Author's Note: Hello, hello! Exams are over! *cries with happiness*. Now I'm on break and I just have to worry about my students and this fic. I might have some time for someone shots now too since uni doesn't go back until the end of February. That's for your lovely feedback last chapter. A certain part in particular went down well. I hope you like this one as this chapter was substantially harder. Not to write but to even start. I felt the pressure for this one. 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.
Her First Time Back In The House
It was strange how different the air at a crime scene was when it involved someone you knew well and cared for deeply. To say it was ever sunshine and roses would be a bold faced lie but this. This was the definition of sombre. The SWAT team had been sent home to their families and the crime scene team had been called in. Sherlock was in handcuffs with Walter guarding him as Mycroft examined the sight and listened to everyone with a melancholy as deep as the darkest ocean. James looked like all he wanted to do was find a rock to sleep under and pretend this wasn't happening and the way Carol spoke gently and asked all the agents to have respect and not to try and lighten the mood spoke miles for her own attitude. She insisted on being the one to talk to John. John who was doing is best to try and help Sherlock out. Who was trying to find any way he could to shift some blame to Magnussen and to help his best friend. He was the most vocal person in the room. These agents who may not know any of the connections going on in this particular case, they all knew James and Carol. Carol speaking sweetly and James looking defeated rather than lightening the mood somehow – that was enough for them all to be deathly quiet unless discussing the case.
Anthea had never felt this lost at work. She felt like a ghost that was there in spirit but people walked through her and saw right through her – something that would usually suite her business well. This was not the same as other cases. This was not like the fall where they knew that Sherlock would come to no harm. This was not like Jamie's kidnapping where she could be proactive. This was not her and Mycroft going toe to toe with someone who thought they had power and it left her feeling invigorated. The people in this room were not used to having no control. She couldn't even comfort Mycroft, or hug or yell at Sherlock as that little conflict of interest would not be taken well.
She watched out the glass doors as agent took photographs of Magnussen's cold body and she felt nothing. All she could think about how his lifeless eyes looked the same now as they had when the man was warm and walking. How empty they were and how they caused a shiver down her spine. Moriarty's flared with the fires of his every mood swing and for some reason that made him far more tolerable to look at dead in the eye even if by comparison he was a darker being. Sherlock's eyes flickered to life when there was a case to be solved, they looked at Mary and John with compassion and love, and they even watched her with intrigue and sometimes humour. Even Mycroft who tried so hard to hide everything from sight was never truly successful. He pulled such grand, dramatic, and sarcastic expression. His eyes sparkled on so many occasion; when given a chance to show off, when challenged, when sarcastic, when impressed. The looks he gave his brother when Sherlock wasn't watching spoke volumes. The depth behind them as he looked Anthea in the eye and truly listened to her speaking. This was not fair. The Holmes brothers were human beings who felt and did not deserve this. Charles Augustus Magnussen deserved more than an escape into death. He deserved the punishment that Sherlock, and by extension John and the Holmes family, were about to receive. He was the empty human being. One look at his body proved that.
"It had to be done." Anthea glanced over to her left for just long enough to catch a glimpse of the side of Sherlock's face. His shoulders were squared off with his hands in cuffs behind his back. Walter was a respectable distance away. Trying to show trust and kindness to "the kid"'s brother while trying to do his job correctly at the same time. Anthea raised her eyebrows as she continued to watch the investigators and the empty husk of a body. "There was no choice." Anthea rose her eyebrows higher, feeling tired and a little empty herself.
"There's always a choice, Mr. Holmes." She answered quietly. "There's letting the big boys play with the other big boys. There's spending months, or years, investigating instead of just running in guns blazing…"
"What would you have me do, nameless assistant?" She saw in the corner of her eye as Sherlock turned from the glass to look at her, his bright blue eyes drilling into the side of her head. "Let him destroy the lives of my best friends? Let him get away with using me to get to my brother? Let him ruin countless other lives?" His eyes narrowed as he took a breath through his nose. "Would that have been better?" With her face still blank, Anthea turned to meet Sherlock's gaze. "I'd bet my life that if in the same situation Mycroft would have done the exact same thing." Anthea pursed her lips to stop herself from smiling sadly.
"But, Sherlock." She whispered fiercely. "Your brother wouldn't do it in front of people obligated to arrest him. Your brother wouldn't get a life sentence for this. He's him, and you're a detective with a reputation for being unpredictable." Sherlock looked deeply in Anthea's eyes before looking down at the ground and sniffing. He looked back up but glanced over Anthea's shoulder. "Your mother is going to be a wreck!" Anthea breathed. "Your father will be beside himself. Poor John is losing you again. I don't even know what Mycroft is even going through right now." She shook her head. "What are they all going to do?" A gloomy smile appeared on Sherlock's lips.
