Author's Note: Hi everyone! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback from you guys. I'm sorry for giving you conflicting emotions :P. If it makes you feel better/worse, Lauren and I were very much enjoying reading the reviews as they came in. She loves them as much as I do even if she doesn't read the fic. As for this chapter… This came after discussions with Lauren about what should happen next and then discussions with ovejalucifer with how to accomplish it. So it was a group effort… where I did all the hard work… Haha. I'm still a little iffy on if it completely works but at the same time I'm quite happy with it… and I'm rambling so I'll let you get to it. 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 He Couldn't Handle It Anymore

Mycroft had become a little less Ice Man and a little more Myc after finally visiting Sherlock. He still tried to bury most of his feelings and he was still burying himself in work but the sarcastic comments and the little pompous smirks had returned. Meetings had become a little more manageable now he'd freely scoff again. It was… Well… Saying it was nice would be a dramatic overstatement. He wasn't anywhere near dealing with everything that had happened as much as he was just letting a little bit through and Anthea still felt like she'd had her life ripped away from her with no way of recovering it. It made work survivable again. It meant she was no longer miserable. It meant she could go to work and offer Mycroft and smile and get one in return. It meant she could ask about Sherlock and he could actually answer her. It meant that he'd stop for lunch, even if it wasn't with her.

Naturally then, she was a little annoyed to see him looking a little worn out when she got to work that morning. He was clean, sharply dressed, and clearly by the state of the office had left last night but she knew him well enough to see the signs of fatigue. The most obvious being the fact that he was wearing glasses as opposed to the contacts that might irritate eyes dry from being awake too long. The least obvious being the way he blinked to refocus on the text in front of him from time to time. Anthea wasn't going to bring it up, it was none of her business. Really, she shouldn't care. She should just be glad he hadn't bothered her again. But if he was shutting off again that wouldn't be good for anyone. She decided to casually ask when she went in to ask him if he wanted another cup of tea.

"Sir," She huffed. Teacup and saucer in her hand, reading to take to the kitchenette to refill. "Did you sleep last night?" Mycroft blinked. He pursed his lips and inhaled. He was considering lying.

"No." He breathed, deciding against the lie. Anthea resisted the urge to roll her eyes as her expression fell flat. The brunette personal assistant wanted to question why, she wanted to ask if he was hiding behind work again, but there was that voice again telling her it was none of her business and that she should be glad it wasn't her burden. Mycroft apparently read her expression as he smirked, leaned back in his chair, and help up a hand to silence any thoughts. "Before you decide whether or not to ask, no I wasn't working the entire time." An underlining tension within Anthea dissipated. "I couldn't go to the hospital the evening so I had the visiting times… adjusted so that I could be there until late. Sherlock wasn't pleased but having someone present stops any further escape attempts." Anthea allowed herself to smile at Mycroft's smirk.

"What about after that?" She asked in a neutral tone. Mycroft shrugged.

"I otherwise occupied myself." He dismissed her. That could mean a lot of things. It could mean working, it could mean staring into the life affirming cup of tea, and it could mean doing absolutely nothing but thinking. It wasn't Anthea's business, and she shouldn't ask.

"That's good to hear, sir." She hated it as it came from her mouth but it was the best she could do. Mycroft's expression faulted faintly. Not enough for anyone else to notice, enough that it spoke miles to Anthea. Anthea looked into the empty cup of tea and turned on her heels. She had to refill it after all. She didn't need to stand around Mycroft's office.

Anthea heard a raised voice coming from the inner sanctum. It wasn't much, just two or three words. Enough that she heard it but short enough that she questioned whether she imagined it or not. She held her breath and listened quietly to wait for further yells but no more came. Only a light on the phone flickered off indicating that the line was now free. So someone on the other side of the phone had said something to evoke a strong reaction other than an icy cold tone out of the Ice man. Anthea doubted they had much more of a future if that were the case. The problem would no doubt solve itself. As his assistant there was no reason to go stick her nose into Mycroft's business unless he asked her to. So Anthea got back to work searching through correspondence with other countries to see what was needed for current relations and international issues.

Crash!

Anthea jumped, sitting straight up in her office chair. She could feel her heartrate increasing by the thumping in her neck thanks to the startling noise. Once again it came from the inner sanctum. That was as equally unusual as the raised voice and far more alarming. All instincts in Anthea's body told her to get up out of her seat and check in Mycroft's office. Her brain took the opportunity to remind her that she had no reason she had to and that she was better of ignoring the genius outside of work.

Thud.

Okay, screw it. Anthea pushed her chair away from her desk and stood up. She didn't even knock on the inner sanctum door, she cracked it open and peered right in.

