When Sherlock awoke, he found Molly still asleep, her fingers wrapped around his shirt collar. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he pushed a handful of the sheets into her hand, extricating himself from her grasp. He could hear someone puttering around the kitchen, so on light feet he went to investigate.

"Just me," Mrs. Hudson called, hearing him stir. She peered past him, looking over Molly, still fast asleep. "Poor dear, she is bad off, isn't she?" Sherlock looked back at her as well.

"Better than last night."

"Your brother has plenty of explaining to do, I do hope you'll give him what for."

"Hm." He took the mug of tea she'd set down for him, drinking gratefully as he scrolled through his messages. Only one was from Mycroft

CCTV's removed from Baker Street. Minimal security detail is in place. MH

Sherlock tapped out a less than polite response, and Mrs. Hudson shook her head, having read it.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to do any harm to Molly, not really."

"Mm. Just the same as I'm sure Hitler didn't mean it when he said to kill all the Jews." He continued answering messages as he saw fit, saving some for later. "Mary is coming over,"

"Is she bringing the baby?"

"Mm," he replied.

"Good. She'll be a nice distraction for Molly. I'll make biscuits, that will be nice."

"Yes, nice," Sherlock waved her off.

"Give a shout if Molly needs anything."

Sherlock sat down in his chair, waiting for Molly to stir. He didn't expect to see her before eleven, honestly. This recent panic attack would surely induce a bout of depression. He gritted his teeth, frustrated. She'd been doing well, perfectly well. Anthea reminded him the night before that there would always be setbacks. It didn't make dealing with them any easier. As if on cue, his phone lit up. He checked it, deciding that it must be Anthea.

Don't let her sleep all day-A

The second text, however, was a surprise.

Help her keep her routine, have her dress. Helps with depression. –MH

Sod off. – SH

Molly awoke to someone whistling. Opening her eyes, she found Sherlock in her closet, rummaging through her things.

"What are you doing?"

"Good, you're up," he had the look of someone who was up to something. He held up a blouse frowning at it, then at her.

"Not really," she said, still confused as to why he was fussing with her clothes.

"You're awake at any rate," he shrugged. "Come on, Mrs. Hudson made tea." She let him tug her into an upright position.

"What's going on?"

"You're coming with me. Lestrade has a case."

"What? I don't want to go on a case."

"It'll be fun, and distracting." She fell back onto the mattress.

"No."

"Setbacks are obviously going to happen, but you're not going to let them drag you back."

"Sherlock, please. Go away."

The room was quiet. Arms over her face, Molly sighed heavily. She felt as if she had no strength. She did not want to get up. She didn't want to go on a case. She didn't want to run across London and be polite to people she didn't know. She certainly didn't want to get dressed. Everything felt as if it would be too much effort. She hated herself for panicking. She also hated the pain in her legs from running so far, and from kicking out Mycroft's window. Thank heavens it was Saturday. She could sleep all weekend. Maybe watch television, if she felt like it. Mostly she just wanted to lie in bed and ignore anyone living. If she lay in bed all day, she could sleep. Sleep took no effort. It also meant she wouldn't think about what happened the day before. She couldn't bring herself to care about Sherlock pulling apart her closet, or Toby the cat dragging out one of her good bras.

"Please go away," she said at last. "Please Sherlock. Not today." Defeat evident in her voice, Sherlock stayed where he was. He disliked this helpless feeling. Molly needed help but she wouldn't accept it.

"But I need you." he said finally. It wasn't a lie. He did need her help. He also needed her to stop being depressed so he could see her smile again. "Tomorrow?" he tried, hopefully.

"Maybe tomorrow," she shrugged. A small part of her smiled at the thought that Sherlock needed her. It made her feel good, but not good enough to move her to get out of bed.

"Very well." She felt him take her hands, pulling her upright again.

"I said maybe!" she groaned.

"You still need to get up. Take a shower and get dressed. Better do it now, before Mary comes. She's not as nice as me."

She grumbled to herself, rolling out of bed. "Good girl," he kissed her forehead, his smile kind and genuine. She sighed, this time half-hugging him.

"Thank you Sherlock."

"You are welcome. Now go shower," he gave her bottom a pat. "Hurry up."

"Oi!" she swatted at him and he scampered away, grinning mischievously. It wasn't until Molly was in the bathroom and Sherlock turned back to his tea that they realized what he'd just done. At opposite ends of the flat, the same thought flashed through their heads:

"What just happened here?"

Across London, Mycroft's townhouse

Anthea came downstairs, dressed and ready for work, surprised to find the staff was still not in the house. Not wanting particularly to see Mycroft, she removed her shoes, tiptoeing around the kitchen, getting herself breakfast.

"I'm sorry." She jumped, bumping into the counter. Mycroft sat at the kitchen table; apparently he had all night, judging by the circles under his eyes. His sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, an untouched glass of brandy stood near his arm. "I never…I didn't encourage you to talk about what happened, and it was selfish of me not to do so." She sighed, turning away.

