I just need to hug Mycroft. He has had to live with the knowledge that his sister killed a little boy, traumatized their brother, plotted to kill Sherlock (those drawings were the stuff of nightmares), burned down their home, and would have to be locked away for the rest of her life for everyone’s safety. And then, to spare his parents further pain in a logical, but misguided, way, he had to tell them she died. And he lived alone with the knowledge that she lived…and even existed.
He couldn’t kill the governor and threw up when he watched the man shoot himself.
Then he tried to make it easier for Sherlock to kill him over John, because he believed it was all his fault (a little bit true) and because without John, he knew Rosie would be an orphan and Sherlock would destroy himself over what he had done.
He cares. So much. And tries to hide it because he believes all that his heart has done has brought pain to him and his family.
I just need to hold him.