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Mycroft first met Emily Brooks just a few months after she began her friendship with his younger brother.
He did as he had always done and offered her money to keep an eye on Sherlock. She was on scholarship and had taken out quite a few loans for her study in medicine, Mycroft was certain she would gladly accept the sum. However, when offered, she laughed in his face.
“Just say you’re worried about him.” She smiled brightly. She had an almost crooked smile. A ghost of a little boy with red hair flitted across Mycroft’s vision. Ah. “Don’t worry. He’s my friend, I might not be his, but I’ll look after him. It’s what normal people do.”
***
Emily only ever reached out to Mycroft once.
He collected his younger brother from her flat and stuffed him in the car to send him off to rehab. Before leaving, Mycroft returned to Emily’s flat to apologize for his brother’s behavior and to tell her a locksmith would come around the next day to fix her lock.
He came up and found her crying on her black leather chair. Not wanting to embarrass her, he left the flat, closing the door behind him. He would text her later.
“All lives end,” Mycroft said as he got in the car. “All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.” His younger brother glared at him. “We are different from them. If you care as much as I think you do, let her go. She was never meant to be part of our world.”
The rest of the car ride went in silence.
***
Sherlock, of course, didn’t pay attention to Mycroft’s warning.
For once, Mycroft didn’t mind.
His brother was thriving in this new attachment to Emily Brooks. He hadn’t even gone near the cigarette counter of a store since he had left rehab. He was phoning Mummy regularly about his classes and his girlfriend.
Mycroft would allow this attachment to continue.
It helped that Emily sent him some baked goods to his office every once in a while. She apparently had a habit of baking sweets whenever she was upset over something Sherlock said and withheld them from the younger Holmes and sent them to the elder in retaliation.
Mycroft had gained three pounds since the beginning of their relationship and he found he didn’t mind.
***
“You had a sister, didn’t you?”
Mycroft stiffened. He looked at the young woman sitting next to him. He had never thought that pregnant women had a glow about them, but Emily certainly had an aura about her that seemed to beg for protection. She wasn’t even showing yet.
“Why do you ask?”
“Your parents seem very… knowledgeable about how to interact with girls. I asked Sherlock if he had any other siblings beside yourself but he said he ‘unfortunately’ only had you.” She smiled up at him, sadly. “I also noticed that there are some baby pictures missing, like your parents don’t want to be reminded of something. I also found a doll in their room when your mum asked me to get her the mug she had left there.”
“She died when Sherlock was very young. He doesn’t remember her.”
She put her hand over his. “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s difficult, isn’t it? Not being able to mourn with other people because you don’t want them to worry.” Mycroft looked down at his sister-in-law and she smiled up at him again, this time tenderly. She put her other hand over her stomach. “Maybe I’ll have a girl. A Holmes girl certainly can’t be as troublesome as a Holmes boy.”
She had no idea.
“We shall see.”
“Whatever I have, I know they’re going to have a rather doting uncle in you, Mycroft, considering how much you care about Sherlock.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
She simply smiled at him.
***
“Could you hold her for a moment?”
She didn’t give him time to answer and simply put his niece in his arms as she rushed about the flat trying to find the birthday present she had gotten for Mummy Holmes.
Mycroft stiffened at the small weight in his arms. He looked down at the small thing. The girl stared back at him with all knowing blue-green eyes. She reached up for him and Mycroft bent his head down slightly to deduce what the girl could possibly want. Her small hand grasped at his nose and gurgled happily.
“Awe, she wants a kiss from her Uncle Myc,” Emily returned having found the gift.
“Mycroft.”
“She won’t be able to say that for a while.”
“Of course.”
He found that he was rather excited for the day his niece would be able to say his name fully with the added familial title.
***
“She’s going to die, you know.”
Mycroft froze and slowly turned to look at his little sister behind her glass. “To whom are you referring?”
