Day by Day (Sherlock, Mycroft)

October 13, 2017

After season 4, Mycroft and Molly discover that everything they thought they knew about each other was only a shadow of who they really were. When Mycroft is 'strongly encouraged' to bring a date to a work gala, he invites the only woman he knows, who doesn't already have a date. What is discovered changes his perspective on his own deductions.

I know this isn't a popular pairing. But, I hope Mycroft sneezing is worth reading through my logic.

Part 1

A stress headache tingled at the edge of his skull as serious brown eyes regarded Anthea. “Surely you can’t be serious,” he said, not taking the invitation that she held in front of him.

“I’m afraid it can’t be avoided, sir. The fact is that you are expected to go with a date.” There was a gala to be held for the elite of London’s administration. While these galas were not rare, generally her boss was able to avoid attending. However, his invitation made it clear that he was expected to attend and with a guest.

“Fine, I will attend with you. Please make the arrangements,” he stated, picking up his fountain pen and signing the document in front of him.

Anthea regarded him seriously, her lips set into a fine line. “That will not do,” she replied simply.

Observant eyes flickered up at his assistant. An apologetic look was in her eye and her hand trembled slightly. “Ah, I see,” he stated, understanding that she already had a date. “Well, I am sure I will find somebody,” he said, sounding much more self assured than he felt. He didn’t have friends, and there was only one other female that he knew well enough to ask.

--

A small sigh graced Mycroft’s breath as he stared at the door of 221B momentarily before knocking. He forced a smile at Mrs. Hudson as she regarded him with her usual poorly hidden scowl. “Mrs. Hudson, a pleasure as always,” he stated, walking in as she stepped out of his way. “I assume Sherlock is upstairs?” he asked, pausing only slightly to receive her nearly hostile response before he made his way up the stairs.

“He has a guest,” she stated, following him part of the way up the stairs.

“Thank you for granting me that awareness,” he said, hoping that by saying it was a guest, it was the one person whom he wished to see. He didn’t think that simply stopping by the morgue would be appropriate. Not only was it a disgusting place, he did not trust the lack of security in place. Unbeknownst to many, 221B Baker Street was one of the most secure places in all of London.

Walking in without knocking, he regarded his brother who was sitting in his chair. Forcing a smile, he let his eye drift over the other two in the room. John looked uneasy, scratching at his cheek lightly. And Molly, who had been making a cup of tea in the kitchen looked absolutely petrified.

He couldn’t say that he blamed any of them. It hadn’t been very long since Eurus’ recapture, and the four of them were tangled in her web.

He had been quite shocked, were he to be honest with himself, that all of the players involved had survived. He rather expected that at least one of them would have died. If he had been a betting man, the deceased would have been either him or Molly. Considering his current predicament, he almost wished Sherlock had shot him.

“Sherlock, John – a pleasure as always,” he forced out in a tone that made it apparently that he was saying the words because they were expected, not because he meant them.

“Mycroft, what are you doing here?” Sherlock asked, his slightly widened eyes betraying his monotone voice regarding his brothers unexpected visit.

“Molly, good to see you,” he said, uncharacteristically warm and even giving the woman a bit of smile.

“Uh, uh, I….,” Molly stammered looking at Sherlock for support. “Nice to see you too, Mycroft,” she said, moving past him to sit on the couch. Once settled, her eyes flittered back to Sherlock before going back to Mycroft. Slouching so that her elbows were resting on her knees, she put her cup down too hard, causing it to clack on the table and startle her. “Mycroft, I want to thank you. Sherlock has explained everything, and your team did a remarkable job of securing and recreating my flat. It was very kind of you.”

She still looked hurt and scared, Mycroft noticed. The tremor in her hands the way that she kept looking at Sherlock made him wonder just whom in the room she was uncomfortable with. “I actually came to see Molly,” he said, swaying back and forth a bit, as he dealt with his own insecurities. She had absolutely no reason to agree to help him, and certainly he could offer her no good reason to trust him after all of these years. “I, um,” he looked down at her, and paused pressing his lips together as those they were trying to form words for the first time.

On the other side of the room, Sherlock smirked as wore a look of utter bewilderment and looked between the Holmes brothers. Mycroft Holmes was many things, but there were precious few times that he could ever recall the man being tongue-tied.

“Molly Hooper,” he started as though he were penning a letter rather than speaking directly to her, “I have a function to attend, where it highly encouraged that I bring a date. I would be deeply honored if you would agree to attend with me.”

An understanding shifted in Molly’s eyes, which did not leave Mycroft this time.

“You’re being forced to bring a date?” John asked, interrupting the moment.

Stunned at the interruption, Mycroft took a moment before responding, “Yes. It is quite common for these kinds of affairs. And, I have decided to ask Miss Hooper.” He looked at her expectantly, and was confused as the look of comprehension shifted away from her eyes. Instead, she looked at him with the same look of guarded confusion with which she approached most of her life.

“Are you making fun of me?” she asked, the hurt now evident in her eyes. “I know that I may not be as polished as you or Sherlock, but that does not mean that I exist for you to make fun of.”

John regarded her protectively, as he looked from her to Mycroft. If this was a joke of some sort, he would have no qualms about escorting the man out of the flat, regardless of that man being Sherlock’s brother.

“I assure you that the has nothing to do with fun,” Mycroft said. “My request that you join me is entirely serious.”

She had no idea where she would get the dress or any of the accoutrements necessary to attend a gala of this sort, especially with Mr. Mycroft Holmes himself. Never the less, it had always been her dream to dress up and interact with society’s elite. And, that was precisely what he was offering her.

“When is it?” she asked, causing Sherlock to turn his head in a way that meant that she piqued his interest.

“This weekend. I will have Anthea assist you in procuring anything you need for the occasion,” he stated.

A small smile twitched at the corners of Molly’s lips. Although he made it sound as though the entire affair was only for work purposes, she was pleased that she would not need to put herself in debt to afford to take him up on his offer. “I accept,” she stated, before John could interject again.

“Marvelous,” Mycroft stated without an ounce of joy in his voice. He pulled out his phone and texted Molly. “I have just sent you a number by which to reach Anthea. Send her your … sizes… and she will procure all that you will need. “ A light blush rose in his cheeks at this.

“Thank you,” Molly said, in all ways genuine. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Hm, well at least one of us is,” Mycroft replied, with absolutely no indication that he knew or cared how cutting his remark was. “I will see you Saturday evening. I will send a car to pick you up at your flat, shall we say at seven o’clock?” he asked.

Her usual mask of casual concern was back in place. “That would be lovely. Thank you,” she said.

The three of them watched in silence as Mycroft, his reason for showing up now completed, hastily left the flat.

---

Just as Mycroft had said, a car was sent to Molly’s flat at seven o’clock sharp Saturday evening. The night before a dress that was more elegant than anything that Molly had ever worn was delivered. The midnight blue chiffon gown was floor length with a shallow V neckline and inverted pleating at the hem. The beading and embellishments were subtle and delightfully gorgeous. The silver dress sandals that accompanied it were a perfect fit.

Molly had spent most of the day getting her hair and nails done. She even had her make up professionally done. Quite honestly, this sort of style was something that she could get used to. Even having the garments bought for her made things quite a bit easier than attempting to figure out what was expected of her. Society rules were so tricky.

Meeting up with Mycroft, she smiled at him and greeted him brightly, but knew better than to mention that he had bought her outfit. She followed him quietly from conversation to conversation, already aware that her entire purpose of being here was to make him look better. He had to look like he had made a good choice, a charming choice on bringing her to the gala. As an unknown, she had to blend in – disappear. It was all about him tonight, and she was honored that of all the ladies in the room, he had chosen her to attend.

“Hesshessh!” he sneezed, suddenly – barely catching it in his handkerchief.

They had taken a few steps away from the crowd in order to get flute of champagne. She sipped hers gingerly, wanting to look like she belonged without imbibing. It wasn’t an easy task. Before she could respond, he had apologized, putting the champagne flute down on a table.

He gave her half of a glance before walking away. The glance told her not to follow, so she chose to join a group of people who seemed to be talking kindly enough. She knew that there was a way of speaking politely without being polite at all. She had been on the receiving end of that sort of verbiage for most of her life, and she prided herself on being able to keep impassive during those times.

A nice looking young man with short hair and deep brown eyes smiled at her as she joined the group. “And you are will Mr. Holmes are you not?” he asked, engaging her in conversation right away.

“I am,” she said, confidently. After all, she was. It wasn’t a lie. She belonged there; he had invited her himself.

“And what kind of employment do you have, dear?” an older lady in a champagne colored ball, floor length gown asked. Her short blonde hair was curled within an inch of its ability, and her make up was far too heavy for her.

“I’m a surgeon,” Molly answered professionally. She knew enough not to say that she worked at the city morgue. She almost felt as though she was lying about her job. As the Specialist Registrar at the St. Barts, she had completed the required education and training. They didn’t need to know the rest.

“Very interesting,” the man stated with a smile. “Where are you practicing?” he asked, enthusiastically.

“Miss Hooper works at St. Bartholomew’s,” Mycroft answered, coming up behind her. Before anyone could say anything more, he offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She looked at his arm as though it were poisonous before wrapping her own arm around it lightly. She worked hard to make it look to the casual observer like she was friendly with him. But, she knew he didn’t want to be touched, least of all by her. Even though all their years of knowing each other, they really knew very little about each other.

She looked up at him, giving him an awkward smile, when he shivered. “Are you all –.”

“Heh-Esshfff!” he a sneezed into a well timed handkerchief. “ESsshhff!” He sighed, and dabbed his nose before pocketing his handkerchief.

“Bless you,” she offered as he offered his own apologies.

All too aware of people staring, something that she had gotten used to in her own life, she pressed her lips together and looked up at him. “Mycroft, might we step outside for a moment. I heard someone talking about a lovely balcony view?” She looked at him expectantly.

With a long look and a short sigh he said, “I suppose,” and lead the way.

It was cold up on the balcony. Much colder than she had expected. She had hoped to give Mycroft the break that he needed from prying eyes. But, as she watched him shiver as another cold gust of air whipped past, she realized that he had made an error in judgement. “It is beautiful, but much colder than I expected. I am hardly dressed for it.”

“Speaking of that,” he said, following her cue and leading her back inside, “you look quite lovely today Molly.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I’ll have to send a note to your friend who made the suggestion.”

He regarded her with a spark of confusion for just a moment, before withdrawing his handkerchief again. “HetSCCHH! EsshhH! ES-Huh-TSCCCH! Pardon me,” he breathed, tending to his nose, and very pointedly not looking around.

“You know it’s all right if we leave early,” Molly offered, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t mind.”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion nor stating there was an issue which you were to weigh in on,” Mycroft responded tersely. “I still have business to attend to here. This may seem like fun for you, but I assure you it is anything but fun for me.”

Having been friends with Sherlock for so long had its effect on Molly, and she was able to see the deflection technique for what it was.

“I’m not like the others, you know. I don’t mind telling you what I’m thinking, Mycroft. But, I’ll be respectful as I do,” she lied. Of course she would rather be respectful to him. The man wielded more power than anyone else in the British government. In fact, according to Sherlock, the man was the British government.

“That’s precisely the difference between you and the other ladies here. They did not need to be trained on how to dress and how to act. They understand their place in society, unlike you who are just visiting. You’re a nobody, Miss Hooper. And, if all goes well, come tomorrow, no one will even remember that you were here.” He withdrew his handkerchief again and put it over his nose, squeezing his nostrils closed as he squelched three quick sneezes. “My apologies again.” He sniffed lightly.

Coldness replaced the empathy so often seen in Molly’s gaze. Taking a step back, she crossed her arm over her torso in subconscious protection against the verbal assault. Used to being under attack from Sherlock, she found his brother no different, except that he wasn’t playing on her feelings to get what he wanted. “I’ll tell you this once and only once Mycroft. You’re not like him you know. You are not like your brother.” She was about to follow it up with words about how she would not put up with being treated by Mycroft the way she had been treated by Sherlock for so long.

He froze. Whatever Mycroft had expected her to say in retort, that was certainly not it. He looked at her as though she were prey and dove in for the kill. “Excuse me, but are you going to presume to tell me how much better you know my brother than I do?” What is it, Miss Hooper? What is the brilliant deduction that you have for me that your experiences in the morgue have taught you? They haven’t taught you how to make a single declarative stamen, or act among the living. So I am most interested in hearing how you - how a surgeon, of the dead, I might add would deduce that I am not like my brother?” Mycroft could not put a finger on why her comment had such an unhinging effect on him. For years he had tried to get people to understand that he was not like Sherlock. And yet, her was a lovely young woman, intelligent in her own right, who confirmed his deepest desire and he was responding by releasing a tirade of fury at her in a public setting.

Tears shook in her pretty brown eyes. Lips pursed in defiance as she regarded the elder holms stoicly. Her own voice echoed in her head at a memory that she tried so often to forget. You always sya the most awful things. Every time. “Well, Mr. Holmes, I suppose that is a family trait,” she said, her voice remarkably calm for how embarrassed she was. “I am certain that you don’t need my deductions to understand my meaning.” She walked away, taking up solace in the sitting area of the ladies room.

Meanwhile, Mycroft was coping with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had heard the warble in her voice, faint though it was. He knew that other were watching, although he felt as though he was in the right and therefore didn’t mind their stares.

“I told you she’d be difficult,” Anthea said, coming up to him.

Turning from her, he pinched his nose through his handkerchief and suppressed three more sneezes.

“Ah, I see. Does she know?” she asked, pulling an individual packet of cold pills out of her purse.

Mycroft nodded slowly. For years, he had assumed that Molly was just an awkward morgue registrar specialist. He knew that she had to be good at her job in order to keep her employment at St. Barts. But, short of that, he had always considered her awkward and painfully dull. And yet, while watching her during the night, even the way she interacted with him, he started to wonder if perhaps he had misjudged her somehow. With a sigh, Mycroft turned to Anthea. “I don’t suppose you could speak to her on my behalf? I’m more out of sorts than usual tonight. She complimented me, and I responded exceptionally poorly. It won’t do at all to have her hiding in the ladies room for the rest of the night.”

“You owe me,” Anthea said, as she walked towards the ladies room.

** I can’t tell you. I don’t know where I am ** Molly

** Molly just tell us what you’re near, and we’ll come get you.** John

**What did Mycroft do?** SH

**Nothing. It was me. I’m awful at these things. ** Molly

** I know. Just tell us where you are and you won’t inflict yourself on anyone else ** SH

30 seconds later

** Sorry. John says that was not kind.** SH

The thirty seconds was all it took for Molly to dissolve in a fit of tears. She had inflicted herself on the great Mycroft Holmes, and everyone else. She didn’t belong here, and she needed to leave. But, she couldn’t tell her friends where she was, and she knew she could not simply leave Mycroft here. It would be beyond improper.

“Whoever he is. He’s not worth this,” a small mousey brunette said, as she walked past. “Here,” she handed Molly a few tissues. “Don’t worry dear. They never mean it at things like this. It’s just politics.” She disappeared into a stall.

Molly smiled a hair and blew her nose. She casually didn’t look at Anthea when she walked in.

“Well that was quite a spectacle. Don’t worry, though. I doubt anyone else noticed. It is my job to keep an eye on my boss after all. And he has kept his eye on you. More than I had thought he would.” Anthea sat down next to Molly. “Now, here’s the way we’re going to do this. I’m going to fix your make up, and you’re going to text your friends and make sure that they know that Mycroft has been nothing but a gentleman towards you. Then you two will enjoy the rest of the night, and next time he needs a date, he can ask someone more of his caliber. Any of the ladies out there would give their left arm to have your spot tonight. And, you make a spectacle.”

Molly looked down at her phone.

**Molly. ** SH

** I said I apologize. ** SH

** Molly where are you? ** John

** Molly?** John

** I’m fine. Tell Sherlock his brother has been a gentleman and I’m fine.** Molly

A few long minutes later, Molly was ready to rejoin the gala. She thanked Anthea, who ignored her and walked out with purpose, giving her boss a nod before rejoining her date. With a deep breath, Molly tried to emulate Anthea, but was a luke-warm representation. Worrying at her bottom lip, she came up to Mycroft. “I apologize,” she said, with reverence. “Do excuse my outburst, Mr. Holmes. This is not the place for such discussions. Pardon my banal mind for forgetting where I am and with whom I am attending.” She gave him a sheepish grin as she thought about the possibility of Sherlock rushing in. It was a good thing that Mycroft and his brother lead totally different lives. If it was thought that she had embarrassed Mycroft, goodness knew what sort of humiliation he would suffer if Sherlock was there.

He furrowed his brow a bit while he listened. Part of it was because of the headache that was creeping in at his temples. But, part was because he did not enjoy seeing the beta part of Molly. He enjoyed seeing those other parts – the comfortable, confident parts that were not typically part of her personality.

Her stomach bottomed out as she watched his brow furrow. She found herself wishing that Sherlock would be coming in at any second. “I’m going to get a glass of wine. Would you like one?” she asked sweetly as she started to walk away.

Instead of answering, his breath hitched.

She paused and raised an eyebrow at him, as though warning him not to lose control. Or was he imagining that? Withdrawing his handkerchief from his pocket, he brought it flat against his lower counterpane. “Heh-Tessff!” he sneezed quickly, rubbing his noes through the soft cloth.

“God bless you,” she responded softly, respectfully. “Perhaps a brandy?” she asked, smiling just a bit.

She was doing it again. Showing just a bit of a personality he didn’t recognize. He blinked and drew a breath before answering, “A brandy would be nice, thank you.” He watched her walk away as he tried to puzzle out the odd change of personality. This wasn’t just acting, that was easy to spot. It was the other personality traits. Those were too natural to be faked. He released a breath as Anthea came to his side. “What did you say to her?”

“I simply reminded her of who you are and her job tonight.” She smiled before asking, “Do you have an antihistamine?”

“You made her feel important?” Mycroft asked, ignoring the offer of assistance. He turned to regard his personal assistant.

“Of course not. I made her feel replaceable,” Anthea said with a smug smile.

Knowing what he did of Molly, Mycroft felt completely confident in his response. “No, you didn’t.”

By the time she came back, Anthea was gone and Mycroft was in pedantic conversation with someone she didn’t recognize. When he put his hand out, she gave him his brandy, and stood next to him quietly sipping her wine.

When the other man left, Mycroft gave her a forced half smile and put his empty brandy glass on the tray of a server walking past. Molly followed suit, nearly knocking over the tray in the process.

Pretending not to notice, Mycroft asked, “Do you dance?”

Molly huffed a laugh. “Have you seen me walk?” she asked, taking a shot at herself. “Um… no… not well,” she said, looking down and pulling his a deep breath. The truth was that she loved to dance and had taken lessons for years.

“I don’t dance,” Mycroft stated. “I don’t enjoy it. I dislike having to touch people, to be close to so many, and not be able to keep my eye on my surroundings. But, our parents paid for us to have dance lessons.”

She looked at him, making eye contact with the man whom she would have thought would never have been so honest with her. With all of the important people around, she could not make heads nor tails of why he would give her the time of day at all, and not ignore her for someone more on his level.

“Yes,” he said, as though she had asked a question. “Sherlock and I can dance.” He approached her in one quick step.

Forcing herself not to step back in fear, she remembered where she was. He had to look trustworthy, not terrifying. And she had to look like she trusted him to make that happen. Putting his hand out in askance, he inquired, “May I have this dance, Miss Hooper?”

Her mouth gaped open for a second. “Oh I’m not good enough,” she deflected. “I’ll bring you the wrong kind of attention.”

His eyebrows furrowed again. It was obvious that she wanted to dance. And while she had bouts of brilliance throughout the night, it occurred to him that either she was extremely self conscious or she id not know what was expected of her. “That is not the correct response,” he whispered.

“Oh yes. My apologies Mr. Holmes. It would be my honor to dance with you. Thank you,” she said, as though it were scripted. Placing her hand in his, she noticed that his palms were sweating. She didn’t know why but it struck her as odd.

As they proceeded to the dance floor Mycroft asked, “Why are you insisting on using my formal name?”

“Because I don’t really have the right to call you by your first name, have I?” she answered back, her voice barely audible over the music. She missed the befuddled look he gave her as she continued with a whispered, “I probably don’t have the clearance for it anyway.” At this his face protected the confusion that he felt to the core, as he tried to decipher this odd change in attitude.

“Excuse me,” he said, as they neared the floor. Pulling out his cell phone he texted ** What did you say to her?** to Anthea. He noticed that there were an exorbitant number of texts from Sherlock, which he chose to ignore. He deduced that Molly had contacted him and now Sherlock was trying to plant himself firmly in the middle of something that really wasn’t his concern, as always.

“Call me Mycroft. It makes me more comfortable. Besides, you’ve earned it.” He pat her on the shoulder, and gingerly took her hand. It was warm and soft, and far more confident than he had expected as he lead her out onto the dance floor.

Moments after reaching the dance floor Mycroft could tell that Molly had taken years wort of dance lessons. He smiled a bit at her, feeling more comfortable on the dance floor with her than he could ever remember being. They both knew the rules and abided by them. It was the first time all night that he had relaxed.

