Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks so very much for the feedback last chapter. I'm glad you liked the puppy! As for this chapter…. Well, I've been waiting to do this for a long time! I've had it planned since before they got together. I'm very excited to get to some good old plot, though there will be multiple chapters between each show plot chapter, as usual. I have some good things planned – exciting things. So 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 Sherlock Was Shot

It felt like a nightmare. No, that was putting it too mildly. It was a nightmare. One that Anthea would never wake up from. She'd already had a few of those in her lifetime but this one was terrifying. It felt like her world came crashing down when she heard John say those words over the phone as she packed up after work.

"Sherlock's been shot." Time stopped. Everything stopped moving and for a brief moment Anthea felt like she was floating above her body watching some cheap movie where the twist ruined the whole thing. She dropped her briefcase and it fell with a heavy thud, bringing her back to her body in time to see a few manila files fall out. She cursed loudly as she shakily got to her knees and tried to scoop up the contents with her free hand. Her heart was thumping heavy and fast in her throat. Her stomach was gone.

"Are you sure?" Her voice was cracking and she couldn't see where all her files went.

"I'm pretty sure! I was there! I'm in the ambulance." John sound furious which meant that John was panicking and badly. Anthea stopped what she was doing to focus. She sat back on her knees and tried to scratch her nose with a shaky hand, almost getting her eye.

"It's not serious though, right? Shoulder or something?" Her throat was getting tighter. She heard a creak and saw the bottom of the door to the inner sanctum pull open. She looked up to see Mycroft emerging from the office looking around at Anthea and her mess with concern and curiosity. If it wasn't the thump it would have been her cursing that alerted him.

"Anthea." John choked on his words, going silent. "It's near the heart."

That's when the second crash happened. Staring up at Mycroft as she heard those words, Anthea's eyes filled with water and she made a gasping noise in the back of her throat. She placed her free hand on her knee and had to look down.

Sherlock was shot near the heart.

Sherlock could be dying right now.

She sobbed once more as her nails dug into her knee.

Please not Sherlock.

Please take anyone but Sherlock.

If we lose Sherlock we will lose Mycroft too.

Don't take them away yet. They haven't learnt to open up yet.

Take anyone but Sherlock.

"Anthea?" John was back at full volume and panicking again. Anthea sniffed and straightened her postured. She looked up and caught Mycroft's eye again and felt like falling to pieces immediately. She couldn't though, that wouldn't be her role here. She had to keep it together.

"Thanks." She tried to speak firmly but she squeaked. "We'll meet you there." She blinked her eyes. "It'll be okay."

…

"John. It'll be okay."

"Of course. It's Sherlock."

"Bye."

Beep.

Anthea looked down immediately. She couldn't stop herself. She looked down and began scooping up the files as fast as she could and shoving them into her briefcase.

"Whatever John had to say you don't need to take it out on my paperwork." Mycroft hummed in that beautiful, beautiful sarcastic tone. Anthea imagined how many times he said something to his brother in that tone and meant it as affectionately as he had just said that. Anthea stopped. She let go of the files and let go of the briefcase. She looked at the ground right in front of her knees and sniffed. She silently got to her feet. She licked her lips, tucked her hair behind her ears and took a careful breath.

"Something happened." She kept her voice as steady as possible. Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"I rather thought so." He answered. Anthea felt a lump in her throat and had to swallow it. The older of the geniuses frowned as he watched her. Arms folded across his chest in concern, he stepped close to her. "Anthea? What is it?" She had to not get emotional about this, she had to keep it together. For Mycroft she had to keep it together. She looked right into his steely eyes and said it.

"Sherlock has been shot in the chest. At Magnussen's office."

That's when the third crash happened but she only witnessed this one.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and then his face drained of any colour. He wasn't looking at anything in particular and he looked like he might faint. Anthea was about to step forward when he held his hand back and found the edge of her desk. He didn't seem to be breathing, he didn't seem to be doing much of anything, not even over thinking. The only sign of life was the clenched jaw and the normal blinking. Anthea stood there and waited. Waited for anything. She waited for orders or she waited for a reaction, just anything. He didn't even look at her when he spoke next.

