Author's Note: Happy 'One year' of AFTFE! Thanks so much guys, it's been awesome so far! First of all, I am so happy last chapter went down as amazingly well as it did. I'm really happy about that. Secondly, and most importantly, I ALMOST didn't update today. After having some bad problems with an anonymous on Tumblr talking badly about me, I wasn't sure I was up for updating I felt so down. I decided, however, after receiving some lovely messages and private messages. The people who don't even like this fic, since it's not to their taste, that went out of their way to say that I shouldn't let people get me down – they were the ones who made my heart feel better. It shows great kindness and I can't express how much that makes me respect them. Those of you who have supported me continuously and read this avidly are the ones who managed to make me want to write for you. Because without all of you guys I wouldn't have kept this going. I love this fic, I love Sherlock, I love being part of the fandom, and I love all of you guys who put up with me! Here is my One Year Anniversary Chapter! Please read, review, and please 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 'Ali' Became A Habit

Meetings. Days full of nothing but meetings were never Anthea's favourite, and despite Mycroft's laziness, she knew he'd rather be doing paperwork and organising something than sitting in a boardroom listening to stuffy old men and woman blab constantly all day. It was the type of day where you just wished that something, anything would happen to break up the monotony of it all.

During the second meeting of the day, a rather large man with an even larger chortle kept making quips that only he and those from his department found funny. He'd then let out that chortle of his, making Anthe and Mycroft sneer. Anthea had carefully opened her phone and sent Mycroft a message.

I'm funnier than him, right? – A.

She'd heard the buzzing from his jacket, and saw Mycroft perk up slightly. He pulled out his phone and discretely checked the message. She knew he'd been amused by the slight raise of his eyebrow. The man placed his phone down on the counter. In the guise of rubbing his nose, Mycroft waved his hand in a so-so gestured in Anthea's direction. She'd lightly kicked his foot. That had lightened up that meeting. She'd even had a small go at him over it at lunch, which lead to them making fun of everyone they'd seen that morning.

But then they had another meeting.

And another.

And another.

And the monotony and boredom came back in full force.

Such were the days when they had nothing but meetings.

"If I have to hear someone say 'A suggested change to policy' one more time today, I might just shoot myself." Anthea mumbled to Mycroft as she picked up her purse and briefcase. The side of Mycroft's mouth pulled into what could be described as a half-smile, while the rest of his face chose to look exhausted by both the day and his assistant.

"Is that your answer to boredom, Miss James?" He hummed in that professional bored tone of his. "How odd." Anthea placed her hand on her hip and tilted her head at her boss.

"Odd, is it?" Anthe questioned. "And how are you getting through it, sir?" She asked, her eyes full of life and humour. Mycroft shrugged, closing his own briefcase, coming to Anthea's side, ready to walk out of this boardroom and towards another. There would be two more after that.

"Oh, I've been thinking about the best ways to kill all of them, not myself. I think you'll find it's far more satisfying." He'd said it so bluntly, so nonchalantly, as if it weren't horrible at all. Anthea could help but bark a laugh out loud at that one, earning the looks of a few men in front of them on the way to the door. If they were in private, she'd stroke him on the arm for making her laugh like that.

"You are so like your brother." She sighed, shaking her head, wry smile on her face. He pulled an offended face that she chose to ignore and keep going. He knew he and his brother were similar, so did Sherlock. They just liked to pretend they were vastly different. "The world is lucky you two play for the good guys."

"For the most part." They exchange a look, eyes glittering, hidden smirks.

That's when she saw it. A man, dishevelled and unshaven. He looked to be a right emotional wreck and like he hadn't slept in days, maybe weeks. Anthea felt like she might know this man. That under that mess of an appearance, this might be someone she'd seen from time to time in passing. Clean shaven, well presented, and unassuming. But now… Out of his brown, beer stained jacket he pulled out a gun. With a shaky hand, he tried to lift it up and point it at Mycroft.

Anthea felt her heart begin beating hard and fast. She was panicking and she shouldn't. All her training in this sort of situations taught her to stay calm, keep breathing, and think through. But she couldn't breathe, it got stuck in her throat, and she couldn't calm down because she couldn't think. All she could think was Mycroft. Every other time she'd been in this situation, it was with Mycroft her boss, or Mycroft her friend. They'd hadn't been sort of seeing each other any time before, they hadn't begun dating before, and he hadn't proved how hard he was trying to please her before. All she could see and think about was that this dirty man had a deadly weapon pointed to a man who had stolen so much of her heart.

