The fluorescent lights only served to add to the nearly overpowering sterility of the rectangular room. Their blue-ish light reflected off stainless steel tables and countertops, with any sound echoing off the floors, bouncing against bare walls and glass fronted cabinets. A normal person might have found the place disconcerting, even eerie. But of course, Mycroft Holmes wasn't a normal person; at least in his own estimation. Even the human body, clearly discernable despite the worn coroner's white sheet covering it, didn't disturb him. It was a significantly more benign sight that most of the bodies he normally saw.

Feelings, including revulsion, fear, gut-wrenching sickness were quite foreign; made so by conscious decision from childhood. A genius level IQ and the self-awareness of such at a young age had set him on a path he very rarely deviated from. Though this occasion was one of those rare instances. He'd questioned his motivations as well as his sanity in the car ride over, so much so that he'd had his driver wait outside, in case he came to his senses prior to opening that door.

He hadn't.

"Ms. Hooper?"

The woman at the far end of the room turned slowly, her white lab coat hardly disturbed by the movement. It was odd, he thought to himself, how different she was than his brother (from his earlier assessment of her nature), but yet, how very similar they could be in some mannerisms, now that Sherlock had mannerisms that was, or were they overt expressions of his feelings? (Something to ponder at a later time.) Four weeks past, that would have been an easy question to answer, Sherlock kept most everything as close to the vest as he did. But then Eurus had forced open that door Sherlock had heretofore kept locked; or was is more akin to blowing up a well crafted wall that Sherlock had constructed all those years ago, possibly the later.

Mycroft was afraid for his brother, yet another unfamiliar sensation, (or at least a distant one), also likely due to the actions of his sister. Sherlock was on the knife-edge of the precipice and it was a wonder he hadn't toppled over it: there was credit to give to John and Mrs. Hudson for that of course. But there was one piece of Sherlock's necessary support system that was missing and Mycroft, on behalf of his brother, felt compelled to restore it.

Or at least to try.

"Mr. Holmes."

No surprise, no disdain, no expression registered on her face at all. He might as well have been one of the corpses. In that she was Sherlock.

"I wonder if we might talk?" He asked.

She glanced at her watch, as if deciding if he was worth the time. He supposed he couldn't blame her for that. Though he did note it as odd that she hadn't immediately asked about Sherlock upon seeing him, and hadn't at least overtly made the assumption that something has happened to him. Perhaps she was as broken as he, and had swallowed her innate compassion and abandoned him altogether?

And perhaps that was for the best, and perhaps he shouldn't have decided to interfere? When she looked back up at him though, he could see a sheen in her eyes and he knew that he was in the correct place, doing the proper thing for them both. It was the answer he needed, and she hadn't had to say a word.

"I think you are owed an apology Ms. Hooper."

"For what?"

He took a deep breath before opening the box, her eyes following his chest movement.

"For the phone call."

"Ah," she replied quietly, bowing her head once again.

"I didn't know if Sherlock had offered one."

"We haven't spoken." Her dull voice would have been heartbreaking to anyone else hearing it, and Mycroft did admit to himself that even he felt a slight stirring in his own chest, accompanying a sense of cold, due in no part to their environs. He tried to continue.

"And seeing as I feel partly responsible for what happened."

"Partly?" There was some emotion behind that word, and the sharpening of her eyes towards him had been unexpected.

"I'm sorry?" His response didn't sound as confident as he was used to hearing from his own voice. Shock colored the confusion to make it quite unlike him.

"Is that it?" Her voice was gaining strength as her demeanor recaptured its resolve.

"Is that what?" Mycroft was altogether unused to hearing himself stutter.

"My apology."

God, she was as sharp as his brother.

"No." He tried to gather himself up.

There was a brief moment of silence between them.

"What were you thinking, letting her speak to James Moriarty?"

So, someone had revealed the details to her. Of course, of their triad there could have only been one.

"Dr. Watson?"

"Yes, John told me what happened, how your sister was able to manipulate the people around her, yourself included, into arranging her revenge on you both."

"In my defense, if the rules I had laid out had been obeyed it would have never come to this."

"So that is my apology then is it Mr. Holmes?"

"No, of course not." Being flustered was quite uncomfortable. As was her stare. He took another deep breath.

