There were days Mycroft wondered why he had a family. Why he'd let himself fall in love with Anthea (as if he had a choice, really). Why he let her talk him into adopting a child, why they kept trying for a child all the while (again, it wasn't as if he put up a fight, in either of those decisions). He sat on the sofa, typing on his laptop with one hand, the other arm slung over Ashwini's slumbering form, her dark curls in every possible direction. It was quite an amusing thing, they had not expected such a head of hair from their adopted daughter and in many ways Mycroft was reminded of when Sherlock was small. Ashwini could be just as mischievous, a trait, no doubt, she'd picked up from when her Uncle babysat her.

"Is she asleep?" a soft voice startled him and he looked up from the computer screen. He looked down at Ashwini, her head heavy against his arm, the corner of his rolled-up shirtsleeve damp as she began to drool. Poor dear was exhausted after her first day of daycare.

"I think that's a safe bet."

"I'll take her," Anthea reached but Mycroft held up a hand, gently shaking his head. Instead he handed her his laptop and picked up their daughter, gently cradling her in his arms.

"Not in your condition," he murmured over her head and Anthea looked at her ever-expanding belly, tugging at the hem of her blouse.

"It's not that big."

"I'll leave that alone," Mycroft answered, voice hushed, though he was smirking. Anthea gave a pout, smacking his bottom as he passed by.

Upstairs, he set Ashwini down on her bed, he smoothed down her hair.

"Your Mummy will have a time with those tangles in the morning," he murmured, smiling slightly. Usually Anthea braided her hair before bed, and now Mycroft did not wish to rouse the sleeping child. Oh well. He carefully removed Ashwini's shoes and socks, gently slipping her out of her day dress and into a nightgown before carefully laying her back down. Mostly asleep, she let herself be situated under the covers. Her eyes forced themselves open.

"Daddy, what time is it?"

"Very late," he murmured.

"My hair isn't brushed," she murmured sleepily. Mycroft could swear she truly was Anthea's child. Despite fatigue, Ashwini pushed back the covers and stumbled to her feet. "Mummy always brushes my hair." Carefully, Mycroft guided her back to bed.

"I'll do it this time," he said and this mollified the little girl. In a few moments, Ashwini was seated between her father's knees, waiting patiently, almost falling asleep as he brushed out all the tangles. It was a wonderfully repetitious motion that she found comforting. For as long as Ashwini could remember her mother had brushed and braided her hair before bed. For the first time her father was doing the deed, and she found she didn't mind it.

"You're good at braiding hair," she said after a long while. She heard him smile over her head.

"I should be, I sometimes braid your mothers' hair. There, all finished. While you're awake go on and brush your teeth." Sleepily, she got to her feet and toddled off to the bathroom. He listened for the water to run. "Use toothpaste, if you please," he called out and she scoffed, leaning out into the doorway as she brushed so he could see the foam on the brush and her teeth as she vigorously brushed. Teeth clean and fresh, hair tangle-free and braided, Ashwini clambered over her father's lap and under the covers. He tucked her in then, seeing she was comfortable, handing her the knitted rabbit Mary Watson had made her so many years ago.

"When will my brother come?" Ashwini asked. It had become the question to expect almost every day now.

"Very soon," Mycroft replied. "Another month and then you will meet him."

"Are you excited?" she asked. Now, Mycroft paused. Initially, he had been. He still was, though the wait for the arrival of the baby had somewhat dulled the excitement. Nine months is a very long time to wait, after all. Still, as the arrival of his firstborn son was approaching, he found himself apprehensive, and, yes, looking forward to it. He could not say exactly what he felt, so he nodded, smiling at Ashwini.

"Do you have a handkerchief under your pillow?"

"Yes."

"Goodnight then," he bent and kissed her forehead. Before he could straighten, she sat up, arms around his neck.

"I'm nervous too," she whispered, and pressed his cheek.

Ashwini saw her father's eyes shine, and his smile was fond.

