(Chapter Song: "Not Alone" by Red)

Mycroft was in the middle of meeting when his phone rang. He glanced at the number and ignored the call. Then his phone chimed, notifying him of an incoming text.

It's urgent. Call me. -GL

Mycroft sighed. What had his brother gotten into now? "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I need to make a phone call." He stepped out of the room and dialed the number. "Detective Lestrade, what has my brother gotten himself into this time?"

"It's not your brother."

"Well then—I've told you before, I cannot use my minor position in the government to provide any assistance to your investigations outside the normal purview of—"

"It's Sophia, you idiot."

Every muscle in Mycroft's body tensed, he thought his heart might have stopped, and his breath was caught in his throat. "Wh-what—is—is she—"

"She's fine—well, she's not fine, but—she's not injured."

Mycroft exhaled. "Then what?" His tone revealed his annoyance. If Sophia wasn't injured, what would make Lestrade insist it was urgent?

"Without going into specifics of the case… Sophia was trying to decrypt some files that we were hoping would give us information we needed. We were under the gun, quite literally, as there were lives at stake. We ran out of time. Someone died. She blames herself. But, Mycroft, it was a near impossible feat—and we don't even know if the phone has the information, we would have needed on it. Downey, her supervisor, tried talking to her. I tried talking to her. It became obvious that she wasn't going to listen to reason because she bit Downey's head off. We all know how out of character that is for her. He sent her home to sleep it off. I—I just thought you should know."

Mycroft's whole demeanor changed. "Yes, quite so. Thank you—Greg—for calling me."

"Yeah well, I figured you might be the only one who can convince her that we can't win every time. She can't beat herself up. It wasn't her fault."

"Of course it wasn't. Yes, well, I'll let you go now. Thank you. Bye."

"Bye."

He tapped another few buttons on his phone and placed it to his ear. After a moment, he spoke. "Anthea, reschedule all my meetings for the rest of the day. An urgent matter has come up that I need to take care of."

Mycroft quietly entered their expansive London home. "Sophia?" he called out gently, not wanting to startle her.

Listening carefully, he heard a sound he was fairly certain was the wine cabinet and followed his instincts, headed for the kitchen.

"Sophia?" he called out again.

"In here," she weakly responded.

He stepped in and saw her leaned over the kitchen counter, the unopened bottle of wine he'd heard her retrieving sat unopened in front of her on the counter. She rarely drank, and it was just one more sign, to go along with her posture, that signaled she was still in the middle of her mixed-up state.

He watched her breathing for a moment, her back slightly rising and falling as she attempted to take in deep breaths.

"Lestrade called me," he whispered.

"I'm sorry he bothered you. I'll be fine."

"No—no I don't think you will. Not at this rate."

She exhaled a deep breath, her body deflating. Slowly and carefully he approached, talking as he did. "You and I are more alike than I ever considered, you know?"

"How's that?" she said in a quiet raspy voice.

"We expect perfection of ourselves. We think it's our job to save the world and when we can't—we punish ourselves so severely."

"I should have—"

He'd reached her and cut off her words by taking her arm at the elbow and turning her into his embrace, holding her tight as she stood there for a moment with her hands hung at her side. Then, he kissed her hair gently and whispered. "It's not your fault."

"But I—"

"It's not your fault," he repeated.

Suddenly, her shoulders started shaking and her arms finally looped around his waist and held him tight as she wept into his chest.

"Come on," He said as he adjusted her into his side and began walking her out of the kitchen and towards the stairs leading up to the many other rooms. He guided her into their bedroom and encouraged her to sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt in front of her. "I'm going to go start you a hot bubble bath. You need to relax."

"A bath isn't going to change anything."

"It can't change what's happened. But perhaps it can help you relax enough to see as clearly as the rest of us do - you are remarkable, but you're human. You're not going to solve every problem. Even your dear friend Sherlock has a few unsolved cases. I could go into great dreadful detail over incidents I was unable to prevent, despite my best efforts."

She sighed, her eyes remaining on where their hands connected as he'd taken hers in his on her lap.

After giving her a few quiet moments, he spoke again. "So—bath?"

She gave a quiet nod, and he took it to be as much acceptance as he was going to get. He took his suit jacket off and rested it on the back of a nearby high-back chair and began rolling up his sleeves as he headed into their large bathroom suite to start the bath water. Several minutes later he came in to find her in her dressing gown but sitting in the same spot on the bed. He took it as at least a small, good sign that she'd managed to get herself undressed and ready for the bath.