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered closed as another sneeze was upon him. Taking a moment to twirl her gently, he withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket and brought it up to his nose and mouth. The “Kefft’CHOO!” that emanated from him was far stronger than he had anticipated and he let go of her quite unceremoniously as he bent at the waist. He sniffed and was overtaken by another “Kefft’CHOO!” As a few smaller sneezes were smothered into his handkerchief, “Ketissh! Tissh! Essshh!” he felt himself be gently guided off the dance floor. The guider hand a hand on his upper arm and another at the small of his back, the pressure both firm and noninvasive. Following the guidance he sat down in a chair and was finally able to get a glimpse of the person who had assisted him. “Thank you, Molly,” he whispered.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and looked around to make certain that no one was watching. She was certain that people had seen the burst of sneezing. But she was concerned that people watching what she was certain Mycroft would consider an embarrassing display, would only embarrass him further.

Tending to his nose, he felt oddly protected with her standing next to him. Certainly if they were attacked, he was the more deadly of the two. But, there was something about being in her presence that made him know that he was not going to be chastised, belittled, or teased for his outburst. He felt himself become techy at the idea that she might coddle him. But, she wasn’t giving him that indication either. Her hands weren’t coming near his face, she wasn’t supplying him with pills or tissues that he didn’t ask for, and she wasn’t using a saccharin sweet voice to speak to him. It was oddly comforting. After he collected his bearings, he cleared his throat. “My apologies. Would you care to go back to the dance floor?” he asked, punctuating it with a light sniffle.

She paused, looking him over. She wanted to ask if he was up for it, but she had already been instructed on the correct thing to say. Sitting down next to him she decided on, “My apologies, Mycroft. It’s a bit crowded out there and I am starting to tire.” She looked at him with her big doe eyes, and a sheepish grin, and butterflies exploded in her stomach. She was certain that she was handling this improperly.

He regarded her slowly, his eyes softening as he looked over the young beauty in front of him. She really was beautiful, if not refined. He had never noticed before. Not really. But, for someone who had been understood as all but worthless, she had a fair amount of class in her… hidden behind years of the insecurities placed upon someone unfortunate enough to make friends with Sherlock.

Suddenly, he was overcome with large sneeze which barely gave him enough warning to cover it with his handkerchief. Allowing himself to rest against his handkerchief for a moment, he felt the congestion in his sinuses shift. He also felt a hand return to his shoulder. Looking up, he was startled when Molly was nowhere to be seen, and in her place was Anthea. “What did you do with her?” Mycroft asked in a way that only those who knew him would know was protective.

“I sent her for a drink. She’ll be back,” she said, handing Mycroft a clean handkerchief. She had seen a change in the two of them over the night. They had gotten on more naturally than she had ever seen Mycroft gel with anyone – even the people he was supposed to be getting on with. Once he pocketed his used handkerchief, she handed him two cold pills, which he swallowed dry.

“You should take her home soon. You know how these parties get after eleven o’clock,” Anthea suggested.

Mycroft nodded, but said nothing. He had located Molly and was amazed at how easily she spoke to people when she didn’t think anyone was watching.

Anthea smirked. “You know, she’d be relatively easy to keep,” she said quietly.

Snapping back to attention, Mycroft looked at her in shock. “Excuse me?”

October 13, 2017

Sunday - The Day After

*Where is he?* Anthea

*Who?* Molly

*Mycroft* Anthea

*I don’t know.* Molly

*He’s not answering his phone.* Anthea

*It’s Sunday.* Molly

*He has a meeting this afternoon.* Anthea

*Of course.* Molly

Molly had no idea what exactly made her go to the grand estate of the great Mycroft Holms. Dressed in a blouse and jeans, she wondered if she could even get in – if he would let her in. Or, if he was even home. Forgoing a cursory text, she figured that if he wasn’t answering his assistant, he wouldn’t answer her.

Coming up to the door, she bounced back in surprise as a retinal scanner smoothly transitioned from a panel next to the door knocker. It was as though she had suddenly dropped into one of those techy suspense movies. Moving a bit closer to the scanner, she tried not to blink as the red beam moved across her eye. Doctor Molly Hooper, you are admitted, the nearly human voice intoned. In wondered briefly if Mycroft had someone actually checking the people who wanted to gain access to his home. She decided it would not surprise her.

There was a loud thunk as what sounded like a deadbolt slid over. Wondering idly if that was for atheistic she walked in and was more than a little jarred by the fact that nobody was at the door to greet her. The foyer was lovely, with vaulted ceiling, and she winced as her call for, “Mycroft?” echoed off the walls. “It’s Molly,” she called, slowly making her way in.

Inquisitive brown eyes took in her surroundings, as she followed the layout of the house upstairs and into the long hallway. Feeling quite like she was intruding she went to call for him again when he appeared at a door, wrapped in a black robe with a hand g trained on her chest.

She sucked in a deep breath and paused, her heart pounding in her ears so hard they began to ring. She knew that Mycroft was a powerful man, a dangerous man, and that she was standing, uninvited in his home.

“Molly?” he breathed, pointing the g down as he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket. “Hetshhiff!” he sneezed heavily into it. Pulling his eyes open, he regarded her skeptically, as though he wasn’t really certain that she was there.

“Bless you,” she offered, letting out her breath. “Mycroft you look positively ill,” she stated pointing out the obvious.

Giving her one of his more sarcastic grins, he followed it with, “Thank you for making that clear. I was asleep until someone decided to infiltrate my home. However did you get in?” His smile was snide, and it was apparent that he did not want to be having this conversation.

“Your retinal scanner let me in,” she replied simply. She had thought about how it addressed her as ‘Doctor’, when Mycroft only ever addressed her as ‘Miss’, but opted not to bring that up currently.

Mycroft’s expression turned to one of confusion as he entered his bedroom, leaving the door ajar behind him. Knowing that from a Holmes, this was the only sort of invitation that she would receive, she followed him into the room, standing idly by his armoire.

Mycroft gave a congested sniff and a sigh when he picked up his phone and started scrolling through. “I see. Well, Miss Hooper. What can I do for you?” He eased himself back into bed, sighing with great relief when he leaned against his pillows.

Her look softened to one of compassion, and he scoffed as soon as he saw it. “Oh, Mother Mary, am I going to have to be subjected to you putting your hand on my forehead to ascertain if I have a fever? Molly-coddling perhaps?”

She opened her mouth to say something, and then stopped, her eyes sliding to the side, as a look that could only be described as sheepish anger crossed her face. And then it was gone, replaced by the slouched shoulders and inability to make eye contact.

Mycroft’s head twitched the slightest amount as suddenly he realized that Molly was interesting. He had never given her much of a second glance before the night prior. He knew that she was Sherlock’s friend, of course. And, for reasons that Mycroft couldn’t fathom, Sherlock trusted her. But, beyond that there had never been any reason to believe that she was anything except exactly as she presented herself. Thinking back over the way she always seemed to be pondering something, eyes almost never making contact with the subject that she was engaged in conversation with, body slouched in a seemingly slovenly position causing her clothes to appear to be too baggy over her curvy form. Until the night before. When among people who did not know her, she was … different. And, standing here in front of him, she seemed caught somewhere between the confidence that she had exuded at the gala when she didn’t think he was looking, and who she was whenever anyone she knew was nearby.
Raising a finger in the universal sign for ‘hold on,’ Mycroft brought his handkerchief back up to his face. “Huh-Shccfff! Hughesshhfff!” he sneezed congestedly.

Molly blessed him, but said nothing else. And, he noticed, that look of anger had returned, although now it was focused, rather than sheepish. Indeed, he had hit on something. But, he didn’t know what. Perhaps it was the fever slowing him down, but he wanted to figure out this puzzle that stood before him. “Molly, if I told you to just tell me what you’re thinking, without any filters or concern for my feelings,” he hissed out the last word as though it was a contemptible loathsome thing, “would you do it?”

The look was gone in a blink, but there was something that lingered just below the surface. Her figure had not moved, the muscles of her back and limbs taut and not at all comfortable. “Maybe.”

The corners of his lips turned up minutely as he wondered what about this new puzzle Sherlock had missed, that they all had missed. “Do it,” he commanded in a tone that broached no room for argument.

Molly pursed her lips together.

“No, you’re thinking too much. Just tell me. You won’t hurt my feelings, if that’s what your concerned about.” He didn’t care what she thought of him… at least not in this case.

Her statement from the night before that he was not like his brother was still niggling in his mind and he wondered what she had meant by it. In that instance, he supposed he cared, but it was on a case by case basis. He didn’t care what she, Molly Hooper, thought of him in general. Those sorts of thoughts were not his concern.

“I don’t need to touch you to know how you’re feeling Mycroft,” she stated, with a self-assurance he had never heard from her before. “To start with, your house is warmer than it is outside, although you spend very little time here, which means that you have chosen to turn the heat on.” She paused, blinking rapidly twice.

An interesting tick, Mycroft thought. Was she processing or was she pausing? Most of all he was surprised by her deduction. She had been correct. “Go on,” he lead.

“I don’t need the air to tell me how you’re feeling. The fact is that your carotid pulse is beating abnormally fast, and you’re sweating both on your forehead and over your upper lip, depicting signs of a fever. Your nose is chapped, but that would be too easy to notice, after all you have been sneezing. So, perhaps your handkerchief is a bit too rough, or maybe your rubbing your nose too hard. Your sneezes are congested, and you are choosing – I would wager – to release those from your chest, elevating the wetness, but decreasing the amount of congestion that is releasing. So, a headache is also at play. Judging from the fact that you did not answer your cell phone when Anthea texted, I would say a rather bad one, perhaps with some light sensitivity.” She drew a deep breath through her nose and let it go in a sigh as though she had felt good about her deductions. And then it was gone, as she dropped her gaze from the ailing man and crossed an arm across her torso, as though she was expecting a rebuke.

“You are correct in your deductions. I must say, I’m quite impressed,” he complimented. It was not a natural occurrence, and he weighed his words carefully. But, she had impressed him, both in her deductions and the way she presented them. “But, why do you do that?” he asked, pointing vaguely at her. A twitch of his nose and a flutter of his eye lashes brought his handkerchief back to his face. “Hetchhessff!! Essshheff!!” He tended to his nose for a moment before muttering, “Apologies.”

She was able to bless him when her phone dinged.

*Is he alive?* Anthea

*Yes, but he is not well.* Molly

*No matter. The 15:00 meeting has been moved to 13:00. Make sure he gets to the office.* Anthea

“Anthea says your three o’clock has been moved to one o’clock. That’s only two hours from now.” She looked over the ill man. She couldn’t imagine him making it into the office in such a state. And, worse, she couldn’t imagine what those he was meeting with would think of being confined in a room with an ill man. Nor what an ill man was doing in such a high position of the government. It wasn’t right, or fair, but despite medical advances, many people still treated disease as though it was something dirty.

He groaned in response and swallowed thickly. “Might I ask a favor of you, Miss Hooper?” he asked, far too formally for what had just transpired.

She nodded once, but didn’t response. “Might you accompany me to the office?”

There was no reasoning that followed, but Molly assumed that he had one. A good reason seemed to be too much to ask for the Holmes brothers. However, considering that she was there and had nothing else planned for the day, it seemed like as good an idea as any. “And Miss Hooper,” he followed up with, as he started to stand. “As much as you are able I want you to tell me exactly what you are think-hing – HepSHUH!” He snuffled into his handkerchief before continuing, “No matter how off-putting or rude you may think it will seem to me.”

“Bless you. Why?” she asked, coming over closer to him in case he lost his footing.

“Because I like you this way,” he answered without thinking. A small blush rose in his cheeks as he realized what he had just said. Too late to take it back, it was his turn to be on the defensive.

“How do you take your tea?” Molly said, wishing to get out of the room as soon as possible.

“Honey please. No lemon.”

---

The ride in the car was a long one, and Molly was pleased that she had taken public transportation to his house to begin with. It was apparent that Mycroft was not only ill, but ailing, and she was at a bit of a loss as to what to do. She knew that he wasn’t like John, who took comfort in physical contact, or like Sherlock who seemed to take some contact in her just being there. In fact, she figured that Mycroft took no comfort whatsoever in either.

Rather than thinking too hard on it, however, she grabbed a bottle of water and poured some into a cup, putting it into one of the holders. She watched as gradually fell to sleep, dropping his handkerchief in his lap as he did so. She tried not to stare at him, but couldn’t help but notice how much younger and more vulnerable he looked when he was asleep. The smirk was gone from his lips and he even smiled once or twice in his dreams.

When the car stopped, she told the driver to wait a moment before opening the door. “Mycroft,” she said, daring not to touch him. She knew full well how well trained he was an how dangerous he could be. She did not wish to startle him in any way. “Mycroft, we’ve arrived at the office,” she said in the most authoritative voice that she could muster.

There was still something odd about acting the way she was comfortable rather than the way she was expected. And maybe moreso because she was doing it towards the most dangerous man she knew.

Mycroft’s eyes tugged open with a wince at the sunlight. Molly went to hand him the water when he quickly released three heavy sneezes, “Huh-HASSCCHH!! ESSCCHHH! EhESSSSH!” Unable to make eye contact with Molly, he relieved his nose and groaned audibly. “How did I let you convince me of this?” he grumbled.

“Me? I don’t understand,” Molly retorted before realizing that he was probably speaking to himself rather to her.

“Well you didn’t try to stop me, did you?” he snapped.

“Like you would have listened,” she stated back.

He paused and looked at her, knocking on the ceiling as a call for his driver to let them out. He looked as though he was going to say something, when he doubled over with a wet “HESSSSTTT!” A few crunchy coughs followed. Molly was about to hand him the water when the door opened. He ushered her out first and then followed.

---

While they walked through The Cabinet Office, Molly found it difficult to stay focused and not look at the intricate decorations and architecture. Having never been there before, it was rather like touring through a museum, and although Mycroft was ill, she had a hard time keeping up with his stride.

“Please don’t lag behind, Molly,” he chastised her.

She quickened her step, tripping just a bit as she did so. “Sorry,” she said, even though she remained considerably distracted by her surroundings. She felt woefully underdressed – jeans and a blouse. She had not expected to be somewhere so swanky, and hoped that she would not make a fool of herself. This could be the last time that she ever had the privilege of being visiting, and she wanted to remember every beautiful inch.

Upon coming up to Mycroft’s office, she paused and looked about for a waiting area. “Erm, where should I stay?” she asked, as he spoke to Anthea about if his guests had arrived.

“Stay? You’re coming in. This directly concerns you,” he said, taking the folders that Anthea handed him and walking inside the meeting room. Holding the door open, he looked at her, and gave her a rather pointed look.

She scurried inside, shocked to see John and Sherlock sitting at the long cherrywood conference table.

“You’ll forgive me, gentlemen if we make this short. I have no interest in games today.” The congestion which had been so evident in the car was now seemingly gone, and he appeared to be managing his symptoms remarkably well.

“What is going on here?” Molly asked, thoroughly confused.

“There you see it gentlemen. Molly is being returned to you and no worse for the wear. I, on the other hand…” He withdrew his handkerchief and sneezed with such veracity that the others in the room startled a bit.

For reasons that she could not place, empathy perhaps, Molly wanted to usher Mycroft into a chair. But, that wouldn’t do, would it? He was arguably the most important man in all of Britain, and she was a Specialist Registrar for the dead.

“Sit down before you fall down,” Sherlock commanded.

“I was home,” she interjected. “If you wanted to contact me, you could have texted me.”

“You said you weren’t okay last night. We were worried.”

“So, why didn’t you stop by?” she asked, annoyance filling her voice.

“We’d made plans to talk about how it went, but when I woke up ill this morning, I attempted to cancel,” Mycroft explained as though it was all perfectly logical.

Molly pursed her lips with a small sigh. “I apologize for worrying you. I was having a tough time of it. But, Mycroft was…” she looked at him, as though afraid of saying the wrong thing and hurting him or his reputation. “… a perfect gentleman. It was just overwhelming. Thank you, Mycroft, for the experience. And, Sherlock, John, the next time you’re concerned about me just ask me.” She bit her lip and looked down, curving her shoulders as she tried to make herself as small as possible to fade out of this embarrassing affair.

---

Later…

*Thank you for the water.* MH
*What water?* Anthea
*In the car.* MH
*I didn’t leave you water in your car.* Anthea

Oh…

October 13, 2017

This was a particularly delightful read! And although I never considered this pairing before, I am now all for it! xD

October 13, 2017

3 hours ago, HauntingHowlmes said:

This was a particularly delightful read! And although I never considered this pairing before, I am now all for it! xD

Thank you so much! I realized today exactly how many typos are in it, so that will be fixed later. I never would have paired these two either, but I really hope that you continue to enjoy it.

October 13, 2017

I liked this a lot. They are a tricky couple of characters to write together since they never get screen time but they've obviously interacted while dealing with Sherlock. Nicely done.

October 13, 2017

1 hour ago, matilda3948 said:

I liked this a lot. They are a tricky couple of characters to write together since they never get screen time but they've obviously interacted while dealing with Sherlock. Nicely done.

Omg. Youre the reason I got intp Sherlock at all. I really hope you continue to enjoy the story.

October 14, 2017

I apologize for all of the typos in the first two parts. For some reason I am not able to edit them.

I will try to do better going forward. I promise lots of suffering Mycroft in trade for your patience with me.

October 14, 2017

Part 3

This is more of a connector chapter than a sneezy one. I apologize. There is more sneezing coming, though. I promise.

--

Molly pulled her head back from her microscope as she wondered why on earth there would be maggot eggs in the liver of the man whom she had just autopsied. She pondered it for a minute, before brushing it off. While she would have texted it to Sherlock, she didn’t want him to just solve it for her. There was something fun about figuring it out for herself, anyway.

The door squeaked and she turned towards the door. No one was there. “Sherlock, is that you?” she asked, looking back down as though she was looking through her microscope. But, she knew someone had come in. The doors were too heavy to move on their own. She started to move towards her computer to hit the panic button when she heard it… or more correctly, didn’t hear it.

“I know you’re in here. That heater has clicked forever, so I know you’re standing in front of it,” she stated. What she didn’t know was who it was. She quickly made her way to her computer and shook her mouse to take it out of sleep mode.

“No cause for alarm, Miss Hooper,” Mycroft’s familiar voice stated.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. “Don’t do that!” she chastised, as tears prickled her eyes. She was aware that she was utterly vulnerable if someone whom she didn’t want there came in. But, she also knew that there were security and that a certain level of clearance was needed to find her, so she didn’t worry about it too much.

“My apologies for scaring you. I wanted to see how perceptive you were when you thought you were alone.” He carried his handkerchief in his hand as he got closer. Were he feeling better he would have offered it to her, but as it was he was too well used to share. Just the thought of doing so made his lip curl with disgust.

“Did I pass?” she asked, cheekily. She started recording her findings in the morgue report.

“You could do better,” he answered. “I was wondering if, in restitution for scaring you, you would allow me to take you out to dinner.” He had been thinking about her since Sunday. But, he didn’t feel comfortable simply texting her. What if she didn’t want to hear from him? The weekend certainly hadn’t been what either one of them would call fun.

“Has Sherlock given his approval?” she snapped at him.

He sighed. “I do apologize for that. Sherlock and John were so concerned about you after whatever you had texted them that Sherlock nearly filled my phone with texts. I agreed to the meeting very early in the morning, so that I could get some sleep. You were not supposed to be there, but well… things changed.” He could only imagine how she felt about it. He knew he would be very upset if the role were reversed. Not that he would ever admit it.

“I accept,” she answered with a smile. “Both your apology and your offer for dinner. Let me get my purse.”

Once arriving at the restaurant that Mycroft had chosen, the two of them fell into a comfortable conversation about the strange decomposition of the corpse that she was studying. She gave him an amused smile when he blanched at the comments about maggot eggs. Years of working at her job made her aware that this was when she had to stop speaking of it.

After a short, companionable silence Mycroft found himself staring at her. “You are fascinating, you know. Why did you not ever show this side of your personality?” Mycroft asked, learning toward her with a bemused smile.

She shook her head in her familiar bashful fashion. “I’m not smart enough, am I? I’m not smart enough, not quick enough. I don’t process as fast as you and Sherlock do.” Her heart thudded in her chest. She had never said these words to someone else before. These were just the thoughts that swam around her mind whenever she was in the presence of the Holmes brothers.

Mycroft paused, taking that in. Processing speed. Her constant downplaying of her own intelligence was because she didn’t process the world as fast as he and Sherlock. In an odd way, he thought that she was somewhere in between Sherlock and John when it came to processing speeds.

He recalled when she had accompanied Sherlock on investigations and suddenly he realized why that world out better than he had expected. “Is that what it is, Molly? Do you think that I’ve never made a mistake?”

“Of course not. Your brain – your marvelous brain – doesn’t work like that. You see all the options and can weigh them against the odds for the best choices. It’s why you’re… well… who you are.”

It was his turn to smile bashfully at her. This entire mess with Eurus was a long line of infinitesimal mistakes that he didn’t even consider. And, yet, there she was, thinking him to be perfect.