"No more talking, sleep well, it's very late." Seeing she was tucked in once more, he got up, switching on the nightlight and shutting off the bedside lamp.

Downstairs, he found Anthea had put away his computer and briefcase. She was in the kitchen, putting up the dishes, soft music played from the stereo on the counter.

"Leave that for the housekeeper," Mycroft said, slipping his arms about her waist. She strained to reach, putting away the last few plates before settling back in his arms.

"You make a convincing argument," she sighed tiredly, smiling her relief as she relaxed against him. Gently, he began to sway back and forth, hands coming to rest over her abdomen. "Ashwini is asleep?"

"Or well on her way at least," Mycroft answered. "Come to bed my dear, it is late."

For once, Anthea didn't put up a fuss. Taking his hand, she led the way upstairs and let him take care of her, a habit that Mycroft found himself gladly taking up. It used to be she let him look after her once in a great while, when she was very ill or out of sorts. Now that Doctor Watson insisted in no uncertain terms that Anthea's condition was delicate and told Mycroft Anthea should be pampered beyond belief, Mycroft did just that, or at least as far as his wife would let him.

There were days Mycroft wondered why his family loved him. Often on the days he wondered why he had a family in the first place. They didn't happen often, not as often as they used to. When he woke, full of doubt, full of fear, Anthea would curl closer to him, murmur for him to go back to sleep, or he would wake to find Ashwini gently tugging his sleeve, tears in her eyes caused by some night terror. He'd pull back the covers and she'd climb in, snuggling close to him, ear pressed against his chest to listen to his heartbeat until it lulled her to sleep. Her complete devotion coupled with her unwavering belief that mummy and daddy could fix everything and they could protect her and her new brother no matter what astounded Mycroft. He wished he could tell her that wasn't so, that he was only human, that he wasn't anything she thought he was, that he'd done awful things in his lifetime, that Anthea had once said in no uncertain terms she would leave him if he behaved badly.

"Daddy," a soft voice by the door startled him and he lifted his head.

"Come here," he held out his hand to her. Shuffling across the rug, she climbed up the end of the bed, crawling in-between Mycroft and Anthea. "Bad dream was it?" he asked.

"No," she curled up against him. "I never fell asleep."

"Oh." This was different. "What is wrong then?" he spoke softly, for Anthea was already asleep.

"I was worried about you."

"Me?"

"I was thinking, if you're nervous about the baby, you might not sleep."

"What do you suggest we do about it?" he asked.

"We could whisper until we fall asleep." He smiled in the dark. Ashwini took his silence to mean he agreed and she quietly launched into what happened that day. Mycroft offered his thoughts when she asked. Eventually, her voice grew softer and softer, and her head nodded, resting against him, her ear over his heartbeat. He smoothed the top of her head, sighing. Gently, a hand covered his, and he turned to see Anthea looking back.

"I'm nervous too," she murmured. He lifted his head, pressing the back of her hand. She traced the lines on his forehead, to the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks.

"It's all I can think about some days, some days I wonder…I wonder how I got all this and if I'll ever deserve it." He looked at her, at their daughter.

"Bubeleh," Anthea's eyes were shining. Carefully, she scooted closer and hefted herself up, kissing him gently. "You do, you do."

Mycroft blinked, and Anthea, cradling his cheek brushed the tears from his face with the back of her hand.

"I'll be fine," he said, fighting to keep his breathing even. He turned, his face still cradled by her, and he kissed her thumb, quite unable to move any closer as Ashwini was unmovable at the moment.

"And so will we," Anthea smiled.

"You can't promise that."

"Neither can you, but we've always pretended, and it's worked so far."

"Someday that won't be enough," Mycroft insisted.

"Someday," Anthea nodded. "Perhaps. But for now, it is, don't think about it anymore, not until we have to. Right now you have us, and we have you, and that's all that matters. Yes?" Slowly, he nodded, and his breathing became steadier.

"Yes." He moved closer, careful not to crush their daughter between them, resting his hand on Anthea's belly. "Yes that's enough for me."