Author's Note: Hi guys! First of all thanks very much for all the wonderful comments on last chapter. I am so, so happy it was received the way it was. As for this chapter! Oh boy! I've been so very busy with work and my Nana's failing health that I TOLD myself I wasn't going to push myself and get this chapter done. Not only did I finish it anyway. I also wrote like 4000 words. APPARENTLY I don't like to take breaks. Apparently this is what I do to relax! Interesting discovery. I don't expect this to be a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination, I just hope you like 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 Foot Massage

"This is a funeral of a friend, yes, but keep in mind, Jay, that these people know me as Anthea." Anthea explained over the phone as she prepared Jamie for going with her to Mary's funeral tomorrow. Jamie had not seen Anthea spend so much time in her work persona mode as she would tomorrow. Sure Anthea personality wise wasn't much different to Alice but there was a lot that had to stay hidden between stone walls and passcodes.

"Yeah, okay. What does that mean? We can't be sad?" The blonde genuinely asked.

"We can be as devastated as we want but there are rules I need you to follow."

"Mycroft rules?" Jamie scoffed. It was light and airy. She was being friendly, not making fun for the sake of being mean.

"No, my rules." Anthea explained. Anthea was all her creation, only influenced by Mycroft. "If you're coming with me to represent the Holmes family you need to play along. If you go as yourself then you can't talk to me much and you can't sit with me."

"Okay, okay. Rules?" Jamie was so accepting of this type of thing these days. Not too far off in the past she would have been offended by such a statement or hurt at Anthea's tone. She was growing used to the world of secrets. Was that good or bad?

"We're sitting in the back. Invisible but present. In fact that's the big rule in general, invisible but present. We don't talk to anyone unless they talk to us first. Even then, it's kept to a minimum."

"Okay…"

"The exception for you is Molly since you know her, but don't willingly give information to anyone."

"How do we introduce ourselves?"

"We don't. We go, we see the funeral and we leave before the wake." There was a pause which was unusual for Jamie. Anthea could imagine her best friend frowning at her phone, the concepts not quite making sense to her.

"We were invited to the wake. She was your friend. Why aren't you going?" It was sweet of the makeup artist to be so concerned.

"The same reason I didn't go to her wedding, Jay." Anthea said.

"Which is?" Jamie sung, prompting Anthea to continue. The brunette sighed, staring up at the roof.

"Appearances are important. Anyone could be watching." She said. It was hard to believe she was talking like this to Jamie, and about a funeral no less.

"Like creepy ass Magnussen?" She said it with such a straight tone that Anthea laughed.

"Like him." She agreed. Anthea heard shifting on the other end of the phone.

"Will John understand?" Jamie asked.

"John only knows Anthea. Anything he knows about the real me is second hand from Mary. He'll expect it." And Mary only knew Alice because she'd found her on her own. Why hide who you are around someone who already knows? No point.

"Does James have a persona too?" Again there was no malice or hurt feelings – simply curiosity.

"James does all the same things. He'd probably stand against the back wall and not even sit." She stopped as she heard Jamie snort. No doubt she was imagining her giant friendly teddy of a husband acting like a brooding man of mystery. He was very good at it, Anthea should tape if for Jamie some time. Back to business. "I need you to be like you've been in this world as long as I have. Can you do it?"

"Yeah, you got it." Jamie answered on the dot.

Anthea and Jamie arrived only seconds before the funeral began so that they could sit in the back without conversing with anyone. They sat there and watched and listened as people who barely knew anything about Mary got up and spoke about her. Some of it made Anthea frown or quirk an eyebrow. Moly's words seemed to contain hidden words of grief given to her by a certain detective and hit closer to home than anyone else's. Her sweet voice mixed with the closet words to knowing what Mary was about almost got Anthea. She cleared her throat and sniffed. Jamie placed her hand on top of Anthea's.

