Day by Day (Sherlock, Mycroft)

November 21, 2017

I've continued the story with the non-sneezy chapters on AO3, but I'll keep posting the sneezy chapters here.

Molly trudged into work, coughing into a balled up handkerchief. Thankful that she worked alone, and that she couldn’t infect the dead, she took a few cold tablets and tried to concentrate even though the only thing she wanted to do was sleep. She idly wondered if Mycroft had felt so ill and, if so, how he had been able to hide it.

Drawing in a breath that sounded more like a yelp than a breath, she turned away from her paperwork, and brought her handkerchief up to her nose and mouth. “Heh-Kesshessh! HEP-Essshessoo!!” She groaned as the sneezy feeling swelled in her nasal cavities again. “Eh-HEP-Shesssh!! Esshhkkshoo!” She coughed miserably.

She hoped that Sherlock would give it a rest. Just for today. If she needed to, she could take him on tomorrow. But, today she was more likely to sneeze on him to keep him away than she was to be able to handle his attitude, or his intelligence.

** I hear that you and Mycroft had a good time at the State Dinner. ** SH

Oh God, there he was.

**Yea** Molly

** Did my brother sit on the perp to keep things under control? ** SH

**You’re brother is a handsome man. You leave your brother alone.** Molly

The texting stopped and she couldn’t be more happy about that.

She pushed on for a few more hours, becoming decreasingly efficient. Finally, she knew that she needed help.

**Greg, are you working today?** Molly

She and Greg had become friends when they thought Sherlock was dead. His bitch of an ex-wife had been running him through the wringer, and she needed someone to talk to. Although it never proceeded beyond friendship, even after his divorce, they had learned to lean on each other a bit, especially we they felt vulnerable to the world. So it was no surprise that she reached out to Greg now.

** Just the press conf follow up. What’s up, Molly** GL

She sucked in deep breath and let out a barrage of wet coughs into her handkerchief. By the end of the fit, she was rubbing her chest, and wishing that she was home.

**I’m sick. Can you get me home, please?** Molly

She had hardly hit send when she was overcome with the next swell of nasal tickling. “HEP-Tessshh! Esssheeeh! AK-Epsheeshh!” The sneezes came barreling out, and she was barely able to raise a wrist to her mouth before she sprayed her phone. Sitting down heavily in her seat, she sent an email off to her boss asking for the next two days off. She offered to come to his office to show him that she was unwell, but he didn’t go for it.

By the time Greg got there, she had pushed beyond her depleted capacity, and was huffing more heavy coughs into her now mostly useless handkerchief. “Excuse me,” she said, suppressing a few coughs after her rough statement.

Greg, who had been concerned about her when she asked for his assistance noticed that his concern had been well founded. “Aw, Molly,” he said. “You look done in.”

She nodded at him. “Sorry to call you away,” she rasped. “I wanna go home.” She sniffled slightly, dabbing at her nose with her handkerchief. Reddened and sore, she wanted nothing more than to get into her pajamas with a nice cuppa tea and fall to sleep.

“Come on,” he whispered, putting his arm around her shoulders tenderly, and leading her out to the car.

Once they got to her house, he fixed them a nice pot of tea while she changed into her pajamas. “So, why did you call me, and not Mycroft?” he asked, pouring her a cup.

She pulled her throw blanket around her and shivered slightly. “I dunno. I didn’t want to bother him. He’s always so busy. Besides, he doesn’t need to worry ab – abou- t…” Quickly, she put her cup down, and scooped up her fresh handkerchief. “Hep-Tesshh! Do excuse me,” she muttered not realizing how much she was starting to sound like Mycroft.

“God bless you. Molly, I’m pretty sure he’d want to know.” And if the daft prat was anything like his younger brother, Greg had no problem going up to his posh palace and telling him exactly how not to ruin this relationship.

She shrugged. She knew that she enjoyed taking care of him while he was at less than his best. But, she rather doubted that he would feel the same. “I’ll text him in a bit,” she said in the most unconvincing way. The truth was that she had learned to be comfortable with Greg. Their friendship had once revolved completely around Sherlock, but during the two years that Sherlock had been gone, they had gotten to know each other quite well and fell into an easy friendship. She didn’t have this level of companionship with Mycroft yet.

“Lay down, Molly. I’ll stay with you for a while.” Greg knew that she didn’t like to be alone when she was unwell. Her fever would cause disorientation, and waking up alone sometimes affected her very badly.

