TRIGGER WARNING: Character loses baby due to miscarriage. Not graphic, but it is the main topic for this fic.

When Anthea told him she was pregnant, he held back his initial response, waiting to gauge her reaction. Judging by the sparkle in her eyes and the blushing smile she was doing her best to hold back for his sake (unnecessary of course) she was beyond pleased. Of course he was delighted, and quite proud too. Why shouldn't he be? He'd never planned on children, or, for that matter, marrying, but he was, and so children, despite the preventative steps within reason every couple takes, were a possibility, not an inevitability.

Knowing now that Mycroft was not upset, Anthea grew more and more eager with each passing day. She was only a few weeks along, and already she was looking at cribs, at car seats and rompers, playpens suitable for Mycroft's office.

"Whatever for?" he asked, doing his best to withhold his horror at the thought of a playpen in his office.

"I cannot take care of him all the time," Anthea replied.

"I…will take care of it when it is older," Mycroft sniffed. She laughed and kissed his forehead, thumbing away the lipstick stain left there.

"You'll know what to do, don't worry," she smiled.

At fifteen weeks, Anthea went to her doctor's appointment, Mycroft waving her off with a kiss and having her swear to send him a text just as soon as the sonogram results were printed, he wanted all the details. He'd rather be with her for the appointment, but talks with the Russian Embassy were impossible, and Anthea knew he was needed there (Prime Ministers could be so dense, sometimes).

The nurse performing the sonogram was smiling and Anthea was glad to be able to really gush about just how excited she really was to be having a baby. The nurse was smiling and nodding as she prepped the machine and put on a pair of gloves. Anthea fell quiet at last, waiting for the screen to blink on.

"Is it booting up?" she asked.

"It's on," the nurse said, still looking at the dark screen. "I'm not…quite sure, I'm going to fetch the doctor, alright? Just stay put, back in a moment, nothing to worry about."

"Oh…okay…" Anthea answered. It couldn't be good when someone told you not to worry. It was never good. In fact it usually meant it was something terrible.

A few moments passed and the doctor entered, smiling brightly at Anthea.
"Good afternoon Mrs. Holmes," he said conversationally. "Sometimes these machines can be finicky," it was a lie, and all three of them knew it. "Just a little finagling," he moved the transducer over her abdomen, looking at the screen. "You're fifteen weeks?"

"Just over," she murmured. "Yes, fifteen weeks."

"Mm," the doctor murmured. He turned to the nurse so their backs were to Anthea, they looked at the screen, then each other. Finally the doctor shut the machine off, and the nurse went about wiping the gel off Anthea's belly.

Anthea felt numb, but she forced herself to look up as the doctor rounded the bed, sitting down beside her.

"Mrs. Holmes, I am very sorry."

No one knew Mycroft Holmes to cancel meetings ever, but everyone knew it must have been a terrible reason for him to do so. He maintained his calm until he reached home, thrusting his bag and umbrella at the housekeeper.

"Mrs. Holmes is upstairs," she called and he thanked her.

Anthea sat on the small sofa in his office, her expression was blank and she held a file in her lap.

"Anthea,"

"We lost the baby," she said. The room was silent and Mycroft couldn't tear his gaze from her. Anthea seemed so unlike herself, so eerily calm about such a subject. "They took care of everything this afternoon." Mycroft realized she was still under effects of the local anesthesia she'd been administered. He wanted to say how much he wished she'd called as soon as she found out, so he would've been there when they had to remove the baby, their baby. Anthea continued, "I found a plot at St. Mary's, very small near a hazel tree. I thought…it would be suitable."

Mycroft didn't know what to do for a moment.

"Well, we can worry about it later," he said at last, not recognizing his own voice. "You should be resting, or- I could draw you a bath, or perhaps you'd like something-"

"Will you get the plot?" she interrupted. "Please? It's- it's a nice place."

"Yes of course," he said immediately. It was difficult to speak, he swallowed thickly, willing the sting in his eyes to go away.

"I thought it might- we could call her Hazel…because..." she was trying to smile as her eyes welled up with tears. "Wouldn't that be silly, named Hazel, buried next to a hazel tree?"

"It is a pretty name," he said. Her smile finally fell and she began to sob, doubling over, cradling herself. Mycroft was at her side in a moment, drawing her between his knees, rocking her back and forth.

It was a long while before either of them moved. Anthea was first, and Mycroft was close behind, gently ushering her into the bathroom, Mrs. Danvers, the heavenly woman, had run a bath with lavender oil so Mycroft lost no time in helping his wife out of her clothes and assisting her into the tub. He washed her hair and combed it until it was sleek and smooth. As he wove it into a long braid, Anthea finally spoke again:

"They said we can always try again."

Mycroft said nothing, though she felt his hands automatically pause for a barest instant as he braided her hair.

"But I can't," she went on, her voice was steady. "The doctor said we can run tests, and I agreed, and in the meantime, after I've healed that we can always try again, but I can't...I don't want to try again and go through this. Not yet. There's a file he gave me. It explains it all there." It hurt too much to hope that this was just a fluke, Anthea didn't dare let herself believe there was a chance to be had when she was still grieving. Maybe after they buried Hazel, but not now.

"I'll read it," he promised. If Anthea wanted children, perhaps there was another way, there were always steps they could take, the question was, would she want to take them?

"Please don't ask me now," she murmured, knowing what he was thinking.

"I won't."

He fetched a tray for them, returning with leftovers and little savories that he knew she loved best, and she smiled at his efforts. They watched boring television in bed and stayed always within arm's reach for the rest of the night. There were questions to be answered, calls to make and people to inform, but the only time Mycroft picked up the phone was to reserve the plot Anthea had asked for. There would be time enough tomorrow to break the news to family, when they would be strong enough to endure the endless handshakes and constant apologies. For now, Mycroft drew Anthea into his arms, holding her close. She cried silently now, wiping her cheeks now and then.

"It doesn't disturb me, you know," he said, meaning her crying was not a bother.

"I know," she said. "I just haven't the strength to give it any real effort."

Silence again. The tv droned on, something about knives cutting through pennies or some nonsense. Anthea switched the channel, turning the volume down. Tonight they'd leave the television on to fall asleep to. She released a heavy sigh, curling up closer to him, arm draped over his middle.

"You do want children though?" he asked after a long moment. Her grip on his waist tightened only for a moment, and he barely felt it.

"More than anything."