"Everybody dies. It's the one thing human beings can be relied upon to do. How can it still come as a surprise to people?"
Like many children, Mycroft Holmes' first experience with death was that of a grandparent. Grandad Holmes passed away from a heart attack when Mycroft was only nine. Sherlock and Eurus wouldn't remember him, they'd been far too little. But Mycroft did.
He remembered mints and treats from worn coat pockets, times of warm hugs and annoying pinches of cheeks. There had been stories of Grandad's navy experience during World War II, and loving memories of his late wife. Mycroft always had an excellent memory, but some things stood out. He'd admired and loved his grandfather, as much as any child could. The grandad he remembered had been warm and personable, so unlike the man Mycroft would become.
He had been the one to find his grandad slumped over a bench in the back gardens of Musgrave Hall. The heart attack had been immediate and sudden, with no suffering or pain. Just like that, Grandad was gone. Mycroft remembered running back to the house, feet pounding the paths and breaths coming heavily. But there wasn't much in his mind after that. He must have told someone, and there must have been people around to take care of the body.
He did remember the funeral, distant pipe organ music, a priest reading from an old leather Bible, his mother crying, their cousin taking care of Sherlock and Eurus. However, the strongest memory that Mycroft had of that day was of his father. Dressed in black, eyes distant and features drawn. He remembered studying every visible emotion, trying to understand.
Someday Mycroft knew he was going to be in the same position. It was the logical thing, wasn't it? Everyone lost their father because everybody died. Inevitable. Unsurprising.
That didn't mean it wasn't painful. And later that evening, Mycroft would wrap his little arms around his father's waist without saying a word, to be quiet comfort in the midst of grief.
It would be the first of many such experiences with death. Each different. Each painful. Until the remarkable mind of Mycroft Holmes was left standing alone.
The year Eurus turned six, the theme of the Holmes family would also be that of loss.
Victor Trevor, Sherlock's best friend, disappeared. The then fourteen-year-old Mycroft watched it all happen, unable to fix it. He watched Sherlock struggle with the loss of a friend, the anxiety and the pain that went along with it. Sherlock's experience and acceptance of humanity's morality were decidedly different than his own.
The week of the disappearance had been impossible.
'Drowned Redbeard' was not the last of it. The water had come before the fire. Eurus was a destructive force of nature and she knew exactly what to do to lay waste to everything she touched, even as a child.
Mycroft should have known then that nothing lasted forever, he'd already experienced that with Granddad's death. Everybody died. The fire always came in and destroyed everything.
Every photo, sentimental object, article of clothing, tea set, all their books, it all burned. The fire brought to a halt the ever growing history of generations living in that home. Not only did they take the littlest Holmes away to be locked up, but the entire family had to start over. Their lives had been broken the moment Eurus decided to kill another child.
It was morning when Mycroft watched as the tall men led her away, standing where he was in the window of their temporary home. She looked over her shoulder, just before she got into the vehicle. The wind caught her loose dark hair in a dramatic flare. Cold emotionless eyes fixed on him, there was a deadly warning in them, one he didn't yet understand.
Nevertheless, Mycroft felt a chill run up his spine. Ice settled into his very bones.
Life moved on.
Mycroft had been seventeen when he'd met Naomi Grace Carter on the grounds of Oxford university. A fellow student, a few months older than he. She was exquisite, with her wavy auburn hair, soft pink lips, and bright blue eyes, not to mention a fierce intelligence and disposition that spoke of refinement and leadership qualities. She'd been born and raised in America, moving to London to be with grandparents once her mother died.
They'd met on the steps of the library in the middle of a rainstorm. He had an umbrella, she did not. In the three years since Eurus' imprisonment, Mycroft had lost his baby weight, gained substantial height, and taken it upon himself to take full responsibility for his brother's wellbeing. The stress grew every year. Naomi had been a breath of fresh air.
He'd been enchanted from his first conversation with her. She was his match in so many ways. Clever, organized, determined, ambitious, coy, beautiful, and much better at personal interaction than he was. Not to mention she gave back as much snark as he did. He fell for her hard and fast.
It was with her that he ventured into things he'd only briefly considered. Physical affection was new and exciting, and a welcome break from the anxiety in his life.
They'd been so young when Naomi got pregnant. She was just barely nineteen, he still eighteen, both taking university classes and anticipating a future of importance in their chosen fields.
With that news, their entire world turned upside down.
Naomi had an entire career waiting for her, years of study and work for a bright mind. They were too young, not ready, even if it wasn't a question of finances. However, she had every desire to keep the baby they'd made together. It wasn't planned, but it was serendipity. An unexpected blessing. She was determined to make a life and live it to the fullest. Plans could be shifted around. They could have it all.
They married in a small ceremony on a blustery autumn evening, then took a very short holiday to the coast.
Zariah Hope Celestia Holmes was born in the spring, a little early and in the wee hours of the morning. Mycroft was completely sure she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He was also sure he would ruin her, but Naomi promised they'd always be together and she'd make sure they didn't ruin their beautiful creation. Mycroft had learned Naomi was usually right in these instances. He leaned on her support.
Unfortunately, this was one of those rare times where Naomi had been wrong.