Without so much as a peep, or a noise, Anthea jumped in front of him, facing the man. Mycroft in his infinite wisdom, steel eyes piercing into her skull, anger in the depths of his face, was silently questioning her. In a millisecond that felt like minutes to her, Anthea realised her mistake. Get down to the ground! She should have shoved him out of the way like she'd done before – not put herself in danger. Her brain kicking back in action, but the panic not leaving from her chest and throat, Anthea reacted once more on instinct. She grabbed Mycroft by the shoulders and dragged both of them onto the ground.

She heard the gunshot just a moment before felt her knees crash on the ground hard. Anthea's eyes began searching Mycroft's body for any sign of injury. She couldn't see anything – not a scratch. Her hands, still on his shoulders, moved down to his arms. She was searching, trying to make sure he was okay.

And then she saw the way he was looking at her. She saw concern and worry in the lines of his face and it confused her. It wasn't pain, and it wasn't anger for her misstep. It was concern. Concern in his brown, and in his eyes now slightly covered from view with dishevelled brown hair. He never worried. Unless.

"Ow! What the hell!?" Anthea found her voice – loud and agonising at that – as a searing and seething pain burst from her thigh and began traveling up and down her leg. It felt hot and burning like someone had light it on fire with a blowtorch. Feeling turned around to peer over her side.

"Anthea." Mycroft's voice sounded so distant she barely could even register it. She certainly didn't feel his hands on her shoulders. Anthea could see a dark red liquid staining one side of her tan tights. Curiously she touched it, hissing at the intensity of the burn increasing. She didn't realise the commotion going on around them, or the government figures who actually liked her or Mycroft gathering in a small circle around then, one coming to stand right behind Mycroft. She wasn't aware of Mycroft trying to get her attention. Anthea brought her hand to her line of sight. It was as red as she should expect, coming out of a point of pain in the body. She brought it up to her nose and the smell of blood and iron hit her senses.

Everything went black.

It was a bright and sunshiny day. Sure, there were clouds in the sky, there hardly ever wasn't, but birds were chirping, and the little white butterflies had emerged. It had been raining straight for two weeks and Alice was so excited to go to the park.

She'd been bouncing all the way there, holding her Mummy's hand as they crossed the road in their matching white dresses and sandals. Her mummy was holding a book and a picnic blanket. As soon as she got to the park she unravelled it, gave it a mighty shake out and placed it on the ground. Funny is, it didn't smell like a blanket from home. Their picnic blanket smelled of Daddy's aftershave and like Mummy's cat. This one smelt of old dog, of books, and maybe vanilla.

Alice's Mummy slid gracefully onto the blanket, her feet folded at the ankle. She smiled up at her daughter with a warm smile, her brown hair with golden highlights blowing all in her face as she gently patted the spot next to her on the blanket. But Alice didn't want to sit down right now, she'd been cooped up inside for ages and she just wanted to chase the butterflies. She begged her mummy, please let her chase the butterflies. They were so pretty and so amazing. Mummy, laughing at her daughter's energy, nodded and agreed. Her face looked so gentle and so serene. Mummy always looked so full of life and love when she was outside.

"Okay, beautiful. Go chase the butterflies, but don't go out of sight. I don't want to lose you."

And so she did. She ran, and chased, and danced in the beautiful garden of the park. It was a beautiful day with just her, Mummy, and the butterflies.

"Ali." She heard her mother call behind her in her lyrical voice. "Ali, baby, come back now." Little Alice whirled around to see her mother on the unfamiliar blanket. "It's time to keep reading now, Ali." Alice crinkled her nose. She stomped her little foot and shook her head, brown curls fluttering like the wings on the butterflies.

"I want to keep playing!" The little girl whined. Her mother looked at her like the poor little girl she was – eyes full of sympathy for the child who just wanted to keep playing. But the woman shook her head again, sunlight gleaming on her hair and her dress.

"But Ali, dear, don't you want to see how it ends?" The book about the girl with the same name as her.

"We finished it last week, Mama." The little girl argued, watching as a bird landed in a tree to her left – captivated. They flew higher than the butterflies.