"Mycroft I really don't want to talk-"

"Please," he said quietly. She looked at him then, and he lifted his head so she could see him fully. Her eyes scrutinized his appearance. Mycroft's job was to lie, and he did so brilliantly. Anthea knew when he lied, and she cursed the hope she felt in her heart when she saw he was truthful that moment. He also rarely said 'please', and it was that word that caught her.

"Why now?" she asked finally. "Why not when I needed to speak to someone, why not when I was having panic attacks and sitting in cupboards to wait out flashbacks?"

"I didn't-" he paused, frustrated. His hands shook, and she frowned. Mycroft was not one for emotions. He never lost his temper, not really. Now though, she saw fear in the Ice-Man's eyes, and his frame trembled. "I didn't know how to help you," he admitted. "I wanted – I wanted you to be yourself again and I didn't know what to do. I disliked seeing you so unlike yourself, so hateful of yourself when the situation was clearly not your fault."

"Who's was it, then?" she asked, frowning. While she knew the fact that she was raped was not her fault, she couldn't understand what he was getting at.

"It was mine."

The room was still.

"What?"

"I sent- the mission you were sent on…there was no extraction plan. I was not allowed to select who would go. I was told not to inform you of any of the dangers, nor of the lack of security. I was, however, given a choice, to allow the mission to continue or not, in which case the results of that business in North Korea would be very different."

"You prevented a war."

"Not without losing something very precious to me," he answered. Anthea didn't move, she didn't dare. Mycroft did not reveal personal feelings, despite her anger at him, she made herself keep still. Mycroft took a breath, careful of his words. "I fully expected you to return, which you did, I had no doubts you could not get out of the prison camp, but…" he licked his lips, finding it difficult to control his emotions. "You were changed, you were so changed, you were afraid of me, afraid of everyone." He looked at her finally. "You were the first person in my life who was not afraid of me, and when you came back, everything was changed."

"I never stopped trusting you," Anthea said at last.

"Not until last night," he finished. "I've had all night to think about my actions," he said carefully. He stood now, looking at the tabletop. "If…if someone had done that to you…they would be…I don't know what I would do…I would kill them myself."

"Why did you do it?" Anthea asked, her voice almost pleading. "You knew the affect it would have on her, you knew it would frighten her, and that it would trigger her panic attacks."

"I didn't mean it to go that way, truly," he insisted. "I never meant-" he sighed, frustrated. "I honestly did need to inquire after Sherlock. My men are not tactful…" there he stopped. That part was a lie. He would not lie to Anthea. "I was angry with her," he admitted finally. "I was angry. I had received information, proof of her taking Sherlock through his old haunts. I had reason to believe that something was going on, and with my brother's past, I could not leave it alone."

"But you-"

"I am not excusing the situation," he interrupted her. "It is no excuse for what I have done to Molly, nor a reason for you to forgive me, but before you leave, I wanted you to at least know that I had no intention of harming her, nor did I realize the scale of her panic attacks."

The kettle whistled, startling her and she switched it off, setting it aside.

"There is enough here, if you want some," she said finally. Turning to face him, she saw him reach into his pocket, holding something in the palm of his hand.

"I can keep it safe…" he said. His voice was soft, raw. "Until you want to wear it again."

"What if I don't want to wear it again?" he met her gaze, steady. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable.

"I hope that isn't the case," he replied. "But if it is, then I will keep it, to remind me of what we had, however brief it was."

"And that you were the cause of it ending?"

"And that I was the cause of it ending." He repeated, his voice was hollow, his expression bleak. He saw no hope in himself, no reason for her to trust him, and he seemed very lost.

"Will you apologize to Molly?" Anthea asked.

"If she wants me to, if she will allow me to," he nodded.

"She will, but she'll need time."

"She will have it," Mycroft promised. Anthea set her cup down, turning away from the counter. After a long moment, she crossed the room.

"Look at me," she said and he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "If you ever do something like this again, if you are ever so careless with her, with me, there is no power on Earth that will stop me from leaving, and I will not return." He raised a brow, nodding, knowing very well she meant it.

"Understood." Her features relaxed a little, taking his hand; she once against closed his fingers over the gold band in his palm.

"Keep it safe for now," she said. "You're half-way to earning me back, but there's someone else you need to apologize to."

The sudden embrace took her by surprise, the gentleness with which he kissed her moved her greatly, and Anthea let him, kissing him back, squeezing the nape of his neck.

"I will," he murmured. "I promise you I will."

Anthea knew her husband had cried probably all of four times in his life. He did not shed tears needlessly, and she felt her heart lurch, seeing him do so for her. Kisses were pressed to her hands, her neck and cheeks, desperate to prove himself, to prove his love and earn back her trust and affection. She held him tightly, returning his embrace before she stepped back in his arms.

"Go and clean up," she said, wiping her eyes. "We've still got a day's work to do." He smoothed his shirt, trying to make himself presentable.

"Yes," he nodded.

"I'll see that your tray is ready, and I'll call the staff, have them come in this afternoon."

"Thank you," he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, smoothing her skin before heading upstairs.

