Author's Note: Hey guys! Everyone seemed to like last chapter which is awesome! I'm really enjoying that character. I was going to do another fan suggested chapter this time but I couldn't find the motivation. So instead I went for my next planned update. I hope you like it. Please read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

The First Time He Visited Her Parent's Grave

The universe was rarely so kind to Anthea Clarke. Her mother's birthday fell on a weekend. Like any date that only happened occasionally. What made this one special was that it also fell on a weekend in which Anthea had Friday after lunch free. The big gap in Anthea's schedule was like a neon sign flashing in her face in the dark, reminding her that it had been a long time since she'd gone home and seen her parents' grave. Home? Not home. Even when it was where she lived her boarding school was home. Maybe that's why she was never in a rush to visit. Yet it should be done. She should go with some cleaning products, some flowers, and make the grave site look nice. It felt more tactile to talk to a headstone than it did to talk to thin air and on her birthday Anthea, or Alice in this case, really should sit down and have a talk to her mother about all the comings and goings.

It's not like she could pretend that finding somewhere to stay was an excuse. Anthea, thanks to Mycroft, owned her grandparent's house. The kitschy two story house where the second floor was nothing but a master bedroom, an ensuite, and a strange little storage space that was mostly roofing. It sat there, empty and lonely, waiting for whenever Anthea decided to visit. With Jamie in London Anthea found herself going less and less with every passing moment. But this. This was an opportunity and as Mycroft would say one would be a fool to pass an opportunity up when it's right there smacking you in the face.

So Anthea did it. She mentally prepared herself to go home. She prepared to stay in grandparent's room with the new bed. She prepared herself to walk past her home with someone else living in it. She prepared herself to walk past a million different people who would know who she was but she'd barely recognise. She prepared herself to go to the quiet little cemetery and talk to her parents on her mother's birthday.

"Sir," Anthea spoke up in the town car. "It's my mother's birthday this weekend so I'm going to go and visit the cemetery." Anthea held herself together and forced that sentence out as well together as it could be, not a shaky voice to be heard. Mycroft nodded.

"Very well." He hummed as he twirled his beloved umbrella in his hand. Anthea offered him up a smile. Steel eyes remained on Anthea's face.

The car fell into silence.

Someone beeped.

Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the floor of the car.

His eyes were still glued to her face.

She knew what he was waiting for. Anthea exhaled and shook her head.

"I'm not going to ask you to come." She said gently, speaking through a sombre smirk.

"Obviously." His answer was abrupt. "I don't see why one would go to a gravesite and talk to a stone like it's the real living person. It's a ritual that makes absolutely no sense to me." It sounded like he was defending himself, not musing a thought. Anthea's eyebrows bounced playfully up and down.

"I know." She laughed breathlessly. "That's why I'm not asking you."

"Because I don't believe in such nonsense?" Mycroft asked, looking down his long nose at Anthea and studying her. Anthea licked her bottom lip.

"And," She began. "You'd complain and whine the whole time and make me feel guilty for inviting you in the first place." Mycroft clicked his tongue. His whole head turned and looked down to the handle of his umbrella, fighting back a scowl.

"I don't whine." He muttered.

"Yes, sir." Anthea sung, smiling at her phone screen. She swore she heard Walter chuckle.

Silence.

It remained that way for five minutes. Anthea texted people and answered emails while Mycroft stared out the window, watching people and places go by. Once they stopped at the lights and there was far less to look at Mycroft shifted in his seat. He angled his body to face towards Anthea but he stared at his umbrella. He clicked his tongue again and swapped hands on the handle of the brolly.

"You want me to go." Mycroft spoke like a spoilt child with too much attitude. "You've wanted me to go with you to that place for longer than we have been together." Anthea was watching his body language and facial expressions with amusement. She gave the genius a small nod.

"I have." She said equally slow and controlled.

"So why aren't you going to ask me to accompany you." Anthea quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Do you want to come, Myc?"

"No." He cut off her last word he answered so quickly.

