Author's Note: Hello all! Thank you for the lovely feedback last chapter. I appreciate every word of it. It's the end of study week and the beginning of exam week so my next chapter will be delayed but more of that in the end not. Now! This chapter! I've had this planned for a long time. I told my friend Lauren months ago and she approved. I hope you enjoy it, I really do. I can't wait to hear from you. 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

James had managed to score himself a season's access to box seats at a local top-notch theatre. It was a funny story when James told it, it was rather serious when someone else told it. To sum it up, James and James alone – no back up, he claimed he didn't have time – managed to stop a bomb exploding under the main stage of the theatre. The owner of the theatre had shaken James' hand and thanked him for saving a piece of culture. James kept to himself that he was thinking way more about the lives rather than any culture. He then offered James the season access in gratitude. James was going to turn it down before he remembered that his wife and her best friend loved the theatre. Or perhaps James' exact words put it better.

"I remembered that you two pranced around on stage together in high school. Thought it would be nice for you to go watch other people prance around together." Jamie looked very torn between slapping her husband and laughing at him.

So Anthea and Jamie flicked through the pamphlet of shows James brought home. They made a note off all the plays and performances they wanted to see together and that James might want to come with Jamie too.

"I'll see Macbeth if that's on, because that's apparently bloody and that's cool." James had grinned while he opened a beer. "I'll see Hamlet because apparently people die. And I'll go see something weird with Anthea because her and I love some weird shit." Anthea had rolled her eyes as she laughed. It was true though, James was a great person to go to for a list of weird movies.

And then Anthea had seen it in the music section. The one and only opera she could hum parts from, probably the only one she had any knowledge of. L'Ofreo. The music Mycroft sometimes listened to. That music that seemed to have so much depth to it.

"L'Ofreo!" Anthea inhaled sharply. "Wow." Jamie turned to her, her face contorting.

"Ew." The blonde looked like she'd tasted a lemon. "Since when do you like opera?" Anthea sniffed a laugh as she lightly shoved Jamie.

"I don't." She pushed the curls out of her face. "But Mycroft likes the music from it." Jamie's face softened. She looked back down at the page and read the details. The blonde made a thoughtful humming noise.

"Yeah, but he hates the theatre, doesn't he?" She sounded honestly invested. Such quick mood changes. Anthea pushed out her bottom lip and shrugged.

"Yeah…" She lightly shook her head. "But this is something he likes. I think he'd appreciate it."

"Put it on the list." James nodded to Jamie. He had his arms crossed against his chest as he held his beer. "He might not like it but he will appreciate the effort." A pause. "You know, despite the-"

"Sentimentality." Jamie cut her husband off as she began adding the title to the list. "Well the douche can be pretty sentimental himself. He should just get off his high horse."

Bless the blonde couple, they thought they were helping.

Anthea walked into Mycroft's office. He greeted her warmly but he did not look up from the file he was reading. As she stepped into the room Anthea considered clearing her throat to get the genius' attention. She was in a far more playful mood than that.

Anthea approached the desk. She pulled out the tickets James had given her and dropped them right in the middle of Mycroft's file. The man flinched slightly at the unexpected intrusion. She watched as he refocused on the new object, recognition flashing in those steely orbs. As he looked up at his assistant Anthea broke into a large grin.

"Anthea-"

"I know you don't dealing with people and goldfish." Anthea sat on the edge of Mycroft's desk. "And I know you hate musicals and the like, but I thought since you like the music from this, that this might be different." Mycroft pursed his lips and Anthea knew it was a way to stop himself from smiling as he watched her. "And even if we don't have fun, James got the tickets for free so it's not like it's a waste of money." She crinkled her nose.

Mycroft sniffed a single laugh. Silence followed. He held his fingers together and placed them against his lips as he looked down at the tickets.

Anthea could hear every noise in the room. She heard Mycroft's chair creak as he leaned forward. She heard him inhale as he opened his mouth.

"In all honesty, my dear, I had considered going on my own." Anthea was taken aback, not that he had already known about the show but that he'd wanted to go alone. She cocked her head to the side.

"Why?" Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at her. Anthea shook her head. "I'm not going to judge opera before I've even been to one." She leaned closer in on his desk. "And you go to things for me all the time. I wanted to do something nice for you." Blue eyes glittered as Mycroft finally allowed a hint of that smile to cross his lips.

"This is very generous of you dear, thank you." Anthea's heart felt like it was going to burst.

"You never have to thank me for doing something nice for someone I care about, Mycroft." She spoke softly and with all the kindness she could muster. "You do have to thank me when it's work related, though." His chuckle sent tingles down her spine.