She took the hand he offered and he led her into the bathroom and helped her take her gown off before she stepped up the tile platform and then carefully down into the tub and sunk down into the water with a sigh. He stood there a moment and smiled fondly at her before starting to turn away.

"Mycroft?" she asked quietly.

"Hmm?" he responded as he turned back to her. She was looking down into the water a bit sheepishly.

"Would you stay with me?"

A year of dating, a month of marriage, and she still managed to make Mycroft's heart feel it might burst. "Of course, I will."

He sat down on the tile border around the edge of the tub, leaning against the wall, and watched her—her head was laid back against the back of the tub, eyes closed. He sat quietly, unsure if it was just his presence she needed, or conversation.

"Tell me about your day," she said quietly.

"Nothing too exciting. It started and ended with meetings."

"Planning, negotiation, or strategy?" While Mycroft couldn't tell her the details of his work and what he did with his days, they'd figured out how he could still at least communicate something about his days to her. She had figured which he naturally liked and disliked and learned to anticipate his moods.

"Negotiation."

"So, you weren't terribly disappointed change your plans for the afternoon, I take it?"

"I'm not one to put off what must be done, and in this case I'd much rather it had been for more pleasant reasons than your distress, but—no, I'm not disappointed to put off these particular meetings."

She gave a slight nod. "How is Anthea?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Fine, I suppose. You do recall that I don't exactly engage in small talk with my PA?"

She sighed. "I know. I just want to hear you talk. I find it... relaxing."

That made him smile and he'd quickly come up with a solution. "In that case, I'll be right back." It didn't take long to get to her bedside table and pick up the book of poetry she had sitting on her bedside table. He came back to his place at her bath and sat down, opening the book to her bookmarked page.

"Beloved, my Beloved..." he began, and heard her take a deep cleansing breath before settling further into the tub.

An hour later, her hair was twisted up into a towel, and another wrapped around her body, he guided her back into their bedroom. He smiled down at her and rested his hands on her arms. "What would you like to do now? Try to sleep a bit? Watch TV? Go out?"

She looked unsure of herself but lifted her hands to his chest. "Actually," she said softly as she began loosening his tie, "I was thinking... perhaps..."

Hours later, Mycroft shifted as he awoke. He hadn't meant to fall asleep before her, but as often happened when she was curled up into his side, both having expended a considerable amount of energy, he had found himself unable to keep his eyes open and mind alert. He rolled to his side facing her to find her staring up at the ceiling.

He frowned, concern washing back over him as he recalled the events that had culminated with her sheepishly explaining that she wanted to 'feel anything other than despair' and had led him to their bed. "Did you sleep at all?" He glanced at the clock on her bedside table to see it was just before 1700. She shook her head and he sighed, gently stroking his hand over the scrunched-up stress lines on her forehead. After a moment, he clicked his tongue as he made a decision and quickly sat up on the edge of his side of the bed, slipping on his pants and slipping on his dressing gown that was resting over his nearby chair. He made his way quickly around to her side of the bed and held out his hand. "Come on."

She scowled. "Where now?"

"We're getting dressed, and we're going to Scotland Yard."

Still scowling, she sat up. "Why?"

"Because until you break the encryption and see what's on that phone, you won't rest. So, we're going to go to your lab and stay there till you figure it out." She finally held her hand out and he pulled her into his arms. He gave her the slightest of smiles to make it clear that he was about to be playful. "Sooner than later would be nice, because I'd love get take away for dinner and cuddle up with you to watch a movie tonight."

"You'll—stay with me. Till I figure it out."

"All night long if necessary. But as I said—"

"Sooner than later would be nice," she repeated.

"Yes. So, what do you say? Shall we?"

Soon they were sitting in Sophia's lab, her sitting at her computer scowling over data on the screen that was being pulled in from the mobile phone connected to it. Mycroft sat nearby patiently waiting and watching. If he was a praying man, he'd be praying for this to be over soon. He'd never seen Sophia as distraught as he had that day when he'd come home from his office at Lestrade's behest. And while he'd been playful in telling her to work quickly, he would truly wait all night by her side if that's what it took for her to find resolution.

He looked around the office, smiling as he remembered his first few visits here—when Sophia Cartwright had captured his heart in a move that had shocked even him. He'd turned his gaze from her towards the table where she'd so miraculously decrypted the laptop, he'd brought in with very little time to spare. His attention was quickly drawn back when he heard her gasp.

He glanced between her and the computer screen—it had changed in appearance but looked relatively blank to him. "What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"It's something. What is it?"

"No, I mean," she turned to him, her eyes wide. "There's nothing there. It had some of the heaviest encryption and security I've ever seen—and it was hiding nothing. There's no data. Nothing. Just the basic phone programming."