"Where is he?" He sounded like she did and like John did all rolled into one. Shock, disbelief, panic, anger, and grief. He sounded like his walls had collapsed around him.

"They're on their way to the hospital." Steel finally met dark. They didn't even need to say anything. Almost in unison the government worker and his personal assistant began rushing to the door and down to where the town car would be waiting.

When Mycroft and Anthea arrived at the hospital, getting there as fast as they could, John and Mary were already in the waiting room. John had been in the ambulance but how Mary got here so quickly was strange considering how fast Mycroft and Anthea had gotten here. There was a chance John called his wife first but Anthea knew the unspoken agreement between John and Mycroft to always go to the other one for Sherlock and John would have absolutely called Anthea to get to Mycroft first.

John looked about as horrible as to be expected, and probably as bad as she and Mycroft looked. She hadn't seen the doctor looking so lost since the fall. The difference was this time she didn't know any better. This time she couldn't comfort anyone. Mary stood up.

"Mycroft." She spoke barely higher than a whisper, her face melancholy and reflective. "Anthea." Anthea stepped forward and hugged Mary. Or more like it, she let Mary hug her, Anthea was the one who probably looked like she needed it. "I'm so sorry." She whispered sympathetically into Anthea's ear. Anthea shook her head. That was what people said when loved ones died, she didn't need to hear that yet. It wasn't true. She pulled away and gave Mary a smile – the fakest smile she'd ever given anyone.

"What have they told you?" Mycroft barked an order at John. John closed his eyes, already so tired. As he rubbed his forehead Mycroft clutched so tightly to the handle of his umbrella.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Mycroft repeated. John leaned back in his chair, looking up at the roof.

"Yes, Mycroft. Nothing." He answered sharply. "They took him into the operating theatre and they haven't come out to say a single thing."

"Have you even tried to talk to them?"

"Of course I bloody have." John's brown eyes locked onto Mycroft's steel eyes and for a moment there was silence. Mycroft sniffed. He handed Anthea his umbrella.

"Perhaps if I go talk to them."

"Or," Mary interrupted. "You can both stop trying to throw your influence around, sit down, and let the doctors do their jobs." Mycroft stared incredulously at Mary, she met his gaze with authority. "It's going to be okay." Mycroft and Anthea shared a look before they both looked at Mary.

"What do you know?" He hummed dangerously. Mary again rose to the challenge.

"Enough to know that we don't need to write Sherlock off yet." Mycroft and Anthea shared another look. "Look, you two sit next to John and I'll go get you all some coffee before one of the three of you kill someone." She walked off.

The room might as well have been silent for all the three remaining people cared. No amount of hospital noises, beeping, and chatting could have been heard with how fast all their minds were going. John heaved a breath.

"Mycroft-"

"Don't say it John."

Silence once more.

Anthea shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"Sir, do you want to sit down?" She asked.

"No, I'm fine." He folded his arms across his chest.

"Mycroft…" She went to touch his arm and thought better of it. She held his umbrella out so he could take it back.

"I'm quite happy standing here, Miss James. I don't need to be coddled." He answered as he took his umbrella. Anthea rubbed her forehead just above her brows. She felt so tired already.

"Well, I'm going to sit next to John." She walked over and sat in the stupid plastic chair next to the doctor. "I would appreciate it if you came and sat next to me."

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

Thirty seconds.

Mycroft walked over and sat next to Anthea.

Behind the fear and exhaustion on John's face, Anthea could tell he was impressed by her handling of Mycroft. She wanted to smile in return. She sort of twitched one side of her mouth upwards.

Stable.

He was stable.

So many hours in that waiting room later. An eternity in the purgatory that was those plastic chairs and the white walls and they were blessed with the most wonderful words any of them had ever heard.

Sherlock Holmes was stable.

It was very touch and go, and he wasn't in fantastic shape, but he was alive.