Immediately Anthea sought for the source of the initial crash. A tea cup lay on the floor broken in tiny pieces, its saucer cracked in two next to it. It had been knocked off the desk, but why? Following the trail of papers to the wall, Anthea found why. The pour cup of tea had to have been sitting on the file that had been picked up and thrown across the room, gather by the tea staining the edges of some documents. Documents that Anthea meticulously organised and would now have to resource and reprint. Next was the thud. That one was fairly obvious. The chair opposite to the desk facing Mycroft had been knocked backwards, its ornate legs now facing the desk. Mycroft himself stood in front of his desk with his back to the door, hands on his hips, head hung low. Anthea, leaving the door open, entered the space, avoiding paper, china, and tea.

"What's going on?" She asked. She was sure she sounded a little like DI Lestrade when he entered a very strange crime scene. What he was reacting to, Anthea would never know. Whether it was her words, her voice, or if he would have done it regardless, Mycroft ran his fingers sharply across his hair. Once he'd done that, the way his hands balled up into fists, it looked like he wanted to knock something else off the desk. He didn't. He sighed heavily and pushed his hands onto the heavy wood of the desk instead.

"I am," He tilted his head. "I'm so completely fed up with everything." The tension in his voice was palpable. Anthea swallowed her breath and watched carefully as he finally turned to look at her with his worn blue eyes. "I am so sick of pretending that everything is fine." He hissed and scowled like he was disgusted with himself. Anthea continued to say nothing. "I am sick of people presuming that not one inch of me is effected by any of this." He rubbed his forehead harshly, like trying to scrub away the pain in his head. It was like at the hospital when he refused to sit down. "I am so tired of doing everything on my own and no one offering the slightest assistance." His body was tense and almost crooked, just not right. "The next person who says 'Thank God your brother has John Watson' or 'At least you don't get bothered by things like this' and expects me to smile and agree with them might end up finding themselves as an involuntary missionary in the middle of rural Africa." His sharp eyes landed on Anthea once more, anger making them seem molten. "But you know what I'm most sick of, Anthea?" He smiled sardonically as he stepped forward, making Anthea feel sick to her stomach. "I am so sick of having no control over myself. I have no control over how I feel and I despise it. Trying to stop them all together does nothing. Trying to allow them in moderation does nothing. I thought perhaps throwing something against the door might alleviate some of this nonsense but no, it's made me feel more useless than I did ten minutes ago. Than I did two days ago, or two weeks ago. I-"

Mycroft didn't get a chance to finish. As soon as he'd reached that point Anthea couldn't stop herself. He had been making her feel sick. Not out of fear or sadness, but sick with worry. Watching Mycroft Holmes – Ice Man or no – so lost and unsure how to handle himself Anthea, mind and body, just had to wrap her arms around him and embrace him as tight as she could. If she had done this from the beginning, if she'd held him close and tried to absorb some of the confusion when they got home from the hospital maybe they wouldn't be here now. She buried her head into his chest and rubbed on his back soothingly. The Ice Man himself had fallen dead silent and as still as a windless evening. His arms fell to his sides like he was finally letting go of all that tension holding him up. And though he didn't embrace her back, he did rest his forehead on the top of her head.

They stood there with Anthea trying to absorb all the confusion and fear she could for at least ten minutes. Neither of them moved a muscle in that time. It was as if time had stopped so that maybe for just a moment both of them could be just as numb as they wished they were. Numb to everything but the other's warmth. Forget the anger, the hatred, the fear, the sadness, the loneliness. This was about support. This was about not being alone.

Anthea placed her hands on the centre of Mycroft's chest and pushed him away. Then genius, caught unaware in his docile state, stumbled back a step.

"What is wrong with you?" Anthea scolded him as he looked down at her a little baffled. "Of course you feel that way," She flicked a hand in the air dramatically. "You've pushed away anyone who even suspects you're human and all you're left with is government men, spies, and your superiors. The people who see you as nothing more than a scalpel." He eyes were bright and full of life as she stepped closer to Mycroft. "Of course you're not fine, Mycroft." Anthea shook her head. "I saw that the moment we left the hospital. Jamie wanted to cook you breakfast the other morning. Jamie!" Anthea half laughed shrugging. Mycroft didn't appear to be closed off which was a good sign. If anything he seemed empty as he listened. Like an empty vessel waiting to be filled. Anthea folded her arms across her chest. "You know what you need to do? You need to salvage the relationship you haven't already ruin." She levelled with him. "Go visit Sherlock, meet John unannounced for coffee, check up on Detective Inspector Lestrade, call you mother, ask Walter to go for a walk. Sherlock needs you, and John's going through the same things as you, and everyone else knows you have a heart, even if it is made of stone." She smirked subtly. There was no change in Mycroft's expression. Anthea just wanted to reach out and push his hair back, she just wanted to touch his face and let him know it was okay to feel weak. "Go home and stop burying yourself in work for a few days. Deal with this. How many times do people have to tell you that the advantage of caring is having support before you believe them? I'm sure your mum and dad need you to help get through this as much as you need them." Mycroft looked down to his shoes and licked his lips.