"We finished the first one, sweetie. This is the second one. Don't you want to see where the story goes?" The little girl stopped, looking down from the bird to look at the beautiful green grass. Well, yeah. She did a little bit. It could be fun. Maybe…

"Ali. Come on." Alice turned to face her mother.

"Ali, my dear. Come back."

"Ali…"

"Ali, I need you to wake up now, this is important." Anthea woke up lying in recovery position. Her leg felt heavy as stone and still burning but she knew there was currently no weight on the source of the pain. It still burnt so badly. Why did it burn?

Her eyes opened and cleared of a dense black fog. Right next to her, leaning over so he was almost at eyesight, Mycroft Holmes was above her. He had been tapping her gently on the face, she could tell that now. His other hand was firmly planted on his knee with some force to keep it completely still. There weren't people around them now, they'd all been moved metres back. She could see policemen. She could see a couple of them in particular talking to a blonde man in a suit too nice for him that the cop seemed to be a little afraid of, and a greying man who got way more respect than what his driver's uniform suggested he should. Walter and James. Walter and James were here and had moved everyone… Then? What had happened? She tried to sit back up, only to be gently ushered back down into recovery position.

"No, dear." Mycroft whispered. He must have been whispering the whole time. "I need you to lie still, okay Ali?" His hand stayed on her arm. Anthea blinked up at him. The worry in his face… The gunman! Anthea tried to sit up again, and once again felt herself pushed down.

"We need to get you safe!" She hissed in whisper full of fear and confusion. Mycroft's mouth pulled into a very straight line, Anthea was afraid his face might break. He looked around at those within earshot.

"Sweetheart," He spoke even lower. "I am safe. It's been dealt with. What we need to do is keep you awake and still until the paramedics get to you. Can you do that?"

"But, but." Anthea tried to struggle against the hand on her arm but found herself unable to put up enough fight. As the panic rose, Anthea's vision began to get hazy and dark all over again. She should stop… but the gunman… "He tried to hurt you. I can't let him hurt you. I can't lose anyone." Anthea found it too hard to try and fight. She let herself one final time to be guided back into recovery positon.

"Lose me?" Mycroft scoffed as Anthea's breathing began to calm down. "If Sherlock hasn't managed to lose me yet, then you've got no chance."

Anthea nodded quietly. She couldn't answer, she just found the words comforting.

The bullet had exited her leg, thank goodness, which explained the profuse bleeding. A vein or two had to be halted and/or mended. Anthea remembered the doctor's talking to her before putting her under but she couldn't really recall what they were saying. She heard "No permanent damage" and "You'll be fine" and completely relaxed.

After she was cleared for release and told she could go home and take it easy, the doctor in the room was immediate replaced with Mycroft. He'd changed, she could tell. There wasn't the blood on his shirtsleeves that had been there in the ride over to the hospital, and his hair was neatly styled back from his forehead once again. He'd gone home, gotten changed, and gotten comfortable clothes for her. That would explain how she was in loose tracksuit pants and a pyjama shirt. How nice. But? Weren't these from her flat and not at his? She could have sword these blue trousers were at hers… Maybe she was wrong. It didn't matter anyway.

She smiled as he came to stand, just past the door, leaning on his umbrella and looking as relaxed as ever. Mycroft Holmes, the untouchable, not a hair out of place, looking all menacing leaning on his stupid umbrella. The world felt right.

"You're fine." Anthea breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like she couldn't trust her malfunctioning brain at the time of the shoot. Mycroft widened his eyes and nodded.

"I am." He mocked her. "You, however, are rash, stupid, lead far too much by your emotions, and just to reiterate my point, outrageously stupid." Anthea rubbed her eyes with her hands, smiling sheepishly and nodding. She knew. She knew she had acted stupidly. But if Mycroft had gotten hurt… Where would she be? Who would be standing in front of her looking all suave and strange?

"Did they get him?" Anthea asked, slowly lowering her hands from her face, blinking to clear her vision. Mycroft was scanning every part of her, making all sorts of deductions most likely. He pursed his lips and nodded.