“Both of them.” She tilted her head and observed him. “They make him domestic.”
“They make him happy.”
“She was never meant to be part of our world anyway.” She paused, narrowing her eyes at some tick in his body he couldn’t control. “You love her. She’s what I could never be.”
“She isn’t replacing you, Eurus.”
“No, she isn’t.” She glanced at the clock. “It must have happened by now.”
Mycroft felt his entire body grow cold. He rushed out of the containment area, pulling out his phone to bark orders into having his men tell him exactly where his sister-in-law and niece were.
“The Princess is with Yellowbeard and the Queen is with…”
There was static as other channels began to open their individual communications link.
“The Queen is on route to hospital,” Anthea’s voice came in, urgent. Mycroft could detect the slightest hint of hysteria. “There’s been an accident.”
Mycroft felt his heart thundering in his chest. “Send a car to pick up Yellowbeard and the Princess.” His chest tightened. “How bad is it?”
“It isn’t good, sir.”
***
When the news of Emily’s passing reached Mycroft, he collapsed onto the floor. Anthea, who had already dropped her phone when the news arrived, rushed to him. She wrapped her arms around him as tremors began to shudder through his body.
Images of Emily swirled in his vision. Her smiling. Her holding his arm as he walked her down the aisle to his smiling brother. Her holding his hand in silent comfort. Her holding little Anne in her arms at the hospital. Her pressing a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s cheek as she thanked him for looking after Sherlock.
A broken scream escaped his lips as he broke into helpless sobs.
Anthea held him close and stroked his hair and back soothingly. This would never leave his office. But for once in his life he allowed himself to wallow in the sentiment he had allowed Emily to create in his life.
***
He watched as Sherlock snapped at anyone who even tried to approach Anne.
He held his daughter like a lioness protecting her cub. In his eyes, everyone was an enemy. Even Mycroft.
***
He hadn’t wanted to take Anne away from Sherlock, but he had a duty to Emily to take her daughter away from the self-destructive path he was taking.
On the car ride to his parents’ home, Anne snuggled to his chest, asleep.
“I promise I’ll protect you,” he whispered into her curly red hair. “No one will ever hurt you, not even Sherlock.”
***
He wiped all evidence of Anne and Emily from Sherlock’s life completely.
As far as anyone was concerned, Sherlock had never met Emily Brooks and he knew no one by the name of Anne Holmes. In fact, Anne Holmes didn’t exist. An Anne Brooks happened to stay with the elder Holmes couple as part of a foster care program.
***
When a Dr. Hooper began to visit Anne in the hospital, Mycroft grew wary. The woman was already in Sherlock’s orbit since she worked in the morgue. He was already vaguely aware that she seemed somewhat infatuated with his younger brother as well.
His brother had apparently become aware of the connection between the morgue mouse and Anne since Sherlock now refused to work with anyone else.
So, Mycroft did what he had always done and offered her money to keep an eye on Sherlock. She was young and had some loans to pay off. He was certain she would gladly accept the sum. However, when offered, she laughed.
“Oh, you were serious.” She laughed nervously, but her smile was bright and slightly crooked. A ghost of a woman with big brown eyes flitted across Mycroft’s vision. Ah. “He’s, he’s rather lonely, isn’t he? A bit sad. Greg told me about the drug problem. I’ll let you know if I suspect anything. But I’m sure it will be fine. It’s what any normal person would do. You don’t need to pay me. It’s what friends do.” She frowned. “Not that we’re friends. I would like to be, but… um… you know how he is.”
“Of course.”
***
When he next visited Anne, a photo of her and the pathologist stood on the bedside table.
If Mycroft hadn’t known any better, he would have thought it was a picture of a mother and her daughter.
Anne seemed happy.
That was all that mattered.
To the Iceman, Anne Holmes was the one person who mattered more than even Sherlock. If she liked the woman, Mycroft would make sure she always had a place in his younger brother’s orbit.