like a soldier, but was a mother at heart and knew how to sympathise and empathise. She listen, she consoled, and then she explained her next theory. It's what made Carol so valuable. To Anthea, at least.
Anthea returned to the government office after a couple of hours of chasing up agents, calling people from the Diogenes office number, and cornering the right people in the wrong alleyways. It was exhausting, but it was a lot more fun than days of paperwork and meeting. She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the coat rack, noting the absence of Mycroft's umbrella or coat, meaning her boss was out. He'd be back soon, he had a private meeting with his head of security soon.
As Anthea approached her desk she found a shoebox on top of her files, with an envelope on top. Anthea put her handbag and briefcase down by the side of her desk, eyeing the box carefully, and sat down in her seat. She looked from side to side, taking in the box with excruciating details. The dent in the corner suggesting it wasn't new – being repurposed then. She picked up the enveloped. In very feminine cursive writing, Anthea was written on the envelope. Anthea licked her lips, taking a moment to consider this. Should she put gloves on? In all honesty, this was probably from someone she knew well, but one learns to be careful when they work for or with a Holmes. Deciding it was okay, Anthea slid her finger into the envelope, breaking the seal. She pulled out a small piece of note paper. It was in the same cursive lettering, but this time it addressed her as Alice. Anthea on the outside, Alice on the inside, very appropriate and very clever. Now who did she know that clever?
Who was she kidding? At this stage of the game she knew at least five geniuses – living or dead, some savants, well trained people, well educated people, and very street smart people. She knew a lot of clever people.
Alice,
I was decluttering the house last weekend, throwing out a lot of useless garbage. Unfortunately Siger is a bit like Sherlock and doesn't throw much out. I had a few knickknacks I was going to give to our nieces and nephews since neither of the boys would appreciate them. Their lack of sentimentality means the ones that aren't worth much don't seem important to them. I'd say this makes them more valuable, but they see that as my fault, don't they?
Myc had a quick look in the box and informed me that you might like this one very much, so I let him take it to give to you. You must forgive the damage, dear. The boys broke it when they were young but I never had the heart to toss it away.
With love,
Violet Holmes xxx.
Anthea was torn between a smirk and a look of bewilderment as she stared down at the letter. Really, the letter was pure Violet and it made her want to smile from ear to ear, but she was entirely curious at whatever they could have decided to bequeath to her based on Mycroft's suggestions. Anthea softly folded the letter against its already existing crease line and slipped it into the drawer of her desk for safe keeping. Now for the shoebox… Anthea lifted the lid of the box, sliding it under the bottom of the box. As she peered into the box she just managed to stop herself gasping, instead placing her left hand tight against her mouth. After taking a moment in a small state of shock – only minor, the type she's trained to get past quickly – Anthea gently used both hands to scoop out the item within the box.
It was a beautiful little china doll. Gold ringlets cascaded down from the dolls head, stopping halfway between its shoulder's and its waist. On it had the most detailed and beautiful little apricot dress, with a miniature white apron tied from the waste. It was a darling little thing. Not quite the beauty her own mother had, but it was so sweet. When her mother's had been Scarlett O'Hara like in its appearance, this one was more, dare she say it, Alice in Wonderland reminiscent. As she thumbed over the face very carefully, feeling the details, Anthea could make out a thin line of a crack which much have been superglued together after the accident with Sherlock and Mycroft. Furthermore, one of the little feet with the painted on white socks had been a much shabbier glue job in an attempt, probably by the boys – Mycroft, to fix it. Some would argue this made the doll invaluable, to Anthea this made it even more valuable.
She had to blink to hold her a burst of emotions, as she held the little china doll in her hands. She was the shadowy assistant, she dared not show any emotion that was not conducive to this image. This is what she missed – not the material things themselves, but the warmth and the memories associated with things pasted down from the family. She had some of her mother's jewellery – her Aunt procuring that for her, and she had a book her grandfather gave her when she was ten, but she didn't have any of those things that reminded you of home, that had heart and memories attached to them that could be passed down. But why would Violet and Mycroft do this? Why would they give a beautiful item to some girl who works for someone in the family? Anthea understood that the boys wouldn't really appreciate keeping this, but why not give it to one of Mycroft's cousins who'd appreciate it? What had she done, other than her job as his assistant and as his… whatever she was, to earn this? This isn't something you just give to a sort of girlfriend. It doesn't work like that. What was Violet thinking? What was Mycroft thinking? Who was she to them in all honesty?
Anthea's eyes shot up as soon as she heard the door handle twisting. She'd freed one of her hands from under the doll in time to wipe her eyes of any possible tear that might have escaped and sniff before it had been pushed completely open. Mycroft emerged with one of his colleagues, talking about one law or another, and how to bypass it to do something. As Mycroft offered to take his colleague's coat, the colleague smiled at Anthea, and she realised she must look a little odd, holding a doll in her hands. Mycroft looked over and sneered.
"Oh Miss James," He sighed, as he took the man's coat and hung it up with his own. "Is that yet another gift from your current suitor?" He clicked his tongue and shook his head at his colleague. Anthea tilted her head, face cracking into knowing smile. "Really now, you must tell him to stop sending you items to the office. It's highly inappropriate." Anthea had to sniff again before she could talk, placing the doll carefully down in the box.
"Sorry, sir." She hummed. "I don't know what he was thinking." Because in all honestly, she didn't.
