A/N: Somethings up with , and I can't view yesterday's reviews. Thank you to whoever reviewed, and I hope to read it soon. In the meantime, if you want to let me know something right now, you can always PM me:) Enjoy!

Mycroft had given them a chance. He had waited. His parents had then made contact- through Sherlock. Sherlock had sent Mycroft a text, which stated, "Need twice weekly access to Sherrinford- SH."

Mycroft had texted back-though he preferred talking, it was the safer method under the circumstances- "Alright. Is there anything else you need?-MH"

The reply he received was one that made his decision final. "That's about all you can be trusted with right now. Don't mess it up.-SH"

He tried to explain to his "team", as he privately thought of them now. "I never expected a bouquet of flowers for doing my duty to my family. Not even a simple thank you, or any acknowledgement. My parents simply expect it. But Sherlock, he despises me for it.

"I have accepted that. Every single time I rescue him from his own foolishness, he resents me all the more. I understand that he has issues with my interference and my methods, and he especially hates being in someone's debt.

"What makes this different is that they don't trust me anymore. Not only that, they have no more use of me. Except for access to Sherrinford, perhaps. But Sherlock, he has found his place, he has his friends, and has even reconnected with my parents. My parents now trust and rely on Sherlock. If my interference isn't necessary, and my company unwanted, I won't force it upon them."

"What exactly do you mean by that, Mycroft?" Lady Smallwood asked, her usually stern voice softened.

"I mean a clean break. Further assistance can be arranged, perhaps through Anthea," he turned to her, a question in his eyes, and she nodded. "Thank you. No more direct contact. If they need my resources, I can give it to them, but I don't want to be-" Mycroft cut himself off, looking at loss for words. The two woman looked at him sympathetically.

"Used, Sir," Anthea supplied quietly. "I believe you don't want to be used any longer."

The British Government began to feel uncomfortable with the conversation. He had uncharacteristically spilled his guts, to his workmates no less. He supposed that there was something about womenfolk and their skillful manipulations that led even the strongest of men to break. Dangerous, all of them.

He tried to bring the conversation to a quick end. "Right, we'll have Anthea respond to texts and phone calls, and Alicia, you know what to say when Sherlock contacts you."

He paused for a moment, lost in thought. "You know, I've always claimed that caring is not an advantage. I think I've been proven right."

He noticed both ladies stiffen at the same time, and a shiver passed down his spine. Alicia brought her face closer to his and stared directly into his eyes. "Are you saying, Mr. Holmes, that you do not require our help? Because why would we give it to you, if we didn't care?"

As Mycroft began stammering apologies, the Lady got up to leave. "Think about what I said, Mycroft." In a gentler voice she added, "Caring can hurt. I know. But stopping to care will hurt you much more."

Dangerous, indeed.

After Sherlock's "interrogation", there wasn't any attempt by the Holmes family to contact Mycroft, for a good month. Then, to Mycroft's great surprise, Mummy called him.

He deliberated on whether to pick up, vaguely aware of his stomach knotting and his fingers shaking from anxiety. A sudden spark of hope flared up in his proverbial frozen heart. Perhaps Mummy was seeking to make amends. Perhaps she wanted to listen to his side, and while she would still not approve, perhaps she would understand.

He always had a hard time expressing his feelings, but for Mummy's sake, he would try. The fear had felt for his family, the warnings from Uncle Rudy, the helplessnes and confusion when he had to make the decision to lie to his parents, knowing that it was wrong but feeling the alternative was worse.

The Holmes parents at that point had been at the point of breaking, dealing with the knowledge of what Eurus was, and Sherlock's mental breakdown. When Rudy told them about Eurus's death, Mycroft had picked up on the spark of relief in their eyes, hidden amongst the sorrow. He resolved then and there that no one would ever find out the truth.

The mobile in his ls stopped ringing before he had the courage to press "talk." Anthea was next to him in seconds. "Talk to her. Be honest. Say what you've always wanted to say."

"Pep talks aren't part of your job description, and won't get you a raise," Mycroft informed her calmly.

She ignored him and went on typing.

When the phone rang again, Mycroft picked up immediately. "Hello, Mummy."

"Mycroft, dear, we'll be meeting in Sherrinford on Monday, at ten o'clock. Clear your schedule. I expect you to be there on time."

Mummy's tone was matter-of-fact, if a bit hard. Mycroft was surprised. He had expected something more emotional. Anger, hurt, tears, perhaps some more recriminations, or hopefully some tearful apologies. He had planned to listen to all that she had to say, and then perhaps apologize again, and present his side.

Mummy pretending that nothing had ever happened confused him, and even hurt him a bit. He would have thought the absence of his communication would at least be commented upon. He felt that there were mountains of hurt and misunderstanding between himself and Mummy, and was unable to ignore it. He was sick of pretending, of hiding all the time.

"Mummy," he whispered through the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry about everything that happened. I wanted to explain-"

"Now's not the time, Mycroft," she interrupted him crisply. "Needless to say, I'm still very angry at you. I don't want to hear your excuses now. However, I feel this is a time for the family to be together, so I expect you to come."

Mycroft was silent for a long moment, while he forced down the annoying lump in his throat. Some of his newfound bitterness arose in his chest, as he gave voice to his burning question.

"Mummy," he said, trying to keep his voice even. "What role do I have in this? You and Dad will go see Eurus. Sherlock will try to reach her, or something. What exactly will I be doing there?"

In a deep, deep, place in his heart, he hope Mummy would tell him, "Because I need you there. Because you are my son and I love you, and our family is incomplete without you." His conscious mind would never give voice to such ridiculous sentiment. Nevertheless, he hope to be told that he was needed in some way.

"You know, Sherlock has been really amazing. He said he's made a lot of progress, but he didn't say how. He wants to surprise us. I thought it would be good for you to see that. You shouldn't have given up on your sister that fast."

Mycroft came the closest to crying that he had in years, while scolding himself for still caring about what his mother had said. This foolish sentimental attachment would do him in one day, he was sure. "Mummy," he choked out. "I'm sorry that I cannot play the role you want me to play. I'm sorry that I can't be what you want me to be."

He gently put the phone on the table and placed his head in his hands. He still didn't cry.

The lovely sounds played by two violins entranced the audience. Mildred Holmes gazed at her two youngest children through a veil of tears. She saw them smiling at each other and her heart expanded. At her right, her husband was having a similar reaction to hers.

She was finally ready to grant forgiveness. On instinct, she reached out her left hand to both give and gain support, reassurance, and a fresh start.

Her left hand met empty air.