It was a strange sensation – being at the funeral of a close friend's but not being allowed to cry. She was here as more than Mary's friend. With Sherlock not allowed to come and some blame being placed on Mycroft's shoulders Anthea was also here to represent to grief of the Holmes family. She was an employee of Mycroft Holmes and was not allowed to sit here and wallow in sadness. She had to do that at home before even getting ready this morning. She had cried in the bathroom before washing her face and applying makeup. She'd said a few fond words to Mary as she sat in the back of the town car to pick up Jamie, and she reminisced on the way to the church.

The hardest part was when John got up to speak. He looked so lost. He looked like he'd want to be anywhere else. His eyes searched the crowd and Anthea knew he was subconsciously looking for a particular face. He was looking for the person he'd banned from coming. He'd regret that decision later, or Anthea hoped for both his and Sherlock's sake he'd regret it. His worn out eyes landed on Anthea. Her lips twitched upwards and she nodded at him. Her job as a representative of the Holmes family worked, as John cleared her throat and shakily began the words he'd prepared for his wife.

While keeping her past a secret he managed to conjure up a wonderful image of who she was as a whole. No wonder his blog became so popular – he had a way with words. A way to take a complicated and not always likeable person – like Sherlock, Mary, and Mycroft – and turn them into someone people loved for everything they were. It was a cry from Rosie during John's words that broke Jamie's wonderful act. She sobbed and hid her eyes behind the back of her hand.

"Stupid baby hormones." She muttered as she tried to wipe away tears. "I was doing so well at being cold until I heard that poor girl."

"It's okay." Anthea nudged Jamie's shoulder with her arm. "Only the best people can survive that. You're doing great." Surely there was nothing worse than a baby crying out during her mother's funeral. What that must feel like to a heavily pregnant woman who wasn't as used to death, Anthea could only imagine.

After the funeral was over people made their way out of the church for a moment of respite before the wake. Not Anthea and Jamie, however, since officially Anthea was not allowed to attend a wake full of friends and family. Jamie could go if she wanted but the blonde girl grew tired easily these days and all her loyalty belonged to Anthea, and according to her Mycroft too. If Anthea couldn't go then she didn't want to go. So all that remained for them was to share a word or two with John Watson and then take the town car far away from here or John's house.

Anthea got out of the pew first, stretching her shoulders by rolling them. She extended both hands to Jamie, knowing full well at this stage Jamie was having a hard time trying to stand up on her own. She liked to blame her height – or lack of – more than anything. Relieved, she graciously accepted her best friend's hands and both women groaned as they got Jamie to her feet. Jamie held onto Anthea's shoulder and muttered a thank you as she took a few breaths.

"This girl better be worth all this trouble." Jamie huffed and shook her head. "Making me look like an attention seeker at a funeral."

"Shut up." Anthea said playfully, wishing she could smile to match it but it wouldn't come. Not today. Not even as the mysterious assistant could she force a smile today. Anthea allowed Jamie some time to try and wipe off any emotion other than mild sadness from her being. The blonde pushed her hair back and straightened her dress and coat – putting herself in order. After she was ready Anthea took her by the arm and they walked to the front of the Church.

Most of the attendees had made their way out of the church by now but naturally John was still being accosted by people wanting to share their sympathies or grieve with him. Molly sat at the front pew with Rosie on her lap. Anthea and Jamie both smiled at her as they passed and Molly maned the best wave she could with an infant in her grasp. On Anthea's instructions Jamie and Anthea waited for all the other people to be done before they approached John.

When John looked at Anthea another wave of melancholy hit him. This one was different from the grief written all over his face, this one was maybe a little bit of guilt and regret for Sherlock – for the family she was here to represent. She was not here to cause that reaction, she was here to be a comfort and to remind him that they all cared – even the one who claimed to care about nothing.

"Hi." He said. She was pleased to hear a hint of warmth in his tone. Anthea smiled and said nothing. She hugged him briskly and as she pulled away she ran her hands down his arms. John touched her elbow as she did. "Thank you for keeping your promise." He said. Anthea's dark eyes flickered to the coffin and back to John. She dismissed his kind words with a shake of her head.