"Ms. Hooper. I am sincerely sorry that you were drawn into this. I am sorry that your life was threatened, and that your privacy, both of home and of mind was invaded."

"Well that's a little better."

"May I assume that the cameras and transmitting equipment have been removed from your flat?"

"John collected my keys while I was at work and cleaned up thoroughly."

"Still, I would be pleased to have some of my men do another sweep for you should you have any lingering concerns."

She didn't answer him just then, only dropped her gaze again and knit her hands together behind her back; well it was either that, or she was reaching for some implement on the counter behind her with which to do him harm. He hoped for the former.

"How is she?" She asked quietly to the floor.

"My sister?"

"Yes."

"She's become quite withdrawn since Sherlock confronted her. She doesn't speak, and does little more than eat and sleep and walk about her cell. Have you ever seen a caged tiger Ms. Hooper? How they pace the perimeter of their enclosure, wearing the earth away into a rut, over and over again."

"Plotting silently the means of their escape and how best to kill their jailers?" Her cocked head and pursed smile demonstrated her concerns.

"Perhaps not the best analogy I could have chosen?"

"Perhaps not."

"But I assure you Ms. Hooper, my sister is no longer a threat to you or anyone else. Her skills are no longer being used by myself or by anyone else. The military are constantly monitoring any interactions she has with the staff and those are limited to meals and housekeeping."

He paused, thinking of Eurus, no human contact at all really. Lucite slots and trays for her needs, no electronics, piped in music; all of it so distant, except for her violin.

"The only signs of sentience we really have from her now are when Sherlock comes."

Her jaw quivered a little at the mention of his name.

"He plays the violin for her, and she accompanies him. Together, even without practice or sheet music, they are astounding to hear."

"I see."

"Ms. Hooper, is there anything else I can do to reassure you?"

"How is Sherlock?"

Now that question seemed a small breakthrough, evidence that she did still care for the man.

"He is Sherlock. Still broken, perhaps into smaller fragments now knowing what he does about our childhood."

Hearing his own words Mycroft understood how unsatisfying his answer had been, and he sought to immediately qualify it.

"He doesn't speak of it; at least not to me. He seeks out his 'fixes' as he normally does, in his work, or in pharmaceuticals, avoiding the distress of real life."

"Do you think he's in danger of harming himself again?"

"Ms. Hooper, it's very hard to say. I know Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson are keeping a close eye on him. But I also know that your assistance in such matters would be greatly appreciated. I'm certain he misses you."

"I can't."

It was obvious she was trying to rebuild her resolve but that common decency made it so very difficult.

"I was humiliated Mr. Holmes. How can I face him?"

The door behind Mycroft creaked as someone sought to open it; he whirled on the intruder.

"Out!" He barked. Someone in blue scrubs, a blur really, closed the door quickly, the vibration setting the vials on a nearby counter to ringing against each other.

"He asked me to tell him I loved him, not because he genuinely wanted to know, but for a case he said. Can you imagine the hurt I felt being asked to profess that, knowing it meant nothing to him but a means to an end? And then to discover that someone knew my secret and was mocking me, belittling me for their amusement, threatening my life because of you? Do you know what that does to someone?"

"I assure you Ms. Hooper, Sherlock was hurting as well, he would never have forced you into that situation if there had been any other way. He didn't want you to die."

"He couldn't have another death on his conscience, not so soon after Mary." It was easy to see that she was falling apart despite her best attempts to contain it, remembering all that hurt, having to live it again because of his presence. Yet another wall breached by the Holmes children.

"It was more than that Molly." She looked right at him, glistening eyes, quivering lip. It hadn't even dawned on him that he'd become so familiar as to use her first name.

"Sherlock doesn't love me, despite what I made him say. He never will."

"He will likely never love anyone, not the way you deserve to be loved. I think the loss of his best friend, even though the memories of it were muddled, have made that impossible."

"I had just hoped." She dabbed her sleeve against her eyes.

"I'm sorry that he doesn't recognize your value Molly. If there was anyone deserving."

"It wouldn't be me."

"It should be. Perhaps he just needs time to overcome his own shame at what he did to you?"