“Besides,” she continued, “when you make mistakes, people die. What’s the worst that can happen when I make a mistake? Someone comes back to life?” She laughed a bit and then stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking down at the center of the table. “Nobody ever gets my jokes.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s, um… it’s a balance, you see.” She hoped by guiding him to her logic, he would be able to make sense of it. Even if he didn’t find it funny. She had never actually seen him laugh and wondered if he found anything funny, or if his mind was such a jumble of high stress scenarios that he couldn’t find the time or reason for humor.

Mycroft looked at her for a moment before leaning back in his chair. His arm was perched on the edge of the table as he pondered the balance between life and death… concepts that had been too real too recently. He thought about her idea of balance and how the two of them were in the middle – each working with one of the two parts. He smiled, the scorn leaving his eyes as he huffed a laugh, as he realized that Molly had made a rather sophisticated joke. “I get it. It’s not funny, but it’s poignant.”

She had started to smile before her face began to pale and her breathing became irregular.

The laugh gone from his face, he leaned towards her. “Are you all right?”

“I … I’m sorry. Yes,” she said, trying to calm her breathing. She had never before heard that someone understood her jokes. That’s why she didn’t tend to make them. But, he had laughed. He understood her. The idea was a lot for her to process.

“You’re not ill are you? I do hope you’re not coming down with my cold.”

She gave a light shake of her head. “No. I apologize. I…” She drew in a deep breath and let it go.

Mycroft signaled for the waiter and asked for a glass of ice water. He knew a panic attack when he saw one and he was ready to support the poor girl through what he imagined was a frightening and embarrassing affair.

“I’m sorry, Mycroft. It’s just that… nobody ever understands me. Not really. Not ever.” She looked at him as though she was about to cry, but her eyes were dry. The waiter put down the glass of water on the table.

Ah. Now that was something of a familiar feeling too. “Except perhaps the other person that no one else really understands,” he offered.

She smiled, regaining control of her breath, as she sipped the water that he had ordered. She tried to quell the feelings of excitement that blended in with the odd sadness that the one person who understood her was someone who would never feel anything for her. She was pretty certain that Mycroft was the human equivalent of a Vulcan.

Mycroft understood her distress. He often felt like he was in a fishbowl looking out at a sea of people who didn’t see him, or even the world they lived in. They saw so precious little and certainly never thought about the way it all came together. To find someone who understood him, whom he understood… it was a bit overwhelming. He decided right then that he would have a sambuka with dessert. “So,” he said, clearing his throat slightly, “does this mean that we will start calling each other some sort of pet name?” He sincerely hoped not.

She squinted at him a though he had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Like what?” To Molly, their names were not the sort that could – or should – have been shortened.

“Well, my parents tend to call me Mike or Mikey,” he offered, quietly.

She giggled a bit, but turned her amusement into a look of sympathy when she realized that he was stiffening, steeling himself for a cutting remark or other unkind notion. “You misunderstand,” she explained quickly. “Your name is not Michael, so using those nicknames does not make sense.”

“That’s what I always said,” he agreed, emphasizing the word ‘always’ with a stretch of his hands.

“Mycroft is your name. What else would I call you?” she asked, wondering if there was another name that he preferred. Maybe a middle name or a nickname that only a few people knew about.

“I don’t know. I have had friends who have called me My.” He hated that name too, but she had asked for alternatives.

“My what?” she asked, not understanding the shortening of his name. “Like my love or my dear? It seems to me that we don’t know each other well enough. And, besides, I don’t believe that it would bring you the comfort that it would bring me.” She froze, having realized what she said just a moment too late.

“Don’t be concerned. Now I know that if you call me that it’s because you have grown comfortable with me, rather than because you expect something from me… at least initially.”

Their food arrived and they spend some time eating in companionable silence. “Molly, why do you hide who you are?” He had asked a similar question earlier, but the more he got to know her, the more he realized that she hid herself behind smiles and sheepish looks.

“Protection. I’m a mousey, curvy, intelligent woman with no fashion sense and an appalling sense of humor. It’s pretty easy to hide who you are when there are so many other traits to show to the world.”

“I think it’s time for you to stop showing the world what they expect to see.”

She chewed her bite thoughtfully to gain her a few extra seconds. “I don’t know how, Mycroft,” she answered honestly.

He nodded. He had gotten to the point that she had just reached while he was in his early teenage years. He had no idea how he would have undone so many years of training if he had waited until he was an adult to do it. “I’ll help,” he offered, with a small smile.

Edited October 14, 2017 by frenchposie
Line spacing-formating was off

October 14, 2017

Thank you @matilda3948 and @HauntingHowlmes for your comments! This is my first Sherlock fic, and I know it's an unusual pairing. But, I've been really working on how it could flow together instead of just putting them together.

I really super appreciate them! Apologies for formatting issues. I'm writing a lot of these at around 2am, and my brain get a little shifty around there.

Also, Part 4 doesn't have much sneezing in it - but I PROMISE part 5 does! So if you'll all just stick with me a little longer, I think it'll be worth your while.

Anyway - Onwards!

Part 4 - Saturday - Not a Date

*She’s driving me mad* Mycroft Holmes

*Anthea?* SH

*No, Miss Hooper* Mycroft Holmes

10 Minutes Later

*What has she done?* SH

*She’s asked to see me again.*Mycroft Holmes

*How many times?* SH

*Once.* Mycroft Holmes

Molly sat on the couch of 221B not certain exactly why she had chosen those two to spend the day with. She had expected that they would leave off of the topic. She had no idea why she expected that.

“So, I hear you have an interest in my brother,” Sherlock mocked, having only bided time until John got the three of them tea. “Mycroft, hm? Interesting choice. I mean I suppose he’s better than Tom.”

Molly shrugged, not knowing what to say. She was still a little sore with the two of them for plotting with Mycroft as though she was some child to be looked over. “He’s kind to me. Well as kind as he can be. And he doesn’t treat me like I’m an idiot.”

John startled, looking at her with those empathetic puppy eyes.

Reading his facial expression, she gasped. “Not you John, of course. I mean I don’t think you think I’m an idiot. Just ignore me.” She sipped her tea and pointedly ignored the confused look Sherlock was giving her.

“Molly, you don’t think I think you’re an idiot, do you?” It didn’t make sense. He had always trusted her to help him, even trusted her to work alongside him. He wouldn’t suffer an idiot, and he didn’t tend to suffer when he was around Molly. He recalled telling her that she counted.

The sheepish look and shrug she gave him told him everything he needed to know. Not only did she think he undervalued her, but she undervalued herself when she was with him. He had apologized for what he had to do with Eurus, and wondered if they would ever be comfortable in each other’s presence again. “I’m sorry. I know your brain works slower than mine, but I never meant to make you feel like an idiot. It’s not your fault you are who you are.”

“Sherlock, stop!” John hissed, as he gave Molly a sideways glance. She was hunched on herself with tears in her eyes. “Mycroft may think these things – I’m sure he does. But, he doesn’t say them. That’s the difference between you and your brother.” She stood up, wishing to leave, but Mycroft had said that he would pick her up there. “Ta,” she said, picking up her things and going down to Mrs. Hudson’s flat.

She explained her situation, and then shook her head at the offer of a cup of tea. “I just want to get ready for my… “

“You’re date dear?” Mrs. Hudson prodded kindly.

Molly knew that there was no love lost between Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft, and she didn’t want to make things more tense than she had already made them upstairs. “I’m sure he doesn’t view it that way.”

“You’re dressing up and he’s taking you out. It’s a date. And, from what Sherlock was saying, it’s the second time you’ve seen him this week. Men are silly about these sorts of thing.”

“Third, actually. But, the last time was decidedly not a date.”

Mrs. Hudson nodded politely. “Well, you’d best get dressed dear. Use my room; it’s more spacious. And, don’t you worry about your hair dear, I’ll do that up for you.”

“My hair?” Molly asked, as she was ushered into the older woman’s bedroom.

When she emerged twenty minutes later, she was scrutinized by Mrs. Hudson. She had chosen a black pencil skirt and burgundy blouse. She had medium heeled shoes, and a watch and necklaces on. “You look rather more like you’re going for an interview than a date.”

“They are my interview clothes. I don’t get to dress up much.”

“Where are your stockings, dear?”

A blush crept into Molly’s cheeks. “They had a tear. And I don’t have another pair.”

“Well you certainly can’t go without. I’ll get John to make a run.” She paused, smiling at her own joke.

Molly worried her bottom lip as Mrs. Hudson pulled her hair into a nice French twist, holding it in with a black comb. “It does stick out more on my hair, but it looks elegant on you,” she told Molly.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at the clock and hoping that John would get there soon. As though answering her question, there was a knock on the door.

“Stay there,” Mrs. Hudson ordered, pouring Molly another cup of tea before answering it.

It was John with the bag. “May I speak to her?” he asked quietly.

“No. She’s got an important date and she doesn’t need to be upset more.”

“It wasn’t him, Mrs. Hudson,” Molly tried to interject.

“I don’t care. You boys don’t get to make fun of a girl and then come around just because you upset her. You’ve put her through enough for one day.”

“Molly, I am sorry,” John said, regret tingeing his words.

“You didn’t do anything, John,” Molly said, coming into his view, but not trying to get past the gate keeper at the door.

“But, that’s it, isn’t it? I didn’t do anything. I just watched like a car accident, and you don’t deserve that.”

She swallowed back her emotions. “Thank you. Don’t worry about it, John. Truly.”

“You’d better worry about it. But, for now, all she has to worry about is putting on the finishing touches.” She took the bag, and handed it to Molly before closing the door on John. “It’s best to make them stew for a bit.”

Primped, preened and ready, Molly started to feel the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

“You don’t need to stand in the hall,” Mrs. Hudson said, a knowing look on her lips. “But, I will understand if you want to.”

Molly nodded and made sure her cell phone alarm was on. She didn’t want to keep the car waiting.

Thanking the older woman, she stepped out into the hallway and faced the door. Two minutes to go.

She heard the sound of throat clearing behind her. “Sherlock, if ever there wasn’t a time,” she stated angrily. Turning around she saw John sitting on the stairs.

Coming up to him, she crouched before him. “You see… Molly. Mycroft doesn’t have a lot of friends. Any really. And he doesn’t want them. I don’t want you to be hurt. And I don’t want to be part of it, if you are.” He gave her a sad sort of a smile.

“Mycroft has been very kind to me. I am sorry for worrying the both of you last weekend. I was just out of my depth. But, John, I don’t have a lot of friends either. And, I want to see if this can be a new friend. I mean…” She thought of the conversations they had been having, and how hard Mycroft worked to hide that part of his personality. “If he’s really smarter than Sherlock, then I’m certain he sees me as a complete idiot. But, it’s nice to be treated nicely. And I want it enjoy it.”

Her phone dinged and John reached out for her hand, giving it a squeeze when she let him.

---

“You’re upset. What happened?” Mycroft asked as soon as Molly sat down at the private table that he had procured at a very lavish restaurant.

“I’m not upset,” she nearly whispered, her voice barely audible above the quite sounds of the restaurant.

“What happened?” Mycroft against again, this time much more directly. “Did my idiot brother say something?”

There was that word again. Perhaps that was a Holmes thing too. She wondered if would have to walk out on both Holmes brothers in one thing.

“I don’t know why I had thought those texts would remain private,” he said with a sigh. “It’s nothing personal Molly. It’s just that it’s never happened before.”

Squinting her eyes slightly, she gave Mycroft a look of confusion, as she tried to puzzle out what her being an idiot had to do with never happening before. To the Holmes siblings, the whole world were idiots.

“Ah,” he said, reading her features. “That’s… he told you something different.”

“What’s never happened before?” she deflected with ease.

“What did he say to you?” he asked, unwilling to let that part of himself go just yet.

“I can text him,” she threatened in a monotone voice.

“But you won’t. You don’t want to text him first.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “What did Sherlock say?”

She took a deep breath, smiling a bit at the waiter as he started to come over. “He called me that word you call each other,” she responded, the word still causing too much pain to what little ego that she had outside of work.

His eyes squinted a bit in contemplation and then widened. “That was not very kind of him. An idiot, did he say?” Inside, he was actually intrigued. It was a sort of term of endearment that they passed back and forth. For him to use it on Molly would have seemed cruel, but perhaps Sherlock had meant it differently. Goodness knew those sorts of miscommunications happened enough in his own life. More when he had started in his career. But, since then he had realized that there were certain ways to act, things to say, and things that would be quite unacceptable to other people. Once he had learned the rules of the game, he could play it. That was one lesson Sherlock had never learned. It was one of the things that made Mycroft smarter.

“Yes,” Molly whispered, obviously trying not to fall to pieces at the table.

Were Mycroft an empathetic man, he would have said words of comfort. But, as he was, he sat there and thought about the right thing to say to the young woman who far too recently had a terrible row with her own emotions. Something that she hid very well. Ah… “Molly, remember what we did on Sunday? I had asked you to just state your thoughts? Do it now. Just state them, don’t try to attach emotions to them. Or even logic.”

He had never done quite this before. As a child, teaching Sherlock how to deduce, he would often add in emotion. Thoughts to emotions to actions. This was in reverse. An action had taken place, which triggered emotions, and now he wanted to know her thoughts.

“I’m not an idiot and I’m not an experiment. I don’t want to be treated like either. And if you or your brother think that it’s all that I am, then I don’t want to see either of you again.” There, she had said it. But, the fact was that she did want to see them again. Both of them, in their own way. Although terribly separate from each other. “I do everything people ask of me. Everything. And nobody respects me.”

Mycroft regarded her seriously. He had come to this realization about himself as a child, as had his siblings. But, Molly… she had gone the other way. She tried to hide her intelligence and fit in among society. “You’re fascinating. And you may be the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he stated, his voice low as though someone might overhear him. Something in him shifted. He still wanted to figure her out, but not on such a fleeting basis. He wanted to know what made her tick, and wanted to … shield… her from the world in which she had tried so long to hide. Oh no…

“Thank you, Mycroft. I am sorry for letting my emotions get the best of me. I know you find it rather tiresome.” She forced a smile at him.

“I do,” he agreed. “But, I’d rather know what you’re thinking. And honestly, knowing your thoughts bothers me less than that fake smile you do. If you don’t feel like smiling, you don’t have to.” He knew what it was to fake a smile. He did it all day long. He saw people fake smiles when they looked at him. But, Molly had a lovely smile when she cared to use it. “It makes me feel like you’re humoring me. And if that’s all it is, then there is no point in either of us being here at all.”

A real smile grew over her face, and he noticed that his heart started to beat just a little faster. Oh this is going to be problematic. “I like that. May I ask the same of you? I know you can’t tell me about work, and honestly I’d rather not know. But, I also know that you worry about Sherlock, and that you have other facets of your life. Perhaps we could talk about those?”

She shrunk back a little when he gave her a look that could only be described as predatory. “Or not. I don’t like holding one sided conversations. They make me uncomfortable. “

Mycroft regarded her silently for a moment. This was not the Molly that they had all gotten to know. Could it be possible that he was getting to know her better than anyone else? Could it be that she trusted him more than her brother, whom it was so obvious that she ‘loved’ for so long? The thought of the latter had him feeling a bit smug. “I understand. I’d rather sit in silence than forced conversation.”

Molly worried her bottom lip for a moment. This was not the Mycroft that she had gotten used to over the years. Could it be possible that he was letting her in? She knew there had to be something more to him, but he placed such a low price on emotions, that she didn’t think that they would ever have anything in common. Could it be that they weren’t really that different after all?

“So, what was it that you said to Sherlock, that you thought he told me?” she asked, a

asked hesitantly.

“I said you were bothering me,” he stated honestly. He figured it was only a matter of time before Sherlock told her that, and he wouldn’t give his brother the upper hand like that.

“Oh,” she said, her posture immediately shrinking in on itself again. Her jaw tensed and eyes slid to the side.

Damn… Watching her body language upset him more than he cared to admit. He didn’t like that she shrunk back when she felt that she had over stepped. Trained as a surgeon, he knew there had to be confidence in there somewhere. As he started to get to know her better, he realized the two of them were not wholly unalike, and that she was very deliberate with her actions. Perhaps as deliberate as he, and he wondered if this submissive display of body mechanics was part of what she thought was expected of her, done to illicit a certain response from him, or totally subconscious. He sighed lightly. Normally people were easy to figure out, but this woman seemed so complicated.

“I didn’t think one text was being overbearing. I suppose I should have paid more mind to the timing.”

“It’s not that,” he said, leaning forward and dropping his voice down to just above a whisper. “I’m not used to people wanting to see me. I don’t know what to do when it happens.”

“When it happens without motive you mean?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

He smiled ever so slightly. “Yes.” This was all so new. Sherlock had often teased him for not having friends. He didn’t like the vulnerability that came with having friends. But, he had never connected with one the way he was with Molly, and it was… strange.

“I have no motive … I just like spending time with you is all,” she explained, still sheepish, as though she was about to say something wrong.

His mind raced. Words like that had not been common in his life. Certainly when someone wanted to extract something from him, or said because it was supposed to be. But, she appeared to be sincere. It made him feel strangely emotional. He allowed a playful smile to grace his normally guarded features. “I like being with you too,” he admitted. Eyes squinted at her as he waited for the snark about how he had always said he didn’t want friend, or the laughter that he had previously suffered in the presence of careless women. Her smile made him feel both a little more relaxed and, unwilling to let his guard down, a little more on edge.

They fell into a companionable and not all together uncomfortable silence. Sensing the lull in the conversation, the waiter came over and they ordered specials. Conversation was light after that, if not a little trite, both of them feeling each other out for signs of deception.

At the end of the night, Mycroft insisted on driving her home. It was important, and the least he could do. He could not allow her to just go home alone. London was not safe; London at night was worse. He focused on his phone for a bit, detaching and collecting his bearings. He hadn’t had a relationship like this with anyone in years, and he was – were he to be honest with himself – concerned. Not for his brother or his sister or John, but for himself. “Do text my brother and tell him that you’re safe. He’s texted me thirty seven times tonight.”

“How did you not pay attention to your phone vibrating that often? What if it was something important?” She surmised that someone important would be contacting him about something important. And while it was well known that Mycroft Holmes cared deeply and worried constantly for his brother, she knew that whatever Sherlock had to say was not important.

He smiled a bit and made a ‘hm’ sound in his throat that almost sounded like laughter. “He has his own special vibration. I can ignore him at will.”

She grinned at him and pulled out her own phone.

**I’m fine. Leave Mycroft alone. ** Molly

When he didn’t get back to her, and Mycroft gave her a slight nod without taking his eyes off his phone, she figured that what she had sent had either been seen or stopped the incessant texting. Either way, she figured it was approved.

When the car stopped, she drew a breath to speak, but he beat her to it.

“Thank you for tonight, Molly,” he said, putting his phone down and smiling, albeit uncomfortably, at her. “I rather enjoyed myself tonight, and I hope you did too.”

“I did thank you.” She gave him a small smile, warm and encouraging. It was obvious that he wanted to say something else, but she wasn’t certain if he would feel comfortable enough to do it yet. They had both learned so much about each other in such a short time.

“I don’t know if I’m saying this right, so forgive me. It has been a rather long time since I tried…” He pressed his lips together, his eyes darting around the inside of the car as he collected his thoughts. “I would like to see you again, Molly. Tuesday night perhaps?”

“Tuesday night would be great,” she said as her smile grew. She drew a breath to say that she would love that, but stopped figuring that sort of sentiment would not be welcomed.

Tilting his head towards her, he gave her a look that very clearly dictated, ‘Say it.’

“I would love that,” she mumbled, shifting to start to get out of the car.

Odd. Sentiment, but not insincere. Bashful, but sincere. As his sister would have put it, Molly had very complex emotions. He swallowed and put away any thoughts that he was like Eurus.

“I’ll have a car pick you up from work. Dress nicely,” he stated. He wanted her to dress comfortably, but not in the baggy mismatched clothing that she tended to wear. He knew that clothes were boring and matching them could be a pain. This was why he dressed in a suit and tie every day. There were no mistakes to be made once he figured out the formula. He wondered if he could impart that formula on Molly without her taking it offensively.

“And Mycroft?” she asked, standing next to the car and tilting her head so that she could make eye contact. “Get your tooth checked out. You’ve been pressing on it with your tongue all night.” She smiled knowingly at him and shut the door.

There were seldom few people who could read Mycroft Holmes, and Molly seemed adept at it. His tooth had been bothering him, but he had not been able to get it checked out yet. He carefully pushed on it again with his tongue, feeling the inflamed gum. Unsure what to make of it, he told his driver to go, and tried to focus on the upcoming state dinner.

October 14, 2017

What lovely updates! I really do love the dynamic you've fleshed out for these two and I don't mind waiting for some sneezes!

October 14, 2017

Sneezy Mycroft - as promised. He is a lot of fun to make suffer. Just sayin'.

