Author's Note: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry. I cannot apologize enough for this chapter. If it means anything, it was the hardest chapter that I have ever had to write in my eight years of writing fanfiction. Alright, on that note! (Sorry.) Geronimo. (So sorry.)

Chapter 19

Mycroft didn't want to get out of bed. He knew that the Doctor was going to be expecting them for breakfast. He didn't care. He only opened his eyes when he heard a small whimper. It sounded like a wounded animal but Mycroft could place the sound.

Sherlock was sitting up in his own bed, his knees pulled to his chest.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft softly called, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock hastily said, "Why wouldn't I be?"

So much for not getting out of bed. Mycroft sighed and crossed the room, putting his arm around his brother's shoulders. Sherlock shied away at first, but eventually leaned against him.

"Come on," Mycroft gently said.

He and Sherlock trudged into the console room. The Doctor was facing the console but happily exclaimed, "Good morning!"

"Morning," Mycroft tried to politely answer.

"So," the Doctor cheerfully cried, "Where do you want to go today?"

"I don't care," Sherlock mumbled.

His tone shocked the Doctor who spun around and asked, "What's wrong?"

Sherlock didn't answer and merely glanced at the ground. Mycroft tried to answer but his words mixed together into a weird grunt. He eventually walked over to the door and opened it, taking a bit of comfort from watching the stars go by. A cold draft came through but he hardly noticed until the Doctor calmly closed the door and repeated, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mycroft lied and the Doctor saw right through him.

The Time Lord walked back over to Sherlock and crouched down, gently saying, "Look at me, Sherlock. What's wrong?"

"Just not feeling well," Sherlock muttered. The Doctor looked worried but Sherlock surprisingly pulled away from him and went back into the bedroom.

The Doctor glanced back at Mycroft, now frowning with worry. Mycroft rubbed the back of his neck and softly said, "Yeah…well…I'm sorry, Doctor but we…sorry…"

He finished spluttering out his lame sentence and started towards the bedroom. The Doctor gently grabbed his sleeve and gave him a concerned look.

Mycroft supposed that he deserved to know. So the boy sighed and tried his best to explain, "According to the clock…today on Earth…if we had stayed that is…it would be…"

He felt a knot begin to form in his throat but managed to croak, "It would be four years to the day that our mother passed."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor immediately and sincerely replied. He put a hand on Mycroft's shoulder and gently asked, "Are you alright? And don't lie to me."

"Yes."

"What did I just say?"

Mycroft sighed and guiltily admitted, "No. I'm sorry…I…"

"You have nothing to be sorry about," the Doctor gently said, "You and Sherlock have every right to be sad."

Mycroft nodded and went to check on his brother. Sherlock was sitting on his bed, picking at a thread in the blanket.

"Are you okay?" Mycroft asked.

"I don't really remember her," Sherlock burst out, "I mean, I remember someone who used to always sing to us…"

"That was her," Mycroft said with a smile, "She would always sing to us. Do you remember her face?"

Sherlock sadly shook his head and Mycroft rummaged through the trunk, pushing aside the toys, before pulling out the Beatles record. He slipped several photographs out and showed one to Sherlock. His brother smiled, the memories resurfacing.

"She was beautiful," Sherlock whispered.

"She was," Mycroft agreed, "It's a shame that she got sick."

Sherlock hesitated before saying, "Grilled cheese."

"What?"

"The night that Mummy went to the hospital," Sherlock said, now practically pulling his blanket apart, "You cooked grilled cheese for dinner."

"How on earth can you remember that?" Mycroft asked, awestruck.

"It wasn't that easy to forget," Sherlock snickered, "We had that for dinner for two weeks straight, before you finally thought of new recipes."

"Hey," Mycroft cried, "I did the best that I could."

Sherlock gave him an appreciative glance, but he wasn't one for gushing. In the end, he finally mumbled, "It was good grilled cheese."

Mycroft smiled, accepting the compliment. Sherlock briefly returned the smile before glancing at the wall. Mycroft understood that his brother wanted to be alone. That was how Sherlock was. Whereas others would want people around them when they were upset, Sherlock preferred to stay in a secluded room to think. So Mycroft left him to his thoughts and returned back to the main room.

The Doctor gave him a kind smile and said, "I'll just cancel today's plans. It wouldn't be right. We don't have to go anywhere."

"Actually," Mycroft hesitated, "There's someplace that I want to go."

"Sure," the Doctor said, looking surprised, "Anywhere. You name it."

"She was alone," Mycroft burst out.

"What?"

The Doctor raised his eyebrows, momentarily confused, and Mycroft clarified, "Mum was alone when she died. We were at the library and Father said that he was in the cafeteria."