Anthea had never been to an opera before. In her mind it was something only the highest of class did. It was something that they did even if they didn't like it and if you did like it but weren't of a high enough class, well, too bad. But she'd been to enough so-called high class events by now to have a lot of those delusions shattered. Mycroft who grew up with normal parents in a normal home was the most sophisticated person in any of those rooms.

But opera.

That still had some of these images attached to it. She pictured people dressed in black tie, talking with the fanciest accents, and pretending to understand the entire thing even if they had no clue what was going on. Talking about context, foreshadowing, and hidden meaning in plot turns that had no other intentional meaning than the ones obviously presented to the audience.

To be honest, she was a little excited. Not for all the pretentiousness, but for a chance to dress up nicely and go to high production show with the man she loved knowing that he may actually enjoy this particular night out.

So with that in mind, Anthea had taken three dresses to Mycroft's to get ready before the show. He'd called her foolish but she didn't know which one she would want to wear on the night or which one would look the best on. Maybe she was feeling a classic black dress that night, or maybe a week of work would turn her off the idea of wearing more black. He was right, though she wouldn't admit it. She didn't need to bring three, she always knew which one she'd pick.

As soon as Anthea did the zip up on that deep red dress with the black lace she knew she couldn't take it off. She'd forgotten how good it looked on her. She forgot how it hugged her in all the right places and hung off her beautifully. She forgot how the colours matched her hair and skin, and how it brought out her eyes. She forgot how amazing it felt on. The dress was a work of art that didn't deserve to be couped up it her wardrobe, it deserved to be worn on a figure that did it justice. She and the dress did each other justice.

Much like the last time she wore it, Anthea kept her hair and makeup simple to not over do anything. She wore her favourite necklace, her sapphire droplet that Mycroft bought for her, and that Jamie wore to her wedding. Anthea looked herself in the mirror, her hands sliding from her waist down the sides of her thighs. This was perfect for such a special night.

Anthea stepped out of Mycroft's ensuite and into her bedroom. The man was looking in his mirror doing up his cufflinks. He took a sideways glance at her before looking back into the mirror. Only half a second passed before his eyes were back on Anthea. Those bright orbs were deep and focused as they looked her over.

Anthea smiled.

Mycroft frowned.

Mycroft cleared his throat. He nodded to her.

"That dress?" He asked. Anthea cocked her head to the side.

"Problem?" She asked. Mycroft turned away. He walked over to his bed at sat on the edge, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead.

"No, not a problem." He sounded strained, like it was a problem. "The opposite of a problem." He looked tired as he opened his eyes and looked her over more carefully. She knew this look, this was him trying to take in every detail to store away. This was important information that must not be forgotten mode. Anthea laughed lightly. "You look stunning. Ravishing. That…"

A pause.

Anthea raised her eyebrows.

Mycroft looked down at smiled.

"That dress might as well have been made for you."

"I know." She breathed with a small laugh at the end. "I really should wear it more often."

No answer.

"Mycroft?"

He had a hand held close to his lip. It almost looked like he wanted to bite the knuckle of his index finger as he looked her over once more. Steel eyes flickered up to her face, then her hair, and her neck, and back to her face.

"Are you sure you want to go to this?" He asked her. Anthea's brow furrowed. "I'm sure we could have a lovely evening here…"

"Of course I want to go. We're ready." Anthea scoffed. "And you love L'Ofreo." Mycroft looked down.

"I can listen to my recordings any time."

"Mycroft don't be stupid. I want to do this for you." The hand that had been near his mouth moved to massage his neck.

"Hmm."

The Opera was amazing. It was like being transported to another time or place. It was in Italian, and her Italian was never completely polished, but it was so deep and transfixing. She knew the plot, Mycroft had told her once before – the story of Orpheus descending into Hades to retrieve his dead beloved. She didn't need to know the plot, however, or know the language to feel the emotion in the music and follow along empathetically. It was the magic of seeing Phantom of the Opera for the first time all over again. Being captured into a beautiful story. Her eyes were transfixed to the stage.

Mycroft, however, did not seem quite as interested as Anthea expected him to be. The man shifted in his seat more than he did in the average boring meeting. He'd spend more time watching Anthea than he spent watching the stage. With his eyes so fixated on her face Anthea thought Mycroft might be watching her reaction. That theory was proven wrong when Mycroft would pull out his pocket watch, look at the time, click his tongue, and put it away again only to once again shift again.

"Are you okay?" Anthea asked him between acts.