Part 5 -
Tuesday - I Understand, Hardly

Tuesday

** I am not going to be available tonight. ** Mycroft Holmes

** It’s ok. I understand. ** Molly

** Do you have availability tomorrow? ** Mycroft Holmes

** Yes. ** Molly

** I’ll be in touch. **

Wednesday

** I am not going to be available tonight. ** Mycroft Holmes

** It’s ok. I understand. ** Molly

** Do you have availability tomorrow? ** Mycroft Holmes

** Yes. ** Molly

** I’ll be in touch. **

Thursday

** I am not going to be available tonight. ** Mycroft Holmes

** It’s ok. I understand. You don’t have to pretend.** Molly

** Pretend?** Mycroft

** That you want to get together. I understand that you don’t want to.** Molly

** Meet me at Diogenes at 18:00. ** Mycroft Holmes

Molly had never been to the Diogenes, and was a little nervous about it. She had not brought the right shoes for the slacks and swoop neck shirt that she was wearing. The morgue was cold by nature, which is why she always wore so many layers. Heels were not appropriate, and her feet always got so cold when she wore flats, so she hadn’t thought anything about wearing sneakers to work. But, she didn’t have another pair at work, and – true to form – Mycroft had sent a car. Best that he had, really, because without it she would have had no idea how to get to the club.

As soon as she entered, she realized that she was woefully underdressed. Asking for Mycroft Holmes, the host gave her a skeptical look, but after a look at the book at the podium lead Molly back to a private room. “Mr. Holmes is in his private room today,” he explained, as he lead her down a small hallway.

“Mr. Holmes, your guest has arrived,” he said, through a small intercom.

“Send her in, Peter,” he said, coughing afterwards.

Molly raised an eyebrow at the well-dressed young man who had brought her back. But, he didn’t give her any indication to hearing the coughing. Opening the door, he held it open as she walked through.

“Mycroft,” she said, professionally. “Thank you for making the time to speak with me.” She gave him a small smile and sat down, uninvited.

He gave her a pressured grin, eye focused on her, until the door closed. As soon as they were alone his posture relaxed and he turned away from her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, gently, leaning towards him.

He put a hand up, and drew in a deep breath, bringing his handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth. “Heh-ShhhUFF!! Usshhh!! Ehh-Ta’SHHHH!” Three violent and wet sneezes exploded out of him, rocking him at the waist. His eyes remained closed as a wave of dizziness passed through him.

“Bless you. Why didn’t you just tell me you have the flu?” she asked kindly.

She was good. Tending to his rather congested nose, he coughed deeply as the pressure shifted. Taking the moment to try to draw a deep breath, he mumbled, “The signal isn’t secure enough for that kind of talking.”

She nodded at him. “That makes sense. It’s not like we’re communicating with secured devices.”

He gave her a look that could only be described at relief. How nice it was not to have everything he said measured or argued. Wispy eyelashes fluttered closed as he brought the handkerchief back to his face. “Heh…ehhh… HAH-Kesssh’tchoo!” His shoulders hunched as he released deep coughs that shook his thin frame. “Apologies for the interruption.”

“Please tell me you didn’t go to work like this,” she said, a warning tone in her voice. She couldn’t help but give him a sympathetic look as it was clear that this was not just a simple cold. The man was obviously feverish and miserable. And, if she were to guess by the dryness of his lips and the sunken in look of his eyes, he was deeply dehydrated as well.

Making certain that he wasn’t going to sneeze again, she pressed the button to place an order. “Please bring Mycroft Holmes tea service with the appropriate accoutrements.” Catching a look he was giving her, she added, “Make sure it is his preferred tea, not the generic English Breakfast.”

“How did you know I would have given them my own specialty blend?” he asked, his voice hoarse from coughing.

“I guessed. It seemed like something you would do,” she answered honestly.

He huffed a small laugh, which turned into three barking coughs, smothered in to his handkerchief. He moaned slightly, long fingers massaging his forehead. “I apologize, Molly,” he whispered. “I did not want to risk infection. But, I did not want you think that I was avoiding you.”

Her heart softened further than she ever thought it could in relation to the oldest Holmes brother. “Now, I understand. I apologize for putting you in this position.” She felt horrid. The man should have been in bed, not in a private dining room proving the validity of his non-statements. She knew the man was blunt. Abominably so. If he didn’t want to see her again, he probably would have just said so.

“I understand your perspective.” He blew his nose as congestion thickened his words. “I’ve been brushed off myself. Ignored and unwanted. It’s too easy to default there. But, I assure you Molly, if ever I decide that I don’t want to see you again, I will let you know.” No games. He liked games, and toying with the people around him. He liked negotiating with people and manipulating the situation to bring balance. It was why he was employed as he was.

“Thank you for that.” It was nice to know that should he ever tire of her, he wouldn’t just cut her loose. He was a different sort of man. Her eyes flickered to the wedding-like ring he always wore. Even in all of the years that she knew Sherlock and had been around Mycroft, she had no idea if he was married or had been. But, there were more pressing matters at stake.

“I noticed you didn’t answer my question,” she stated pointedly.

A look of confusion crossed his face. “I don’t recall you asking one.”

“Did you go to work like this?” she asked, gently.

“Well now you didn’t ask a question, did you? In fact, you told me not to tell you.” He smiled at her, knowingly. Humored.

She gave him a snarky look. “You knew what I meant.” She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

“Of course I did,” he replied with a smile. A sigh. “Yes, I went to work like this.”

“Mycroft!” she admonished. She felt back for Anthea and hoped that the poor woman had some pretty strong anti-viral spray hanging around the office.

His thin chest started heaving as another sneeze pressed upon him. “Heh-Kessh!! Essh!!” He sighed again.

“Bless you,” Molly responded, instinctually. She waited until she had his attention again to continue. “Why, Mycroft? You know that your body needs rest. Your mind can’t work at its best when it’s competing with your body to function.”

“I’m not that simple, Molly. Don’t expect my body to respond as simply as yours,” he hissed at her.

They were interrupted as the tea service arrived, and the conversation paused as their tea was poured and prepared.

As soon as they were alone again, she arched an eyebrow at him, saying nothing.

He sighed. “Apologies,” he hissed, knowing that they were owed, but not wanting to give her one.

“Answer my question,” she stated, undeterred. She could handle the personal attacks and deflection. At his worst he wasn’t as bad as Sherlock could be. She wondered what the difference was between the brothers. Mycroft had less buy-in, less invested in her and their friendship. She supposed at this point, they were friends, at least. But, his harsh deterrents weren’t as harsh as the cruel statements that her supposed friend would hurl at her without thinking anything of it.

He took a long sip of his nice hot tea. There was enough lemon and honey in it to sooth his throat, and he enjoyed the moment. Putting the teacup down, he knew he should answer her. He wouldn’t say he owed her an answer. But, she was being very kind to him. And he was learning to trust her when he was vulnerable. At this point in his life she was entering a very small group of about two, maybe three. “I can’t take time off work right now. The dignitaries of state are com-bing in, and there ids so mud-ch to do.” Congestion filled his words as he spoke and his breath started to hitch again.

Turning away from the table, he sucked in a deep breath. “Kesssh’tchoo! Heh-eh-Tessh-Ka’tchoo! Hassh’tchoo!” More coughs worked their way out, and he waited until they had subsided to turn back to Molly. “My apologies,” he stated, exhausted. His hand shook as he picked up his teacup and had another sip.

“Why didn’t you ask me to meet you at home?” she asked.

“I didn’t want to impose,” he stated. “And I didn’t want you to think that I needed you to take care of me. I’m not asking you to do that.”

Molly studied the ill man before her. “And?” she asked. His tone hadn’t dropped off when he finished speaking, which gave her the impression that there was something else to say.

Oh she was good. Better than even Sherlock. The only other person who had ever been this adept at reading him was Eurus. A shiver ran up his spine and he blinked slowly.

“I have to back to the office.”

No, she thought. There had to be a way to convince him to go home – with or without her. “You have a secured laptop, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he stated incredulously.

“And you’re telling Anthea what to say, and how to negotiate so that you don’t have to speak to the dignitaries, yes?”

He nodded once, feeling his head pound as the world bobbed slightly out of sync. A cold feeling swept over him.

Molly gasped as what little color Mycroft had drained out of his face. “Text your car. We’re going now,” she ordered.

He blinked slowly at her. “It’s waiting… in the… it’s in the…” Why were words so difficult?

She stood up abruptly, moving to his side of the table, and gently taking his arm. “Come.” She carefully helped him stand. “Can you stand on your own?” she muttered, in case someone was listening.

He had pushed too far. The world wobbled around him. But, he had gone through missions like this. So, what was a walk to the car? “Yes. But, stay.” Close. He meant for her to stay close. He hoped that she understood.

Her heart warmed slightly when he told her to stay. Not that she was going to go anywhere, but to his car and then to his home. “I will. Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.” She put her hand on his shoulder, seeming to guide him out of the room.

--

Mycroft woke up with a start. He noticed the feel of leather beneath his body first, the familiar squeak as he moved. It stuck uncomfortably to his clothes, which pulled awkwardly around his wiry frame. His head pounded, as though his headache was woken up when he came back to consciousness. “Ugh,” he moaned, rolling onto his back as he tried to recall how he got home.

Molly.

“Bolly?” he called, his voice congested. The effort caused him to roll on his side with a violent bout of coughing. Unable to find his handkerchief, he coughed onto his wrist.

He heard a woman’s voice and became aware that someone was coming closer. “Can I touch you?” Molly asked, reaching out with a clean handkerchief. She was all too aware that the man known as ‘the British government’ could be dangerous. While he was generally controlled, the fact was he was ill, vulnerable, and that she wasn’t completely certain that he remembered going home.

The coughs shook his thin frame, as he took the handkerchief and clasped it over his mouth.

“I made tea. You’re going to have to drink some. I also have paracetamol. And, um, I found some cold and flu tablets.” When she saw him trying to sit up, she supported him into a sitting position. Taking a seat next to him, she opted not to mention anything about his symptoms. The heat that radiated off of him was alarming. But, pointing out that he was ill or doting on him verbally would likely not be received well.

There was something odd about this young lady who was currently sitting next to him on the couch. She wasn’t doting on him like he would have expected, and yet she was giving him the things that he needed without him having to ask.

She started to hand him the tea, when he raised a hand to pause her.

“Heh-eh…” There was a wheeze as he pulled in a breath. “Heh-Chessshh! Eshh-Esssh!” The sneezes missed his handkerchief, and a blush rose in his cheeks. “By apologies,” he croaked, quickly pulling in another breath before, “Hep-CHESSSSH!” This sneeze landed deftly in his handkerchief and release a decent amount of congestion.

When he was ready, Molly handed over the tea, and resisted the urge to rub the side of his face affectionately. This was Mycroft Holmes. He would not appreciate that. And, while he had allowed her to be free with her words, she could not bring herself to be so with her actions. A man such as he would only have so much patience.

When she was certain that he would be all right by himself, she got up and went back to the chair where she had been sitting.

“How long was I asleep?” he inquired.

“A few hours. Three,” she clarified quickly. “Anthea knows that you’re working from home. And she seems okay with the fact that you were sleeping.”

“She couldn’t stop that, I suppose,” he said, taking another sip of the tea. “You added too much lemon,” he stated. A puzzled look crossed his face. “Where did you get lemon?”

She gave him a sheepish laugh. “Well, I noticed you didn’t have much in the house. So I had John do a store run.”

“Ugh, that means my brother knows I’m ill.” He sighed dejectedly.

“For what it’s worth, I asked John not to say anything to Sherlock about it. I mean, I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of friends.”

He shook his head and looked up at her. “You did fine. I’m not mad at you, Molly. Rather, I’m…” His words failed him. He wasn’t fine. And he couldn’t say he was happy about the situation. He looked down as he tried to pick just the right word, and felt stumped when he couldn’t.

“I’m glad you’re not angry. I didn’t want to overstep, but I was at a loss as to what to do.” Were she to be completely honest with herself, she still was she had no idea what to do next. Should she stay? Should she go? Was there a doctor to be called? “Should I call John back to do a diagnosis? Perhaps he will be able to give you something to help you kick this faster?”

Mycroft regarded her with a look of casual confusion. “If you don’t mind,” he answered. He didn’t want John in his house right now. But, getting a prescription would make this end sooner, and then he could go back to work without infecting the office, or worse, the dignitaries.

She zipped the text off to John, and got up to get Mycroft another cup of tea.

October 14, 2017

Kind and patient Molly to the rescue! I must agree that a miserable Mycroft is quite pleasant to read!

October 22, 2017

Not so much sneezing in this chapter - sorry! But, I really hope you like it anyway. Don't worry -I promise there will be more sneezing soon.

---

The Following Week -

“Yes, I am certain that Lady Carlisle will be elated to sit next to you, sir,” Mycroft said, his voice still a bit hoarse from his recent illness. It had taken three days before he was well enough to return to the office, and although Molly had opted not to stay the entire time, he could not be more appreciative of her.

Hardly ever being home, meant that Mycroft didn’t ever think about having much more than water or Pellegrino in the refrigerator. But, when he was finally aware enough to get something to eat, he had sliced fruit, and soup – both a vegetable and a beef based - in the fridge. He had been able to eat a bit of it, and was impressed that it didn’t have the over salted flavor that came with canned soups. He knew that he was now in her debt, and would do whatever he could to show his appreciation. But, what to do… now that was the difficult question to answer.

Finally hanging up with the insistent noble, he allowed himself to draw in a sharp breath. “Eh-Schnnxxtt!” he stifled, groaning a bit when the pressure built up bend his eyes. Blowing his nose into his handkerchief, he smiled a bit. The handkerchief smelled of eucalyptus, another kindness afforded to him by Molly.

He breathed in the scent, triggering another harsh, “Eh-Kssxxggt!” He breathed out and tended to his nose again. An ache spread over the back of his head, down his neck and settled in his shoulders. He found his thoughts drifting to Molly, who had seen him at his worst, and responded in a way that made him feel dignified, even though he knew that he was anything but. It had been four days since they had spoken, and while he felt bad about that, there were too many things to do to get ready for this event. Maybe she would go with him again. He hoped that this time would move slower than the last time.

Sighing as his heart sped up, and he felt a twinge of anxiety, he looked at the ring that he wore around his finger. It was merely an adornment, one meant to make him match the society expectation that he be married. But in the end, it was all a rouse, like so much else in his life.

“Caring is not an advantage,” he muttered to himself. And yet… there he was. The great Mycroft Holmes, who would gnaw his own arm off before admitting that he cared about anyone other than his brother, caring about a young woman whom he had misunderstood for years. He almost wished he never got to know her. Almost.

“Mycroft?” Anthea said, coming into his office. “The Prime Minister of Canada wants to know if he can get another seat at the dinner. I know we have the three extra seats, should I give him one?”

Mycroft gave her a look that made it clear that he was biting his tongue. But, after a moment, he nodded, causing her to leave without a word.

Picking up his handkerchief again, he took another tentative sniff. It wasn’t the eucalyptus that made him pause, but the time that went into making these. He had five others… they smelled of eucalyptus, ginger, and lavender. She had done him such a kindness. And, without expecting anything in return. It warred with what Mycroft knew of the world and the people in it.

**What does Molly like to do? ** Mycroft Holmes

** I don’t know.** John

**Think! Plays, museums, tours… what does she like?**Mycroft Holmes

** Why??** John

Mycroft sighed and toss the phone on his desk. He couldn’t blame John for being protective of his friend. He just wished that he had a better reputation with the group. After all, haven’t he earned it? After everything he had done, they still didn’t trust him?

His phone dinged.

**She likes flowers, gardens… and I think she would like a play, maybe the symphony.** John

The symphony. Now that was an idea worth investigating.

“Mycroft,” Anthea’s voice came over the intercom. “The dignitaries from Germany have arrived early. I’m going to put them on the ninth floor.”

Mycroft flipped the switch. “The Italians are going to be on that floor by request.”

“Clear the seventh floor and put them where we were going to. Take the rooms from the overflow hotel.”

“Should we just put them in the overflow?”

He sighed. “Yes, I think that would cause the least shifting.”

When he heard the line close again, he took a deep breath of his handkerchief. It calmed him, and right now he needed five seconds of calmness.

*

“So,” Sherlock said bursting into the morgue. “Has my brother grown tired of you? Broke your girlish heart yet? I mean you have one, and he doesn’t so maybe you’ve taught him a thing or two.”

He was teasing, and Molly knew that. But, she had startled at the interruption. And, Mycroft had been a damn sight more friendly than Sherlock had a habit of being. She glared at him, but didn’t know if she wanted to say anything.

“You’re wearing cosmetics? Wow, you must really like him. Well, he’s been super busy, so you’re stuck with me.” Walking up to the freezer he opened it up. “Do you have a liver.”

He was asking about a liver in the freezer – a spare that he could use. She didn’t have a frozen one, but he didn’t ask about that did he? “Yes,” she answered.

“Don’t get smart Molly. I’m not asking about your liver. Even if I could get it out of you, I’m guessing that you wouldn’t give it up without a fight.” He didn’t even look at her while he deadpanned the statement.

She sighed. How was it that the older self-proclaimed smarter brother made her feel smarter, while his younger brother made her feel like an idiot?

“Molly?” Sherlock was standing beside her. She looked up at him. “I’m sorry you think that I think you’re stupid. You’re not. You’re very astute and quite wonderful. Your mind is a wonderful thing to watch work, and I’ve always admired you.”

She felt the warm chill that always came over her when he spoke. She wanted to believe the words. But, she couldn’t. Looking at his face, she knew that he was saying this because he thought it was kind – the right thing to do. “You don’t mean it,” she whispered. “I can tell you don’t.”

He paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Molly… “ he shook his head. What was happening here? She always believed him. Even when he was being a total jerk to her. “My brother treats you better? Really? He’ll break your heart because he doesn’t have one. And, you’ll be back.” He grinned cheekily.

And in that moment Molly knew that no matter what happened between her and Mycroft, she would never love Sherlock again… not the way she had been. Now that she knew that she wasn’t always going to be treated poorly, that she didn’t have to be talked down to, she never wanted to be again. “Yes, you’re right,” she lied, looking back into her microscope.

Sherlock was struck mute with the reality that she was lying to him, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

*

Molly sat up with a shout, sweat dripping down her neck and back. Rubbing away the sleep from her eyes, she tried to blink back the memory of the controlling boyfriend that she had when she went to university. She thought of him so seldom now – who had time to dwell on past mistakes? But, every time she closed her eyes she saw him. And every time she drifted off, she heard him tell her that she couldn’t get away – that she would never get away.

She had to get away.

Tugging on her jacket, she slipped her feet into flats and left her apartment. The wind was chilly and it nipped at her. The streets were mostly empty, although she could hear voices talking. She looked around, unable to figure out where these voices on the wind were coming from. She picked up the pace, heading nowhere in particular, but trying to get away from where she was.

Mycroft’s phone rang, stirring him from a relaxing slumber. Staring, confused at the name that came up, he accepted the call. “Mycroft here,” he said, his voice thick with sleep and settled congestion.

“Sir, she’s left her apartment. Should we pick her up?” the voice said.

Mycroft looked at the time. 0300. Something was wrong. Very wrong. “Is she all right?” he asked, his heart starting to thud in his chest.

“She looks unharmed but scared, sir. She is aware of her surroundings, but not who is in them.”

Mycroft was sitting up in bed now. Slipping on his slippers, he coughed roughly. “Pick her up immediately and bring her to my home. Do not let her out of your sight, and do not scare her. Send Craig to her apartment to make certain that it is safe and has not been infiltrated.”

“Yes, sir.” The line went dead.

“Christ, Molly. What has happened?” he whispered into the darkness, as he got up and put on his robe. He hoped that he had not brought this on her. Caring is not an advantage was practically his mantra. People thought him cold and stand-offish because of this. What he wouldn’t give for people to understand that he cared from a distance. He stayed away because of his job and the dangers that came with it.

People wanted to hurt him, and they would hurt the people who he cared about to do it. Sometimes people in the world were not so different than his sister… and what if Eurus found out that he cared about Molly? He shivered, closing his eyes against the thought. Molly had survived the last row with the family because Eurus thought Sherlock didn’t care about her. If she found out how much the family cared about Molly. He started to shake and forced himself to draw a deep breath. He would be useless to her if he was suffering from his own panic attack. What a pair we make, he thought scathingly. He took control of his career, and he was going to take control tonight. He couldn’t let anyone see how much her erratic behavior worried him. This was not the night to add issues to the issues. Tonight was damage control.

By the time the black town car rolled up to his home, Mycroft was in one of his gray suits. Unlike normal, however, he was not wearing a suit jacket. He was torn between being the smartly dressed man she was used to and staying slightly less dressed given the time of night and who his protective service was bringing to him. Before he could double guess himself, however, the car arrived.

His driver opened the door, and Molly was not there.

“She’s in the corner,” the driver whispered. “Her flat is secure. No one has been in there, and there is a guard posted there to make sure if anyone was there they cannot come back.

Mycroft nodded, and got into the car. “Hi Molly. What happened?” It was not comforting. He was not comforting. He was direct and couldn’t pretend to be anything other than what he felt.

When she didn’t answer, he knew that he was not dealing with awake and rational Molly. And if he was, he would be imprisoning someone before the night was out. “May I come closer?” he asked. Since it was his town car, there wasn’t much room between them. When she stiffened, he promised her he wouldn’t make her move until she was ready.

“What happened?”

“It was a nightmare,” she whispered. She was embarrassed to have been caught literally running away. But, she needed to clear her head. “His name was Charles. Another sociopath. Not as kind as your brother. We dated while I was in medical school, and he was very controlling. I couldn’t get him out of my head. I couldn’t wake up. He was in my apartment and wouldn’t leave, and then when I got back to sleep, I heard him tell me that I would never get away from him.” She curled on herself and started to cry. She had never told anyone about Charles, and she hated that someone whom she hadn’t seen in so many years still had such an effect on her.