Once again, the Doctor put a hand on his shoulder and Mycroft continued, "Do you think…can you change that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Could you…I want to…be there," Mycroft managed. He wasn't exactly crying but he couldn't seem to remember how to form a proper sentence.

"Mycroft," the Doctor quietly said, "Are you asking me to take you back so that you can be with your mother when she passes away?"

"Somebody should be with her," Mycroft whispered, "Besides…I never even got a chance to say goodbye."

The Doctor hesitated before gently replying, "If you're sure about this…because I want to be perfectly clear that I cannot change anything."

He said the last part slowly, looking for the right words, but Mycroft understood and quickly said, "I know. I just want to be there."

"Are you sure that you can handle it?"

"Yes," Mycroft lied.

The Doctor looked momentarily skeptical but Mycroft practically begged, "Please…"

The Doctor softened and said, "Alright. Now what about Sherlock? I'm guessing that he probably shouldn't come along?"

"No," Mycroft agreed, "Especially since…we kind of kept him away from the hospital just because…she was so sick and she didn't look like Mum. We didn't want that to be how Sherlock remembered her. But I guess…I don't know…"

Mycroft suddenly felt incredibly guilty. For the first time in a long time he actually hadn't thought about Sherlock before himself. Then again, Mycroft realized that even if Sherlock wanted to come along, Mycroft didn't want him to. He felt selfish thinking it but after all, this was something that Mycroft had to do on his own. Well not completely on his own.

Mycroft jumped as he realized that the Doctor was talking. The Time Lord was on the phone and looked slightly relieved as he said, "Thanks, Jack. I owe you one."

He hung up and explained, "Jack said that it wasn't a problem."

"To do what?" Mycroft asked, slightly confused.

"To hang out with Sherlock," the Doctor explained.

Mycroft immediately felt a sense of relief. At least the Doctor was thinking clearly. And his brother would get to spend the day with Jack, which would cheer him up.

Still, he hesitantly said, "At Cardiff? Is he allowed to do that?"

"Oh sure," the Doctor assured him, "Today's 'bring-your-favorite-Time-Lord's-companion-to-work ' day."

He went back to the bedroom and gently said, "Sherlock, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock muttered, guiltily glancing at the heap of string that was once his blanket, "Sorry."

The Doctor waved it off and calmly said, "It's just a blanket. Hey! How would you like to spend the day with Jack?"

"Really?" Sherlock excitedly asked, "What about you and Mycroft?"

"We have to do something," the Doctor admitted, "Jack wanted to know if you would like to go to Cardiff. He said that you could even push the zero-gravity button."

Sherlock eagerly nodded and the Doctor led him out to the console room. A few buttons later and the Tardis was sitting next to a large building.

The doors opened and Jack cheerfully said, "Long time, no see!"

"Hi, Jack!" Sherlock happily greeted.

"Thanks for doing this," Mycroft whispered.

"No problem," Jack murmured, "You okay, Mycroft?"

Mycroft nodded and Jack looked skeptical before saying, "Alright. Well, we'll be right here if you need anything."

"Bye, Mycroft," Sherlock said, casting his brother a confused look.

"Have fun, Sherlock," Mycroft weakly said.

Jack led Sherlock away, giving him a cheerful smile.

Mycroft was about to close the door when his brother cried, "Mycroft!"

Sherlock raced over and shyly whispered, "Could you tell her that I love her?"

Mycroft's eyes widened and he whispered, "You heard?"

"No," Sherlock softly said, "I deduced."

Mycroft softened and nodded, "Of course, I'll tell her. She already knows."

Sherlock raced back to a smiling Jack and Mycroft closed the door.

The Doctor took a deep breath and gently asked, "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Mycroft mumbled.

"Remember," the Doctor quietly said, "We can't run into your Father. You said that he was in the cafeteria so we need to be careful."

Mycroft nodded and the Doctor hit a button.

The Tardis landed in the garden of the hospital. They walked in and glanced around the sterile lobby. A kind receptionist asked if they needed anything and they shook their heads.

As they crept past the cafeteria, Mycroft glanced into the window. The Doctor hissed his name and Mycroft crouched down.

"He's not in there," Mycroft realized.

"What?"

"Father isn't in there," Mycroft pointed out.

The Doctor suddenly looked nervous and said, "Mycroft, if your father is in the room, we can't go in."

"I understand," Mycroft sighed.

They took the lift up to the fifth floor and wearily stepped out. Mycroft suddenly realized that his legs were nothing more than jelly. The luminous lights seemed to blind him. He nevertheless found the strength to walk up the corridor.