"Misdirection."

She nodded slowly as she gazed back up at her screen. "A wild goose chase."

He rolled his chair the few feet over to her and gently placed his hand atop hers that rested on her computer mouse. "Which means."

She swallowed and looked back to him. "There was nothing I could have done."

He nodded and moved to stand, his hand slipping to her wrist and tugging her up with him. Normally he found public displays of affection, particularly in the work environment, to be inappropriate. But this was Sophia, and she'd just found her peace after a trying day. He slipped his hands around her waist. "Precisely. Nothing you could have done. And even if there had been, Sophia, you can't be so hard on yourself when things go wrong. The criminals are the ones who have done wrong—you're the one who has done their very best to stop them. Do you understand?"

She nodded and moved to rest her head against his chest, ear resting against his tie and listening to his heartbeat through the several layers of fabric. He leaned down and kissed her head and took a deep breath, finally feeling at least a small sense of relief. Only a small sense however—for deep in his mind he wondered about this case and how it had ended.

After a few moments, Sophia pulled back and smiled. "Thank you, Mycroft. It's not lost on me that under two years ago you stood in this office a very different man. One who, if faced with a woman in such distress over something like this—would not have responded in nearly as kind and compassionate a way as you have."

"I assure you, my dear, had it been anyone but you, it might have still ended up that way."

"I may be your soft spot, Mycroft Holmes, but you've gotten a little softer towards everyone, haven't you?"

His eyebrow raised skeptically. "Perhaps. In the tiniest of ways. Sometimes. And it still depends on who it is."

She smiled. "I'll take it. So—cuddling and a movie? We still planning for that?"

"Does that seem appealing to you?"

"Very much so."

"Very well then. Shall I wait at the car for you to finish up and inform Downey of your latest findings?"

"Yes, I should probably apologize to him, too."

"Whatever you find necessary, dear. Though under the circumstances, I have a feeling he'll be more than understanding."

"I hope so," she said before going to her tip toes to place a kiss on his cheek.

Mycroft walked out of New Scotland Yard and directly to his car. Once inside, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.

"Hello, brother. To what do I owe the tedious annoyance of this phone call?"

"I have a job for you, brother. A case," Mycroft said with a frown, not taking the bait of his brother's snide remark and going straight to the point.

"You have a case for me? This should be interesting."

"And to up the ante a bit—it involves Sophia," Mycroft said as he stared out the window at the entrance of the building, watching for his wife.

Sherlock was quiet for several moments—no doubt, Mycroft assumed, spinning through the hundreds of ways he could kill someone if his sister-in-law had been hurt. Mycroft wasn't the only Holmes brother with a soft spot for Sophia. "I'm listening," Sherlock said in his deep baritone—even deeper because of his immediate concern.

"I'm concerned that someone could be targeting crimes to involve her and—emotionally compromise her. I need to know if anyone involved in a recent crime had any connection whatsoever to Sherrinford, a former staff person, family or friend of a staff person—anyone Euros could have potentially come in contact with."

"You think our sister had something to do with this?" Sherlock spat out.

"Listen, Sherlock—I want to believe as much as you do that she's changed—that everything that happened with us, that our increased presence in her life, has somehow helped her. But you were as uncertain as I was regarding her reaction to Sophia before the wedding. We have to be sure." Sherlock was silent. "Has she been behaving any different on your visits? Has she said anymore?"

"No. We just play the violin together. That's all. You?"

"No. Silent as ever."

"Tell me about this case."

"Lestrade can probably give you more details. But I need you to keep me out of it, Sherlock. I don't want to unduly concern my wife that she might be targeted. Even if it isn't Euros, there's something awfully peculiar about this case and how it ended…"

Mycroft walked through the phone conversation he'd had with Lestrade earlier and gave enough information about how it had impacted Sophia as to clearly help Sherlock see why Mycroft was so concerned. He left out the details of what had gone on between when he'd entered the house and they'd left. He then finished by explaining what Sophia had just discovered on the phone—or more precisely what she hadn't. "I know very little detail about the actual case, as I was more concerned with my wife's wellbeing than analyzing the finer points of this particular criminal's behavior. I'll leave that to you as it seems to be your expertise, brother." He saw Sophia coming out the building now. "She's coming. You'll keep me up to date, but as I said—please do your best to be discreet, Sherlock. If not for me, then for Sophia. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Mycroft nodded, feeling a small sense of relief. "Thank you, Sherlock."

"Of course. Goodbye."

Just then Sophia opened the door. "Goodbye," Mycroft said before hanging up the phone.