Mycroft sat still, uncertain if this man had paid Molly a visit tonight in any way but in her dreams. He knew, too well, how the past could mess with your mind, your future.

A cool wind blew and he shivered. Too late he realized he didn’t have a handkerchief on him. “Ekssht!” he sneezed into his elbow.

The sneeze seemed to jar something out of Molly. “Mycroft… oh you’re still not up to par. We shouldn’t… we shouldn’t be out here. You should be in bed.”

“I was,” he stated plainly. “But, I’m not going to send you home to a place you feel unsafe. We’ve checked your flat, and he’s not there anymore. “

She shook her head, trying to catch her breath through the tears that were still rolling down her cheeks. “I haven’t seen him in years. It was all a dream. I’m sorry – I was just going for a run.”

“It’s not safe. Especially now that we’ve been seen about. People will try to hurt you to get to me. You come here if you don’t feel safe. I don’t care when. You’re always welcome.” What was he doing? What was he saying? This could only end in tears.

“Caring is not an advantage,” Molly said, echoing the term that had been his tagline for so long.

He nodded at her. “Not for the person I care for. It’s a weakness for me and a liability for them.”

She nodded at him and closed her eyes, leaning against him. Drawing in a breath, she enjoyed his scent. “I’ll take the risk,” she said, feeling safe for the first time in hours. She sat back up when she felt his breathing start to hitch again.

“Eskhah-ssshfft!” he sneezed wetly. “Apologies.”

“Come on, Mycroft. Go inside. I’ll go back to my flat.” She blinked rapidly, trying to keep him from seeing how terrified she still was.

Of course he saw right through it. “You’ll stay here. I have a guest room, and you’ll be on the same floor as me. I’m a light sleeper, so if anything happens, I’ll be there. Right there. You’re not alone tonight Molly. I won’t let you be.”

She smiled tenderly at him. That was the most genuine thing that anyone had ever said to her, and she adored it. Leaning forward, she gave him a soft kiss. She drew in a deep breath as she felt his lips mold against hers. When he pulled away, he gave her a soft smile, but didn’t say anything. Instead he got out of the car and helped her to do the same before bringing her inside and making certain that she was calm enough to sleep before he got some himself.

October 23, 2017

This is lovely. Mystrade is my OTP but I don't mind a little Mollcroft from time to time.

October 23, 2017

3 hours ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

This is lovely. Mystrade is my OTP but I don't mind a little Mollcroft from time to time.

Yay!! I just cant get these two out of my head, and I love a weakened Mycroft. Yummm.

Im glad youre still reading.

November 5, 2017

Okay - so I had this idea that Mycroft takes Molly to a State Dinner - and it got really really long. So I've broken it up. I promise there will be more sneezing, and I apologize for the lack while Mycroft and Molly get ready for the State Dinner. But, there is a lot of fluff! Fluff is good, right?

---

Molly smiled as she received what had become her usual lunch message from Mycroft.

**Don’t be like me. Eat Lunch.** Mycroft Holmes

Sent at three o’clock in the afternoon.

She smiled and laughed a bit whenever she received one, always having long since already eaten her lunch.

He had been such a dear after her nightmare. He called her out of work the next day and had her favorite tea and accoutrements waiting when she came downstairs. He had left a phone for her, with a number to call when she was ready to go home, and a body guard waiting at her apartment to walk through with her to make sure she was safe, and felt safe before he left.

While she didn’t know if he viewed this as a relationship, it was certainly the best of her life.

Marking down the cause of death on a case report, she let her thoughts move to their kiss. It was slow and gentle, but he definitely had experience. There was a confidence in his kiss – like most everything else that he did. She never thought it would be true, but here she was – Molly Hooper, falling for Mycroft Holmes.

**The state dinner is next weekend. Are you free? I’ll need you all three days.** Mycroft Holmes

** Send me the dates and I’ll request off.** Molly

He sent her the dates and she immediately put in for the personal time. She was excited about this. A State Dinner. She was going to a posh party, and it excited her. She didn’t know quite what to wear, but she was pretty certain that she could find out online. That’s what it was for, after all.

---

“I really appreciate the adjoining rooms, Mycroft,” Molly said walking through her suite. It was gorgeous, like walking into a bygone era of elegance and glamour. She was happy that she had chosen several different dresses, even though it basically cost her a months’ salary to do so. She hoped that she wouldn’t need a different dress per event, and wondered if Mycroft could expense report these items. It was difficult for her to bring up money with him. He was so good to her, and she should be able to afford the life that he was introducing her to… even though she wasn’t. But, that was a concern for another time.

Walking into her adjoining room, she felt herself relax Just knowing that he was so close to her brought her a great sense of relief. She smiled as she watched him, hyper focused at his laptop. Knowing that there was no way that she had the security clearance to see what was on his screen, she held back, standing near the door frame.

“I would not work on something compromising when you are so near,” he said, without pausing. “Although I do appreciate your candor. “

“I didn’t want to be a bother,” she muttered coming forward, her arms folded across her chest, as though she was cold. The words were out of her mouth before she could filter them. She pressed her lips together and bit the insides of that no other errant words could rush out.

Mycroft did not look up from his laptop, fingers flying over the keys with such a speed that she wondered if he was typing words at all, or just releasing stress by tapping the keys.

“I would never have requested these rooms if I thought that you were a bother,” he replied.

Her teeth relinquished their hold on her lips as she smiled a bit From a Holmes that was as good as saying that he wanted her around. It made her heart beat kick up a notch.

She walked in and stood nearby, not being so bod as to sit on his bed. And, he didn’t offer her a seat, even though there were certainly enough places for her to do so. Coming a little closer to him, she paused as he quickly turned away from his computer. Withdrawing his handkerchief from his inner breast pocket, he stifled a heavy, “Huh-Gusshnnnhh”

She winced at the weight of the sneeze and the pain it must have caused him to stifle it.

“Bless you,” she offered gently, as he lightly blew his nose.

“Thank you. My apologies,” he said, turning back to his work, fingers flying deftly over the keyboard as though nothing had occurred.

She closed her eyes and analyzed the tone of his voice. It all seemed to be in order, no gruffness no fatigue. The tone, timber, volume, and speed were all on point. But, she could not ignore the niggling feeling that something was amiss.

“You can have a seat if you’d like You’ll do your fair share of standing this weekend, I assure you.” He turned to face her, a look of mid concern crossing his face. “You have comfortable shoes, yes?”

“Yes, she confirmed with a nod, as she sat down on the couch next to the desk.

“Heels? I know it sounds trite, but it matters.”

“Yes,” she responded calmly, with a reassuring smile

The concern was gone and a look of relief played at the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You’re a gem, Molly. I know who why my brother dismissed you.”

Without an explanation, he turned back to his work, and refocused his attentions there.

The comment took her off guard, and brown eyebrows furrowed in confusion as her mind chewed on the peculiar comment.

With an irritated sigh, Mycroft turned back towards her. “You don’t need him to guide you through analysis You may not see it to through to its inevitable conclusions, but you are able to come up with some not so obvious basics. In short, he didn’t need to pay attention to you. Sherlock needs to have that connection, that interaction with people all the time. I find that sort of constant spoken communication quite draining.”

She grinned at him. Even though Molly was an extrovert, and she knew that she would probably drive Mycroft up the wall because of her need to talk to the person that she felt closest too, she also knew that in a pinch she could call John or even Mrs. Hudson, or someone from work, if Mycroft was too introverted to speak to in any other way but analytical.

It was interesting… Sherlock always made his brother out to be a mastermind. Meaning, Sherlock thought his brother was smarter. And the smarter, older, more sophisticated Holmes was rife with complimentary statements for her. It made her feel competent even among the best. She hoped that she wouldn’t be an embarrassment to him at the events over the weekend.

Mycroft smiled at her a bit. For once it was an easy smile, not forced because that was the socially accepted response. He loved watching her mind work, especially when she did not notice he was watching. She was so simple, and not. And he knew that her simplicity was not the general state of simplistic boredom that most of the world suffered from. Or that he suffered from the rest of the world… Rather, hers was a familiar sort, one that he had gone through himself and was enjoying peeling away the layers of and seeing what was beneath the barriers that she had placed up for herself.

Most importantly, though, was the fact that he enjoyed her company. Generally, he couldn’t stand to be around people. The constant influx of data was more than he could handle on a large scale for more than a few days. He could push it out to a week, but generally he enjoyed going home and being alone to compartmentalize his thoughts and theories. But, lately… Lately he had been enjoying looking forward to the time spent with the mousey brunette who seemed to genuinely value him.

The very same one who was looking at him right now…

Molly watched the rare sight of Mycroft getting lost in his own thoughts as he looked at her. She hoped that they were pleasant and brought the normally tense man a moment of relief. She never surmised that the thoughts could be about her. That was more egotistical than she preferred to be. Besides, Mycroft Holmes surely had more important things to think about than her.

His computer dinged, and he looked back to it, giving the screen a deep sigh. Another meeting over dinner… tonight. That was two, so far. He zipped an email off to Anthea and told her which to attend. She already knew what to look out for.

“Let me order room service, Mycroft,” Molly said, invading his thoughts.

He blinked rapidly, not expecting the new information and looked over at her, obviously annoyed at the interruption.

She was undeterred. “Just a few dishes that we can pick at… nothing fancy.” She was famished that she was getting a headache, but he didn’t seem to be hungry at all. She was terrified of eating at the dinner, and hoped that the articles that she had located regarding proper table manners would not lead her astray. She hoped that if her headache would go away, and she was only peckish, that she would make a better impression than if she ate like someone who was truly starving. After all, everything that she did and said would directly influence Mycroft, and he had spent a lifetime crafting precisely the personae that he wanted people to see.

“Of course,” he said turning back to his computer. “Whatever you want.” How had he not seen it before? The little twitch in her right eye. He thought over the day, and realized that although it was fast approaching dinner, they had not eaten all day. He was quite used to this pace, but it was unfair of him to think that Molly could keep up with it. A minor annoyance flittered through him, that she should have told him what she needed before now. But, another email came in and he quickly forgot the concern.

“No,” she cut into his thoughts again.

His pupils dilated as he focused on his computer screen, trying desperately not to snap at her. What on earth could she want from him now?

“What do you want? I know you’ll only eat what you have to of what they serve at the dinner.”

“I won’t be at the dinner. I have a meeting,” he responded tersely without looking at her.

“All the more reason that you should eat something now. You won’t have time to eat during, and I know you don’t like to eat late at night.” She had stood up, and was reading the menu, giving him flickers of a no-nonsense glare.

He paused and looked at her sharply, knowing that he looked frustrated. He also knew that she was correct. He knew that she was nervous about tonight, and that when she got stressed she became hungry. But, stress affected him in the opposite way. He took a sharp inhale of breath, and withdrew his handkerchief again. He completely covered his nose and mouth, just as a wet, “Huh-GUSSH!” exploded out. The cold that he was fighting did nothing to help his appetite either.

“Bless you. It’s my perfume isn’t it?” she asked. “It’s not my usual, and I thought buying something posh would be nice. “

While putting the blame that she was willing to accept onto her shoulders was a tempting proposition, it was very much something that Sherlock would have done in order to get what they both perceived as an unnecessary problem out of the way. However, he enjoyed the scent of Dior and he knew that if he told her this simple lie, she would never wear it again.

“No,” he responded simply. “Lots of new irritants.” Recalling her long time friendship with his brother, he added, “of which you are not one.”

She blinked in surprise, wondering if she would ever get used to flattery coming from a Holmes.

Opening the room service menu, she was shocked at the food prices. Knowing that Mycroft would simply expense the costs, she ordered what she thought he would like. Facing towards the wall, she didn’t see him smile at her choices.

***

“Thank you, Molly,” Mycroft said, coming out of his bathroom. He had opted to change in there, despite Molly having closed the door between their rooms to get ready. His deduction had been off, however, and she had not come into his space when she completed getting ready. Blinking rapidly, he processed this information and smiled.

Knocking on the door, he smiled when she bid him to enter. It was rather delightful, all of this, and he found that as stressful as these affairs were for him, being with her created small bursts of simple pleasures.

“Molly, thank you for…” the words died on hi slips as he looked her over. Sitting at the antique writing desk, penning… something… he felt like they had dropped a century somewhere. Dressed in everything except his jacket, he felt woefully underdressed in her presence. It was a new feeling for him, and it was oddly titillating.

She looked up and smiled at him, getting up to go towards him. She moved slowly, her powder blue dress falling to just above her toes, and she was terrified of tripping. She knew that she could not embarrass him tonight. Her smile only grew as she drank him in with her eyes. Without his jacket on , she could enjoy his slender physique.

Mycroft found himself flushing under her alluring gaze. He had never considered himself to be particularly attractive, and judging from the icy reception that he received from most women, he was certain that his self-assessment was on point. “You look lovely,” he complimented, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“Thank you, and you’re welcome for the dinner…. Snack… thing. That’s what you were thanking me for when you walked in, correct?” she asked, trying to reset her brain from the chills that ran up her spine at receiving such a sweet gesture from such a dapper man.

“Yes, that was very thoughtful. And helpful, as I am likely to miss all of the actual dinner.”

Lips parted as she panicked slightly at having to manage the cocktail hour and actual state dinner without him.

“State it,” he urged her.

“Should I just eat elsewhere? I mean, how am I going to do this?” her voice held more than just a smattering of doubt.

“I have … acquaintances… who know that you’re here, and will be on the look out for you. You just be yourself, and I’ll be back by the time drinks and dancing begin. I do believe I owe you a dance from the last time.”

She beamed with delight. Simply the thought of dancing with him delighted her to the core. “Thank you. I’m just… I just…” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to put the words in the right order. “I just know that this is an important night for you, and I have done research, of course, but I am concerned. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

He tilted his head at her, rather in the way a dog listens to a high pitched sound. “Embarrass me? Molly, I would not have asked you to attend with me, if I was not impressed with what I saw at the last event. I am not concerned.”

She wished that she had the same level of confidence in herself that he seemed to have in her. “I feel something like Eliza Doolittle, attending an event with Professor Higgins. I feel like I’m going to do something horribly mundane and not even realize that it’s wrong.”

He could not stop the smile that grew on his face at the reference. Although he understood her perspective, he did not view her as a plebian whom he was bringing into high society. She belonged there. And he hoped she would be open to having this adventure with him. Hawk-like eyes slid to the side. What was he thinking? He had to focus. Withdrawing his handkerchief from his back pocket, he sneezed wetly, “Hetch-SHOO! Essshh! Tisshh! Esssh!” Tending to his nose, he looked back up at her. “My apologies,” he said, trying to ignore the look of concern that was clear in her pretty brown eyes. “As long as you don’t yell at someone to move their blooming arse, I believe that any faux pas that you make will be able to be rectified.”

She giggled at his advice, forgetting to bless him. “Thank you,” she said, closing the distance between them and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Turning his head slightly, he captured her lips with his own nd enjoyed the feeling of her deeping the kiss. It had been so long since he enjoyed the touch of another, and he vowed to move Heaven and earth to make certain that she was happy enough to stay with him. This… woman… was something special. And, if his idiot brother didn’t notice, all the better for Mycroft.

Pulling back, he kept his arms around her. “You are no Eliza Doolittle. But, I have not adequately prepared you and the position that I put you in is unfair. I will not make this oversight again, I assure you.” He let her go and looked over her dress. “This is not a critique, for you look beautiful. But, do you happen to have a knee length dress?”

“I do…” she said, giving him a skeptical look. “But, the pictures online showed women in ball gowns.” She moved to her closet, tripping once, and withdrew a forest green knee length cocktail dress. The sweetheart bust came up to clasp around her neck. She showed it to him, sighing a bit when he nodded.

“Wear that. Trust me on this. That is a more appropriate dress for tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, feeling like a fool.

Giving her a confused look, he shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. You are dressed in a most lovely way. But, I think that you’ll be more comfortable in that dress, especially when we dance tonight.”

Forty-five minutes later, Molly felt like she was in some 1950s era gangster movie as she, Mycroft, Anthea, and two of Mycroft’s agents stood waiting for the elevator. Molly tried to keep her breathing even as she looked at Anthea’s floor length black gown, and fidgeted under the scrutiny of the other woman.

“A short cocktail dress, interesting choice,” Anthea said. There was no mistaking the judgement in her voice.

“At my request,” Mycroft answered before Molly could say anything.

“Ah, dancing. You finally have your partner,” Anthea said as the elevator arrived.

Mycroft gave a lopsided grin. You have no idea, he thought.

November 5, 2017

More sneezing as promised. Poor Mycroft. :devil2:

Marguerite's entrance was based off of a real situation that I went though at my first gala.

The crowd was thick with dignitaries, and Molly could not feel more out of place. Afraid to move incorrectly, she found herself a glass of wine and kept in one place, looking around nervously. She recognized a few people from their pictures, but did not feel comfortable simply walking up to anyone and speaking to them. She was just Molly – a specialist registrar for the morgue at St. Barts. A cool job, a career that she loved. But, that was it, wasn’t it? She had a career. She had to work. A normal job around normal people. She was not posh. She wasn’t like Mycroft, like Anthea, or the people who surrounded her. And, she was certain that they knew it.

Mycroft looked down on the room from a small balcony. It was a nice turn out, and people would be politicking and networking. He picked Molly right out. She had been correct – every other woman was wearing a long dress. Breathing out a long sigh, he hoped that she would forgive him for putting her in what he was certain was a terribly awkward position.

He could tell that she was terrified. Her posture was rigid, and she kept staring off in no particular direction. She looked like wounded gazelle. He contemplated skipping his meeting to make certain she was not attacked by one of the many predators in the room. Turning away from the edge, he pinched his nostrils closed and suppressed a sneeze. He almost wanted to skip the meeting for himself too. But, that was silliness. He had to be there. It was expected, and he had an agent to meet for information. Suppressing another sneeze, he swallowed to readjust the pressure in his head and exited the balcony.

“That’s an interesting dress. Did you not know that this was a black tie affair?” a young woman in a Versace dress stated coming towards Molly.

It did not take a lifetime of being made fun of and put down for Molly to know that this situation was going to get worse before it got better. None-the-less, she was determined not to embarrass Mycroft. “Of course I did. But, I prefer this for dancing after.”

“Then change after dinner,” the woman responded as though Molly was the dumbest person on the planet. “I mean, it’s nice,” she said, in a way that was apparent that she did not like the dress. “But, I believe that I saw it in a store.”

Molly raised an eyebrow at the other woman and responded silkily, “I’m pretty certain I saw yours in a store, too.”

“No,” the woman responded, brushing her long blonde hair behind her shoulder. “Mine is a one of a kind. Yours well… it needs a little work, don’t you think?”

Uncertain what to say, Molly paused.

“I like her dress,” another woman stated, coming into the group. She was taller than Molly, and older as well. She had short hair, properly fluffed, and sparkling brown eyes that denoted kindness.

“Oh,” the other woman responded, quietly.

“I think it’s wonderful that you have enough confidence to wear what you like. I would have done the same, but my husband insisted that I wear a long dress. Boring things really.” She glared at the other woman, until she slunk away.

“My name is Marguerite,” she said, nodding politely at Molly. She held a tumbler full of something on ice, and sipped through the stirring straw.

“Hello,” Molly said, nearly breathless over what had just happened. “My name is Molly Hooper. I’m with Mycroft Holmes.” Afraid that she had said the wrong thing, she continued quickly, “I love your dress.”

The woman’s eyes sparkled when Molly had brought up Mycroft. “Ah yes. We had heard he was bringing a date. Lovely to meet you, my dear.” She turned around, her tan and brown swirled dress flaring out at the bottom. She leaned into Molly, with a playful grin. “Don’t you love a dress that twirls? Twenty quid at a thrift store,” she said with a proud whisper.

Molly’s smile grew. She loved this woman. She knew absolutely nothing about her, but she knew that she loved her.

“Come, walk with me, dear. I want to know all about the woman who has captured Mycroft Holmes’ attention.”

Molly stuck with Marguerite for the rest of the cocktail hour and sat near her and her husband during the dinner. She learned that the actual State Dinner would be the following night, and that tonight’s dinner was simply a reception.

After the dinner concluded, Molly breathed a sigh of relieve when Mycroft entered the room. She watched as he scanned the room and came directly towards her. Uncertain of how to act, she smiled up at him, but did not rise. “Marguerite, Aubrey,” he said, coming up to them. “I should have known that you would find Molly. Thank you for that.”

The both rose to greet him, and Molly was surprised when Mycroft gave a cheek to cheek kiss to Marguerite. He gave Aubrey’s hand a hearty shake.

“She’s lovely, Mycroft. You’ve done well with her.”

Molly couldn’t help but blush a bit, at the compliment, and sat up a little straighter, wondering if she should stand as well. She felt Mycroft’s hand on her shoulder, and then he took a seat to the other side of her. “Have they told you who they are?” Mycroft asked Molly, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Oh Mycroft, that’s not fair,” Marguerite responded. “We did not, and it’s rather refreshing being treated well just because someone is well bred, not because they want something.”