"That's why I don't ask you." She said. Mycroft sniffed and turned back to the window. Why on earth was he acting offended by the fact Anthea was respecting his feelings and wishes? He'd be annoyed if he had to go and now he was annoyed because Anthea didn't burden him. One thing about dating Mycroft Holmes – it was never boring. Anthea scooted forward in her seat and leaned as close to the driver's seat as she could. "Walter he wouldn't want to go, would he?"

"He'd be bored to death, Miss James." Walter answered.

"And he'd think it was a waste of time." Anthea added. Mycroft was watching her from the corner of his eye, his mouth pouted.

"Definitely."

"See?" Anthea said to Mycroft. He pulled a face and glanced out the window.

"Can I speak freely, sir?" Waler asked.

"Certainly." Mycroft answered.

"Relationships work out better when you tell your partner you want to support them, kid." He said. Mycroft scowled. Anthea laughed as the lightbulb flashed on. He didn't want to go but he wanted to support her. This was one of the times when what The Ice Man wanted and the eldest Holmes son wanted were two different things. Part of him didn't understand and didn't want anything to do with it, which is the part that normally won out and the part Anthea was trying to respect by not asking, and the other hidden part of him wanted to be there for her. Once again, it was never boring.

"You're such a cutie." Anthea shook her head as she spoke breathlessly. Mycroft's scowl deepened at the term of endearment. "I'd love it if you came with me, Mycroft." She said, sitting back in her chair properly. "I love having someone with me when I go there and you're the person I want everywhere with me."

A pause.

Mycroft tapped the umbrella on the floor again.

"If you insist." He muttered. Anthea was very tempted to slap her own forehead.

It was a nice day. The sky was grey but the sun was up and shining between the low hanging clouds. It was as if the universe was rewarding Anthea for coming while acknowledging that some sort of melancholy should still be present on such an occasion. Mycroft was dressed entirely in black and white like he was attending an actual funeral as opposed to visiting graves. Anthea wore black to work all the time and her mum used to tell her off for wearing so much black as a teenager so Anthea wore dark blue in honour of her mother.

The flowers Anthea brought were daisies. Something about the innocents and purity of the little white flowers always reminded Anthea of being very small. Maybe because they reminded her of going to the park with her mum as a kid, or maybe – as Mycroft had suggested – Anthea had simply romanticised her parents in her head. It was probably both.

The mysterious pair dressed in dark colours walked through the cemetery on the bright yet cloudy day looking like lawyers for the grim reaper. Mycroft stern faced with his umbrella taking strides with him, Anthea with daisies in one hand and cleaning product and a cloth in the other. The cemetery was a pretty little one with bird baths set up in the compass points of each end. The trees grew tall and well-kept pink, yellow, and blue flower beds filled the spaces not taken up by graves, grass lawns, or loamy soil of freshly laid graves.

It took no time at all to stroll leisurely from the carpark to the large gravestone dedicated to both Alice's parents, taking up two plots. The stone was nothing special – it wasn't half as nice as the one Mycroft had purchased for his 'dead' brother – but it was lovely none the less. It was white and appeared marble – the plaque black with gold lettering.

"Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop." - Lewis Carrol.

Mycroft's lips pulled at the edges, threatening to smile as he read the Alice in Wonderland quote at the top of the stone. Anthea could see a million different comments flashing through his eyes and she knew he was dying to say one of them. He did not. Anthea appreciated both these actions. She appreciated how well Mycroft knew her that he wanted to poke some fun, and how respectful he was that he chose not to. Her grandmother had chosen the quote. She had said nothing else would suit it.

Grace Anne and Arthur Steven Clarke.

Loving husband and wife taken too soon. They left together.

Survived by their beloved daughter Alice.

Anthea let the waves of love and sadness wash over her. They always crashed into her while she was here, there was no point trying to avoid them. Her parents demoted to nothing more than writing on a stone slab and some ashes in the ground.