"It was the least we could do." She specifically said we because it wasn't her promise. She had made it, but it wasn't hers to fulfil. John, catching on, looked to the ground and sniffed.

"He could have come, you know." John looked back up at her. She knew he was talking about her Holmes and not his. "I'm not –" He widened his eyes and inhaled sharply. "I know he didn't do anything. I wouldn't have kicked him out if he showed up." Anthea sniffed a single laugh.

"If he'd been allowed to come he would have just sent me with flowers." Anthea said, a knowing look shared between her and John.

"Emotions are like cooties apparently." John joked. It warmed Anthea's soul a little to hear it. Jamie from behind Anthea scoffed. Anthea scrunched up her nose and nodded. John's eyes drifted past Anthea to Jamie. He offered her that sad smile in greeting Jamie stepped forward.

"Hi, I'm-"

"Anthea's friend." John interrupted, nodding. "I first met you when Anthea was missing. You did Mary's make up for the wedding."

"Oh." Jamie's eyebrows lifted up and she pouted her lips. "I didn't expect to be remembered."

"Nah, I know you." John smiled. "Your husband is the tall bulky guy from Magnussen's that Sherlock called-"

"Yeah! Myc's boyfriend. That's the one." Jamie laughed. John looked at Anthea, Anthea shrugged.

"I think he said pet." He said. Jamie rolled her eyes.

"It's the same thing, isn't it?" John laughed despite himself and Anthea found herself fighting the urge to grin at the exchange. "Speaking of my husband," Jamie hummed, her voice lowering. She brought her hip so she could see it rather than in front of her, and began digging through it. "A lot of the agents who have been there more than a couple of years, they worked with Mary or knew her, or were just fans of your blog." She smiled. "So this is from them." She brought out a thin white envelope and held it out to John. He said thank you solemnly and took the envelope. He flipped it over and began to pull at the lip. Jamie held a hand out like she was going to reach over and either touch John or take the envelope. She stop short of doing either. "I was told to tell you not to open it here." John looked at Anthea. Anthea shrugged again. She didn't know what this was – she didn't know how the agents handled these things. It was not her business to know what this was. John looked back at the envelope. After a few seconds he carefully put it in the inner pocket of his jacket.

"Thank you." He said. Jamie pursed her lips to stop from grinning and nodded.

"No worries." She said. "These people," She gave a side glance over to Anthea. "They really look after their own." Anthea rolled her eyes.

"Don't mix Mary and I up with your husband's dog pack." She teased. "Women like us, we're too good for the pack." John laughed quietly but with a deep sadness.

"No wonder Mary liked you two." His voice shook as he spoke. Anthea touched his arm again.

"She had good taste." Anthea said.

"And we only make friends with the best of them, so that speaks heaps about how we felt about her." Jamie joked. Her hazel eyes watched John with the same look she used to watch Anthea with when she first came back to school after her parent's death. A concoction of worry and warmth.

Anthea had thought getting home to the peace and quiet of the estate would lift a weight off her shoulders. She thought the gloom of such a day would dissipate the moment she walked into that entrance hall. Yet all it did was make her aware of how tired she was. Her mask fell off and she felt like performing all morning had left her physically exhausted. She rubbed her face with both her hands and went to find her boss to report to him.

Mycroft was at his desk in his home study. He was dressed in his suit minus the jacket, typing away on his laptop. Anthea leant against the doorframe and watched him. She wondered how he could be so calm and cool. She wandered if he turned off certain switches in his brain to be able to ignore the fallout of a death such as this. Either that or those cables and connections were never completed in his brain in the first place to make room for other things. They worked for Sherlock, the detective hadn't left Baker Street yet since the incident. He felt it deeply. Sure Mycroft was not as connected to Mary but here he sat working calmly like nothing mattered. How was this the same man who'd been besides himself and so close to a deep depression when his brother's life was almost forfeited?