They stopped outside Room 221 and Mycroft took a deep breath.

"I'm right behind you," the Doctor assured him.

Mycroft opened the door and they solemnly entered. Mrs. Holmes was the only one in the room. She was sitting up in the bed, though her eyes were closed. Mycroft's heart wrenched as he stared at her. She was skin and bones, and was as pale as the sheets.

"Hi, Mum," Mycroft shakily said.

"Hello, love," Mrs. Holmes whispered with a smile, "Why…you're older."

Mycroft didn't deny it and softly said, "Sherlock…sends…"

His throat momentarily seemed to close. The Doctor squeezed his arm and tenderly clarified, "Sherlock sends his love."

Her smile grew, though she looked confused and asked, "Have we met before, dear?"

"No," the Doctor gently said, "I'm the Doctor. I'm a friend of Mycroft's."

"He's more than that," Mycroft said, "Mum…the Doctor takes us places. We travel across the universe and back and forth in time…"

The Doctor looked hesitant but Mycroft shot him a quick look that asked for trust. After all, she wasn't going to have this information for long. The Doctor nodded and Mycroft suddenly found himself gushing about their adventures. He left out a few of the more dangerous details but told her about everything else, even getting slightly animated as he did so. His mother's eyes lit up with excitement as he explained everything.

"You should have seen it, Mum! The moment he opened the door and we saw the entire universe unfold before us…I thought that it was a dream…we sailed across the clouds…the toys were charging towards us but Sherlock managed to figure it out…he took down an entire supercomputer…bowties are cool…and then the Weeping Angels charged towards us but River Song managed to give us enough time to run…John Lennon sends his regards by the way…and then…Captain Jack Harkness…I thought that I was going to give the Doctor a double-heart attack when he found out that I was on a date…he threw shrimp at me…pink hair…had to jump from the train…Kopa and Taka…see bowties are cool…"

The Doctor stood back, smiling as Mycroft rambled. It was more than a smile—it was the purest and warmest recognition from someone who realized just how much they had done.

When the stories were finally done, Mrs. Holmes lovingly said, "Oh Mycroft…look at you. Look at how much you've grown."

"I'm only four years older," Mycroft mumbled, his ears pink.

"But you look so much wiser," Mrs. Holmes tenderly whispered, "So much happier… just knowing that you and Sherlock are safe makes me happier than you can ever imagine. But knowing that you're having fun…that you're having an adventure…"

She paused for a moment, regaining her strength, before promptly saying, "And what does my husband think of these adventures?"

Mycroft and the Doctor glanced at one another.

"Um…"

"Err…"

"I thought as much," Mrs. Holmes sighed, "Is there anything I can do?"

"No, no," the Doctor hastily said before thinking about it and changing his mind, "Well, there is actually one thing…"

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and explained, "It might not hurt to have this signed. That is, if you wouldn't mind."

"Of course not," Mrs. Holmes gently said, signing away, "I trust you, Doctor."

"Thank you," the Doctor said, touched.

She smiled and sincerely said, "Thank you."

The Doctor's eyes sparkled and it was a moment before he earnestly said, "You never have to thank me."

Mrs. Holmes suddenly looked very tired and the excitement that came from telling the stories quickly faded away as Mycroft said, "Mum?"

He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. She then closed her eyes and weakly took a few breaths. The Doctor watched for a moment before sadly saying, "Mycroft…I can't change the fact that she will die."

"I know," Mycroft said, huskily.

"But," the Doctor continued, "I can change how she dies. If you want…I can adjust a few things so that she can go in peace. She won't be in pain."

Mycroft looked up at this but couldn't speak. He nodded and the Doctor somberly took out the Sonic Screwdriver. He clicked it a few times and the Med Cart beeped. Mrs. Holmes seemed to relax and she even smiled.

"She's dreaming," the Doctor softly explained.

"What about?"

The Doctor didn't answer and instead merely gave him a small smile. But Mycroft understood. She was dreaming about the two brightest boys in London. She was dreaming of the days that she used to sing and play the violin for them. And maybe…just maybe…she was dreaming about a blue police box. Mycroft continued to squeeze her hand, even when she didn't squeeze back. A monitor began to shrilly scream and Mycroft looked up, catching the Doctor's eye. He didn't say anything but something must've shown on his face for the Doctor to cross the room in one stride and tightly hug him.