Molly cast a half terrified look towards the man she only knew as Aubrey. “Minor nobility,” he whispered. “It’s nothing. If we had wanted you to treat us a certain way, we would have told you our titles upfront.”

Molly stopped breathing. Her mind went blank and she was at a complete loss as to how to respond.

“But, what I told you about my dress is true,” Marguerite said, breaking into her thoughts. “And that other woman had no right to be unkind to you. You look wonderful. There is nothing wrong with being untraditional.” She smiled. “You’re staying for dancing, correct?”

A dark look crossed Mycroft’s face. “Who?” he asked, wanting the name of the person who was unkind to Molly. He felt protective, and wanted nothing more than to end the political career of whomever was crude enough to mention something negative about Molly’s attire.

“You two of course. You’re staying for the jitterbug, correct?” Marguerite continued on, not letting Mycroft focus on the past. Marguerite had already made certain that Molly would not be talked to about her fashion choices. She couldn’t stop what happened behind her back, but those were issues for another day.

Molly gasped in excitement, as she turned to Mycroft. “Are we?” she asked, rather like a child asking to stay up late.

He nodded. “Yes. I have wanted a partner for many years, and I know that you will fit the bill perfectly.”

“Actually,” I think that it’s getting started, Aubrey stated, holding his hand out to help Marguerite up.
Mycroft and Molly followed suit and they went into the next room. The dance floor had been set up, and there was a live brass band.

Molly gasped, “Live swing dancing?” she asked.

Mycroft nodded. This sort of dancing had fallen out of fashion with normal society, but was still quite popular with the well-born. He was thrilled that Molly was excited about this. No wonder she never fit in with normal society. She was not a normal sort of person. He thought Sherlock was an idiot to miss the signs. But, Sherlock liked to be around normal people. It made him feel smarter. Mycroft didn’t need that sort of constant reassurance.

When the jitterbug was called, couples went to the dance floor. Mycroft lead Molly there, and muttered, “Just follow my lead.”

It was an odd statement, and she couldn’t figure out what he thought she was going to do. But, she nodded. Looking at him closely, she noticed that there was a slight blush in his cheeks and a twinge in his nostrils.

The dance was stated as the annual jitterbug dance off, and she fully understood why he had suggested that she wear the shorter dress. This was going to be fun. She set herself against him, and squeaked with delight as the music began. She loved the Jitterbug from The Wizard of Oz!

They started rocking back and forth during the monologue in the beginning, and as soon as the female vocalist started singing, they went into full swing. She found him incredibly easy to follow, and enjoyed the swell of joy to be on the dance floor with a group of people who not only appreciated this level of dance skill, but had it themselves. She finally found a place in society where she fit in. Who would have thought it would be here.

She heard a squelching sound, and Mycroft let out a breath as he twirled her. She tried to keep time with him, but didn’t want to be let go of, as had previously happened. But, this time, he did nothing of the sort, holding fast to her until the end of the song.

They did a few more dances, before she found herself suppressing a yawn. He took his cue from her, and they said their goodnights, heading back up to the room.

---
Molly took a hot shower and put her pajama’s on, knocking on the door between their rooms. At his permissive response, Molly entered, happy to see him in a set of black silk pajamas and slippers. He sat on the couch, reading a book. A handkerchief was in his other hand.

“Tonight was wonderful, Mycroft. Thank you so much,” she said, coming in and sitting across from him.

He raised his head out of the book and looked at her, silently, for such a long time that she began to get nervous. Suddenly, his eyes fluttered closed and he brought the handkerchief up to his face. “Hur-Sshuff! Urrsshuff! Esssh! Issh! Er-Shuff!” He blew his nose slightly, but couldn’t get very far due to the congestion.

“God bless you,” she offered politely.

He yawned and then stated, “Do excuse me, Molly. My apologies for that.” He suppressed another yawn.

“Mycroft, if you’re tired, I’ll leave you be,” she said, enthusiastically. “I can already tell you’re not feeling well,” she said, getting up to go into her own room. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He looked up at her, lips parted as though his mind was processing some little bit of information that did not make sense. “Please stay. I enjoy your company, and I want to know how you fared tonight.”

She sat back down, tucking her feet beneath her on the chair. “Once I met Marguerite and Aubrey, things were quite lovely.”

“And the person who was rude to you?” he prompted.

“No one of consequence, I think. She seemed quite intimidated by Marguerite, come to think of it.”

“Well they are a Duke and Duchess,” he stated, his breath hitching again.

“A what!?” she exclaimed. “Oh dear, I’m so boring. Mycroft, you should have told me!” She felt like the night was full of people taking the mickey out of her, and she was so simple that she didn’t even know it.

He swallowed as a tickle spread throughout his sinuses and a dull ache began to throb in his left ear. He held up his finger, denoting her to wait a moment, as his face crashed into his handkerchief with a violent. “Ehk-Ts’Choo! Essh!! Essh! Ufff-mm’T’choo!” He held his breath until the rest of the onslaught petered off. “They didn’t want me to,” he responded, in an extremely stuff voice, before blowing his nose thickly.

“Bless you,” she offered quietly, coming and sitting next to him. She waited to be snapped at for Molly-coddling. But, she wanted to find a way to ease the symptoms of whatever he was fighting. She reached out and tenderly put a hand on his leg, feeling his lean muscle under her touch.

He stiffened, waiting for a comment about his health, his weight, his choices… but nothing came. “My apologies, Molly. It’s something of an inside secret that I tend to get ill leading up to these things. They are so terribly draining.”

“What can I do to make it better for you?” she asked quietly. “Would you like me to call for tea service?”

He paused, thinking of the warm and comforting effects that tea would have on his current disposition. A simple nod of his head was all it took, and she was back on the phone placing the order. “Thank you,” he whispered, this voice thick with congestion.

“Nothing to it,” she answered. She wanted to reach out and hold him close, to take him in her arms and provide physical comfort. But, she wasn’t certain if he would appreciate that sort of touch. “Do you have antihistamines or paracetamol?” she asked quietly.

He nodded. “In my razor case.”

She half expected him to get up and get some, as she did not know his packing habits, nor did she think he would want her rooting around in his stuff. But, when he did not get up, she decided to bite the bullet. “Where do you keep your case. I’ll get you some.”

He looked at her as though she had said something out of the ordinary. Blinking a few times, he nodded. “It’s on the sink in the lavatory.” Yes, it would be quite all right if she were to help him that way. Quite all right indeed.

She came back with the medicine, and a water bottle. “Maybe you should get into bed?” she offered. “I can sit with you for a while, at least until the tea comes.” She didn’t figure that he would enjoy being treated like an invalid, so she took a deep breath and clamored onto the other side of the bed.

He froze. There was a woman… in his bed. A woman who did not want anything except to make sure he was all right. Someone who wasn’t there for political gain. It didn’t make sense to him. But, the idea was certainly intriguing. He got up and paused. Bringing his handkerchief back up to his face, he released a volley of sneezes, “Ufff-t-choo! Essh! Issh! Etsssh! Impshhh!” He winced as a tear came to his eye from the pain of trying to stifle. He sniffled through congestion, and then gave his nose a thick honk, causing him to blush with shame.

“Bless you,” she said, patting the bed beside her.

“Molly, I’m afraid you’re apt to get sick,” he said, holding back.

“I’ll take my chances. Come on. I’m not going to bite you,” she said lightly. Guest services knocked on the door, and she got up to let them in. By the time the man came in with the tea trolley, Mycroft was in bed, seeming to read his book.

Once Molly had seen the man out, she made Mycroft his tea to his exacting specifications, and then poured herself a cup as well. Sitting on top of the covers, they drank the tea in companionable silence before they both fell to sleep.

Edited November 5, 2017 by frenchposie

November 5, 2017

This was great. I love Marguerite. Poor Mycroft.

November 5, 2017

9 hours ago, frenchposie said:

“Then change after dinner,” the woman responded as though Molly was the dumbest person on the planet. “I mean, it’s nice,” she said, in a way that was apparent that she did not like the dress. “But, I believe that I saw it in a store.”

So rude!! :mad:

9 hours ago, frenchposie said:

A dark look crossed Mycroft’s face. “Who?” he asked, wanting the name of the person who was unkind to Molly. He felt protective, and wanted nothing more than to end the political career of whomever was crude enough to mention something negative about Molly’s attire.

You know he's going to find out who and then eat their liver for dinner. (Metaphorically speaking of course.) :lol:

9 hours ago, frenchposie said:

He stiffened, waiting for a comment about his health, his weight, his choices… but nothing came. “My apologies, Molly. It’s something of an inside secret that I tend to get ill leading up to these things. They are so terribly draining.”

Poor thing... He hates these events and these events apparently hate him. :sad:

9 hours ago, frenchposie said:

“Bless you,” she said, patting the bed beside her.

“Molly, I’m afraid you’re apt to get sick,” he said, holding back.

“I’ll take my chances. Come on. I’m not going to bite you,” she said lightly.

A sequel perhaps, with Mycroft taking care of Molly?

November 5, 2017

20 minutes ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

A sequel perhaps, with Mycroft taking care of Molly?

It's coming. But Mycroft is... well ...Mycroft.

This story is turning into something of an epic. I hope that you all keep along for the ride. It'll be worth it, I promise!

November 6, 2017

Again we have a less sneezing connecting chapter. The next chapter will be angsty, and sneezy, and I can't wait to write it. But, I have to be up in six hours, so I'll have to wait for now. In this chapter, we have Molly with a love bug and Mycroft with a more sneezy sort of bug. And maybe a wee bit of drama...

Molly sighed as cucumbers were put on her eyes. She always enjoyed a facial, and when Marguerite had approached her while she got her coffee that morning and invited her out for a spa day, she could not say no. She had been most impressed when they were asked if they wanted the charges added to their rooms, and Marguerite answered with a simply stated, “I was hoping to use this as the spa retreat for my garden club, but…” Suddenly, their days were comped. It was the most remarkable thing that Molly had ever seen.

“It’s the perfect way to relax after last night, isn’t it dear?” Marguerite asked, her relaxed voice inviting even though Molly now knew to whom she was actually speaking.

“It is,” Molly agreed, forcing her voice to remain calm even though she was still incredibly excited about everything that was happening. She had woken up next to Mycroft, the covers, that she clearly recalled falling asleep on top of, spread over her body. He was curled towards her, snoring lightly, and she had left him a glass of water and more antihistamines, paracetamol, and the proper dosing for his own medications that she found in his razor bag the night before. She also wrote on the hotel pad where she was, who she was with, and when she expected to be back. She was honored that he had placed so much trust in her, and she wanted to make certain that she acted in a way that let him know that he could continue to do so.

“So, however did you meet Mycroft, Molly?” Marguerite asked.

The unspoken, ‘How did a girl like you meet a man like him?’ rang in her head, and she worked hard not to get defensive. She had enjoyed speaking about her career, her past times, and the bits about Mycroft that she enjoyed speaking of the night before.

“Um,” she started, licking a honey-pasted lip lightly. “I know him through his brother.”

“Ah, Sherlock.” It was clear that Marguerite had heard of Sherlock, and not in the most flattering light.

A protective flare coursed through Molly, but she focused on keeping her breathing even. She was not here to defend the merits of Sherlock, rather to enjoy some time while making certain that Mycroft’s finely crafted reputation stayed intact.

“So you have known him for a while?” Marguerite pressed.

“A few years. He’s always been unerringly polite, the epitome of everything a man of his station should be.” She turned over at the relaxation consultant’s gentle suggestion and moaned in delight as her back massage began.

Marguerite smiled. Anthea had asked her to try to get Molly to gossip about Mycroft, but Marguerite could already see that it wasn’t going to be an easy task to carry out. Generally speaking she did not like to place herself in politics that were not her business. However, she could not doubt Anthea for being concerned. Besides, there was no guarantee that the instructions had not come from Mycroft himself.

“He’s rather thin, don’t you think?” Marguerite asked, rather abruptly. His lean stature had been something that others had spoken of for many years. She was curious to see how Molly would receive a harsh word from someone that she knew to be Mycroft’s friend.

Molly made a noncommittal noise. The thought had crossed her mind the night before. But, he was strong and a safe person for her to be with. His physique was none of her business, so long as he stayed healthy. “He’s just fine the way he in,” she responded after a long, relaxing, while.

“And his allergies, they act up all the time. Quite an annoyance, no?” Marguerite asked, having seen Mycroft stifle sneezes all night long. She was so happy that he had stayed for the jitterbug and swing dancing. She had rarely seen him look so comfortable, and she hoped that this young woman, this friend of his brothers, was ready to take on all the intricacies that came with her long time friend Mycroft Holmes.

“That’s not for me to speak on really. Why are you asking?” She looked over at Marguerite, and fixed her with a look that made her confusion apparent, even through the facial mask.

Marguerite blinked rapidly. “My apologies, dear. I have known Mycroft Holmes for many years, and he rarely takes a shine to anyone. “

“You just want to see that I’m worthy,” Molly responded, quietly.

“I want to make certain that you have the right intentions,” Marguerite corrected. “And you seem to. It is rather nice to see. He’s an interesting man, but not always easy to deal with. It can’t be easy on you.”

“He’s a good man, and I’m lucky that –“ she paused. Stating that she’s among his trusted few could get her – and him – into trouble, “to know him,” she corrected quickly. She breathed out and pretended to be asleep as the massage continued, ignoring Marguerite’s request for her to expand on the original comment that she had started to make.

After the spa treats were done, Molly felt like a new woman. She went back to her room, and changed for the day. Black pants and a lightly colored blouse. Her shoes were akin to loafers, but she had noticed that other women were wearing them, so she thought nothing of it.

The door between her and Mycroft’s rooms was slightly ajar, and she knocked before stepping in. Mycroft was dressed in his suit, reading through briefings, which were spread over the desk. “How was your time at the spa?” he asked, not turning around. His voice was tired, his tone nasal.

She frowned slightly, as she fretted for him. “It was very nice. She was interested in getting information out of me about you. She brought up all manner of things. It was odd.”

A sharp intake of breath, and then Mycroft turned to the side, pressing his handkerchief over his nose and mouth. “Hech-Ka-Shuffff!” A few small coughs worked their way out, and he sniffed before clearing his throat.

“Bless you,” she said, coming over to the couch and sitting down on it. She recalled what he had said about not working on anything confidential when shew as so near.

“Thank you. My apologies. About what did she inquire?” he asked, sniffling a bit before turning back to the briefings.

“Your temperament. Your… physique. Your allergies.” Molly held her breath, suddenly wondering if she should not have brought this up at all.

He nodded. All the things about him that were difficult. It was a wonder that she hadn’t brought up his job: the travel, the long hours. He would be interested in hearing what Molly responded. He knew that Marguerite would be honest and thorough with her assessment. But, first, “… and you said?”

She bristled, wondering if she had answered appropriately. “I said that you’re fine the way you are, and that your health is not for me to speak on.”

“Health? You said my health?” His voice rose in volume, and it was apparent that he was not pleased with her statement. He turned to look at her, and fixed her with a glare that would have withered the most hardened politicians.

She startled, her body mechanics pulling her away from him. “No, not at all. I asked what her angle was. I don’t know why she wanted to know. If she’s a friend of yours, she should already know. And, if that’s not the friendship that you have, she has no right knowing.” She paused, looking down. “I’m sorry, Mycroft. I tried not to say very much, but still stay polite.” She pressed her lips together, her eyes shining with hurt and disappointment. “I’m sorry… I guess I’m no good at this. I just… “ she shrugged, her words dying on her lips. Just as she had feared, her best had not been good enough.

She looked up and to the side, trying desperately not to cry. Tears were not something that a Holmes could deal with, and compassion… that was never something that could come. She could almost hear Sherlock telling her to get over it. What she wouldn’t give to have John hand her a tissue and tell her it was all right.

A box of tissues showed in her peripheral vision. “Molly… I …” Mycroft took a deep breath. He was never really known for his empathy, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have it. “Molly, I apologize. We have a… situation, and I’m trying not to let people know that things are not…” He sighed. He couldn’t tell her that a dignitary had been threatened. He could not tell her that security in and around the building had been heightened. He could not tell her that this situation coupled with his worsening cold had created a migraine that was affecting his hearing. “I apologize for taking my stress out on you. You didn’t say anything wrong.”

A situation? she wondered, taking a tissue and dabbing at her eyes. She figured a situation that took his focus was more than just the normal situations that would happen in the back of house during events like this. “I’m sorry for being…”

“No,” Mycroft cut her off. “No old Mol – “ His breath inhaled sharply. Taking a tissue out of the box himself, he turned away from her with a heavy,

“Yih-ESSCCHH!” He made a noise of discomfort, and withdrew his handkerchief to blow his nose. “My apologies,” he whispered, exhausted. He sighed, anxiety coursing through him at the idea that someone might know that his health was less than at its best.

“Bless you. Why don’t you take a nap,” she offered gently. “I’ll leave you be, and you can get like an hour of rest before we have to get ready for the dinner.”

He smiled at her. She was a wonder. Kindness and empathy unlike that which he had known for most of his life. “No, I need to do some background checks. But, thank you for your concern.” He turned back to his work, and startled violently when she felt her hands on his shoulders. The hand with his pen, had started moving it backwards with the intent to harm, before he realized that it was Molly and she was… massaging his shoulders?

Allowing a congested groan, he felt his whole body relax under her gentle touch. He did not feel comfortable when most people touched him. But, she knew exactly how and where to press in order to make him relax. His breath started to hitch again, and he withdrew his handkerchief again, holding it to his face… again. “Yih-ESSCCCH!! Ettsssccchhh!! Etsccchh! Esttcch! Isssshoo! Apologies…” He let himself put his head on his folded arms, and his eyes drift closed. He was so tired, and his body craved rest, even just for a moment or two.

As Mycroft nodded off, Molly looked at the clock figuring fifteen minutes wouldn’t hurt. She pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck, frowning slightly at his elevated temperature. At exactly the fifteen minute mark, she kissed his temple, hoping the touch would wake him. Unfortunately, it did not.

“Mycroft,” she said, “pressing her hand to his shoulder.

He grunted as he came to, and startled when he realized that he had been asleep.

“Don’t worry. You were only asleep for fifteen minutes,” Molly said, keeping her hand on his shoulder. She was worried about him being mad at her. She never wanted to be on the receiving end of that look again. But, she didn’t have to worry.

“Thank you for that. Perhaps when this is all over, you’ll consider doing that again.” He stretched his neck and back.

“If ever you need to sleep and I’m there, I will happily do so. I’ve been told that I have the magic touch for putting people to sleep. I always figured it was because I was boring.” She gave a nervous laugh.

“You're comforting. People feel safe with you. It’s a benefit.” He reached over, and took her soft hand in his own. Even ill and stressed as he was he felt comfortable with her at his side. It was a new feeling, one that he did not have time to analyze.

---

After the dinner, the group was moving towards the dance floor. Everything had gone exceedingly well, and Molly had been able to watch Mycroft in his natural element. She loved how easily he spoke with people of consequence, and was even able to loop her into the conversation. He was well medicated, and was able to speak around the congestion that had been evident in their hotel suite. He was downright sexy to Molly’s way of thinking, and she couldn’t help smiling at him every time he looked at her.

As she wrapped her arm around his, she felt him pull her closer. “You did wonderfully,” he whispered to her. “Now on to -.” His statement was cut off when a gunshot rang out in the hall.

Hawk-like eyes scanned the balconies and hidden doorways, as he pulled away from Molly. People started to scatter in every direction. Talking on his cell phone, Mycroft ran over to an elderly gentleman in a top hat. He looked like he would have been at the height of fashion in the nineteen-twenties. A quick conversation ensued and the two of them came over to Molly.

“Molly, go with Colonel Girard. Do not go with anyone until I – and I alone come to get you.” Speaking into his phone, he went rushed into the next room, and Molly gave the Colonel a fretful smile as she let him lead her off to another area.

Molly sat ramrod straight in a seat in what had been termed ‘the sitting room’. The dignitaries had apparently been taken to another location. But, lesser guests, it appeared, had all been taken there. To his credit, the Colonel had tried to make some conversation with Molly, but she wasn’t much in the mood for it, far too worried about Mycroft. She would have been worried even if he had been in the best of state. But, being ill… she hoped that he would be able to stay focused. She knew that adrenaline was a wonderful thing and hoped that he would be all right.

“It was only a matter of time…”

“Security has been waning over the past few years…”

“It’s because they let commoners in. There’s no propriety anymore…”

Molly didn’t blame people for talking about the events that were transpiring. She just didn’t want to be part of it. She had worn the blue dress, and was one of only two people who had worn a color other than black.

“Well the dress is better, although not quite right,” a familiar voice said. She froze, as she looked up and saw the same woman who had been so rude the night before.

“Thank you for your advice,” Molly replied. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I got your name,” she said, offering no hand or smile by way of a friendly introduction.

“I didn’t give it. But you see what you being here has done. Mr. Holmes has always kept us safe, until you came. Interesting, no?”

“No,” Molly replied. She wanted to continue on to say that the work of his team had nothing at all to do with her. But, she didn’t want to get into a conversation about it.

When the conversation died between them, the woman drifted towards the other side of the room.