John and Anthea leaned back in the chairs and just breathed, and Mycroft buried his face into his hands. They sat like this for a long time with Mary watching them with a relieved smile on her face. The relief that washed over Anthea was nothing compared to the exhaustion that came with it. Waiting for hours and hours on end to hear something, anything, and finally getting the good news made it feel like you'd been up for a week without any sleep. Then there was knowing that there was still a hard road ahead.

He wasn't out of the woods yet. He would need to be in the hospital for quite some time yet.

"Do you want to go in?" John asked Mycroft so politely and so gently. Mycroft faked a smile at the doctor.

"That's kind of you John, but no." He shook his head, practically leaning on his umbrella. "We all know I'm the last face he'd want to see when he wakes up whilst you are the first." John rolled his eyes at Anthea.

"Mycroft, you know that's not true."

"You're very kind John, but you're lying to me." The fingers around the umbrella handle tightened. John shrugged lazily.

"Go home then, get some rest. But come back tomorrow, okay? Or I'll tell him how worried you were."

"I'll be back. Thank you."

The sun was up by the time they got home and exhaustion was present in every bone in their bodies. Anthea took off her coat and lazily hung it on the banister of the stairs. Mycroft walked right through the entrance hall and through the doors. All Anthea wanted to do was go to bed but she knew she had to keep an eye on Mycroft, even just for a moment. When she followed him through the doors she was glad she did. He was in the kitchen digging for a glass, a bottle of scotch already on the counter.

"We should try and get some sleep." Anthea eyed the bottle but said nothing. "Or just have showers."

"I'm fine." Mycroft answered sharply. He was so not fine. He slammed the glass on the table, picked up the scotch, and filled the glass almost to the brim. Anthea watched with a tight mouth as he took a long sip before filling it up again. She rubbed at her neck feeling it aching.

"Your parents…" She began. The genius pulled a face and took another sip. "Do you want to call them personally or do you want me to do it?" Mycroft and his glass of scotch began walking out of the kitchen.

"I don't care." He answered. He so did care. Anthea clenched and unclenched her fists before following him. He walked over to the couch only to stop short at the coffee table. He was looking at the book Anthea had left on there. It was that copy of Phantom of the Opera he had given her years ago. He picked it up with his free had and passed it to her. "Why is this lying out?" He asked. Anthea shrugged and took it.

"I was reading it." She let some defensiveness slip out in her tiredness. Mycroft said nothing. He walked past the couch and sat down on the piano bench. Anthea placed the book down where it was and stayed where she was. "Mycroft? Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." He rolled his eyes. "I don't want to talk about anything right now." He looked at Anthea's grandmother's candelabra sitting on top of the piano like it was an eyesore. "I just want to be left alone for five minutes. Is that possible?" He stood up. Anthea widened her eyes and furrowed her brows. She wanted to say something to him for that but she had to be understanding. His brother had just almost died, and wasn't clear yet, and Mycroft had no idea how to handle that. She just needed to let him cope.

"Okay." She spoke quietly. "I'll go have a shower and lie down." She began practically tiptoeing to the door leading back to the entrance hall. "Try to come get some rest when you feel up to it." She really meant it. Mycroft scoffed, standing up.

"Thank you so much for permission to use my own bed." He seethed. Anthea stopped walking. She rubbed at her tired eyes and turned around to look at Mycroft, absolutely hoping she had imagined that.

"What?" She asked.

"That's what you're doing, isn't it?" He hissed before finishing off his glass. "Ordering me around my own house? Following me." She was too tired for this and too emotionally wrought. Why was he so emotionally shut off that he got fearful every time he felt something and had to lash out?

"Mycroft," Anthea placed her hands on both her temples. "I'm just trying to make sure you're okay. Today was an emotional day." He laughed and walked past her back to the kitchen. She knew he was going to pour himself another drink and she really wanted to pour that bottle down the sink.

"Emotional. Yes, indeed." He hummed as the amber liquid once again filled the glass. "That's your fault." That was it.

"WHAT!?" Anthea yelled.