Her smile was soft, but unconvincing of anything except her own hurt. He tried to match it with one of his own, but wasn't quite convinced he'd accomplished it.

"Perhaps I should go then Molly?"

"If you wouldn't mind Mr. Holmes, perhaps you could have someone come round and make sure everything is safe at my flat?"

"Of course, I'll send someone this evening."

"Do you think that perhaps you could send me his photo or something, just so I know?"

"How very stupid of me Ms. Hooper. I'll accompany him myself."

"Oh, you don't have to go to all that trouble."

"It's the least I can do."

"I assume I don't need to give you the address?"

Mycroft's grin betrayed the most sincere calm; he was finally back in his element, in control.

"No. Shall we say about seven?"

"Yes, that would be fine."

"Till then." He gave a nod and turned to exit.

"I'm very sorry for what happened to your sister Mr. Holmes."

His hand involuntarily tightened around the top of his umbrella, but he didn't lose a beat in his answer.

"Thank you." He offered, not daring to turn back.

The landlord had a buzzer system on the front step, an ancient thing with rust around the edges and black buttons worn smooth from use. Names printed on little scraps of paper stuck sadly askew over the buttons, where they were present at all. A good shoulder probably would have knocked the front door in anyways. He made a mental note to have that checked.

Mycroft pushed at the correct black spot, its tinny noise struggling through the dusty speaker. Muffled though it was, at least it seemed to function. Molly's voice answered and he identified himself and his companions and was allowed entry with a similarly tinny buzz and click.

She met them at her door. It was easy to see that a new bolt had been added to it recently as the paint around the doorframe was chipped away and the brass hardware was significantly shinier than the latch and knob.

"Mr. Homes, thank you for coming." Molly stepped aside to invite he and the three gentlemen accompanying him into her flat.

"Allow me to introduce James, Raj and Colin. They'll be checking for any devices that Dr. Watson and Sherlock might have overlooked. They'll also be installing some cameras that only you can control, so they'll need to run some wires. They'll make certain not to do any damage. We'll leave you a monitor for the system." It was all quite matter of fact as he explained it.

"Of course, thank you, all of you. Do you gentlemen need anything?"

"Just some space to set up our equipment if you don't mind Miss?" That was James, Mycroft's right hand.

"Yes, of course, perhaps the kitchen?"

Molly's anxiety was easily visible to Mycroft. Her eyes darted about; over the technicians, their cases, and her flat walls. Her complexion seemed a little pale and the shadows under her eyes (not quite so visible in the fluorescent lights of the morgue earlier) seemed deep, betraying a chronic lack of sleep.

"What should I do then?" She asked. "Just keep out of your way?"

"Why don't you come and have a seat in the living room Ms. Hooper." Mycroft motioned towards her couch. "We'll let the gentlemen get to work and I'll explain to you what they are doing and how to work these cameras."

He hoped that detailing the process to her might put her a little more at ease and stop her wringing her hands in her lap. She seemed like the type of person who preferred the comfort of knowing what was going on around her, as opposed to blissful ignorance.

"Should I put the kettle on?" She asked.

Mycroft simply smiled at her concern, and finally she smiled as well.

"That sounded a great deal like Mrs. Hudson didn't it?" She allowed herself a quiet little laugh. It seemed to defuse the tension a little in her shoulders.

"I wouldn't know, she doesn't offer me tea. I don't think she likes me very much." Self-deprecation, he found, was often a good way to disarm people.

"Well I suppose she just doesn't know you well enough Mr. Holmes."

"Yes," he grinned, "that must be it."

They both laughed a little at that.

"You know, the occasion probably calls for something a little stronger than tea anyways. I have a nice single malt; at least I'm told it's a nice single malt. Would you join me Mr. Holmes?"

"Thank you, yes, that would be nice."

"Well good then." Molly retrieved the bottle from a concealed cupboard that obviously functioned as her liquor cabinet, and set it down in front of Mycroft as sought out two crystal tumblers from the same recesses.

He couldn't help but admire the bottle, he hadn't expected much more than a Glenfiddich or the like, possibly from the duty-free, but he was pleasantly surprised by the pedigree of the Lagavulin she presented.