As she dozed, he recalled the first time that he had spent the night at her place when she was unwell. He had slept in a chair by her bed. Rather an uncomfortable thing to do. While it was a caring gesture, it was not appreciated by either of them when she woke up with a blood curdling scream, thinking that he was someone else. The terror in his eyes had been a hard visual to shake. It was at that time he learned that either she needed to know that he was in the room when she went to sleep, or he needed to be in a different room when she woke up. Poor dear. People knew about his relationship troubles, but so few knew about the hell that she had been through over the years.

It had always surprised him how she was drawn in the narcissists and sociopaths. She was so incredibly intelligent, awkwardly funny, and girl next door beautiful. He wished that he had not delayed the divorce as much as he had. Were he a single man, at the same time that she was a single woman, he would certainly ask Molly out. But, life never overlapped like that. So, he remained content that she trusted him when she was at her weakest and most vulnerable.

Taking a deep breath, he rested his eyes. He thought about their talk after the events of the State Dinner. He nearly drove his fist through his desk when she casually mentioned that she didn’t know how to categorize or compartmentalize her feelings. How Mycroft could forget to help her decompress? He had paced his office as he talked her through the ordeal, impressed by how well she handled it all.

“Are you all right, Greg? You seem upset.” She had asked him afterwards. Of course she would pick up on the tightness in his voice. She always did. It was one of the things that he liked so much about her. She was so intuitive. His thoughts drifted to Mycroft, who was also rather intuitive. But, matters of the heart did not tend to be the strong suit of the Holmes brothers.

He drew in a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his eyes. He almost wanted to do one of those things like that play. Where he told Mycroft what the right things to do with Molly were, so that he didn’t screw this up. He smiled as Molly let out a small snuffly snore.

‘Poor thing,’ he thought. He scratched over his end of the day stubble, and sighed as he turned on the telly. He hushed her when she startled, feeling the guilt that he knew he would. Turning down the volume he found something mindless, and drifted off to sleep in the chair.

He startled awake at a persistent knock at the door. Casting a concerned look at Molly, she continued to sleep on. “I’ll be right back, love,” he stated, placing a warm hand on her back. She tipped her chin slightly, although he wasn’t certain if she was responding to his words or his touch.

Looking through the door peep, he sighed and hoped that Mycroft would not be too put off by his being here. Opening the door, he cleared his throat a little bit before drawing in a deep breath.

“Detective Inspector, I did not expect you to be here,” Mycroft stated in an attempt to mask his surprise. “To what do I owe this surprise?” Molly had missed their dinner and did not call him to cancel. His mind whirled with the reasons that would cause Lestrade to be in her apartment. Finally – mere seconds later – his mind decided that the top two scenarios were that something had happened to Molly or that they were having a tryst. He did not like either scenario, and was hopeful that Lestrade would offer him a third option.

“Molly is ill,” Lestrade said, his voice low. He moved out into the hallway, forcing Mycroft to step out of the way. Closing the door most of the way behind him, he continued. “It’s nothing to be concerned over, but she has a rotten cold, and she’s asleep.”

Mycroft blinked hard. Why hadn’t Molly called him to let him know?

“Now before ye ask, I did tell her to contact you. But, she fell asleep before she got around to it. I haven’t had the heart to wake her.”

Mycroft nodded. Lestrade had, in fact, offered him a third answer. “Thank you Detective Inspector…”
“Greg,” Lestrade interjected.

“Ah, yes. My apologies.” He had forgotten that when people were off duty, they tended to drop pretenses. Since he was never off duty, he forgot this social norm sometimes. “Gregory, I want to thank you for being there for Molly. I did not realize that the two of you were so close.” Dark eyes looked over the older man. He certainly had a lot to offer to a woman, despite his failed marriage. He could see what Molly might see in him: a stable man, silver fox, handsome, kind, trustworthy, honest, hardworking….

Greg shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of Mycroft Holmes. “I don’t want ye to get the wrong idea. Molly and I are friends, that’s all. She’s helped me through some pretty rough times. And when she feels…” Vulnerable was the word that came to mind, but he couldn’t say that, “unwell, she calls me to spend the night.” The second the words were out of his mouth, he knew that stating ‘vulnerable’ would have bee a much better choice.

Mycroft’s eyes widened and he felt his heart harden just a bit. He supposed that it was his own fault. He had never spoken to her about exclusivity. Were he to be honest with himself, he didn’t think that he was going to have to. It all seemed to be going so well. But, he supposed there was only one thing left to do. “Well, then I’ll leave you two,” he said, forcing a smile.

