Mycroft Holmes was not given to sentiment. For years he had cultivated a personality of ice, a reputation for being an uncaring man of stone. Nothing fazed him, until…until Eurus, he admitted to himself. He sat alone in his quiet office, laptop open—on its screen, footage from the security cameras of Sherrinford. He had requested that it be downloaded to his computer then wiped from the facility's memory banks. Now, he faced the unpleasant task of reviewing it. As the events of the previous day unfolded before him, he came to a few inescapable conclusions. Try as he might, he cared. Despite the image he presented, despite what he had always told Sherlock, he always cared, about his family, and by extension, those they cared about. In his brother's case, that meant John Watson and his daughter, Mrs. Hudson, Greg Lestrade, and—Molly Hooper. He had never seen it coming, but there it was, on the screen and forever burned into his memory—Sherlock, physically destroying a coffin with his bare hands.

Mycroft replayed the sequence. He saw himself relax in relief as Dr. Hooper admitted she loved Sherlock and Eurus' countdown ended with two seconds to spare. Moments later, Sherlock carefully placed the lid atop the coffin, and then gently, almost reverently, caressed the wood and the plaque bearing the words, "I LOVE YOU". However, his brother's next move had been explosive and he and John had watched helplessly as Sherlock, fueled by an internal rage Mycroft had rarely witnessed, drove a powerful fist through the lid and proceeded to rip the coffin apart, screaming in his fury, splintered wood flying in all directions.

He paused the video. Sherlock froze, both arms raised, his features contorted by his wrath and pain. Mycroft sat back in his chair, studying the scene, thoughtful. There was only one possible conclusion to be drawn, only one. His little brother truly loved Molly Hooper. Mycroft reached out, pressed a button.

"Sir?" Anthea's voice came from the intercom.

"Get me a car."

Thirty minutes later, Mycroft found himself standing on Molly Hooper's doorstep. He rang the doorbell, for once uncertain what he was going to say. The door slowly opened to reveal the pathologist. Her eyes were red-rimmed and he deduced from the dark circles beneath them that she had not slept the previous night.

"Mycroft," she said quietly. "What're you doing here?" As he hesitated, she continued, "It's Sherlock, isn't it? What's happened?"

"May I come in, Doctor Hooper?"

She stepped aside to allow his entrance, closed the door quietly, and then led him into her flat.

Once inside, she spun to face him. "I've asked once already, Mycroft—what's going on? Is Sherlock all right?"

"Sherlock," he said, "is fine."

Molly sighed, and her mouth set in a hard, angry line. "Then please say what you have to say. I'm tired, and yesterday was a really, really bad day for reasons that I don't want to get into right now. It doesn't take a Holmes to figure out that I haven't had much sleep."

"That's why I'm here," he replied. "I know you were already having a bad day yesterday, and then Sherlock called you."

She took an involuntary step backward. "What?" she asked, puzzled. "How…did you know I talked with Sherlock?"

"I was there."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What? He said it was for a case. Who…who else was there?"

Mycroft held up a hand. "Please, Doctor. I have a great deal to tell you, all of it important, and I ask that you listen carefully and with an open mind. It is not my intention to cause you pain. Quite the contrary, in fact. It is my hope that after you hear me out, you will understand."

Molly motioned for him to take a seat on the sofa, and she seated herself across from him, embarrassment and anger fighting for control.

He sat. Leaning his umbrella against the end table, he began, "You need to know that what I am about to impart is not an easy thing for me to say, nor will it be easy for you to hear, but you must. There are things that you don't know about my family. Sherlock himself was completely unaware until only a few days ago." He paused, and she nodded for him to continue.

"Sherlock and I," he said, "have a sister. Her name is Eurus, and she is intellectually without equal. However…though she is brilliant, she is also…damaged. Since childhood, she has demonstrated persistent and deadly psychopathic behavior."

Molly sat, unmoving, eyes intent upon his as he reluctantly told the tale.

"Eurus is held in a secure location which was recently compromised. Regrettably, she was able to gain control of the facility. When Sherlock, Doctor Watson and I traveled there to investigate, we were detained by Eurus, and she…subjected us to a series of terrors in the form of psychological experiments."

Seeing that she was still listening, he pressed on. "One of the most difficult dealt directly with you."

Her right eyebrow arched in disbelief.

"We were led into a chamber which contained a single coffin," he said. "Sherlock deduced that the coffin was meant for you. There was a plaque on the lid engraved with the words, I LOVE YOU. Eurus informed Sherlock that she had planted a bomb here, in this flat, and that if he could not convince you to say 'I love you' within three minutes, she would detonate the device, resulting in your death."

She gasped, eyes widening.

Good. I still have her attention, he thought. "Though Eurus later revealed that there was never an explosive device here, at the time we didn't know. Sherlock was becoming increasingly desperate. He wasn't allowed to intimate to you that anything was amiss."

"So," she said, "it was all an act, then."

"Wait," Mycroft cautioned. "I'm not finished, there's more…and this may be the most important thing of all. Yes, Sherlock said what he said while under duress, that's true. But what he did afterward was more telling."

He reached into his laptop case, withdrawing the computer. Setting it before her, he activated the video. Sherlock, utterly berserk, smashed the coffin to bits. He retrieved the laptop.

Mycroft gazed across the room at Molly. "Well, Doctor, what deductions can you make from that?" he asked.

Molly's brain was spinning. After the events of yesterday, she didn't know what to think anymore. It was all a bit too much to take in. She had been blindsided by Sherlock's call, humiliated beyond belief, but determined to maintain control in that conversation. So she had made him say it first. After she had finally complied with his request, whispering "I love you" into the phone, she had been cut off, and he hadn't called back, nor had he answered her when she finally decided to call him herself.

And now here was his brother, sitting here, with these revelations.

"Why," she asked, "are you telling me this? Why isn't Sherlock here to explain this himself?"

"He's with our parents right now. They're on their way to my office for a…discussion. Knowing him as I do, I suspect he will be here immediately after." He paused, then added, "Please, Doctor Hooper, don't be too hard on him. He said what he did yesterday for two reasons. One: to save your life, and two: because he loves you."

I know that's a pretty short chapter, but it's a work in progress. It may take time to post future chapters given my busy schedule, but please bear with me, I'll try to make it worth the wait!