"I won't bored your drug addled mind with the details now, but we did. Straight away. He's a disgruntled ex-employee. Important enough to know who I am, not important enough to realise the ramifications of his actions for the entire nation should he have succeeded in killing me." In this kind of speech Anthea expected Mycroft to check his phone or his pocket watch in order to busy himself. He keep those steel orbs firmly on her. That made her think of being shot again. It made her think of him kneeling besides her. It made her smile dreamily like an idiot. Stupid painkillers. Mycroft noted her expression. First his facial expression changed to one of confusion, then he scanned her face very carefully. Then he raised his eyebrows and nodded, begging her to explain the look.

"You called me Ali." Anthea hummed, weakly but happily. Mycroft pouted his lips as he looked down at the floor, swivelling his umbrella. More now than ever she wondered if he knew how much of an emotional clutch that umbrella was. The clarity of a hazy mind.

"That is your preferred name, is it not?" He asked as he looked back up, answering with a question, avoiding the point.

"Yeah, but…" Anthea's smile grew larger. "You usually call me Alice if it's a real name. You called me Ali." She turned to look at the white walls to clear her thoughts. "Like heaps of times." She mumbled and nodded to herself. Yes, she'd hear it. She'd heard Ali and it had gotten her attention. Like the way she'd use Myc to get his… "It's what woke me up." Mycroft cleared his throat.

"I suppose I did."

"You also called me sweetheart again." She turned back to him to see a vague panic in his eyes before it was glossed over with one of his neutral masks. He swapped hands gripping the handle of his umbrella. The umbrella. Anthea stopped herself from giggling.

"When one is concerned, one tends to use terms of endearment." Anthea wanted to reach out and stroke his face. She adored when he tried not to say nice things. It made him so… precious? No. Mycroft-like? Yes.

"I liked it." She breathed through a threatening yawn. "I like it when you call me Ali, too." She rubbed her eyes. "I don't mind you saying Alice, but I love Ali on your voice." She was rambling, she could tell. She couldn't stop. She should stop, but she couldn't, not really. Mycroft stepped forward.

"Are you alright, my dear?" He asked, just coming short of touching distance. He should close the distance, but he wouldn't. Not right now "Would you like me to take you to your home?" Anthea rubbed her eyes again, nodding slowly as she did so.

"Only, if you stay." It had sounded rawer than Anthea would have normally liked.

"Of course." There wasn't even a pause. Anthea moved up to rub her brow.

"Maybe we can read together?" This time there was a pause.

"Out loud? Like children?" He asked. "That's quite demeaning, isn't it?" Anthea managed a cheeky smile in her tiredness. She nodded as she blindly reached out for his support to get off the bed. His arm hooked under her own in a flash.

"And embarrassing." She mumbled. He placed his free hand on the small of her back and led to the wheelchair on a few steps away. Anthea let him guide her, it made it easier to move, and it stopped the dull burning from heating up again.

"Fine." He sighed in defeat. "Wuthering Heights, I suppose." Such presumptions. Though he'd usually be right, that was her comfort book. It got her through so much. But today, today she felt like something else.

"No." Anthea winced as she lowered herself into a comfortable sitting position. "I was thinking Through the Looking Glass." As she finished speaking she closed her eyes in the chair. She felt the chair gently move before it reached a brisk pace. Anthea felt the air pass her face. She heard Mycroft's low chuckle from above her.

"Come now, do you really feel you're up for the teasing that this will lead to?" He asked. Anthea groaned instead of laughing, having begun to fall back asleep.

"I want to see where the story goes…" She felt the halt of movement, and could feel Mycroft's intense gaze falling onto her.

"I don't quite understand the logic your brain thinks its following, dear." Mycroft answered in a soft calming tone. "But if that is what you wish, then that is what we shall do."

Author's Note: There! How was it? I might have gotten a little too symbolic up here on us, but it was fun :P. I've also had people asking about Anthea's parents so I thought it would be fun to add a little something. I really hope you enjoyed it. Guest reviewer thanking time! Thanks to; HPMARIE, Corrine, Wink, Sophie, Tadaa, Guest, Wheezzy8, Louise Pond, Bre, ovejalucifer (:P), and EggsBenedict. But really, thank you to every single reader and reviewer. I love all of you so very much. Thanks for making this year awesome for me. Thanks a lot 3. Here's to more fun!

I might take an extra day off before next chapter. I might not, but between work, being sick, and Tumblr shenanigans I will most likely just need a day to recuperate. I'll try to update in time, but please consider this my warning that the chapter may come on Sunday instead of Saturday. Thanks for understanding.