"I can't." He answered in a quiet voice, looking back up. "There's a lot to do." Anthea rolled her eyes.

"How many favours do people owe us? How often have we accommodated other people?" She cocked her head to the side. "I will call in every favour, every blackmail, and every crush we have to get a few days off." He sniffed something close to a laugh in response, hiding the hint of a smile by looking down again. He crossed his arms across his chest and nodded silently. He looked up once more and continued nodding.

"Right." He agreed. "Absolutely. We'll finish today off and then we'll take two days off. Thank you, my dear." Anthea visibly flinched at the tone and the hint of a spark that had momentarily been in Mycroft dissipated. Anthea tried to quickly play it off. She forced a smile as she tucked a curl behind her ear.

"It's not a problem, sir." She tried to sound light and unburdened. "I told you I'll always be your friend."

Anthea helped Mycroft lift the chair up and the papers then went back to the safety of her desk.

"Anthea." Mycroft's melodic voice came from behind Anthea, having emerged from his office. It was his turn to come and stand in front of her desk. Anthea clenched her hands into fists before placing them on top of one another on the desk. As she looked at Mycroft he seemed more like himself than he had about two hours ago. He was holding himself well, his mask in place, but a little bit of that pretentious spark in those cold eyes. It ate at Anthea's insides in both the best and worst possible ways.

"Yes, s?" She cut off the sir before she could completely say it. It was an automatic reaction that had emerged from where it had laid dormant and now it was hard to switch it off, but she was certain by the way Mycroft had said Anthea instead of Miss James that now was not the time for formalities.

"I wish to apologise for my state early." He rolled his eyes and smirked at his own behaviour. "It was uncouth and not at all in character." Anthea huffed a single laugh, her body reacting to the signs of life in Mycroft by giving her some strange underlining happiness that she didn't want to feel.

"It happens to the best of us." Anthea shook her head, curls dancing around her chin.

"Ah yes," Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. "But I'm usually better than the best." She rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to smile. Mycroft cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "My point is, such an outburst won't occur again." Anthea no longer felt the need to smile.

"It's not a weakness, you know." She held onto his gaze. Mycroft pouted his lips, pulling an expression.

"I know." He lied.

"So if it needs to happen again then it needs to happen." She wanted to say that it was better than the alternative. That it was better than kicking her out of her home and pushing everyone away. Mycroft held his hands out in front of himself, palms facing Anthea.

"Barring another ungodly catastrophe, I think I'm quite done with emotional outbursts, thank you." It was a joke, but what did it mean? Did it mean the end? Did it mean shutting off again? Anthea looked down to her hands and took a breath. "I think my emotions have caused enough damage to the items and people around me." Anthea looked back up to catch Mycroft's eye once more. Now what did that mean? But what did she even want it to mean? She shook her head again, partly to dismiss him and partly to dismiss her own thoughts.

"Everyone just puts it down to the Holmes family dramatic trait." She joked. Mycroft hummed, eyes narrowed.

"Nevertheless," His voice was so smooth. "I wished to apologise." He looked up at the painting above Anthea's desk and scratched at his eyebrow with his ring finger. "I considered buying you flowers in addition to my apology but I suspect that flowers from any man right now would end up straight in the bin." Anthea barked a laugh. She hadn't expected that. Slightly embarrassed she nodded.

"Not really in the flowers mood." She crinkled up her nose. "Or chocolate, or books, or jewellery, or weird ornaments." Mycroft raised his eyebrows, his gaze drifting down to the edge of the desk.

"Perhaps by Christmas you'll be ready to accept a card." He hummed.

"Yeah," Anthea scoffed. "From people who actually celebrate Christmas and don't actively avoid it." It had meant to be a joke and it sounded harsher than she intended. Anthea pushed her hair back and tried again. "But I barely get any Christmas or birthday cards, I'm not going to turn one down." Mycroft pulled a face as he watched her. It wasn't like he thought she was an idiot, it was more like she was perplexing him in a way he wasn't ready to decode.

"Well," He hummed. "Thank you for understanding. We should get back to work."

Author's Note: Well? Was it okay? Does it hold up amongst the other chapters? I hope you all liked it, please let me know! Heads up; I have three assignments due next week so the chapter may be one or two days late depending on how well I handle myself. Thanks to our guest reviewers; Francesca Abott (which makes me think of the Abbott family from the Young and the Restless), LittleSchoolgirl, B, Eva's dreaming, Guest, Christie, and heysoulsilvia. Thank you so much to each and every one of my reviewers. See you in five to seven days.