“Mycroft it’s not like that,” Greg said, reaching out to grab the younger man’s shoulder.

“I’ll thank you to release me, sir,” Mycroft said, his voice a tight hiss.

“Come in… I didn’t want to wake her, but we can’t have this conversation out here.” He paused before adding, “I’m not sleeping with her. I’m keeping her safe.”

Mycroft bristled. “Safe? From what?” His hand dipped into his interior breast pocket, and he startled when Greg froze, release him, and started backing away. ‘Of course,’ he thought. Very slowly, he removed his cell phone.

Adrenaline coursed through him as the fears of ruining whatever relationship was growing, and then fears that he was going to be shot in retaliation, dissipated. He walked back inside, and was both relieved and terrified when Mycroft followed him.

“I assure you that I will not shoot you,” Mycroft said, seeming to read Greg’s thoughts.

“Thank you,” he said, leading into the kitchen. Turning to face the man, he pulled in a deep breath. “Look, Molly has been through the ringer with love. Yes, you all know about Moriarty, and Tom, and whatever she felt for Sherlock. But, you don’t know about the dates that didn’t work… the attacks on her way home from work… the people who she has had to hide from. When she gets sick, she feels vulnerable.” He paused, not wanting to say too much, lest the man in front of him think less of the woman whom he was obviously starting to care about.

“Ah,” Mycroft said. He knew the statistics about violence against women, of course. And he had a file of Molly – on all of them. But, as he learned more about her fears that came out of this ‘Charles’ fellow, he started to want to be there for her to make sure there was never a repeat of that again. “It’s kind of you to do that for her.”

“She’s a good friend,” Lestrade responded. “She was there for me at a time when few were. She made a safe space when I didn’t really have one.” He shifted uncomfortably under Mycroft’s gaze. “You have a good woman, who thinks the world of you. Please, don’t be angry because I’m her friend.”

Mycroft read all of the complicated emotions as they played over Lestrade’s face. Despite the fondness the man obviously held for Molly, there was no impropriety. He was a close, personal friend. That was good. Unlike him, Molly needed friends that she could trust. And, since he already trusted Lestrade, he felt his own insecurity ebbing away. “Thank you for explaining that,” he said, genuinely meaning it. Meer minutes before, he had been willing to walk away from something very precious, and he would have regretted it deeply. “Might I see her?”

“Of course,” Greg said with a nod, as he moved past Mycroft and lead him to the living room, where Molly remained asleep on the couch.

Mycroft felt a soft twist in his philosophical heart as he looked at her, pale and looking exhausted even in her sleep. “I wish to stay,” he said. “I can relieve you of your watch, or we can do so together, if you would not mind.” He looked imploringly at Greg, who had an array of protective emotions play through his eyes.

“Aye, yea. Um. Okay. I’ll leave you alone. I just um…” He felt a bit panicked, trying to figure out how much could be said without breaking Molly’s confidence. “Look, you can be in the room when she wakes up, if she’s here… in this room. If she’s in her bedroom, you can NOT be there. You can Not. Don’t you understand?”

Mycroft regarded the warning seriously. He wondered how much Lestrade was protecting. “I understand. I’m not demanding you leave,” he clarified.

“I understand that. But, um, maybe it’s best that you be here. I did want her to call you. I’m sorry that she did not.”

Molly coughed a little, causing the two men to focus on her. But, she did not wake up.

“I’ll be close,” Greg said, collecting his things. He knew that Molly would not mind Mycroft being in the house. And, he knew that Mycroft would not harm her. He felt slightly put out being asked to leave. He liked being there to protect Molly from her demons. His kids were older and didn’t need him to do that anymore. Chasing demons was his job, not just his employ. It was in his nature.

“I’m certain we will be fine. However, I want to thank you, Gregory. Both for being such a good friend to Molly, and for allowing me this honor.”

Greg looked him over, and looked as though he was going to respond, but shut his mouth and nodded his head instead. Walking out to his car, he turned it on, letting the heat blow on him. Reclining his seat ever so slightly, he waited.

Mycroft frowned looking at Molly asleep on the couch. For her to have slept through so much, she must have truly felt terrible. He could see her pallor off color, and her cheeks pink with a warm fever. Figuring that she would be more comfortable in her own bed, he gathered her in his arms, and went to move her. Not for the first time, he was pleased that he had kept fit throughout the years. He was thin, but that did not mean that he was not strong. And, although she was a healthy, curvy, woman, he found that she was easy to carry.

