Warning: Child death, still birth.


She was such a tiny little thing. Tiny fingers and toes, pink skin tinged blue, eyes tightly closed so they would never know if she had inherited her father's pale eyes. She already had a tuft of dark hair reminiscent of her mother's. Their little baby girl. Stillborn. The cord had been wrapped around her neck, according to the doctors. She had screamed and cried against Mycroft's chest, her husband just holding her and letting her vent her grief. He shed no tears, but she knew he was as devastated by their daughter's death as she was.

That day was the first day of what would be a lifelong change in both Mycroft and the woman who would later introduce herself to John Watson as Anthea. From that day, Mycroft refused to allow sentiment affect him. Caring caused pain, maybe more pain than it was worth. 'The Iceman' was born, the day their daughter died.

Some days, Anthea will allow herself to remember the dreams she had while she was pregnant, dreams Mycroft shared. Loving and laughing, raising their daughter and watching her grow into a brilliant young woman. Those dreams were shattered, irreparably broken. Some days, she would think back to when she was more than Mycroft's PA, when Mycroft was more than her boss. It is better this way though. All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.

I'm sorry Mr. and Mrs. Holmes…