"Hmm?" Mycroft looked up from his pocket watch again. He forced his mouth into a smile and nodded. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Anthea frowned as she leaned in closer to him.

"You just don't seem very interested in the stage. You spend more time looking at me…"

"I care for more for the music than for the actors." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "And why look at them when you're here." Anthea sniffed as her frowned softened. She didn't believe him.

"Then why do you keep looking at your watch."

"Oh. I forgot how long it was." Mycroft dismissed it.

"It's not that long."

"Really?" Mycroft mumbled as he turned to face the stage once more. "It feels like it's taking an eternity. How fitting."

As soon as the show had finished Mycroft had taken Anthea's hand in his own and began walking towards the exit of the box.

"Let's go." He said. The house lights had barely come up, and the audience – including Anthea – hadn't stopped applauding the performance.

"What?" Anthea asked sending a fleeting look at the stage. "Why? Don't you want to stop and have a drink first? Talk about it?"

"I have better alcohol at home." Mycroft squeezed Anthea's hand gently.

"What about food? Do you want to get something to eat?" Mycroft groaned and Anthea imagined he was trying hard not to roll his eyes.

"No, not really."

"You're not hungry?" Anthea asked, a little surprised. They hadn't eaten anything really since lunch. Mycroft inhaled sharply. His hand let go of hers but soon found a new place past the small of her back and on her hip. She jumped slightly at the intimate touch being done in person. Although he was just guiding her forward towards the exit.

"Mycroft-" He stopped walking and turned to face Anthea. She, pulling out of his touch, turned to face him also. His elegant hand reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear for her so gently.

"All I want to do is go home and spend some time with you." He traced her jaw with his thumb as he pulled his hand out of the way. It caused a wave of sensation across her body, setting her skin on fire. Anthea shook her head while she waited for her words to return. That very strange, very wonderful touch had sent them running and they needed to reconvene.

"If that's what you want." She lifted an elbow in a small shrug. "This is your night." Mycroft took another moment to search Anthea's eyes. His eyes travelled from her eyes, down her nose, and to her lips. He pursed his lips and nodded.

Going straight home it was, then.

In the town car Anthea knew something was up. Mycroft was too eager to have her sit next to him. Too eager to hold her hand and place both of their hands just above her knee. While she made the usual conversation with Walter, Mycroft kept his communication short. Well, shorter than usual. The last time Mycroft acted this down right absurd was… the last time she wore this dress, actually. And didn't he once say something about this dress? As a passing comment? As one of his little remarks that he didn't want a response to? What was it?

As they entered into the entrance hall of Mycroft's big empty hall, hearing Anthea's heels echo throughout the space, Mycroft closed the door behind them. Even closing the door seem slow, careful, and methodical. Anthea watched him over her shoulder, concern slowly creeping out to show on her features. It didn't help when he just stood there, hand on the doorknob, watching her. Anthea's nose twitched.

"Are you okay?" She asked carefully. Mycroft licked his lips and looked momentarily like he might laugh before his face rested in a soft expression. He nodded.

"I'm just thinking."

"All night?" Anthea asked. She swallowed her breath. "What about?"

"About you." He answered. "About how beautiful you are." Anthea's nose crinkled.

"You mean as aesthetically beautiful as a coffee table?" She joked. Mycroft's mouth pulled into a larger smile as he looked to his shoes and nodded.

"Yes, like that." He looked back up. "But not only like that, my love. You're wonderfully patient, and you've worked so hard not to be judgemental." Anthea watched as Mycroft spoke. "That only makes you far more beautiful than most of the people on this planet."

"Mycroft," Anthea pushed her hair out of her face. "You're acting-"

"Human?" He cut her off. "I know." That's not what she was going to say.

"Seriously, is something wrong?" She asked. Mycroft looked down to his feet again. Anthea tried desperately to watch his face for any sign of something being off. He looked back up and began to approach her. "Because if there's something wrong," He reached out and placed his hand against her cheek. "You know you can talk to me about i-"

Mycroft kissed her. He kissed her deep and passionately. He kissed her like the first time they kissed so that they both lost themselves within that kiss. She groaned and her hands found their way to his neck. She felt herself being pressed against something only to realise that she'd been trapped between Mycroft and the wall. It was beautiful, it was full of life and life, and it was far too good.

Anthea pulled away. She took a deep breath and turned her face away. She could feel Mycroft's warm breath on her cheek. She felt flush and out of breath and she hated herself for stopping.