Molly startled a bit, aware that she was moving. But, she quickly fell back to sleep when she felt herself held tightly in warm, secure arms. It had been a long time since Greg had carried her to bed. But, he had learned what to do, and she trusted him. Words and noises of comfort were made, and she felt the arms around her grasp onto her just a little tighter. Feeling secure, she fell to sleep.

---
The sound of Molly’s scream pierced the night. Lestrade had drifted off in his car, and he startled awake. “That bastard,” he grunted, struggling against his exhausted body to turn off the car and get back into the house. He struggled with his keys at the door for a moment, sleep causing them to jangle longer than he would have liked.

Mycroft also jolted awake. He had pulled a folding chair that he found in her closet into her bedroom and enjoyed watching her sleep. Even after Lestrade’s warning, he hadn’t seen a problem with watching this precious woman who was so caring and kind to him during his own illness. What he hadn’t considered, however, was that he would fall to sleep.

“Greg!” Molly started to scream. “GREG!” The force of her scream started her off on a long coughing spell which winded her.

Mycroft got up, and went to the bed. “Molly. It’s all right. It’s me. Molly…” Guilt hit him in a wave when she scrambled away from him.

“No. No-no-no. Not again. I won’t let you do this again. How did you get in here? Get out!” she demanded, tripping over her own feet and falling to her knees. “GREG!” she yelled again. When she didn’t hear him coming, she burst into tears, her breathing coming in harsh gasps and punctuated by loud coughs. “Heh-Eesssttiww!” she sneezed freely, belatedly bringing her wrist to her nose. “Greg,” she whimpered between sobs, wondering what would cause him to leave her.

The light flipped on and she winced, closing her eyes against the brightness. She vaguely heard someone bless her, but she was afraid to open her eyes, and was too disoriented to pick out the voice.

“Molly!” he heard Greg’s voice carry down the hall, as well as his heavy steps.

“Molly, it’s all right. It’s just me,” Mycroft said, crouching down next to her. “It’s Mycroft. Molly look at me. You’re not in danger.”

“Mycroft?” she asked, looking at him in utter confusion.

“Aye, but you are,” Greg said, coming in and going straight to Molly. The look that he was giving Mycroft was seething. Kneeling down next to her, he pet the side of her hair, frowning at how high her fever was. “It’s all right, Molly. I didn’t go far.”

Molly sneezed wetly into her hands, leaving her head bowed as she cried fat tears. “I thought it was him again. I thought it was him,” she sobbed.

“God bless you,” both men said, not quite in unison.

“Here,” Mycroft said, trying to hand her his handkerchief. Looking down at the scene, remorse was etched into his features. He wished he understood what had happened to cause her such pain. He hadn’t been untoward towards her, so he figured it wasn’t something that he personally had done. He wondered if this was part of the mark that Charles fellow had left on her. Anthea had already started research on who he could be.

“I would never leave him with you Molly. I would never leave you with someone who you weren’t safe with. I assure you. It’s Mycroft. You’re safe with Mycroft.” He put one large hand on the side of her head, feeling the sweat and tears that had mingled with her hair. With his other hand he took Mycroft’s handkerchief and handed it over to her.

Giving her a moment to clean herself up, he glared at Mycroft. “I told you, specifically, not to be in here when she woke up.” He looked around for a moment. “How did she get up here?”

“I carried her. She couldn’t have been comfortable on the couch, not all night,” Mycroft reasoned.

“That was kind of you,” he mumbled. Turning his attention back to Molly, he crouched back down with a groan. His knees did not move as easily as they used to. “Come on, Molly,” he said, bracing his arms around her. “Up you get.”

She nodded, and allowed Greg to help her up. Turning to the other man, she looked at him as though he were an apparition. Reaching up to touch his cheek, she looked him over, brows furrowed as though he were a specimen to be studied.

He breathed in, having been in the room when she had slapped his brother more than once, and figured that it was likely he had crossed a line and earned his own slap.

She drew her hand back when he stilled. Something was wrong. Fear? She was so tired, and… what was going on?

“Mycroft, what are you doing here?” she asked gently.

“You missed our dinner reservation. I was concerned and came over to check on you. And, um, Detective Inspector Lestrade allowed me the honor of caring for you.”

Confused, she turned to Greg. “But, you didn’t leave….”