"You come in here determined to make me feels things." He placed the bottle down. "For years, Anthea, years I was blissfully numb and you decide that's not good enough. You make me fall for you, you make me feel things. You try to force compassion onto me. If it weren't for you what happened to Sherlock would have only been a third as bad to me." Anthea closed her eyes and shook her head hard.

"You're acting like I brainwashed you." Anthea yelled. She walked up to the kitchen counter. "I hate to break it to you Mycroft but you've always loved your brother, and I didn't make you fall in love with you." She dug her fingers into the top of one of the stools. "You asked me to move in with you. No one made you." Mycroft smiled sardonically at her, walking out of the kitchen once more. This time he headed towards the doors.

"Yes and I very much regret that decision." He answered. Anthea followed him out of the room and to the stairs. He pointed to the banister. "Everywhere I turn there is something of yours. I'm never alone." Anthea balled her hands up and gritted her teeth.

"I am so mad at you right now Mycroft." She hissed through her tight jaw. "But I know you're going through a lot so I'm not going to yell at you."

"Don't coddle me." He scowled. "Do you know who I am? You don't need to protect my precious feelings. You want to say something?" He raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Then say it, my dear." She wanted to. She really wanted to lash back but she was too tired and she knew it wouldn't get her anywhere.

"You are impossible." She sighed. He smirked and chuckled and it made her feel sick. "I put up with so much from you." She looked up to the roof and shook her head. "I let it all slide because you're you and now you're even giving me a hard time for trying to help you get through this."

"Unlike you I don't need support." He answered flatly and an equally flat expression.

"So you didn't need me after the Lazarus mission?" Anthea raised her eyebrow. Mycroft pursed his lips and lazily shrugged.

"Just another time you happened to be there and mistook my confiding in you for needing you." He lied again.

"And when your dad went to hospital?"

"Mummy called you, not me."

"And when you had your car crash?"

"Walter would have come." She couldn't do it right now. She was just as tired as he was and she needed some energy refilled before she could do with Mycroft Holmes in his finest form. So Anthea rolled her eyes and waved him off.

"Yeah, okay Mycroft." She answer in a low sarcastic voice. "Whatever you say. Just go have your alone time."

"I can't!" He stopped to finish off that glass of scotch. "As long as you're around I will never have any alone time ever again. You have access to the club, you can go to my parent's house. I can't ever be alone with my thoughts."

"Well what do you want me to do, Mycroft?" Anthea asked, or rather yelled back, giving him a large shrug. "Do you want me to leave? Do you want me to move out?" Mycroft clenched his jaw and unclenched.

"Yes." He answered. Anthea blinked.

"What?" Her voice cracked. Mycroft couldn't meet her eyes. He was looking at her feet.

"I want you to leave." A pause. "Right now." Anthea stepped forward.

"Mycroft." He stepped backwards.

"I can't do this." He was hurting. She could see it in his eyes and his face; he was hurting badly. She got tears in her eyes as she looked at him. He was hurting more than he'd ever hurt after the fall. He was crumbling and he was pushing her out. She wanted to help him but maybe this was the way to help him.

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

Thirty seconds.

One minute.

Anthea nodded.

She started breathing again and continued nodding.

"Okay." Her voice break. "Okay." It was shaking as she fought to keep the tears back. Mycroft still couldn't look up at her. "I'll go pack a bag and I'll go spend a week at a friend's – probably Jamie's – and we'll talk about this after that."

Mycroft said nothing.

Anthea walked around him and up the stairs to pack some clothes. She heard his footstep going back in the direction of the kitchen.

She didn't even go find him to say goodbye when she left. He wanted to be alone and she couldn't stand looking at him like that. She got in the car and continued to hold it together until she got to Jamie's. Now wasn't the time to break down. Sherlock was injured and Mycroft was breaking from it – she needed to be strong until she was alone. She could cry when she finally got a moment to breath.