"Mycroft, stop." She almost cried. Anthea placed both of her hands flat on Mycroft's chest. She turned back and looked at his tie, not ready to meet his eyes. "If we keep going I don't think I'd have the strength to stop."

"Who said anything about stopping?" Anthea looked up. Mycroft's eyes had that sparkled to them, that evil naughty child sparkle that meant he was up to no good. That teasing look, one of the few very real and very human looks of his. But that's not all. He looked absolutely taken with the sight in front of him. He looked… passionate. Anthea leaned against the wall and turned her head.

"Oh." She pouted her lips. Mycroft leaned in close to her ear.

"My dear, that dress looks so good on you," he whispered. "That I want to take it off you."

Anthea's brain froze. It completely froze. This did not compute. This did not work. The cockiness and suaveness in Mycroft's words did absolutely compute. He sounded like that all the time, especially during a power play or when he was putting someone in their place. But the words. The words… They couldn't be right.

What did she say to that?

"Okay, but don't rip it."

When her brain caught up against she realised she was being kissed again. Kissed with a ferocity she did not expect capable of them as a couple. Her hands were tight on his shoulders and his were on her waist, feeling the fabric against her skin. She pulled her hands down and undid his tie. And he let her.

Mycroft broke the kiss this time. He broke it and he took in Anthea's face. He studied her like a painting. Not the analytical way he usually did, but full of… emotion. Like someone who dreamt their entire life of going to the louvre and finally setting eyes upon the Mona Lisa. He looked beautiful himself, when he looked like this. It was a rare and gorgeous site. It made Anthea wish she could take a photo of his face like this so she could remember it forever.

He took her hand in his and guided her up the stairs.

They ended up his bedroom, with his beautiful walls and expensive sheets. Mycroft practically placed her on the edge of her side of the bed. She sat there, perched, waiting.

He began kissing her neck. She practically melted to the foreign touch as she moaned. Her hands began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, painstakingly undoing one at a time. She had to stop momentarily and gasp as she felt teeth gently nip at her neck. It was a little sharp, it was a little bit wonderful, but it was completely unexpected. Mycroft Holmes? Really? Then again, he was always a little masochistic…

Wait.

This was entirely real.

Anthea placed her hands against his chest again, feeling both fabric and skin as she pushed the usually cold and unfeeling genius away.

"Stop." She hissed, out of breath. Mycroft looked pained and a little annoyed as he tore himself away from Anthea's neck. The place where she dab her wrist after she sprayed her Chanel in the morning, just to spread it. Anthea looked deeply into his eyes.

"Are you sure?" She asked. Mycroft closed his eyes and took a breath. "You don't have to do this." Mycroft pursed his lips.

"I'm sure." He nodded. "I'm very sure." Anthea nodded back.

She continued on the buttons, this time planting her own little kiss against the skin of Mycroft's neck. How strange, how absurd. How wonderful. His hands moved from the back of her head to her shoulders. She finished on the shirt. His elegant hands moved to her back. She felt the zip of her dress being pulled down.

Anthea pulled back again, this time leaning back to pull out of his grasp.

"Because I don't want to rush you." She was talking to fast and she knew it. Mycroft's face looked like she'd just walked into his office and interrupted him during a private meeting, positively perturbed. "This is a huge thing for you, and I really don't want you to regret it." Mycroft ran a hand through his hair. He closed his hands into fists and opened them again.

"Anthea." He breathed.

"Yeah?" She leaned closer once more.

"Stop talking." She went to open her mouth. "Please," he hissed. "Stop talking." Anthea licked her lips and nodded again.

"Only if you want to." She nodded once more. Mycroft leaned in and kissed her. She wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed the space between his eye and his ear. "Because I love you." Mycroft stopped himself. He stroked her face again. He stroked her cheek and for the second time that night traced her jaw with his gentle touch.

"I know." He spoke so softly. "And I love you, too."

Anthea leaped forward. She took hold of each side of Mycroft's open shirt and pulled his figure closer to her and kissed him.

Author's Note: There we have it, what did you think? I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know! Now! I have exams on Thursday and Friday next chapter will be on Saturday night my time. Thanks to our guest reviewers: Singing ferret, Tadaa, enola, Guest, Hazel, smileyanne, Yulia, and ovejalucifer. Thanks to all my reviewers, you mean a lot to me. See you Saturday.

Next Mycroft POV Chapter POLL!: After exams I am on semester break and plan to do a POV chapter. Please go vote for what chapter you want to see here:

www . strawpoll . me/10392678

Just remove the space from all the obvious places. I'll probably stop the voting when the next chapter is posted. Thank you!