“I was in my car,” he admitted. “I knew that you might be disoriented when you woke up. I’m sorry, Molly. I didn’t expect it to go so badly.”

She nodded, looking between the two men. Her breath hitched… then again. Turning away from both of them, she brought the handkerchief back to her nose, clasping it in both hands. “Heh-Chesssh! Esshheww!” She blew her nose a bit, and looked back at the two of them. “I guess we should get some tea,” she mumbled, making to leave the bedroom.

“No, love. You get back in bed,” Greg said, gently. He put his hand on her arm, and tried to get her to acquiesce.

“Nnnn,” she mumbled as she shook her head. “Not alone. Please don’t leave me alone.”

Mycroft felt as though his heart might break. She was truly terrified. He had caused that. “I should go,” he stated. “Molly, I deeply apologize for the inconvenience I have caused.”

“Mycroft, please stay,” she said. She knew what they had was delicate. And if he was leaving because she was a sick, paranoid mess, she couldn’t blame him. However, she wanted desperately for him to stay.

He was about to say something when his cell phone pinged. Looking down, he saw that it was from Greg.

**You’re a prat. I told you what not to do. This is why. GL **

** I see that now. Should I make my excuses? MH **

** No, she wants you here. Stop being a prat. GL **

“Yes, of course. I’ll stay with you, and Gregory can make us tea. Will that suffice?” he asked, looking up at Lestrade, who was nodded and walked away.

“Yes,” she agreed, making her way back to bed. Settling into her bed with a sigh, she looked up at Mycroft, who had sat back in the seat he brought into her room. She felt embarrassed and shamed. This is what she had wanted to avoid by not calling him. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Dropping her gaze she tried not to start to cry again. “I’m so sorry, Mycroft. I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore,” she whispered.

Mycroft, who had been sitting silently, trying to find the right words to apologize for terrifying her so completely, snapped to attention. “I’m sorry? What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

She shook her head, sniffling as tears started to drip down her cheeks. “I’m a mess. And I have a past, and I’m not perfect like you and your life.” She squeaked out a breath, and tried to breathe around her congestion, causing her to swallow thickly.

Thin eyebrows knit together in confusion. Perfection? Him? He was anything but that. She had seen him ill, feverish, and waking up violent. And somehow, she thought that her past would be a deterrent? “I’m not perfect, Molly,” he stated, reaching over to pull out a few tissues. Moving to the bed, he sat down lightly on the edge and pat away her tears.

Quickly, Molly reached out to grab a few tissues. “Hep-Shesstth!” she sneezed wetly, causing Mycroft to jump slightly.

“God bless you,” he stated, as she blew her nose. “This is not a deterrent. I just wish you told me you were ill.”

She shook her head slightly. “You have more important people to take care of than me,” she stated. “I could handle it, especially with Greg. You didn’t need to worry about me.”

Greg watched the conversation from the doorway. He hoped that Molly would realize that Mycroft was being more tender than most knew that he could be. He hoped that they allowed themselves to come together over this. They deserved happiness, and if they brought it to each other, he would count himself lucky to have been there.

“I’m glad you have Gregory,” who is watching from the doorway. He didn’t know why people thought they could sneak up on him, but he was more than happy to allow them to keep these misconceptions about them. Underestimation was an advantage. “I’m glad he’s there for you. But, I want to be there for you to, when I can be, if you’ll allow me to.” He wanted to talk to her about exclusivity. But, he knew that now was not the time.

She nodded simply. “I’d be honored to take up a piece of your time,” she stated. Her mind was getting fuzzy again. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. Next time I’ll let you know what’s going on.”

He gave her a small smile and leaned over, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Closing her eyes, she sighed happily. A few breaths later, she was asleep again. Ever so gently, Mycroft positioned her on the bed, and covered her up. Giving Greg a small nod, he turned off the light, and made his way out of the room.

November 21, 2017

So excited to see the interactions with Molly sick.

November 22, 2017

This is absolutely mind-blowing. I am in awe of your characterizations!! I simply cannot wait for more ❤

November 22, 2017

1 hour ago, ichixshiro14 said:

This is absolutely mind-blowing. I am in awe of your characterizations!!

Awwww thank you! That totally made my day!!

November 24, 2017

Oh for a moment I thought Greg and Mycroft were going to have a dog fight over Molly. How nice of Greg to try to explain to Mycroft how to take care of Molly instead.