"Are you going to stand there all day and stare at me," Mycroft spoke in his beautiful melodious voice full of condescension. "Or do you have something to tell me?" Silvery eyes looked over to her sparkling with mischief. See? How was that possible? How could he be so unaffected by today? Anthea licked her lips and kicked the carpet with her heeled foot.

"It appears that Jamie and my appearance was appreciated." Anthea said. Mycroft nodded once and turned back to work. "John understood what it meant because he said that you could have gone if you wanted." Mycroft chuckled – again only once. Everything was singular.

"Funerals." He scowled at his computer screen. "You've been to one and you've been to them all." She was about to argue with that statement but couldn't find the energy to put up a fight against the Holmes stubbornness and logic right now. Instead she sighed and tucked a curl behind her ear. That was enough to gain her Mycroft's attention again. "Not to take away from your grief, my dear." He said. She smiled at his attempt to either placate or apologise to her. She knew him well enough by now to know that he had meant no harm.

"I'm going to go lay down." Anthea sighed.

"Lie down, my love." Mycroft corrected. Anthea rolled her eyes, lovingly so of course, as she walked out of doorway.

"Lie down." She repeated, mumbling, closing his door behind her.

Anthea kicked her shoes off the minute she got to the bedroom and dropped her bag right next to the door. She knew Mycroft would complain about her shoes later, and normally that wasn't her style, but right now she couldn't bring herself to care in the slightest. In fact, as soon as she was within reach of the bed she collapsed face first onto it so that her face lay on Mycroft's side and her feet dangled off the edge on her side. She rested her forehead against one of her arms so that her nose wasn't buried into the duvet on the mattress.

Anthea was certain the moment she lied down that emotions would wash over her and she'd feel everything she was holding back. It didn't happen. She felt oddly numb to the whole thing. The only sign of mental anguish was how exhausted she was. Maybe she was just sick of death and sadness. Maybe from this moment on every time she was supposed to feel sad she'd just feel tired. Anthea decided she'd be okay with that. Hibernation sounded much better than grief. The only problem with that would be how many days of work she'd miss. Maybe birthdays too.

Footsteps slowly approached the bedroom, interrupting Anthea's musings. They stopped just outside the door. She did nothing to acknowledge them, she didn't even take a peek at the person. No doubt Mycroft, as he watched her, knew she knew. Probably tension in her shoulders or neck gave her away. Similarly to the office earlier Mycroft watched Anthea and Anthea let him. Though she had no way to know Anthea guessed that five minutes passed like this until the footsteps started again. They walked around the bed and were accompanied with the squeak of the ensuite door. She heard the cabinets in the little room open and swiftly be closed. The ensuite door was closed with a gentle click. The footsteps approached the bed again, and Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed on Anthea's side, next to her feet.

"Our feet were not designed to walk in shoes such as yours." Mycroft hummed beautifully. Anthea kept her face down towards to mattress but smirked to herself. "To think of the strain you must be doing to yourself. It's no wonder you have weak ankles." Anthea was thinking about peeping up and saying that she didn't have weak ankles or question where he got that idea from. However, before she'd even thought about what to say, she heard a click like the lid of something and it caught her attention. She smelt coconut and knew immediately it was the coconut lotion she had in the cupboard beneath the sink in the ensuite. She heard Mycroft rubbed it into his hands. Then he picked up one of her feet, placing it in her lap, and began massaging it.

"Oh." Anthea peeped, surprised. This was new, this was very new. This wasn't something she had expected from Mycroft but at the same time he was a man who was exceptionally talented with her hands – she shouldn't be as surprised by the pianist as she was. He pushed his thumbs into her foot, starting with the inner part of her arch and massaged. Anthea moaned at the incredible feeling. He took his time and worked through each foot carefully and precisely. She even muttered his name at one point. It made Anthea questions what she did to deserve this type of attention from the genius… or what he'd want in return. Halfway through the second foot Mycroft chose to share some information with Anthea.