Minutes drifted by like hours, and Molly was quite certain that she was going to burst. Just under an hour later, Mycroft came in with his team to assure those inside that the situation was well in hand, and the perpetrator had been arrested. He assured the guests that no one had been harmed, and that they were free to either go back to dancing, or back to their hotels as they were comfortable.

While his team lead those assembled out, he reached for Molly’s hand, helping her stand. She wanted to fling her arms around him and hold him close. She wanted to tell him how brave and handsome she thought he was, and stay close to him for the rest of the night. Instead, she took the fact that he had her hand in a vice-like grip as a testament that he felt at least partially the same way.

“Don’t ask questions. Nothing until we get to the hotel room,” he warned her as they stepped into the hallway.

-----

“Mr. Holmes,” a female voice asked, as they walked down the sidewalk towards the hotel. Normally, he would call for his car, but his team was taking care of things, and he had enough extra energy to power London for the night. A three block walk was hardly a difficult feat for him.

Molly increased her grip on his hand, as she recognized the voice as the person who had been so unkind to her.

“Thank you for trying to keep us safe. Sometimes the wrong sorts get involved in politics. And, we have to keep our wits about us, don’t we?”

He forced a smile, but said nothing. He knew that the perpetrator had an accomplice, and his hand went into his jacket pocket as he pressed a few buttons alerting his team and police to come as he turned on his personal GPS locator.

“Since you have fallen,” she continued, her voice darkening. We cannot let England fall.” With that, she pulled out a small hand gun and shot at Mycroft, the sound splitting the night with a loud bang, echoed by Molly’s scream.

Mycroft’s team was on the accomplice in less than a minute, and Molly had sunk to the ground, where Mycroft was coughing, in a squatted position. Her hands went to take off his coat, vest, and shirt, when she realized that there wasn’t any blood.

“Nicely done, sir,” Anthea said, coming up beside Mycroft and Molly. “We couldn’t figure out who the accomplice was, but you were correct in assuming that you were the target. She’ll be taken into custody. Molly, grand job. You were able to hold your own much better than I would have given you credit for.”

Not knowing what to say, Molly simply nodded and stood. Both women helped Mycroft stand, and Molly felt a pang of worry tinged regret when he stumbled towards Anthea and not her. “We’ve moved you both to another hotel, and the car will bring you there now.”

The three of them got into the car. “You have the morning meeting, and of course the brunch, and then we can take Molly home,” Anthea said, not looking up from her phone.

Mycroft simply nodded, his entire being overtaken by what had just happened. He needed to spend time alone, or at least alone with Molly. He needed to be safe and to be certain that she was s well. Too many things were spinning around his mind, and he wanted the un-fun fun house like effects that it was causing to stop.

Edited November 6, 2017 by frenchposie

November 6, 2017

Oh dear! I knew that woman was bad news!

November 7, 2017

And soon... turn about will be fair play.

Mycroft was trembling by the time that they arrived at the hotel, and Anthea followed them in, going to her own room which was only two away from theirs.

“The rooms are empty on both sides of you, so no worries about anyone hearing anything,” she said, placing a gentle hand on Mycroft’s arm.

He nodded without saying anything. Holding an arm out to Molly, he ushered her into the room he was going into. The suite was smaller than the one that they had been in and there was no connecting door. However, there were two queen sized beds, causing Molly some concern about sleeping arrangements. Despite the fact that they were newly… whatever they were, she wanted to hold him close – to make sure he was safe. Likewise, she wanted to give him the time and space he needed.

There was so much to take into consideration – not the least of which being her own emotions, which had turned into a dull moan within her heart. She tried to shut it out, to put it away until she knew that Mycroft was handled. She didn’t figure him to be all right. How could one be all right so soon after such an event? Certainly, she knew that he had been trained for such a thing. In fact, he had – apparently – known that he was the mark, and he set it up.

Her post-traumatic event mind started to process and she wanted to see the bullet-proof vest. She had heard of thin ones, but never seen on in action. One of the features of the thicker vests wasn’t only that it stopped the bullet, but that it negated the worst of the damage from the bullet hitting the body. She wanted to check out his sternum, which might have actually been fractured if not broken in the event.

“Miss Hooper, I need two things from you,” Mycroft stated, in full on ‘Mr. Holmes’ professionalism mode.

“Name them.”

“I need you to get Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade here immediately. I will have a car sent from him. Simply get his location. I cannot…” he let his voice trail off, before picking up again. He knew that she could extrapolate from incomplete data – it was a necessity of her employ to do so.

“Secondly, do not under any circumstance provide care until this event has completed for the night. I will let you know when that is. At that time, just be yourself. Do not concern yourself with being awkward or over stepping. I will let you know if there are boundaries you need to be aware of.”

He had not been facing her when he started making his requests. The first would usually go through Anthea, but she was working with the press, and would likely be doing so for most of the night. There would need to be a press conference, and the only person that he wanted speaking on what had happened was DI Lestrade. It could not get out that Mycroft had been the mark. That detail would compromise national security.

He turned when he heard Molly, rifling through her bag. “I don’t know where my phone went to. I didn’t bring it to the gala.”

Frustrated, he sighed. “What are you an idiot? Why would you go anywhere without your phone?” He lived and died by his phone, and couldn’t imagine being without it for hours on end.

“Women’s gowns don’t have pockets, and I didn’t see a reason to bring a clutch,” she reasoned. She was getting used to the concept of being called an idiot by the Holmes brothers. They called each other the term, and after all of these years it had practically lost its meaning to her.

“It’ll be in the outside pocket,” he said, after texting Anthea about it. At least he could depend on his team. Molly would need work. A lot of work.

“Got it,” she muttered, calling Greg right away. “Yes, Greg… no, it’s important. Yea, I need…” she turned away as she made the request. “We’ll send a car… yea, we. Look, I don’t have the time to explain. I need you here. Mycroft needs you here…. Yes, I will explain everything later. No… I – I understand, but you are the only person from the Yard that he wants here. Please, Greg.” A pause. “I owe you one.”

She jotted down the address and gave it to Mycroft, who texted it to Anthea. His breath was getting caught in his chest, becoming more and more shallow. In addition, he was trying to figure out why DI Lestrade had been giving Molly such a hard time. It was unlike him to not be there for his friends, and less so not be there when Mycroft summoned him. Unable to deduce anything, he put the problem aside. He was already suffering from tinnitus, and he knew that his body was likely to go into shock within the hour. He mildly hoped that Molly would be able to handle what was about to happen. Her night would be far longer than his, and although she was less accustomed to such excitement, he would be of no use to her.

When Lestrade arrived, Mycroft drew in a deep breath. “Miss Hooper, please avail yourself of my presence,” he requested, offering the Detective Inspector a place to sit.

Exhausted and overloaded, she gave them both a hurt look. “Oh, okay,” she stated, leaving the room. She realized that she didn’t have a key card for either of the empty rooms, and she didn’t want to bother Anthea for one. Still dressed in her blue evening gown, and with her phone in her hand, she went down to the bar. She knew that she would need to take care of Mycroft… unless of course he meant that it was time for her to leave entirely. Although Anthea did say that they would bring Molly home the following early afternoon. She sighed. She needed a drink.

Working with DI Gregory Lestrade was always an easy and pleasant affair. The man was truly one of those good people who believed in doing the right thing. He agreed to take over the press conference, and answered Mycroft’s seemingly prying questions about where he had been, and apologies for the lateness in the evening. It was nearly midnight, after all. After the short meeting concluded, Mycroft called that Molly could come back in.

Nothing. Not even a knock that she had no key.

The two men looked at each other, slightly panicked.

Cold washed over Mycroft as he hoped that she understood that he didn’t want her to leave indefinitely. He had not been clear about that. Mycroft was slower moving that Lestrade, though and he shook his head as he opened the door. “She’s not out there.”

Mycroft blanched and his world seemed to tip on its end. He couldn’t process the extra stress.

“She’s at the bar. I can almost promise you,” Greg’s voice broke through his thoughts. “I’ll collect her.”

“Why would she have gone there?” Mycroft wondered out loud. He had never known Molly to drink away stress. With a friend such as his brother, she would have been a drunk.

“Self-medicating, would be my guess. You’ve had a very eventful night. And, she’s not used to being part of the adventure.” He was impressed that she had held up as well as she did. But, a night such as that would be difficult for anyone.

When he got to the bar, he smiled sadly at Molly, who was sequestered in a corner, nursing a drink. “Molly, Mycroft is worried about you,” he said, coughing into his fist.

Worried brown eyes looked up at him. “I’m sorry that you’re not well. Thank you for coming out.”

“It’s my job,” he answered, and realized that he had said the wrong thing when her eyes refocused on the wall. He sighed and sat down at the table. “He is worried about you. We both were when you weren’t outside in the hallway. He shouldn’t have sent you out. It was nothing you couldn’t hear.”

She shrugged. “I’m not a member of the team. I don’t have a high enough clearance. It’s okay. The less I know the better.”

Her responses were mechanical and it hurt Greg to see his friend hurting so badly. “Was it worth it?” he asked, not actually fully understanding what he was asking.

“He was wonderful,” she said, beaming. “So handsome, and in charge. The epitome of graceful diplomatic strength.”

Greg couldn’t help but wish that a woman like Molly would get that look in her eye when speaking of him. “Then go to him, Molly. The two of you have had a harrowing affair. Get through it together. Trust me on this.” He stood up, and offered her a hand to help her get up. He figured even though she wasn’t drunk, it was highly likely that she was exhausted.

Making sure that she made it safe to Mycroft, he nodded at both of them, hopeful that they would provide the other with the support and care they would need. He hoped Molly was strong enough for the aftermath. He knew, first hand, how devastating it could be to go through a traumatic event and not have someone to decompress with. And, he wondered if Mycroft had the strength left to help her do so. He made an appointment in his phone to call her the next day. If Mycroft dropped the ball, he would not.

Mycroft sat on the couch, pressing his hands over his eyes. His migraine was causing pain along his sinuses, pressure in his temples, and pinching pain down his neck. “Please do not disappear after an occurrence such as last night. I nearly released a search party for you. What if you had been taken?”

“You had the keys to the other rooms, and I didn’t know how long you would be.”

“You could have asked me or Anthea.” He sniffed wetly, and winced as the pain spiked through his head.

“You were both busy, and I didn’t want to be in the way,” she explained. Her voice was soft, caring. She figured that the time had come for this part of the night. The decompression part. The part that no one ever wanted her around for before, and that she wasn’t certain what acting normal would constitute.

He removed his hands and looked at her, desperately willing himself to apologize. But, his body had other ideas, and all of the pretenses of the past few hours fell away. Looking around frantically, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and sneezed violently. “Yih-ESSSCHH! ESSCCHH! TESSSHH! ESCCH!! Keh-eh-HUH-EHTCCHH!!”

“Bless you,” she said, waiting, since his flaring nostrils told her that he was not yet done.

“My apol-oh… Guh, huh ETCCHSHSOO!” The final sneeze ended in a long gurgling blow that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul.

Molly hurried to the lavatory and pulled the box of tissues, putting them before him.

He plucked one out just as another “Mmmspphsssh!!” worked its way out.

“Mycroft don’t stifle,” she said, sitting down next to him. She snaked an arm through his own, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He pulled away from her, giving her an incredulous look in the process.

“Do you know how incredibly sexy you were tonight?” she asked, sliding away from him slightly. She cupped his arm with her hand, and kept the touch. She wanted him to know that she was there.

“Heh,” he laughed, still too far in his own head to truly respond.

“You were! You were brave, and diplomatic. Charming. And, the way you took control. You were larger than life, like a character from a book or a movie. I was terribly impressed.”

Her kind words snaked their way into his mind. They were complimentary, not harsh. Were she to want to yell… he winced as even the thought of yelling hurt his head… or even berate him for putting her through such an affair – for putting her at risk, and leaving her out of important meetings that she had a right to be in on, he would not blame her. But, no. Instead, she was being kind to him. Being herself, and tactile. There were few times when Mycroft Holmes craved comforting touch: when he was ill and when he was decompressing were two of those times.

“You handled yourself incredibly well tonight, Molly. I could not have expected better from you. “ He sniffed again and winced.

Going to get him his medicines, she let go of his arm, and he gave a startled cry. “Don’t leave,” he nearly begged, grabbing her hand. He needed to stay rooted to this reality.

“I just… I want to get you your pills. They can do their work while we talk about whatever you need,” she responded softly.

He released her hand and she went to his suitcase, removing his razor case, and pulling out the pill bottles. She went to grab a bottle of water, and came back to him, sitting them down in front of him. Taking her place next to him, she urged him to take what he needed.

He was pulling out the pills when he inhaled sharply.

Brushing a hand over his own, she pulled the pill bottle away with one hand and pulled out two tissues, handing them to two him just as two wet sneezes exploded out. “ESTCCHOO! T’CHA-SHOO!” He coughed wetly into the tissues, and accepted the water that Molly handed to him.

“Sips,” she said, as though he was a small child. He needed it though, and was grateful for the care.

“Come on. Time to get into your pajamas,” she urged, pulling a frown when he shook his head. “Not yet,” he responded stuffily.

“Talk to me, Mycroft,” she stated, softly. “It doesn’t have to make sense. Actions to emotions to words…” she said, echoing the exercise he had done with her.

He pressed a hand to his head, trying to make his headache go away. “If I told you, I would have to mae you disappear. I don’t have the right filters right now…”

Her blood ran cold. ‘Would he do that?’ she wondered. ‘Would he make her disappear?’ She supposed he could. He was the British Government, as Sherlock said. She already knew that he was the most dangerous man she would ever meet. But, would he do that? Was she so inconsequential that he would make her disappear?

Mycroft observed as a very important piece of trust died in her eyes. He didn’t quite know what he had said, but they would have to revisit it at some point… likely when they were discussing whatever would be discussed this night. Decompressions like this always took a while.

“All right,” she said, trying to keep herself from trembling.

He noticed. “What’s the matter?” he asked, holding her hands.

She shook her head. “I just don’t know what to do. If you won’t talk, then I’m out of ideas.” Mostly. Leaning in, she pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. Even if it wouldn’t get him talking, it would likely get his mind off the night.

Her assessment was correct, and he leaned back, pulling her onto his lap as they kissed harshly, their emotions from the evening swirling around them as they took them out on each other in kissing format. She had gotten his jacket off before too long, and made for his weskit when he hissed.

Of course – the bullet.

“Let me see your chest,” she said, getting up off of him.

He barked a cough that probably had started its existence as a laugh. “Not much to see there.”

“You mistake my meaning. Your bullet proof vest would have stopped the bullet, but not the percussive damage. I want to see the vest… and then the damage.

Regarding her seriously, he understood that her request was not of a romantic nature, and stood up, unbuttoning his weskit with shaking fingers. She stepped closer to him, and helped him remove his shirt, gentle fingers gracing his sides when there was nothing else between them but the thin bullet proof vest, which for all intents and purposes was more of a bullet proof shirt, and the t-shirt that he wore underneath that.

“Are you all right?” she asked, as he unzipped the side of the bullet proof vest and she helped him pull it over his head.

Sharp brown eyes slammed closed as he looked off to the side, and took in a sad, shivering breath. He barked out a barely covered cough, and whispered his apologies.

His breathing became erratic, and Molly couldn’t tell if he was having a panic attack or starting to cry. As luck would have it, it was both.

“I can’t let you see that. I can’t…” he gasped out, his breathing far too shallow to be healthy.

Slowly, she guided him to the bed, and sat down next to him, her dress sliding awkwardly off of the duvet. Holding both of his hands in her own, she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s okay, Mycroft. It’s over. It’s all over. You saved the day; of course you did – as always. A real life hero you are,” she babbled at him. “My hero.”

At the last two words, he doubled over towards her, his erratic breathing coupled with harsh sobs.

Scooching herself closer, so that he could rest his head on her shoulder, she let the emotions of the evening come pouring out of the most strong and debonair man that she had ever known. Keeping one arm around him, she rubbed her other hand up and down his arm. “Rest. It’s all right. It’s all right. Let it out,” she mumbled to him, secretly looking forward to later, once he was asleep and she could sequester herself into the bathroom and have her own teary release.

“I can’t… I c-can’t,” he stated through the tears, and Molly realized that it wasn’t that he was decompressing from the night, but that the intimacies had over whelmed him.

“It’s all right,” she said, pressing a kiss to his head. “I apologize, Mycroft. I didn’t mean to pressure you. To make you feel uncomfortable.” She strengthened her grip on him.

She felt him begin to pull away, but kept a strong hold on him. “M-Molly, I hah-“ He snorted and pulled in a sharp breath, holding it as he realized that the tissues were too far away, and his handkerchief was useless.

Quickly, Molly pulled a folded tissue out of her bust. “It’s clean,” she said as she handed it over.

The shock of what had just happened caused him to pause, but only for a second. “YIH-ETCHSSCCHH! ETCSCCCH! ESTTCCHH! Yih-ISSHOO!” The tissue was all but useless after the first sneeze, and he cried out in alarm when Molly got up and got the box of tissues.

“Bless you, “ she said, putting the tissues in his lap. She put her arms around him again. “I’m right here,” she assured him, quietly.

After what seemed like an eternity of nose blowing, he yawned, admitting defeat to the exhaustion that nagged at the fiber of his being. Sliding under his covers, he divested himself of his pants, and waited as Molly went into the lavatory to put on her pajamas and wash up. He wanted to wait for her, and see how they were most comfortable sleeping. He did have access to the keys to the rooms next door, if she wanted her own room. As he pondered how nice it would be to have her stay, however, he fell into a much needed sleep.

Molly stayed in the lavatory until she heard Mycroft’s light snores. Sliding herself onto the floor, she buried her head in her knees and finally allowed her own decompression to come. She let the negative thoughts about her own ineptitude wash over her completely. She should have known to get the name of the woman who had been so rude to her. She should have kept her phone on her, or a closer eye on Mycroft. She should have been there for him in a more effective manner, and now he was asleep with goodness new how much damage done to him, and she had no idea. She pushed away her feelings of inadequacy, and the weird twinge of guilt that when he needed physical support, he leaned on Anthea. And why shouldn’t he? She was his personal assistant, and was good at her job – the best. And while Molly was there, her low level clearance, her ineptitude when it came to politics and diplomacy, the fact that she didn’t know how to properly help him decompress – it all spelled it out to her what a failure she was during this day.

Sobs overtook her, and she did her best to cry into her knees. She didn’t want to wake him. Didn’t want to burden him with her own decompression. What was he going to do? Nothing. It wasn’t right for her to want him to hold her and assure her that she did well during this event. She did not. She was not worthy to be around people – not living ones. And certainly not important living ones. She had made a spectacle of herself, and Mycroft had put up with it.

Another idea swept over her. She was the reason that he was shot. Because he brought commoner to the State Dinner. She was seen as an infiltrator. If radicals like this existed, it had to come from somewhere… because just by bringing her, he had made a faux pas. She envisioned him on her slab, and the sobs increased three fold, nearly choking her in the process.

She was so distraught that she jumped in surprise when a knock came on the door. “Molly, are you all right?” a tired voice asked her through the door.

No. The only true answer was no. And, she knew that she couldn’t fool him into believing otherwise. Reaching over, she unlocked the door. “Not really… I’m sorry I got you shot,” she responded thickly. At the sound of her own voice, she took some toilet roll and blew her nose thickly.

He looked at her. Her long brown hair was pulled into a pony tail, and she sat on the floor, her back to the tub, crying into her pajama clad knees.

“You didn’t,” he answered, still standing over her, as his exhausted mind tried desperately to come up with a conclusion for what he perceived to be an odd statement.

“I did… she shot you because common people came to the State Dinner. I am in all ways common. She thought you had fallen because of your choice of m-me.” Fat tears worked their way out again, and she snuffled thickly.

Refusing to sit on the bathroom floor, he shook his head. “It’s never that simple, Molly. You were a convenient excuse. But, they would have had to plan this for months if not longer. No one knew anything about you until you showed up. Do not take their comments to heart.”

She thought about that. He was right, of course.

“Come,” he said, with a sniffle. “Let’s get to bed. You can choose whether or not you’d like to sleep alone.”

“I would prefer to sleep with you,” she said, climbing into the same bed as he.

Settling together, Molly placed her head upon his shoulder. “You’ll tell me if you need anything during the night?” she asked, gently wrapping her arms around him.

He hummed an exhausted affirmative before they both fell to sleep.

November 8, 2017

This is the last bit of the State Dinner weekend.

Also, @Slithery Creepy Wyrm - Turn about, with Molly needing care from Mycroft is coming up in the next chapter. <3

Thank you to those who are commenting. Comments really help feed my muse!

Mycroft woke up with a soft snore, realizing that he could barely breathe. His limbs felt heavy, and his head was throbbing.

Trying to move, he found himself quite unable to and a surge of panic coursed through him in waves. Who had found him? Was he captured.

He pulled himself up, upsetting Molly, who had been asleep on his arm. Falling awkwardly to her side of the bed, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Mycroft, what is it?”

She gasped, as she was pushed roughly onto her back and held down. Sensing that he was disoriented and had not expected her to be there, she forced herself to say, “Mycroft, it’s Molly. Do you know where you are?”

“Oh dear Lord,” she heard, his rough voice squeak out as she was let go. “My most sincere apologies…”
The light clicked on, and Molly winced at the brightness.