Edited November 25, 2017 by Slithery Creepy Wyrm

November 24, 2017

Im not certain the dogfight wont happen. Greg is pretty angry right now

November 24, 2017

I love protective!Greg. Don't screw things up Mycroft!

November 30, 2017

@AngelEyes - Don't worry... much.

Another minimal sneezing chapter. But, it's so sweet that I wanted to share it with you all. Sorry it's pretty vanilla. I'll be posting more sneezing soon. <3

Mycroft sniffed as he watched his brother laugh on the CCTV footage. It wasn’t like him to get so emotional over his brother being happy. Of course that’s what he always wanted. But, he was never able to take his ego out of it. He was never able to let go, and let his brother be happy without his ‘meddling’ as some would put it. He just wanted to be involved.

Of the three of them: him, Eurus, and Sherlock, Sherlock had been the one with the least control over his emotions. Pride and ego was something, Mycroft had learned, that the all possessed. It made them excel in their chosen foci. But, whereas Eurus only felt actionable emotions for Sherlock, Sherlock felt actionable emotions for everyone. He hid it in his mind-palace, and it would often present itself as anxiety, but it was there. Mycroft… well he was another matter all-together, and that didn’t matter at all.

Pain stabbed at his heart, as he saw Sherlock stick his tongue out at the camera. A juvenile gesture at best. He turned off the camera.

What he didn’t see was Sherlock’s eyebrows knit together when the camera stopped following them. Maybe Mycroft wasn’t watching after all. He wasn’t certain how he felt about that.

Taking a shaky breath, he withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose slightly. He had backed off considerably after Sherrinford. The two of them had slipped back into their slightly uncomfortable relationship. They would never be as close as they were when they were children, again. Perhaps it was because they didn’t need the connection anymore. Mycroft didn’t feel that way. But, if you asked around, he was the Ice Man; the man with the cold heart. He didn’t have feelings according to nearly anyone who had the misfortune to run across his path.

There were a few people who saw through his cold demeanor. His parents used to, but now they could barely stand to be in the same room as he. They accepted him as their son; he had not been disowned, yet. But, they didn’t want to talk, and they no longer tried to draw him out. Ice Man.

Anthea, of course, knew him better. In fact, she probably knew him better than anyone else. She had to in order to always be one step ahead of him, to always know what he needed, and when. They were like wheels of a clock, both working independently of each other, but unable to do run the bigger picture without their joint motions.

And then there was Molly… she had come seemingly out of nowhere. He had known her before the mess with his sister, of course. But, he hadn’t paid her much mind, except when he had to work with her to help Sherlock disappear. He had known then that she was more than she pretended to be, but weren’t they all? He hadn’t really seen her, and from what he was gathering she had been too scared to really see him. It was all right, he knew that he could be intimidating. He crafted an entire personae around being intimidating and off putting.

He drew in a deep breath and opened the center drawer of his desk. Ever so carefully, he pulled out a velvet box, and clicked it open. Inside was an understated white gold chain, with a sapphire drop at the end. The day had come for him to propose exclusivity to Molly.

He knew it was a bit extravagant, but that was what money was for. He already had his estate, his career, his savings. A trust had been set up for Sherlock, and everything was in place should he meet with an unfortunate end. But, tonight was about beginnings.

By the time dinner time had rolled around, he was scarcely hungry for it, however. The day had been fraught with meetings and diplomatic relations that turned his stomach. Lunch was nearly missed, although he was able to eat a banana while he was travelling from one meeting to another. His head hurt from the extensive politicking that would be necessary to keep all player in line and happy, but he needed a diplomat to give up just one concession before he could put the others in motion. While none of dignitaries were willing to give their counter-stance an inch, each of them had something that the others needed.

As soon as the balance was set in motion, Mycroft looked at the clock. Embarrassed, he realized that he would be late for his date with Molly. He had sent a car to get her and bring her to La Trompette, an hour ago. Turning on his phone, he looked at it and saw that it had several texts, most wondering where he was. The last one, however, made him swallow his pride and call her.

**Am I not dressed nicely enough? I did try you know. You could have at least come in and told me that I had done poorly.** Molly

He held his breath as he put the jewelry box into his briefcase. He pushed his files together, and neatly arranged those that could wait until the next morning. Her phone was ringing, and he wondered if he had missed her completely.

A thunderous sneeze erupted from him, as he locked his door, certain to have his coat, umbrella, briefcase, keys, and phone. He had not been breathing and his nerves had triggered an errant itch. Unfortunately, his hands were already occupied, so he too advantage of his empty office and sneezed freely.

