For Queen And Country // John Watson

[Anastasia Orlova]

Stepping out onto the balcony, Anthea smiled as a gentle breeze caressed her bare shoulders. Taking in a deep breath of air, she closed her eyes for a long moment, savouring the moment. The night was cool, but it was a pleasant relief after the hot stuffy air inside the ballroom. Opening her eyes, the woman walked slowly to the railing and watched the stars, glad for a moment away from the stuffy international dignitaries.

"I almost feel like I should apologize for tearing you away from your Blackberry tonight," a voice commented, his steps soft as he came up beside her. Anthea didn't need to look at the newcomer to know who the voice belonged to. It was a voice that she heard every day and that was so familiar that she could pick up on his mood just by the slight nuances in it. She could almost hear the wry smile in his voice, a smile that would be gone the second she looked at him, only to be replaced with one of complete and utter professionalism. A smile came to rest on her lips as she looked over, looking him up and down discreetly. As usual he was immaculate; not so much as a hair out of place. "I wouldn't have anywhere to put it," she replied with a soft chuckle. "This dress is impossible for any sort of storage."

The man allowed himself a slight smile. "Despite its lack of storage, you have made quite the impression in it, especially amongst our members of parliament." She gave a tight smile, turning her head to look away from him. She hadn't blown three month's salary to impress old farts and cheating dignitaries going through midlife crises who all ogled her none-too-discreetly. She'd done it for him, hoping for some mere compliment that she looked nice. Just some remark that he had seen the effort she'd made. She chided herself mentally; she should have known better. Such frivolities such a compliments were not in Mycroft's repetoire. She almost wished that she hadn't come, but she had to. Any social gathering that required Mycroft meant that Anthea had to trail along, looking stunning because she was there to represent him. What she wouldn't have given to have stayed at home in track-pants and indulged in a good book and wine.

Anthea was just about to ask about whether Mycroft was intending to keep his appointment with his brother the following morning, when she frowned, feeling something gripping at her. Invisible tendrils were wrapping themselves around her waist and Anthea stumbled as she was pulled back, reaching out and grabbing Mycroft's arm to steady herself. The man raised his eyebrow at the antics of his personal assistant, but made no comment. Anthea tried tugging at the invisible ropes around her, but it was no use. The distance between Mycroft and her grew by the second as she was pulled back, and fear flitted through her eyes. She didn't know where she was being pulled to, or why, but what she did know was that it was unlikely she would be seeing her precious London again any time soon.

She couldn't go without saying goodbye. Grabbing hold of the balcony railing and wrenching herself forward, she pulled Mycroft forward by the lapels of his jacket with one hand and placed a long soft kiss on his lips. "Goodbye Mycroft." A tender smile crinkled her features as she studied his face one last time, before letting go, allowing herself to be pulled away and engulfed in an inky darkness.

A very unlady-like grunt left her lips as she landed on plush carpeting. Holding her throbbing head with one hand, she shakily pushed herself up with the other, studying her surroundings. She was in a throne room, it seemed, but a throne room unlike one she had ever seen before. The monarchs in the portraits on the walls were ones that Anthea had never seen before, and the crest on the giant stained glass window was one she didn't recognize. Shaking her head, she allowed herself to drop off her elbow and just lay on the carpet, staring at the ceiling. It was all too much to process.