"It was a gift." She offered by means of an explanation to him as he examined the bottle, as if it was obvious that she wouldn't have the spare money to invest in such an expensive scotch. She set the glasses down carefully, they made a far wore delightful peal than the vials in her lab had earlier.

"Well someone obviously thinks highly of you."

"It was from John, a particularly rough night of colic with Rosie while he and Sherlock had to go off and surveil someone."

Mycroft could not help but notice how her voice trailed off after the mention of his brother. It seemed an opportune time to change the subject. He twisted the top off the bottle and poured two generous portions into the glasses.

"You are a very kind person Molly."

"I can't really help it, I feel so badly for John, with everything he's had to go through, deceptions, betrayals, losing Mary, and now with a little one at home all by himself."

It seemed to Mycroft that she wanted to keep talking and so he let her speak, sipping at the amber liquid (which really was quite sublime) as she did.

"Sherlock faking his death, me having to go along with it, even though I could see John's pain, Mary, her awful death. I didn't know if he'd ever forgive Sherlock for that."

Of course Mycroft had been there when Mrs. Norbury, so incensed by Sherlock's goading, had pulled the trigger, intent on killing him, but taking Mary instead.

"But Dr. Watson is recovering?"

"John is guarded, but I know, despite everything, he missed Sherlock terribly. He had to get back out there, investigating, he needed that purpose for his soul again."

"And what does your soul need?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What do you need to begin feeling whole again Molly?"

It was a leap, perhaps far too familiar, but it seemed the right path to take.

"Maybe a good night's sleep?"

"Well hopefully the cameras and the security systems here will help with that."

"I'm sure they will. I imagine the scotch will as well."

"Is there anything else? Are you eating well? Working too much? Do you feel it would be helpful to get away for awhile, or talk with someone about how you are feeling?"

"I think I'll just stay away from counselors for the time being."

Eurus again.

"This really has been very difficult for you, hasn't it?"

She nodded, taking a healthy sip of the scotch.

"How have you been managing?"

"I keep busy, I spend more time at work, and less time here. I try not to think about things; which is hard when John calls about sitting for Rosie."

"You are very strong."

"I have to be, don't I? People count on me."

"And you only have yourself to count on."

"It isn't that dire Mr. Holmes."

"Are you certain?"

"I just need time I think, it's not the first time I've been scared, or been deceived, or even had my heart broken."

"Let me give you my private number then," he reached into the breast pocket of his suit, pulling out an official looking (if not wholly accurate in its details) business card. "I'll write it on the back, I'd appreciate it if you didn't share it with anyone."

"Of course, thank you. That's very kind."

"I can have someone here in minutes, at any time of the day or night. And I'll speak to the landlord about fixing the front entrance properly in the coming days."

"Excuse me Sir, we're just finishing up here if you'd like me to demonstrate everything for Miss Hooper."

It was a well-timed interruption Mycroft thought, for them both, as their conversation seemed to have reached an appropriate ending. He was not used to acting as a sounding board for anyone; not that people didn't try to offer drawn out, emotional explanations to him on many subjects. He was far more used to sorting through all of that to get to the heart of the matter at hand, but of course, this was not one of those situations. It had turned into something quite unusual indeed.

He watched her, while finishing his drink, as James pointed out everything on the little touch screen that would allow her to review any type of activity in her home. To give Sherlock credit, his gentleman had found no other surveillance devices, but had reinforced all the access points, no matter how small they were. He hoped that it would restore some of her peace of mind, it was, after all, the least he could do to try to rectify the harm he and his siblings had brought to her.

When all of that had been finished, and Raj and Colin had packed up their gear and tidied up he too stood, and made to leave after offering her a farewell. He was nearly out the door, following the others when a thought came to him and he turned back to her.

"Ms. Hooper? Do you have a fancy dress?"

"Mr. Holmes?"

"I only ask because I was wondering if you might like to accompany me to an event this coming Friday evening. It's a ballet performance, a work thing, black tie. I can't promise it will be terribly exciting, but it would be very nice to have company, if you'd like."

"It sounds lovely, I'd love to go."

"Wonderful, I'll come around to collect you about 7 if that isn't too early."

"Thank you, I'm looking forward to it."

"Till then Ms. Hooper."

Sitting in the back of his car, Mycroft continued to wonder if he had completely lost his mind.