"I had a relative die when I was a child, too." He spoke gently. The revelation caught Anthea off guard. Her brows furrowed. She rolled over and sat up on one arm so she may look at the back of Mycroft's head. Mycroft continued working on Anthea's foot, unperturbed by her change in position. "Nothing to be compared to what you went through with your parents, I did not rely on this person. However, I was younger than you and it was still quite an ordeal." Anthea watched him. He seemed to be looking at her foot but not really seeing it. He was lost somewhere else. "I remember the funeral quite distinctly. Everyone was crying and every speaker who stood up had nothing but kind words to say about how lovely this person one." He stopped as he opened the bottle of lotion and squirted a little more into his palm. He spread it in his hands and continued on Anthea's foot. "What is worthy to note here is that this person wasn't wonderful. This person wasn't kind, or sweet, or spread any kind of joy. They always caused worry and concern. No doubt they were loved but I don't remember anyone in my family ever talking about how lovely they were until they were gone." He'd finished on her foot. He rested it down on his lap. He'd brought a hand towel in with him before and now began wiping his hands on it. "I couldn't understand it. Why lie? How was this at all respecting the person's memory? We weren't remembering them, we were creating a version of them that never existed. Surely that was disrespectful. I asked my father this much." Mycroft took a breath and shook his head. "He said one day I'd understand, yet I still don't. I refuse to celebrate a life that never was."

And there it was. The reason he'd come up and given her a foot massage. It was because he couldn't share in the grief. He couldn't share in what Anthea was feeling, and especially what John and Sherlock were going through. He couldn't romanticise death in that way. That's all Mary's funeral was – lies. Only a select few people there knew who she really way. Mycroft barely knew Mary the nurse anyway, he'd had more interactions with Rosamund the assassin. He couldn't grieve with Anthea because he didn't understand. So instead he did what he knew how to do – assist her in another way, comfort her in another way. Just like the hug, just like standing awkwardly at her parent's grave, he found alternative paths to show he cared about her feelings. The poor awkward man.

Anthea sat up and scooted to the end of the bed until she sat right next to Mycroft. She pushed his hair back then kissed him gently right on the cheek bone.

"Thank you for the foot rub." She whispered too him. "And don't worry." She smiled. "If you die first I'll make sure everyone at your funeral says at least one thing they didn't like about you." Mycroft scoffed.

"Let my brother do the eulogy. He'll say enough to set the mood." He said. Anthea chuckled under her breath. She leaned her head against Mycroft's shoulder.

"What can I do to repay you for taking care of my feet?" She asked. She felt Mycroft tense underneath her.

"No. Touching." He hesitated. "No."

"Okay." Anthea sighed lovingly. "Hold onto that favour though. Might come in handy next time you have a migraine."

"I have multiple favours saved up to use against you, my dear." He chuckled. "This was free of charge."

I heard about John Watson's wife. – E.

Yeah. – A.

There is very little information on it readily available. If you wish to share I'd be interested in hearing. – E.

I'm not going to tell you. You could be a reporter. – A.

I don't get out enough to be a reporter. – E.

You can't be too careful. And I'm teasing. – A.

Yes. My response, like yours, was both serious and meant in a "teasing" manner. Everything that concerns you interests me greatly, as you will perhaps one day come to appreciate. – E.

Phantom of the Opera. That last bit. That's POTO. The book, right? I haven't read it in English but that sounds right. – A.

Yes. Not English you say? Forced reading from the domineering boyfriend? – E.

No. I love the musical and I speak French. It was a gift. – A.

Trés bien. – E.

Author's Note: The return of Eurus in a while. I purposely left her out for a while as to not ruin the mood of the chapters. Now we can get back to some occasional creepy! What did you think of the chapter anyway? Was it good? What did you like? I am very surprised I got all this done so I really hope it was okay! Thanks to our guest reviewers last chapter; Christie, Eva's dreaming, Tadaa, Olivia, Guest, and B. Thanks to all my readers and reviews. Thanks SO much! Please let me know your opinions and I'll see you in five days!