"You've looked after my family once before." There was a hint of humour of his voice. Another reminder of how he didn't deserve this and someone else did. Anthea blinked and took a step back. She glanced over to Mycroft and then quickly looked back out the glass.
"I-" Anthea stopped herself. She looked back at Sherlock. "There's only so much I can do." Sherlock looked like he might smile for a second.
"I only ask that you do what you can. Mary will be there to help." Anthea allowed herself to touch Sherlock's coat arm with a quick gentle pat.
"But who will look after you?" She whispered. The detective shrugged.
"I'm resilient." He brushed her off with what wasn't actually an answer. He smiled a little and she smiled back.
"Sherlock." From across the room Mycroft called out. With a flick of his head he gestured for his younger brother to come over. Sherlock glanced over at Walter and the two began walking towards the elder Holmes with Anthea with them. Anthea and Walter stopped a few steps away to allow for the illusion of privacy. Mycroft looked forlornly at his brother. It was as if he saw a little kid and not a full grown man who knew what responsibilities and consequences were. "James has to take you now so he may return to his family." Anthea couldn't quite work out what the mixed emotions in his voice were. Sherlock's jaw clenched.
"That's your favourite dog, yes?" He looked over at James momentarily. "Should I be flattered or concerned?" Mycroft completely ignored the question as he continued to watch his little brother.
"There is no other option." Mycroft was justifying himself. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.
"Anthea was just telling me that there's always another option." Mycroft chose to ignore that, too.
"As soon as they'll hear from me, the very minute they'll leave their holidays and listen to an appeal, I'll do my best to –"
"It doesn't matter, Mycroft." Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. "You always said I'd get myself stuck one day." Mycroft cocked his head to the side.
"You choose now to doubt what I can do?"
"You don't always have to put on a brave face for me, I'm not five anymore." Mycroft took a steadying breath. He nodded over to James for the agent to come over.
"Co-operate and play nice but please hold back any information that may get you into further trouble. No need for the office break in to come up." Mycroft was back in work mode. "James and Carol will help you the best they can and please do not even think of speaking without a lawyer present."
"You going to give me another of your pets?" Sherlock was shutting off completely also. Mycroft pursed his lips and shook his head a single time.
"Between James and myself, one of my lawyers would look far too conspicuous. I have a lawyer who doesn't work for me but has done tremendous work for me in the recent past. He's indebted to Anthea and values his career so he'll serve you well." Anthea couldn't even emotionally react to that. Logically it was too brilliant. Tim was fantastic and very loyal to his clients, and he already has a well-known issue with Mycroft Holmes. If anyone could help it would be him.
"What about John?" Sherlock asked.
"Carol will be taking him home to his wife, and our parents, for the rest of Christmas and then bring him in to make his statement tomorrow. Carol is not one to omit anything for a favour but Doctor Watson is smart enough to know when best to avoid answering directly and Carol is always gentler with traumatised witnesses than James here might be." James smirked a little. There was a lull. Sherlock looked down to his shoes.
"Is that all?" He asked.
"Is it?" Mycroft asked back. The two pairs of blue eyes looked at each other like trying to dare the other to say something.
"For now."
"Then I'll see you when I visit."
"Don't rush on my account."
This time it wasn't a lull. It was a sudden silence. Mycroft bit the inside of his bottom lip before he turned to James and lazily nodded. James placed his large hand on Sherlock's shoulder and led him towards the exit – the front door not the balcony. As they walked off Anthea heard James talking.
"I don't blame you, you know?" He said. "I probably would have done the same thing, but I'm trained to do things like that. It's like asking an attack dog not to defend his puppies."
Fifteen minutes later the immaculate mansion was even more quiet and subdued. Every footstep and cough could be heard. Carol approached Anthea. As she came up in front of the personal assistant, the stern looking woman pushed Anthea's hair away from her face.
"I'm done with Doctor Watson for now. I'm going to drop him off at the Holmes resident and then go eat dessert with my family. You want a lift back to London?" That's right. Carol was going home to a full family – her husband and daughter. James was going home to his family home only to go to his wife's family later and while Jamie lacked a dad she had a step-father who was almost all she knew. Mycroft, Anthea already knew, would not be able to face his parents tonight. He'd go home to the big empty house and there was almost a hundred percent chance that the only way the Holmes family would be having a full family holiday again was if they all went to visit the youngest in jail. Anthea looked over to the genius. He was listening to an agent's report. Or rather he was pretending to listen but by the wandering on his gaze and his body language Anthea could tell he wasn't hearing a word of it.
"Um…" The brunette with the soft curls bit her bottom lip and winced. "I think I'll wait for Mycroft to leave and head back to London with him." She kept her voice low. The look that crossed Carol's harsh features gave away that she already understood. "I just want to make sure he gets home okay." Anthea rubbed her own arm. "I'll text the Jay's and let them know I'll be home late." Carol touched Anthea's hair gingerly again.
