It had taken two weeks for Mycroft to delete the paperwork for his suicide on his computer. It was comforting to know that everything was in place still while he helped Sherlock and Lestrade. But, to his surprise, he'd actually gotten a sense of pride in his work and his accomplishments regarding his brother. DI Lestrade had remained kind and considerate, and thanked him profusely for his assistance in clearing the difficulties regarding the law that would be better omitted for Sherlock's sake. Mycroft still watched from the sidelines, never getting too close to Sherlock in case his brother acted out in resentment. But it was good that there was real change happening for the first time in so very long.
Change regarding Sherlock wasn't the only thing happening in his life. He'd been promoted, and so he was now in charge of almost everything. Priority Ultra. Lady Smallwood had liked his work and dedication for some time, and apparently, his achievements regarding the Georgia incident had given management the final incentive. Mycroft relished in the control he had. He never denied being a control-freak as his childhood acquaintances had often called him. It gave him an innate sense of comfort to know everything about a situation and thus be able to reasonably provide the best possible solutions. A great weight had been lifted off his shoulders in the days that followed his promotion, stress he knew he'd been carrying but thought it just a permanent problem of his work.
It was a month before Mycroft threw out the contents of the container in the cupboard. With his new status in the Government giving him relief from his previous stressed existence, he just felt like he didn't need it anymore. He continued to rationalise to himself that should he require the items again, he could simply just go out and buy them again.
Sherlock had remained clean, and was enjoying life assisting on cases. Mycroft had been able to work his brother into a loophole in the law to allow him to continue entering crime scenes. He felt proud that he was actually able to do so, and no one could question his actions.
The work he had to do was still the same; still fraught with danger, still involving loss of life, still had unavoidable collateral damage. But Mycroft felt better about it now that he was unquestioned in his reasoning and self-assured in his knowledge. And he was very glad to have control over when he was out of contact with the world, or when he had to go overseas. No more sudden unexpected trips to a foreign country or days locked away in the bowels of the building. And best of all: no more legwork.
Everything was starting to look up for Mycroft. He even decided to purchase a large house some distance form his work, still in London but in the more 'rural' areas. He figured he might as well, since he was alive and had the money to. Why not indulge himself? It was something he'd often wanted but resigned himself that he had no need for. But he was finding since his promotion, since his choice to throw away his suicide kit, he was much more willing to just do things that made him happy. Or even just comfortable. The thought remained in the back of his head that he could always just die if everything turned to shit again. However the more he let himself be happy, the less those thoughts intruded into his mind.
He kept his flat for convenience. He considered doing it up to look much like the manor, but he decided against it. That place had housed him in his darkest days, and he'd come out the better for it all. Instead, he furnished it with a few extravagant items that fitted in with the style of the flat. He made a few changes to make it look more like his office… and let himself reminisce in his new life of mystery, the puppet master in the shadows. He had the tiles on the kitchen wall removed, and left the peeling paint marks. He installed some heavy duty locks on his bedroom, and the spare room, just for his own peace of mind. He couldn't deny that something about the bulky metal really set off the atmosphere of the place.
Much to his surprise, he even outfitted the spare room with a bed. He knew Sherlock wouldn't ever use it, but it was there just in case. And, deep down, Mycroft had hoped that maybe someone special in his life would use it. He knew he'd never be able to share his bedroom with someone so quickly, and so having another option would avoid any disastrous incidents. Mycroft tried hard not to think about that real reason for doing the room up - he knew it was highly unlikely to ever happen, and thinking about finding companionship would only serve to make him feel sad and alone. But… it was there just in case.
After six months, Mycroft had buried the memory of his almost-attempt deep down in his mind. He found it better to continue as if it never happened. He was comfortable in his life, and didn't think about the back-up option of ending his life anymore. It was easier to not have the memory invade his thoughts and potentially bring him down. In truth, the incident and the emotions leading up to it had left him a stronger person. He was much more successful with his icy façade; so much so, that his code name given to him was 'Antarctica'. He was pleased. It might not be who he really was behind closed doors at home, but it was who he needed to be during the day.
He might not be truly happy, but he was comfortable. He could focus on the now, and the future, without being dragged down by the past. He used his cold detachment to successfully deal with difficult emotions and situations. And that was all he needed to keep going.