"There's nothing wrong with it, Holmes." The other man chortled as he and Mycroft walked past Anthea and into Mycroft's office. "I send flowers to my wife's office all the time."
As the door clicked shut, Anthea pulled up Mycroft's calendar on her computer. She scanned quickly to see when he'd next be free for a decent amount of time. This man wasn't scheduled in, so he'd have to leave as soon as the head of security got here. After that they had half an hour to themselves. She'd ambush him then, try to get an explanation for the ridiculously thoughtful and utterly unacceptable gift. Find out how those geniuses thought this was a logical idea.
After the head of security left, Anthea waited exactly sixty seconds. She watched the clock seconds tick away on her computer until a whole minute had passed, allowing for an appearance of ease when she entered Mycroft office. As per normal, she knocked, waited for a response, and entered. Mycroft was standing at the filing cabinet, putting something away by the looks of it. He glanced over at Anthea and half smiled as he closed the cabinet.
"Hello, my dear." He hummed as he came to lean on the front of his desk. "How can I help you?"
"Do you have a moment for a not work related talk, sir?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at him. Mycroft 'ahh'ed with a raise his head.
"Very well." He nodded. Anthea scratched her neck, much in the way James did when he was nervous.
"About the doll." She breathed out heavily, flopping her arm back to her side. "Why did you give that to me?" Something flickered in those steel eyes of his, as Mycroft's head faintly turned to the side and he looked Anthea over.
"Did you not like it?" He asked, sounding actually like he might be concerned. Anthea smiled and shook her head, curls dancing.
"No, I love it. It's stunning." She assured him, watching that look in his eyes dissipate. "But Mycroft, I thought we weren't dating dating." She watched as Mycroft pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest. He nodded lightly.
"What is your point?" The government official asked. Anthea took a step forward and gestured behind her, passed the door to where her desk would be.
"Do you realise what kind of calibre gift that is, Mycroft?" His eyes narrowed.
"No?" It sounded like a question. God, this could be like dealing with an alien sometimes. Anthea widened her eyes and took a breath.
"Myc," She sniffed a laugh. "That is an incredible gift. That's a family thing." She paused, he nodded in acknowledgement so she might continue. "Mycroft, that's a steady girlfriend gift. Maybe even a partner's gift, not a… whatever gift." She glanced behind her at the door, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Or at the very least a birthday or Christmas present." She turned back to the man, arms still crossed against his chest. "Not a 'just because' gift like flowers, or bookends." The genius looked down at his shoes, studying them for a least ten seconds. When he looked back up he shrugged her off.
"If that's how you feel, Anthea, I'd gladly take the doll back until such an occasion." Anthea held up her hand in a stop gesture, a lopsided smile formed on her face.
"Oh, no you don't." Her smile grew to show teeth. "You've given it to me now, you can't take it back." She saw the beginnings of a smile on Mycroft's lips as he quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Then I really don't understand what the issue is." He unfolded his hands, placing them on the edge of his desk to either side. "Is it not part of our understanding to make each other happy?"
"Yes, of course." Anthea nodded.
"Does the doll not make you happy?"
"Yes, it does."
"Do you think either Mummy or myself have an issue with you having it?" Anthea hesitated.
"Well, no." One side of her lip pulling up as she tried to play it off. Mycroft pushed his lips together and shrugged again for dramatic effect.
"Then what is the issue?" Anthea rolled her eyes.
"Fine, there isn't one." She huffed. He won this round.
"Then take your sentiment, your gift that cost me nothing, and get back to work." Anthea stood up straighter, turning her head to look at Mycroft through the corner of her eye with narrowed eyes, but still smiling.
"Yes, sir." She mocked him. "But you know, I can't really let you get away with such a big mistake without an equally large consequence." She walked closed to him, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers. Steel eyes ran fast over her face.
"Oh?" He asked, curious but weary. Anthea came to stop right in front of Mycroft, smirking up at him.
"I'm sorry about this, sir." She added just to see the look he gave her before she stood on her toes and planted a warm kiss on Mycroft's cheek, bellow the cheekbone and just above the side of his lip. "Really though," Anthea lowered herself back onto her feet. "I hadn't said thank you yet."
She didn't receive a response, Mycroft just continued to search her face, blinking, eyes full of confusion. Really, had he not seen that he couldn't do something that is considered dating worthy and not get an equal response? Seems he had a lot to learn.
Mycroft was still learning on his desk, frozen still, as Anthea closed his office door on her way to her own desk.
She kept the doll in her bedroom at Mycroft's estate. The golden hair, the white apron, and the apricot dress just seemed to fit so well in that cream and white room with the sunflower poster. It was also still in Holmes possession while technically being in her room that way. It was also nice to have it sitting on the dressing table. Every time she saw it she thought of Violet, and she thought about the time she stunned Mycroft Holmes into silence. Most of all, she thought of her own mum and the Scarlett doll. Funny how sentiment works.
Author's Note: So? What did we think? Let me know! So when the understanding had just been established, I was talking to Lauren and I asked her what a REALLY good gift from Myc would be. She goes "Well, your Anthea's an orphan, right? How about something of her mums?" and then we chose what together – and then I mucked around with the idea a bit more until we came to this. I just thought I should give her A LITTLE bit of credit :P. Time to thank the guest reviewers. Thanks to; Corrine, Wink, Tadaa, Guest, Cumberkale, MinaCarlyle, and Wheezzy88. Thanks to all you lovely readers, I really do appreciate every single one of you for reading this silly little fic.