Mycroft unashamedly sobbed into his chest and the Doctor held him for a minute before leading him away as the others raced into the room. He only stopped when they were several floors below. The two sat on a bench in the waiting room and the Doctor gently rested his forehead against Mycroft's. Mycroft felt considerably better and straightened up, wiping his eyes. He wanted to thank the Doctor but still couldn't find the ability to speak. In the end, he didn't need to say anything. The Doctor understood. Mycroft wiped his eyes once more and anxiously looked around. He caught sight of something and immediately frowned.

"Mycroft," the Doctor slowly said, "What is it?"

Mycroft didn't answer but felt as though his blood was boiling. He angrily pointed over to the nurses' station. His father was there but he wasn't alone. He was with another nurse, laughing and boastfully talking. Mycroft recognized her…he had once hoped that he would never see her again. But there she was. With her hand enclosed around his father's hand.

"Mycroft," the Doctor was saying, "Perhaps we should get back to the Tardis?"

"You son of a bitch."

"Or not," the Doctor mumbled as he leapt up to scramble after Mycroft, "And language!"

Mycroft was unaware that he had yelled and was only partially aware that he was stomping down the corridor.

The Doctor tripped and fell over an elderly woman's walker, giving Mycroft the opportunity to walk up to his surprised father and shout, "You told me that you were in the cafeteria when she died! You told me that you had raced up three flights of stairs to try and be with her and how devastated you were and how much you loved her!"

"How dare you use that tone of voice with me?" Mr. Holmes roared seconds before he was knocked clean off his feet as Mycroft heatedly punched him in the jaw.

"Here you go, ma'am," the Doctor apologized, handing the woman the walker before looking up and saying, "Ah no."

He raced over and put a hand on Mycroft's arm, both restraining him and comforting him. Once it was clear that Mycroft had done what he needed to do, the Doctor glanced down and admittedly muttered, "Good hit."

"Thanks," Mycroft remarked.

The nurse had quickly raced away but Mycroft didn't really care. He had made his point and for once he had actually stood up to his father. His knuckles were swollen but he didn't care.

Unfortunately, other people were crowding onto the ward to see what the commotion was all about.

"Don't worry," the Doctor quickly shouted, "I'm on it. I'm the Doctor."

"Yeah," a snarky man pointed out, "A lot of us are doctors. We're in a hospital."

"Yes, but I'm the Doctor."

He ordered the others to put Mr. Holmes in a wheelchair. The man was dazed and though his jaw didn't appear to be broken, he was in a good deal of pain. He and Mycroft then straightened up, awkwardly aware that the crowd was staring at them. The Doctor shot Mycroft a quick glare. He just had to go mess with his time-stream and potentially threaten the existence of the universe. Mycroft tried to show how guilty he felt but was relieved when the Doctor didn't look angry for long. Instead the Time Lord pulled out the psychic paper and cried, "Thank you for your help. You see…we're filming this scene for our movie…I play the Doctor…he plays the teenager who punches his idiotic father…so…yeah."

The others nodded, slightly dazed, and calmly went back to their work.

"What now?" Mycroft asked, his anger and triumphant victory turning into worry as he realized that he had interfered with his own time-stream. It was different with his mother because…well she would never get to talk to him in any other time. But his father could easily turn around and start yelling at his ten-year-old self for punching him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"Yes."

"Can you walk?"

"Yes."

"Stay with me," the Doctor gently ordered and the two set off with the Time Lord pushing the wheelchair. Mycroft couldn't help but to notice that more than once, the Doctor 'accidentally' bumped the chair into the wall or doorway. At long last they made it to the cafeteria. Mycroft groaned as he realized what the Doctor was going to do.

"We can't have him yelling at you," the Doctor explained, "That will mess everything up and you certainly don't need that when you find out about your mother's death."

He clumsily lifted Mr. Holmes from the wheelchair and set him in a booth. The unconscious man drooped against the wall, scraping his head in the process. The woman behind the counter looked up, eyes narrowed with suspicion, but the Doctor assured her that everything was fine and even ordered a large basket of chips. Mycroft slipped a few pounds out of his father's wallet to pay.

"I'm really not that hungry," Mycroft mumbled.

"Eat anyway," the Doctor advised.

So he did.

The two sat and calmly ate the chips, completely ignoring the fact that there was an unconscious man sitting next to them.

"I'm sorry," Mycroft sighed.

"It's quite alright," the Doctor reassured him, "I completely understand. Well…no…not really. What finally made you snap?"

"We knew that he was having an affair," Mycroft muttered, "Sherlock and I figured it out and we actually confronted him about it. He denied it, of course. He shouted at us and told us that we had no business to accuse him. But the evidence was obvious. I just couldn't believe that anyone could be that…"

"Heartless?" the Doctor offered.