“Molly,” he breathed, his breath hitching. He grasped for several tissues, and released a wet,” HmmFFSSCHH! Tess’CHOO! ING’TESSSH!! Guh-USSH!” His eyes remained closed and his nose buried for several seconds, until he was certain that the fit had passed.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder as he heard a soft blessing. He concentrated on his body placement, his breathing, anything not to through her off. “Please don’t touch me right now,” he huffed. But, even that was too much to maintain the delicate balance that his body had placed him in. “Uff-SCCHH!! Essh! Tesssh! Kessh! Kessh! Hessshhefff!” Each sneeze had been predicated by a high pitched wheeze as his congested lungs tried desperately to pull in air. His tissue was useless, and the soreness in his body was dwarfed by that fact. The hand, he noticed, was gone from his personhood. And no blessing followed.

His educated mind came up with the only logical conclusion: that she had abandoned him. State dinner, politics, drama, fear, and then taking care of him during decompression would have been enough to drive off anyone. But, the fact that he woke up hostile, and had held her down after forgetting that she was there. It was too much. He couldn’t blame her. If he had been
John or Greg or whomever she was going to tell about the weekend, he would be on the short list of people to make disappear. It was too much. His life was too intense to share with anyone. He knew that. Why had he let himself believe something different.

“Here,” Molly said, handing him a soft silk handkerchief. “It’s one of mine. I don’t know where you keep yours. It really wasn’t meant to be used so roughly, but short of grabbing a washcloth, she had little choice. She didn’t have the mind to go through his bags.

He looked her over incredulously. She had stayed? How wonderful. Taking her delicate handkerchief, he felt a pang of regret as he filled it so completely that it needed to be thrown away afterwards. He coughed a few times as the congestion
released. “Thank you,” he rasped, setting off a rough coughing spell.

Yawning, Molly went to the counter and got another bottle of water. “Here,” she said, climbing bac on her side of the bed.
He took the water bottle, and snuffled a bit. “Thank you,” he said, turning towards her as his breathing returned to normal. “Come, let me see,” he mumbled gently.

“What?” she asked, looking at him oddly. “I’m not hiding anything.” For one terrifying moment, she wondered if he wanted to see more of her than she was willing to show.

“Your arms. I so deeply apologize, Molly. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The remorse was easy to hear in his voice.

“You scared me. I’m not used to waking up next to someone who can kill me. Or make me disappear,” she said, as she held her arms out for him. “But, you really didn’t hurt me. “

He vaguely remembered the night before, when he teased that if he told her something that he would have to make her disappear. He sighed, looking down. “Molly, I will never physically harm you. I will protect you from those. One of the most important concepts when you know as much as I do about self defense is that you don’t hurt people with it. But, when I am having a nightmare… I urge you to move yourself away. “ He took her hands gently. “Promise me that you will not try to wake me from a nightmare. No matter how much you think it will help. Do not engage.” He coughed into a curled fist.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Only if you promise that someday you’ll teach me how to wake you safely.” As tense as the weekend had been, as serious as the conversation was, there was something comforting about sitting in bed with him having this conversation. The only way it would be better would be if there was coffee service.

A trembling hand moved a lock of Molly’s long brown hair backwards. It felt silky between his fingers, and fine. Fine… like Molly, a fine woman. They were so difficult to find, and even more difficult to connect with. And yet… here she was. He smiled at her, unguarded, and nodded. “Agreed.” It would take a world of training. Her reflexes would have to get faster, first. He could train her, if she was interested. But, that was a conversation for another day.

“And, before you start thinking that your … existence… is dependent on my good feelings for you… “ His breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered closed. Grasping another two tissues, he cursed his body for its most inopportune timing. “Hih…ETSCCCHH!! IGN’TEG’UGSSHH!! Ettcsshh! Tissh! Tissh! Egh-Eh-T’CHOO!” A few wet coughs worked their way out as well.

“Bless you,” she said, handing him a few more tissues. “Blow,” she said, biting her lip afterwards. Certainly, he didn’t need her to tell him how to handle his own symptoms. Especially if he tended to become ill around these events.

After relieving his nose, he swayed a bit, and felt calmed, when her hand found its way back to his shoulder.

“We’re going to need to cancel the brunch,” she stated.

“No, no… I can’t. Don’t worry. I know how to keep my symptoms … and my germs to myself.” He sniffled thickly, and winced at the sharp pain that throbbed in his sinuses. He heard her start to move. Quickly – but gently – he put his hand on her leg, through the covers. “Molly, please believe me when I state that only the dregs of humanity – the ones that are a threat to national security and cannot be handled any other way… disappear. “ He hoped he believed her. He couldn’t stand people who did things for him because they were afraid. It was one of the reasons that he didn’t date his own class. Those women wanted to get close to him for their own gains. Molly… she was different. He had no reason to believe that she had ever imagined that they would be… together. Or that her interactions with him would last beyond the first gala.

“Thank you for explaining that. I would like – um…” The words died on her lips.

“Say it,” he prompted.

“I would like it if this could continue. But, I don’t want to be scared that if it doesn’t… that if we break up, I’ll disappear.” Her breath caught.

Mycroft knew that he was a powerful man. Of course he did. He had connections, and experiences, and information that could cripple Britain and destroy the individual lives of just about anyone in it. But, he felt misunderstood in this moment. “Never think that. If we … do not continue an amicable relationship, you will not see me again. But, I will not seek to destroy you. You are not that important to the world at large.”

He knew that while logical, the statement was cold and bordered on the side of cruel. He regarded Molly with an odd look when she smiled at him.

“That makes me feel better, you know. It’s nice to not be important. To not matter.” Her voice shook, and she wondered how
many more blows her ego could take.

“You misunderstand. You matter to me, to Sherlock, and Greg, and John. You matter to those who love you, Molly. But, world leaders don’t know who you are yet. And that’s not a bad thing.” Caring was not an advantage. The second the world leaders found out that there was someone that Mycroft cared about, they would polarize. Some would do what it took to keep her out of the politics, and others would do anything to drag her into it… including sending people to hurt her in order to hurt him.

She smiled. “Thank you,” she said, feeling herself move forward to kiss him.

He turned his face away from her. “No… I feel wretched, and it’ll be a wonder if you don’t catch this from our close proximity already.”
She nodded, leaning over to press a kiss to his shoulder, anyway.

“What did you tell Greg?” she asked, getting out of bed. She wanted to know if she could talk to him, or if this was one of those things that she would have to deal with on her own.

“The press conference!” Mycroft, exclaimed, reaching over for the television remote. He seemed to have missed the first part of it, but DI Lestrade was talking about how shots were fired at the State Dinner, but no one was hurt, and the perpetrators had been taken into custody.

She sighed, supposing that answered that question. “Does he know about you being shot?” she asked.

He shushed her, his eyes bouncing around the screen as he took in all of the details that others would never even notice.

Sighing she went to take her shower. She would have to get through this on her own, it seemed.

Coming out, she realized that she had not brought her clothes into the bathroom, and hoped that Anthea would not be in the room with Mycroft. Wrapping the towel around herself, she entered the bedroom, happy that it was just her and Mycroft. “Sorry – forgot my bag,” she said, ignoring the fact that the telly was off, and she could talk to him.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade knows everything that happened. Why?”

She paused. “Because I need to talk to someone about what happened… and I know you’re not the right person to do so.”
Mycroft paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Why?”

“Because you’re going through your own decompressions. And, you’re a Holmes… other people’s feelings are not your forte.”

“I am not my brother,” he stated, his voice low.

“You have enough on your plate without dealing with my emotions.”

He went to respond, but pinched his nose shut and suppressed a fit of, “Tessh! Tessh! Esssh! Essh! Ketchoo!” He blew his nose lightly. “My apologies,” he said.

“Blessings. It’s all right. I know you’re not feeling well,” she said, making her way back to the lavatory.

“No. You misunderstand. My apologies for not being there for you last night. I didn’t have…”

“Spoons… you ran out of spoons. I understand. But, I… I … I…” She shook her head, feeling like her brain was stuck. “Look up spoon theory, while I get dressed.

Coming out of the lavatory, dressed, she regarded Mycroft, who was looking at her with a look that could only be called affectionate. “That was precisely what happened, Molly. I was out of spoons.”

She nodded. “I’m not out of spoons. But, I don’t know how to decompress. I don’t know how to process what happened. And,
I don’t think you spend a lot of time pondering the past. So, I was wondering if I could talk to Greg about it.”

He nodded, finally stretching and getting moving. “I actually spend a considerable amount of time thinking about the past. But, if you would like, you could decompress to Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

She nodded, not certain what to say. She was wondering if they were considered to be together. But, she didn’t want to ask that just yet. Maybe the following weekend… or the one after that.

---
The brunch was held at a lovely 1950s themed luncheonette. The group filled the main area, although Molly found herself distracted by the roofs of the nearby buildings that could be seen through the windows.

“Our snipers are up there. Don’t worry,” Mycroft whispered into her ear, drawing her attention back to the conversation.

“Sorry…,” she said, apologizing to the table. Marguerite and Aubrey had been explaining to the rest what they planned on doing for their summer vacation.

“We do have a lovely summer home near Cambridge. We’ll be there for the month of June, and we’d love it if the two of you would come out.”

Molly and Mycroft gave each other a nervous look.

“You don’t have to answer now of course. And, Molly, I do love a good girls weekend out. I’d hope that you would be willing to join me and a few friends of mine. No cost of yourself, of course,” she added. Molly had told them what she did for a living, and she realized that the cost of their lifestyle would be quite jarring to her.

“I would love to. Truly.”
Marguerite smiled at her. “I’ll contact Mycroft with the arrangements. Will that work for you dear?”

Molly smiled at the man at her side. She could tell that he was still not feeling well. His pallor was a little too pale. His nostrils tinged pink. But, he was well medicated, and acting as though he was well. She placed her hand on his leg, feeling privileged to be the woman at his side. As soon as he was better, she wanted to speak to him about exclusivity. She didn’t want to let a good thing slip away. And, looking at Mycroft and Mycroft woke up with a soft snore, realizing that he could barely breathe.   His limbs felt heavy, and his head was throbbing. Trying to move, he found himself quite unable to and a surge of panic coursed through him in waves.   Who had found him? Was he captured.
He pulled himself up, upsetting Molly, who had been asleep on his arm. Falling awkwardly to her side of the bed, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Mycroft, what is it?”
She gasped, as she was pushed roughly onto her back and held down. Sensing that he was disoriented and had not expected her to be there, she forced herself to say, “Mycroft, it’s Molly. Do you know where you are?”
“Oh dear Lord,” she heard, his rough voice squeak out as she was let go. “My most sincere apologies…”
The light clicked on, and Molly winced at the brightness.
“Molly,” he breathed, his breath hitching. He grasped for several tissues, and released a wet,” HmmFFSSCHH! Tess’CHOO! ING’TESSSH!! Guh-USSH!” His eyes remained closed and his nose buried for several seconds, until he was certain that the fit had passed.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder as he heard a soft blessing. He concentrated on his body placement, his breathing, anything not to through her off. “Please don’t touch me right now,” he huffed. But, even that was too much to maintain the delicate balance that his body had placed him in. “Uff-SCCHH!! Essh! Tesssh! Kessh! Kessh! Hessshhefff!” Each sneeze had been predicated by a high pitched wheeze as his congested lungs tried desperately to pull in air. His tissue was useless, and the soreness in his body was dwarfed by that fact.   The hand, he noticed, was gone from his personhood. And no blessing followed.
His educated mind came up with the only logical conclusion: that she had abandoned him. State dinner, politics, drama, fear, and then taking care of him during decompression would have been enough to drive off anyone. But, the fact that he woke up hostile, and had held her down after forgetting that she was there. It was too much. He couldn’t blame her. If he had been John or Greg or whomever she was going to tell about the weekend, he would be on the short list of people to make disappear. It was too much. His life was too intense to share with anyone. He knew that. Why had he let himself believe something different.
“Here,” Molly said, handing him a soft silk handkerchief. “It’s one of mine. I don’t know where you keep yours.   It really wasn’t meant to be used so roughly, but short of grabbing a washcloth, she had little choice. She didn’t have the mind to go through his bags.
He looked her over incredulously. She had stayed? How wonderful. Taking her delicate handkerchief, he felt a pang of regret as he filled it so completely that it needed to be thrown away afterwards. He coughed a few times as the congestion released. “Thank you,” he rasped, setting off a rough coughing spell.
Yawning, Molly went to the counter and got another bottle of water. “Here,” she said, climbing bac on her side of the bed.
He took the water bottle, and snuffled a bit. “Thank you,” he said, turning towards her as his breathing returned to normal. “Come, let me see,” he mumbled gently.
“What?” she asked, looking at him oddly. “I’m not hiding anything.” For one terrifying moment, she wondered if he wanted to see more of her than she was willing to show.
“Your arms. I so deeply apologize, Molly. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The remorse was easy to hear in his voice.
“You scared me. I’m not used to waking up next to someone who can kill me. Or make me disappear,” she said, as she held her arms out for him. “But, you really didn’t hurt me. “
He vaguely remembered the night before, when he teased that if he told her something that he would have to make her disappear. He sighed, looking down. “Molly, I will never physically harm you. I will protect you from those. One of the most important concepts when you know as much as I do about self defense is that you don’t hurt people with it. But, when I am having a nightmare… I urge you to move yourself away. “ He took her hands gently. “Promise me that you will not try to wake me from a nightmare. No matter how much you think it will help. Do not engage.” He coughed into a curled fist.
She took a deep breath and nodded. “Only if you promise that someday you’ll teach me how to wake you safely.” As tense as the weekend had been, as serious as the conversation was, there was something comforting about sitting in bed with him having this conversation. The only way it would be better would be if there was coffee service.
A trembling hand moved a lock of Molly’s long brown hair backwards. It felt silky between his fingers, and fine. Fine… like Molly, a fine woman. They were so difficult to find, and even more difficult to connect with. And yet… here she was. He smiled at her, unguarded, and nodded. “Agreed.” It would take a world of training. Her reflexes would have to get faster, first. He could train her, if she was interested. But, that was a conversation for another day.
“And, before you start thinking that your … existence… is dependent on my good feelings for you… “ His breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered closed. Grasping another two tissues, he cursed his body for its most inopportune timing. “Hih…ETSCCCHH!! IGN’TEG’UGSSHH!! Ettcsshh! Tissh! Tissh! Egh-Eh-T’CHOO!” A few wet coughs worked their way out as well.
“Bless you,” she said, handing him a few more tissues. “Blow,” she said, biting her lip afterwards. Certainly, he didn’t need her to tell him how to handle his own symptoms. Especially if he tended to become ill around these events.
After relieving his nose, he swayed a bit, and felt calmed, when her hand found its way back to his shoulder.
“We’re going to need to cancel the brunch,” she stated.
“No, no… I can’t. Don’t worry. I know how to keep my symptoms … and my germs to myself.” He sniffled thickly, and winced at the sharp pain that throbbed in his sinuses. He heard her start to move. Quickly – but gently – he put his hand on her leg, through the covers. “Molly, please believe me when I state that only the dregs of humanity – the ones that are a threat to national security and cannot be handled any other way… disappear. “ He hoped he believed her.   He couldn’t stand people who did things for him because they were afraid. It was one of the reasons that he didn’t date his own class. Those women wanted to get close to him for their own gains. Molly… she was different. He had no reason to believe that she had ever imagined that they would be… together. Or that her interactions with him would last beyond the first gala.
“Thank you for explaining that. I would like – um…” The words died on her lips.
“Say it,” he prompted.
“I would like it if this could continue. But, I don’t want to be scared that if it doesn’t… that if we break up, I’ll disappear.” Her breath caught.
Mycroft knew that he was a powerful man. Of course he did. He had connections, and experiences, and information that could cripple Britain and destroy the individual lives of just about anyone in it. But, he felt misunderstood in this moment.   “Never think that. If we … do not continue an amicable relationship, you will not see me again. But, I will not seek to destroy you. You are not that important to the world at large.”
He knew that while logical, the statement was cold and bordered on the side of cruel. He regarded Molly with an odd look when she smiled at him.
“That makes me feel better, you know. It’s nice to not be important. To not matter.” Her voice shook, and she wondered how many more blows her ego could take.
“You misunderstand. You matter to me, to Sherlock, and Greg, and John. You matter to those who love you, Molly. But, world leaders don’t know who you are yet. And that’s not a bad thing.” Caring was not an advantage. The second the world leaders found out that there was someone that Mycroft cared about, they would polarize. Some would do what it took to keep her out of the politics, and others would do anything to drag her into it… including sending people to hurt her in order to hurt him.
She smiled. “Thank you,” she said, feeling herself move forward to kiss him.
He turned his face away from her. “No… I feel wretched, and it’ll be a wonder if you don’t catch this from our close proximity already.”
She nodded, leaning over to press a kiss to his shoulder, anyway.
“What did you tell Greg?” she asked, getting out of bed. She wanted to know if she could talk to him, or if this was one of those things that she would have to deal with on her own.
“The press conference!” Mycroft, exclaimed, reaching over for the television remote. He seemed to have missed the first part of it, but DI Lestrade was talking about how shots were fired at the State Dinner, but no one was hurt, and the perpetrators had been taken into custody.
She sighed, supposing that answered that question. “Does he know about you being shot?” she asked.
He shushed her, his eyes bouncing around the screen as he took in all of the details that others would never even notice.
Sighing she went to take her shower. She would have to get through this on her own, it seemed.
Coming out, she realized that she had not brought her clothes into the bathroom, and hoped that Anthea would not be in the room with Mycroft. Wrapping the towel around herself, she entered the bedroom, happy that it was just her and Mycroft. “Sorry – forgot my bag,” she said, ignoring the fact that the telly was off, and she could talk to him.
“Detective Inspector Lestrade knows everything that happened. Why?”
She paused. “Because I need to talk to someone about what happened… and I know you’re not the right person to do so.”
Mycroft paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Why?”
“Because you’re going through your own decompressions. And, you’re a Holmes… other people’s feelings are not your forte.”
“I am not my brother,” he stated, his voice low.
“You have enough on your plate without dealing with my emotions.”
He went to respond, but pinched his nose shut and suppressed a fit of, “Tessh! Tessh! Esssh! Essh! Ketchoo!” He blew his nose lightly. “My apologies,” he said.
“Blessings. It’s all right. I know you’re not feeling well,” she said, making her way back to the lavatory.
“No. You misunderstand. My apologies for not being there for you last night. I didn’t have…”
“Spoons… you ran out of spoons. I understand. But, I… I … I…” She shook her head, feeling like her brain was stuck. “Look up spoon theory, while I get dressed.
Coming out of the lavatory, dressed, she regarded Mycroft, who was looking at her with a look that could only be called affectionate. “That was precisely what happened, Molly. I was out of spoons.”
She nodded. “I’m not out of spoons. But, I don’t know how to decompress. I don’t know how to process what happened. And, I don’t think you spend a lot of time pondering the past. So, I was wondering if I could talk to Greg about it.”
He nodded, finally stretching and getting moving. “I actually spend a considerable amount of time thinking about the past. But, if you would like, you could decompress to Detective Inspector Lestrade.”
She nodded, not certain what to say.   She was wondering if they were considered to be together. But, she didn’t want to ask that just yet. Maybe the following weekend… or the one after that.

---
The brunch was held at a lovely 1950s themed luncheonette. The group filled the main area, although Molly found herself distracted by the roofs of the nearby buildings that could be seen through the windows.

“Our snipers are up there. Don’t worry,” Mycroft whispered into her ear, drawing her attention back to the conversation.

“Sorry…,” she said, apologizing to the table. Marguerite and Aubrey had been explaining to the rest what they planned on doing for their summer vacation.

“We do have a lovely summer home near Cambridge. We’ll be there for the month of June, and we’d love it if the two of you would come out.”

Molly and Mycroft gave each other a nervous look.

“You don’t have to answer now of course. And, Molly, I do love a good girls weekend out. I’d hope that you would be willing to join me and a few friends of mine. No cost of yourself, of course,” she added. Molly had told them what she did for a living, and she realized that the cost of their lifestyle would be quite jarring to her.

“I would love to. Truly.”
Marguerite smiled at her. “I’ll contact Mycroft with the arrangements. Will that work for you dear?”

Molly smiled at the man at her side. She could tell that he was still not feeling well. His pallor was a little too pale. His nostrils tinged pink. But, he was well medicated, and acting as though he was well. She placed her hand on his leg, feeling privileged to be the woman at his side. As soon as he was better, she wanted to speak to him about exclusivity. She didn’t want to let a good thing slip away. And, looking at Mycroft and taking part of this conversation, she knew that this was a very good thing.

November 12, 2017

Poor Mycroft. He needs his own bed for a bit and not so many people depending on him.

On 11/7/2017 at 11:54 PM, frenchposie said:

She placed her hand on his leg, feeling privileged to be the woman at his side. As soon as he was better, she wanted to speak to him about exclusivity. She didn’t want to let a good thing slip away. And, looking at Mycroft and taking part of this conversation, she knew that this was a very good thing.

Good for you Molly go for it.

Day by Day (Sherlock, Mycroft)

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