"Hi guys." Anthea spoke with a heavy exhale of breath, feeling her lungs shrink and empty. "Happy birthday, mum!" She sombrely smiled at the golden letters that read her mother's name – eyes feeling heavy. The genius besides her stood tall and rigid. His eyes studying her like watching his brother – weary and concerned.

"I bought you some flowers." Anthea held out the flowers. She got onto her knees, feeling the grass through her stockings, and placed them at the base of the grave. "I also thought I'd clean you up before I go." Anthea laughed despite herself as she put her handbag and the cleaning products down beside her. She could feel Mycroft's grand presence behind her, watching her. She sniffed and rolled her eyes.

"That's Mycroft." She said. "He's my weird boss, turned strange friend, turned boyfriend I'll never understand." She heard Mycroft make a noise behind her – something like a scoff or a laugh. "I've told you about him like a million times." Anthea rolled her eyes. She'd so wanted her mother's help during the NDA incident. She'd wanted to go home for a hug. That's why she'd gone to Jamie. "He probably won't say hi because he thinks this is stupid." She looked up at him and smiled. One side of the genius' mouth pulled up towards his nose and he rolled his eyes. Anthea turned back to her grave.

"Yeah Dad, you'd probably hate him." Anthea smiled at her dad's name. "Or you wouldn't get him. You'd like what a hard worker he is though. He works so hard. So hard. You liked those types of people, didn't you?" Anthea felt liquid welling up in her eyes. She held the back of her hands up to her bottom lids and blinked hard to avoid any tears. "Mum you'd love him." A whimper escaped with her laugh. She could sense Mycroft shifting his weight behind her. "He's so weird and so wonderful – you'd adore him. No, actually, you'd love his mum." Anthea rubbed at her nose. "And his dad. His dad is a bit like you actually." She laughed again to avoid from sobbing. Mycroft came to stand beside her, umbrella digging into the dirt. That was his support. She looked up at him, blinking, not seeing him clearly through the sunlight and the blurry vision.

"This is him now." Anthea smiled at her parent's names. Mycroft cleared his throat. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Hello." He said politely and awkwardly. Anthea's heart burst with pride as she recognised that was him trying his best with her weird sentiments yet again. Bless is icy heart.

"Thank you." She looked at the stone but spoke to Mycroft.

"Only for you." He replied.

The morning went by sluggishly in that sleepy little cemetery under the grey sky. Anthea sat on the grass talking quietly to her parents, mostly her mother given the day. Until some time passed and Mycroft, begrudgingly and with noises of displeasure but on his own accord, got to his knees in his black suit and sat in the grass with his partner. At that point Anthea stopped talking to her parents and instead talked to him. She told him some of the few stories about her parents she had yet to tell him.

She told him good ones and even the bad ones. About the time she accused her dad of sending her to boarding school because he didn't love her and then cried when he said he'd take her out of it then. Together she and Mycroft mocked the logic of children. She told him how her mother hated London but she and her dad loved it so they'd make trips together while her mum stayed home. Instead some time they'd all go somewhere pretty in the countryside with her mother. She told stories of the times Jamie came and stayed with them and stories of being an only child – which Mycroft envied greatly, or so he said. This was the most Anthea had ever talked about her parents to anyone in one sitting. Mycroft sat quietly and patiently listened. Anthea knew he would wish to be somewhere else right now. Boredom would be gnawing at the edges of his brain and sentiment always put him in a foul mood. Yet here he sat, sweetly listening to the rambles of his partner, not simply placating her but being a comfort with his presence alone. That's another reason Anthea's father would like Mycroft despite every weird quirk about him – how wonderfully cooling his was to Anthea's fire. How calm he kept her with his ice. It would be amiss to say that Mycroft was never a chore, but at times like this he was a real gift.

"Oh." The sound of a male's voice came from behind Anthea and echoed on the stone. She looked over her shoulder and saw her Aunt and Uncle, arms linked standing a behind her and Mycroft. Her Aunt held yellow flowers while her Uncle only held a grim look on his aging face. If Anthea wasn't filled with dread she'd be surprised at how her uncle had aged since she last saw him at the funeral. He was entirely grey now and thick lines filled his forehead. He was not happy to see Anthea at his sister's grave, his wife only looked surprised. Mycroft was looking at them too, eyebrows raised and mild contempt written on his features. Anthea turned forward and sniffed. She wiped under her nose with the back of her hand.