The drive to Jamie's was almost impossible. Anthea was finding it hard to stay awake with exhaustion threatening to pull her into darkness while her mind and heart raced trying to make any sense of what had happened in the last 24 hours. Any other day she'd have pulled over and called Walter, or even Mycroft, to come pick her up before she crashed the car but that wasn't an option right now. She just wanted to get away and get to that place where she could breathe and comprehend everything. So Anthea kept driving. She turned up the Radiohead C.D. she had on in her car and sung along just to stay awake and distracted. She knew she'd ruined the song No Surprises for herself forever the moment she had blinked and widened her eyes to stop the tears that threatened to fall.

She pulled up to Jamie's house and needed to give herself a moment. She placed both her hands on top of the steering wheel and with a large huff of exhaled breath she let her head hang loosely forward between her arms. She was making sure any walls that could be in place would be. None of them were the ones she'd learnt from work. These were the walls she'd constructed during her personal life. The walls from when her parents died that let her survive all the questions about hurt loved ones, and the barriers she constructed when Tim and her broke up to pretend like it didn't bother her as much as it did. Feeling a little safer Anthea lifted her head and shook it, sending her messy loose curls back behind her shoulders. She grabbed her bag, locked her car, and walked up to the front door.

When Jamie pulled open the door she looked worried and a bundle of nerves.

"Oh my God, Ali. James heard about Sherlock late last night." She breathed in sharply. Anthea felt her posture straighten as she prepared herself for the questions that would follow. Bless Jamie's heart for caring about Sherlock thanks to her, truthfully Anthea appreciated it so much, but there would be questions about Mycroft. "How is he? Is he okay?" Jamie grabbed at her own neck like she might be clutching a string of pearls in worry. Anthea rubbed the side of her face and shook her head.

"He's fine." She winced at herself. That wasn't good enough and it sounded cruel. She cared for Sherlock like he was a member of her makeshift family. He deserved better than that. "Well, he's alive and he's stable and that's the best we could have hoped for." Jamie relaxed in her skin clearly relieved.

"How's Mycroft? Is he okay?" Anthea rose her hand to run it through her hair but ended up clutching her hair instead.

"Not great." She shook her head. "It's shaken him." She let go of her hair and exhaled sharply. She caught Jamie looking down at her bag. "Hey Jay, I haven't slept in like twenty four hours. Do you think we can talk about this after I have a nap?" Jamie immediately began nodding her head furiously and stepping out of the way of the doorway to let Anthea in.

"Yeah, no problem! Go right ahead."

Anthea muttered something like a thank you as she walked pasted and entered the house. James was on the couch with little Thatch snuggled on his lap. James' attention was bright, sharp, and on Anthea as soon as she entered the room. Any questions he was about to ask dropped as soon as he looked past Anthea to his wife. No doubt Jamie gave him a look or shook her head. Thatch jumped off James immediately. His tail wagging so fast it might fly off, he ran over to Anthea barking happily. She couldn't ignore him. She got to her knees and caught the little puppy as he jumped up at her.

"Hey, Thatch! It's nice to see you too little buddy." She giggled as the puppy squirmed and tried to lick her hand as she scratched behind his ear. "I'm glad I'm still your very favourite person." Jamie laughed softly behind Anthea.

"Ali, why don't you take him to the spare room with you?" Jamie offered in a kind voice. "Puppies are pretty amazing to cuddle. Try it." There was no way Anthea was going to say no to that. Not right now.

As she slept Anthea dreamt of little boys on pirate ships hunting sharks with secrets.

Author's Note: What did you think? I CANNOT WAIT for the reviews for this chapter! Please don't hate me too much, okay! I promise I have lots and lots of plans for us and it's not all bad :). Let me know what you thought though, I really want to know. Also, I have a lot of work and uni commitments the next week so I'm going to take an extra day to do the next chapter. Thanks to our guess reviewers; bunnyrabbit100, LittleSchoolgirl, allnighterprose, Thatch, Memes took over, Eva's dreaming, and I guess ovejalucifer gets a thanks for getting up to the second latest chapter after being so far behind. Thanks to all my reviewers – I love my readers so very much. I'll see you all in six days, seven tops.