“Goodness, Mycroft. Bless you,” Molly said into his ear.

Of course she would have picked the second before to pick up.

He sniffed, and removed the phone from his ear, texting his driver to meet him at the door. “My apologies, Molly,” he said after a moment. My meetings ran late. Are you still at the restaurant?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid the waitstaff believes that I have been stood up and has moved me to the bar,” she said, her voice sounding tight… embarrassed.

“They what?” he asked, mortified for her. “You tell them to put you at the table that I had reserved for us. Do not take no for an answer. I should be there in twenty minutes. I know that you’ve been waiting for a long while, but please order us the tasting meus with wine and I’ll be there by the time the food gets there.” Just thinking about her being asked to be moved made his stomach cramp in protestation. He pressed on it with his free hand, and tried to ignore the warm pain as it spread across his torso.

“All right, Mycroft,” she responded somewhat uncertainly. “Are you certain that you want to meet tonight? If work has been too much of a bear, I will understand. You’re not the first man to stand me up. I can handle it; I assure you.” What she could not handle was the bill for 125 quid a piece, if he did not show.

The uncertainty in her voice made his stomach twist all the more. He should have texted her and explained that he was going to be late. He should have delayed the car, or told the restaurant to keep her entertained. These were things that he had never thought about before, but he mentally catalogued them as he heard her make his excuses for him. He would learn to make these concessions, if only to never hear the mistrust in her voice again. “I am on my way, I assure you. Please, don’t,” his stomach took a violent twist and he winced, “don’t leave.” He nearly huffed out the last part of his request. This, above all else, was what drew him to Molly. He felt comfortable being less than his best around her. Once upon a time, it had been a position held only by a much younger Sherlock. But, he had taught Sherlock too well, and the little boy who once thought that his brother could do anything, now thought that his brother was worthless, a man who couldn’t do anything right. His stomach gave another turn and his hissed, not realizing that Molly was still on the phone.

“Mycroft, what is it? Are you not well?” She could hear the pinched sound of his voice, and it worried her greatly.

He was amazed at what she was able to pick up over the phone. “I’m fine. My stomach is giving me a bit of an issue because I didn’t eat enough today,” he lied smoothly. In actuality, his ulcer was giving him a rough time, but she did not need to know that. Not yet. He couldn’t let her see all of his issues, not all at once. She would never stay, and he wanted her to stay.

“All right then. I’ll ask for our table back, and place the order. Do be careful. I love you,” she said, and then hung up. As soon as the phone disconnected, she winced, hard. She couldn’t believe that she had said that to him. He was a Holmes; they didn’t love. They didn’t put stock in the concept at all. And he was already ill, even if he hadn’t used those exact words.

Carefully, she summoned a member of the wait staff and had them reseat her at a proper table. Placing the order, she supposed that she would at least eat well before he broke it off with her.

Mycroft, on the other hand, sat stark still for several minutes after the phone had disconnected. She said she loved him. Loved him? He could count the number of none familial relations who had used that word. Worse yet, he didn’t like the modern construct of love. The gooey romantic ridiculousness of it all, when it was a chemical reaction in the brain made him feel physically ill. Molly had not given him a chance to say it back, and he wasn’t even certain if she had realized what she had said. But, if she had… well that was an elephant to deconstruct.

He realized, belatedly, that he didn’t want to bring his briefcase into the restaurant. What if she said yes to his… condition… of exclusivity? He would have to open his briefcase there. Well, there was nothing to be done for it, so he grabbed his umbrella and briefcase and, with a sniffle, entered the restaurant.

He spotted Molly immediately and was struck by how beautiful she looked. Her hair was done up in a pretty up-do that looked something like a mix between a bun and a braid. He didn’t know what these things were called, exactly, but he did know that it seemed effortless. She was wearing a striking blue top, with three quarter length sleeves, and a simple fluted skirt. She was in every way a lady, and he knew that he needed to let her know that.

Walking up to the table, he cleared his throat and made his apologies as he sat down. “I’ll endeavor to let you know when I’m running late in the future.” ‘If there is a future,’ he thought. He took a deep breath through his nose and tried to ignore the thoughts that seemed determined to undermine him.

She gave him a sad smile, and shrugged, afraid to say anything else. “I ordered,” she muttered, taking a sip of her wine.