"Sorry." She said, her voice betraying her by cracking. "We're going." She stood up. Mycroft immediately got to his feet with her but looked down upon her with fierce icy eyes.

"No we're not." He said. "We've made no sign of leaving any time soon."

"It's okay." Anthea stroked Mycroft's arm, her heart both aching and mending at the same time – stuck in limbo. "It's his sister."

"It's your mother." Mycroft hissed. He took a quick side glance over at Anthea's uncle. "If my parents died who do you think my mother would rather visit her grave? One of her children? Or Rudy?" Anthea laughed silently. She placed her forehead briefly against his shoulder and he let her – not moving. It took some more of the pain away and helped her steady herself.

"It's okay." She said again.

"Come on, honey." Anthea looked back to see her Aunt tugging on her uncle's arm. "We live here, we can come back whenever we want. Let Alice stay longer." She said. Her Uncle looked uncertain but was willing to be dragged away by his wife. Mycroft was radiating smugness.

"No." Anthea stepped forward. "It's fine. We've been here all morning. You can go now." Her practice fake smile landed on her face.

"Alice." Mycroft warned.

"Mycroft." She cooed in response. His eyes searched hers and she just smiled up at him. They had an entire silent conversation before Anthea's Aunt next spoke.

"Only if you're leaving." She said.

"We are." Anthea tucked her hair behind both her ears. She gestured with a flick of her hand for Mycroft to walk in front of her. He didn't right away. In took a deep breath in, held him umbrella in front of him with both hands on it, and carefully examined the three other people in front of him. He lingered on Anthea's uncle and she could see a million thoughts flashing through his blue eyes at the speed of light. Finally he began walking away from the graves and to the nearest stone path. Anthea, both sadden by events and amused by her boyfriend's dramatic antics, followed his.

"Alice." He Uncle said her name as she walked past him causing her to stop dead in her tracks. It was strange hearing his voice after so long. She'd forgotten what it sounded like. Didn't it used to be lighter? She looked over at him. Letting go of his wife's arm, the man held out his arms asking silently for an embrace. Anthea found herself leaning right in for the hug. Her arms wrapped around him as his large arms pulled around her back. "Not today." He spoke softly into her ear as he rubbed her back. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent.

"Yeah." She answered. "For mum." He let her go and suddenly Anthea felt like she was falling. Until she stepped back and was met with the cologne of another man. Mycroft had moved back when Anthea had been pulled into the hug and now stood right behind her. She found something to hold onto in that smell. Anthea's uncle tried to smile but it wasn't right.

"I guess we'll see you next year." He said. Anthea's laugh caught in her body refused to make light of that comment.

"Yeah." She quirked her eyebrows. She looked at her Aunt and waved. "Bye." She said.

"Goodbye Alice." Her Aunt's voice rung of sympathy. Anthea turned and continued to walk towards the path. "Goodbye Mycroft." He nodded. Anthea didn't need to even see it to know he would have given her one of his strangely polite nods before footsteps began following her own. They were quick and soon he walked right next to her on the path.

"Thanks for coming." Anthea said. Mycroft hummed.

"If you would like to immediately pay me back for the favour," he begun. "You'd let me kill that man right now." Anthea shook her head and laughed.

"Not today." She said, grinning.

Author's Note: So? What did we think? This was one I've been holding back until I felt Mycroft would actually go. Considering how much trouble I was having writing other things this week this one came quite easily. Please let me know all your thoughts. Thanks to our guest reviewers: Guest, Olivia, and B. The rest of you were account holders who I got to thank personally for being awesome. See you all in five lovely days. Though it might be six days since there's a party for my friend who gets home from being in Japan for like six months… but I'll aim for five!