When Anthea finally does learn about the younger Holmes, she isn't surprised in the least by what she hears.
"He's brilliant - of course," Mycroft mumbles, his quiet eyes turned to the linoleum floor. The dull hospital lights make him look old and worn out, and all she wants to hug him so desperately. "That's not his fault." Mycroft sighs, looking over at his comatose brother. His eyes flicker back and forth from his brother's chest to the gently beeping heart monitor.
It doesn't look good. But then again, overdoses generally don't.
Mycroft holds his brother's hand tight, as though letting go means the end of both of them.
It breaks her heart when she has to remind him about his 11:50 conference call with Mumbai.
Slowly, shakily, Mycroft stands up and walks to the door. He sighs, looks down at his hands, and pauses.
"I would appreciate if -" Mycroft swallows thickly, as if the world choke him. "when - he wakes up, if you didn't tell him I was here."
She nods, because words fail her.
Because in the end, Mycroft really does care, and now she can see - under the dim hospital lights - just how broken both brothers are.
She takes it upon herself to fix the Holmes brothers.