Mycroft nodded and spluttered, "I mean, who does that? Who cheats on their wife when she's in the hospital? When she's sick? And I actually thought that Father had…called it off…I thought that he knew how heartless he was being and he had stopped. But he was with her…he was with her when our mother was dying…"

He broke off and the Doctor reached over and squeezed his arm.

Mr. Holmes suddenly grunted and the Doctor nodded for Mycroft to leave. He ducked around the wall and heard the Time Lord say, "Hello. Looks like you had a bit of a fall. You hit your jaw on the table and smacked your head off the floor."

"I had…the weirdest…dream."

"Yes, yes. Dreams are quite weird."

"Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm the…"

"Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft held his breath as a doctor—an actual doctor—came into the cafeteria and frantically said, "There you are. Good heavens, are you alright?"

"Had a fall," Mr. Holmes explained, "How is Elizabeth?"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Holmes…"

"Elizabeth?" Mr. Holmes quickly whispered, "How is she?"

The M.D. hesitated and the Doctor took over, "I'm sorry. She didn't make it."

"No…no…my wife…Elizabeth…"

Mr. Holmes leapt up. Mycroft tensed his father raced by but the man didn't see him. He blindly ran up the stairs, calling his wife's name.

"Come on," the Doctor gently said, at Mycroft's side once more.

He and Mycroft walked back through the hospital and out onto the grounds. The Tardis was still there, basking in the sunlight.

In a few hours, Mycroft Holmes (aged ten) would arrive at the hospital with Sherlock in tow. The former would be crying and the latter would be confused and afraid.

As Mycroft leaned against the door of the Tardis, he remembered that he had been the one to tell Sherlock what had happened. His brother didn't understand at first. Mycroft had to explain everything. At the age of ten, he had to be the mature one and look out for his brother.

And he was still doing just that. The only difference between the last four years and now was that Mycroft had help when it came to looking after Sherlock. And he had to admit that it was nice for somebody to look out for him.

The Doctor put a hand on his shoulder, looking slightly concerned, but Mycroft smiled and said, "I made a lot of grilled cheese when our mum was ill."

"I heard," the Doctor admitted.

"Tonight I would use an entire loaf of bread," Mycroft admitted, "And a giant block of cheese. And Sherlock and I would eat it all. Blimey, I still don't know why I did that."

"You were upset," the Doctor said, "You were probably in shock. Not to mention the fact that you were only ten and you had to take care of your brother."

"Yeah…" Mycroft sighed, "The thing is…I really hate grilled cheese."

() () ()

"It's not funny, Jack!"

"You're right…you're right…"

Mycroft frowned as Jack doubled over in laughter. Sherlock was practically on all-fours.

"It's not funny!" Mycroft cried.

The Doctor leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a smirk tugging at his mouth.

"You actually punched Father!" Sherlock gasped, clutching his stomach.

"It's not funny!"

"It's hilarious," Jack cried, "You punched your father!"

"It's not…Doctor, tell them!"

The Doctor opened his mouth before admitting, "Mycroft, it was pretty funny."

"Glad you all find it so amusing," Mycroft muttered.

"Hey, not that way," Jack quickly assured him, "It was funny because your father finally got what was coming to him and he got it from you."

"You stuck up to Father!" Sherlock gushed, "You punched Father! That was amazing!"

"It was impressive," the Doctor agreed.

"Even if it could have ripped apart the universe?" Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows.

The Doctor waved his hand and nonchalantly said, "You wouldn't be my companion if you didn't occasionally risk destroying the entire universe."

Mycroft nodded but still stepped out into the corridor. He leaned against the wall and heard the door reopen. He didn't have to open his eyes to see who it was.

"He really was in the cafeteria," Mycroft mumbled, numbly, "He really did run up three flights of stairs and he really was devastated."

"Yes," the Doctor agreed, "He was."

"But he still…he was still seeing that woman…that wasn't right. How can I believe that he loved our mother when he was cheating on her?"

"Your father does not have his priorities in line," the Doctor gently explained, "From what I've seen of him, I think that he does love you and Sherlock. And I think that he did love your mother. Or at least, I think that he truly cares about the three of you. For a man like your father, that's actually saying something. Unfortunately, there's a difference between caring about someone and making them your first priority."

Mycroft pondered this for a moment before opening his eyes and asking, "What about you? What's your biggest priority?"

The Doctor looked thoughtful for a moment before softly saying, "Come on. Let's grab your brother and the three of us can get back to the universe."

Mycroft nodded, slightly annoyed that he hadn't answered his question.

Then again, Mycroft realized, maybe he had.

And so he grinned and muttered, "Geronimo!"

Author's Note: I'm sorry!