"Good plan, A." Anthea sniffed what should have been a laugh in response.
Carol left, taking a few of the men with her and John. After they'd walked through the door Anthea fixed her hair from how Carol had moved it. She walked up to Mycroft, keeping a safe distance, and had to clear her throat to find her work voice.
"Sir," She began with. "Now there is no pressing reason for me to be separate I'd like to go back to town with you and Walter. I'll need a lift in the town car, after all." Mycroft listlessly glanced around the room, mouth pulled down, like he was confirming that there was no other way for her to get home. He flicked his wrist, waving her off.
"Yes, yes. Of course." The genius muttered. "It's the logical idea." Anthea nodded in return, unsure as to what else she could do.
The helicopter flight was as silent as a helicopter ride could be. The thumping of the wind being whipped around the metal drummed so hard into Anthea's head as she clutched to her phone in the back of the beast she had no doubt it was destroying Mycroft up in the front with Walter. No one had anything to say. Everything felt trivial and unimportant, and if it wasn't trivial it was painful. Anthea didn't even feel like asking Walter what his son got him for Christmas. He didn't even want to share.
A silent helicopter flight was followed by a silent drive. At least Anthea didn't feel as useless in the back of the car with Mycroft as she did in the back of the helicopter all on her own. She still couldn't find anything to say or anything comforting. She couldn't even bring herself to take his hand in her ow. His were folded tightly together on his lap and hers clutched to her phone like a lifeline. With all the distance between them since Mycroft broke up with her she didn't feel like she could. She didn't know if he just wanted to be alone now. At least here she could monitor him. She could study his expression in ways that only a handful of people could. She could make sure he was holding it together. That made her feel like she was doing something other than being the annoying ex sitting lamely next to him. What happened, or nearly happened, in the kitchen felt like a lifetime ago now. The phone call; an eternity.
Mycroft didn't question Anthea as she followed him out of the car. She held her hand up to her ear like a phone and mimed to Walter that she'd call him if and when she needed him. Mycroft didn't look over his shoulder when he heard the town car pull away or so much as raise an eyebrow when Anthea followed him into the big empty house and closed the front door behind her. They walked right through the entrance into the family room.
The smell of the house made Anthea feel sick. Home sick, that was. She hadn't wanted to come back here without living here. She didn't want to smell the wooden furniture and Mycroft's cologne. She didn't want to see all the photos and ornaments taken down and her home return to the lonely house of her boss. Her candelabra was gone off the piano and packed away somewhere. Her books and belongings somewhere other than where she'd last left them. However, one of her coats lay on the arm of the couch. She frowned to herself as she looked it over and tried to determine which coat it was. Then she remembered. It was the one she brought home from the hospital and left on the bannister on the stairs. When she'd packed a bag she had left it behind. She questioned silently why that was out and on the couch but everything else was put away. She might have asked under different circumstances.
Anthea was brought out of her thoughts but the sound of Mycroft collapsing onto the couch. He sat at the other end. His long arm was resting on the arm rest and he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his index. He looked older than he ever had before. He'd always been wise beyond his age but now he looked like he was feeling the strain. Anthea bit her lip. She didn't know what to do. He hadn't looked much different to this after the hospital when he'd walked straight into the kitchen and poured a drink. She didn't think she should ask him to talk or do anything since he might just want to be left alone. She didn't want to sit next to him in case the touch of another human being was enough to break him right now. Her eyes wandered around until she caught sight of the kitchen.
"Do you want something to eat?" She asked with uncertainty. Mycroft shook his head. Anthea sucked on her cheek and thought some more. She came up blank. She just felt unwanted here and like she couldn't help. Mycroft was lost in his own head and probably didn't want to be disturbed. "Well." Anthea inhaled. "I better get going…" Mycroft opened his eyes and lowered his hand.
"Please don't." The urgency in his voice catching Anthea off guard as she blinked widely. He pursed his lips and winced at himself. "I don't…" He stopped. His eyes dropped from her eyes to her mouth, then he glanced behind her. "I can't handle my own company just yet." He hissed forcefully, choking on the words. Anthea's heart felt like it was being constricted in another person's closing fist. "Stay for a few hours, stay for the night, leave at midnight - it's up to you but don't go just yet." He met her gaze once more. "Please." This is what she'd tried to see last time. This time he realised he was drowning. He realised he was on the verge of dying and instead of ignoring the lifesaver he was asking for help – beckoning to the boat. Anthea clenched her jaw and nodded.
"Alright." She kept nodding. "Just for a little but all my comfortable clothes are at Jamie's so I'll go before bed." Mycroft, relief washing across his face, leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes once more.
"Yes, alright. Good."
Silence.