~O~

At Baker Street, Molly lay on the sofa, trying to talk herself into doing something productive. Everyone said 'When you fall off a horse, you've got to get right back on again'.

Well everyone could just sod off.

"Take Lucia for a minute," Mary said, passing her the baby.

"Where are you going?" Molly asked.

"The toilet, if you're so interested," she replied dryly.

"Sorry, yes, come here, lovey," Molly took the child, smiling a little as Lucia gurgled happily, her little hands patting Molly's cheeks. Toby the dog lollopped across the room, coming to sniff the baby, tail wagging. Molly smiled at Lucia, tickling her. She was glad in the end that Mary had come over. Sherlock decided to bring John along on his case and Mary was good at keeping Mrs. Hudson from fussing too much. Molly disliked being cosseted when she was depressed, but she didn't know how to tell the kindly old woman to please leave her alone. Mary did as she pleased, and didn't ask questions, although somehow she knew all about what had happened the night before. Mary spent the day thinking up ways to get back at Mycroft. Molly was too tired to think about the situation, but she knew she didn't want to actually hurt him.

Monday, Dr. Bremen's Office

"What would you like to do to him?" asked Doctor Bremen.

"I don't want to do anything to him," Molly shrugged.

"Is there anything you'd like to say to him?" she shrugged.

"I want to know why he did what he did…if he's angry at me, and for him to know how much it affected me."

"Is Mycroft someone important to you?" she paused then. Mycroft Holmes was someone she didn't know very well, someone she'd always been rather wary of simply because he rarely spoke to her and he gave her the impression he didn't like her. However she'd also always known he loved his brother dearly, and she knew she could trust him, even if he was a little frightening.

"I suppose he is," she shrugged. "I guess I've always known he's a safe person. That is if I were in trouble I know he would help if I asked him."

"Knowing that, how do you feel about what Mycroft did?"

"I'm angry…I'm confused," she sighed. "I'm tired. I'm exhausted; I don't even want to think about it right now."

"You must eventually."

"I don't want to see him, not for a while. I can't go to work right now, I'm so- I'm mad!" she burst out finally. "I was finally able to go to work, to really…be capable of something again, everything was fine and then he just- he ruined it!"

"Tell me about what happened,"

"You already know," she sniffled, wiping her eyes.

"I know what Anthea told me, I would like to hear what you remember."

Her voice trembled in places, but she managed to recount what had happened. She was glad at least she didn't cry.

"Did he seem to you malicious in his intent?" Bremen asked when she finished.

"I don't remember what he said, or what he looked like," Molly answered honestly. "I just couldn't understand why he was doing it. He'd been so helpful to me before."

"What would move him, do you think, to do something so cruel?"

"Are you defending him?"

"No," Bremen shook his head. "On the contrary. You yourself have stated several times in the past, Mycroft Holmes has been an upstanding example, and while he rarely speaks to you personally he has shown that he thinks very highly of you. It is unlike a man so dedicated to his 'family', so to speak, that he would suddenly turn on them."

"He would if it was for the good of England," she said, unblinking. "Or if Sherlock were in trouble."

"Is Sherlock in trouble?"

"Not that I know of," Molly shrugged. "I don't mean to be rude but," she sighed heavily.

"You're tired," Bremen finished, understanding. He shut his notebook. "No more for today, but do keep doing what you're doing, get up, get dressed, and keep your routine, if you can."

"I can't go back to work," she shook her head. "Not yet."

"Have you thought about taking some time off?"

"And do what?" She asked. Bremen shrugged.

"Anything you like. Travel, have a two-week long lie-in if you want. Do what makes you happy. You've been working for so long to achieve your normal routine; you've suffered a minor set-back. Take a break, get your bearings, and when you come back, your routine may seem a little easier to tackle again."

Baker Street

Sherlock was hurrying down the stairs as Molly was coming up.

"Oh good, you're still here," she said. "I've got some news-"

"It'll have to wait, triple murder, Greg claims it to be an eight on my scale, and I'd be inclined to disagree with him except for the jammie dodgers and pencils."

"What?" Molly frowned confused.

"I'll be back late, coffee if you're up!" he kissed her without a second thought, hurrying out the door. "Don't wait up Mrs. Hudson!" he bellowed.

"He does that a lot," Mrs. Hudson shrugged, she'd been in her doorway, and she'd seen the entire exchange. "Come sit with me a while, you can share your news with me, if you're allowed."

"Yeah of course I can," Molly smiled; she glanced at the shut door, still a little shaken by the kiss she'd received.

"Oh, this came for you, by the way." Mrs. Hudson held out a cream colored envelope.

"What is it?"

"I've no idea. A card I expect."
"Who delivered it?"

"The secretary of that wretched man." Mrs. Hudson had taken to calling Mycroft 'that wretched man'. Molly had no idea what the envelope contained, and she supposed she wouldn't want to find out in her landlady's flat. She tucked it away in her purse for safekeeping, to open later. In-between bites of cake and discussing travel plans, Molly quite forgot about the letter.