Anthea was standing there in the middle of the room just watching Mycroft again. She felt awkward. She needed something productive to do.
"I'm going to make myself a coffee…" Anthea murmured and began walking to the kitchen slowly and carefully like avoiding a predator.
"There's no milk." Mycroft announced wearily. Anthea paused. She took a deep breath.
"Black tea, then." There was no argument to it. While in the kitchen she pulled open the fridge door just to have a look. It was practically empty if not for the carrots, bread, and low-fat yoghurt that was open but had barely been touched. The pantry told a similar story. Crackers, some pasta, spices and herbs, and a packet of chocolate biscuits. A little concerned, Anthea shut the door and turned her attention to the kettle. She filled it up and switched it on.
"Does it ever go away?" Anthea barely heard Mycroft's voice over the kettle as she took out to coffee mugs.
"Does what?" She asked.
"The feeling of helplessness?" She froze, a cup in both hands. She knew what he was asking. "Knowing there was nothing you could do?" He was asking about loss. He was asking about when she lost her parents because that was what this was. If Sherlock had to spend ten or more years in jail it would be the end of him. He'd be his own destruction. He'd be better off dying on a case full of passion than slowly imploding in on himself in prison. Mycroft was already counting this as losing Sherlock forever. Anthea placed the mugs down on the kitchen bench and walked back into the living room. She sat down with a heavy sigh on the arm of the couch furthest away from Mycroft. His steely eyes were watching her as she stared up at the ceiling.
"Well…" She hummed. "No." Anthea chose to be honest as she looked down from the ceiling. "But it gets easier." She scrunched up her facial features. "You learn to live with it and eventually it stops being the only thing you think about and then even further down the line you can think about the people without that feeling popping most of the time." Mycroft looked so down and lost as he searched her face. It was deeply disturbing to see. "You've just got to keep on living." She tried to force a smile. "And it's not over yet. We haven't even got a chance to throw your power around yet." Not even a smile, not even a crack. Mycroft turned from her to stare blankly forward.
"I don't think this is a situation where it'll get easier, Alice." His voice cracked on her name. "Not when I've failed so drastically." Time stopped. Anthea blinked, frowning.
"What?" She scoffed. "Who have you failed?" Mycroft scowled at himself.
"Sherlock." He answered coldly. "Mummy. Everyone." He gritted his teeth. "I failed my duties as a big brother." Inside her chest Anthea's heart shattered into pieces. Her lungs began pulling oxygen in and out rapidly.
"Oh." She breathed. "No, no, no, no." She slid off the arm of the couch and pulled herself to sit right next to Mycroft. Without so much as thinking Anthea wrapped one arm around his back and used the other to pull his face into the crook of her neck. He didn't even resist. The genius practically fell into his ex, exhaling an exorbitant amount of stress and anguish as he did. "You haven't failed anyone." Her voice was shaky and her eyes were getting foggy. Anthea stoked the back of Mycroft's head. "You've never failed at this job, you idiot. You've been the most amazing big brother in the world. Your mum and dad would never be disappointed in you. Sherlock knows what you've done for him and he loves you." She heard a scoff. "It's true and you know it." She hugged Mycroft tightly. Finally his arms moved from his side to touch her back. "Even if this was the end you didn't fail, and it's not. You haven't even begun to fight yet. In a day or two we'll come up with the best idea in the world, you'll see." Mycroft pulled away so that he may sit up and look at Anthea as he spoke.
"After everything that has happened, why do you have such faith in me?" He asked. Anthea cocked her head to the side.
"Because you're a Holmes." She smiled. "And Holmes boys defy the laws of chance." There was a crack of an expression that might have been lighter than anything else seen so far. Then Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"You deserve far greater than anything you have ever received, Alice." Anthea widened her eyes.
"Believe me, I know." She gently laughed, taking hold of Mycroft's hand and squeezing it. He held tightly to her hand like it was the lifeline he was finally willing to take. "But you'll get through this, Mycroft. One step at a time. Right now we just need to get through the next few hours. We can sit here and do nothing. Then when I go home you just need to get through the night. I'll come over in the morning with some breakfast and then we just need to get through breakfast. Okay?"
"Okay."
They got through the next few hours by falling asleep together on the couch. He got through the night right there on the couch with his nose buried in Anthea's hair as it lay on her neck. She never did get to go home for the night.
Author's Note: You know, usually I estimate how long each chapter will be and I get it roughly right. This time, however… I guess 2800…. It was 4075. Whoops. More for you guys to read! Haha. Let me know what you think because I really felt the pressure to get this one right. Thanks to our guest reviewers; Eva's dreaming, Guests x3, Christie, M, Louise Pond, and B. Thanks to all my reviewers – I love you guys! Since exams and study are over we'll go back to every five days. So, see you Thursday!