Posture forward, eyes squinted, breathing quickened. Mycroft couldn’t blame her for being upset. He would be quite upset if he had been stood up for that long. It was unacceptable, really. She had different priorities, but her time was valuable, and he had not respected it.

He took a deep breath, and squinted slightly as his stomach turned again.

“I apologize for what I said on the phone,” she stated so quickly that he barely registered what she had said.

“Molly, I’m not upset,” he stated. “I was not expecting it. But, I’m not upset about it.”

It certainly wasn’t the ‘I love you too’ that she had hoped. But, he had shown up and he was speaking to her. So, maybe she hadn’t lost everything. She looked at him with sad eyes.

He analyzed her, trying to figure out why she was so sad all of the sudden. “I care about you a great deal,” he explained. “But, I don’t like the modern construct of love. I’m not a overtly sentimental man. But, I do care for you, and I want to see you happy. I want to help make you happy…” His voice was even, but he was so far out of his depth, he was pulling on his diplomatic experience in order to maintain his casual demeanor.

Her eyes focused on him, and she smiled despite herself. The speech was almost Holmesian for ‘I love you, too.’ “Mycroft, I’m not saying I want to marry you tomorrow. I just… I really like spending time with you. I want to make you happy, and I know I’m lacking, but I’m willing to try.”

He reached across the table, and grasped her hand in his own. He couldn’t stand to hear such a wonderfully dynamic lady put herself down. “You’re not lacking. You’re learning. I’m willing to teach you what you need to know in order to navigate the finer art of politics. If you would like to continue this arrangement with me.”

She flexed her fingers around his hand, as she looked at their combined hands. She felt the stress waft off of her. “Mycroft, what precisely are you asking?” she queried, worried that she was reading too far into it.

“I want you to be my exclusive … partner? My apologies, girlfriend sounds so juvenile. But, that is what I’m asking. Will you be exclusive with me?” He pulled his hand back slightly as he sat up straight.

She gave him a little nod as she beamed at him. “I would be honored to be your exclusive girlfriend, “ she responded.

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief, and they both leaned back slightly as the food arrived. “Before we… celebrate… “ Mycroft continued. “I do have one favor to ask.”

Brown eyes bounced over his features as she tried to desertion what it could be. “Um, all right…” she said, having long since learned not to say something stupid like ‘anything.’

“I want you to be friends with my brother again.”

Understanding crossed her features as she deflated slightly. “I see. You could have just asked me to do that. You didn’t have to pretend…”

“I’m not pretending. I do want to be exclusive with you,” he cut her off. He knew that it was rude, but he couldn’t bear to hear her accuse him of pretending to want to be with her.

“Then why?”

“He won’t let me … since Eurus…” His voice caught and he took a sip of his wine to try to wash away the nerves. “He trusts you Molly. And I think you would be surprised how much better he treats you when you don’t just give him his way.”

Molly blinked a few times, trying not to say anything about how poorly he treated Mycroft. It wasn’t fair. They were brothers. It was different. He nodded. “I’ll work with you to help your brother. I care about Sherlock too.”

Mycroft winced ever so slightly, even as he breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said.

“Mycroft, are you certain you are all right? You seemed to be… troubled?”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “It’s been a long day. Perhaps you would concede to have coffee with me at my house afterwards, rather than having dessert here?”

A playful smile crossed her face. “I know what that means,” she teased. She took a bite of her food, and made a happy noise. The food was exquisite!

He looked at her, puzzled. “I don’t understand…” he said, taking a moment to process what he was saying. A flush rose in his cheeks as he realized what she was insinuating. “Molly, no…I would never presume.”

A full smile blossomed over her face. “I’m teasing! I would be honored to have coffee at your house afterwards.” She laughed a bit, nervous yet comfortable.

She wasn’t laughing at him, he realized. Again, she had just accepted him: accepted him being late, accepted his proposal, accepted his terms, and accepted his near faux pas. He found himself at ease with her, again. “Thank you,” he said, smiling at her with a smile that reached his eyes.

December 1, 2017

Awww. So sweet!

December 31, 2017

Wow. This whole fic was heartbreaking and amazing. I've never considered a Molly/Mycroft pairing but you wrote it beautifully. Thank you!

January 1, 2018

That was very sweet. Mycroft trying to navigate emotions and not being very good at it melts my heart.

January 29, 2018

My Day by Day story is continuing on rather nicely. Not so many sneezing chapter, but in this one, we have a sweet night with Mycroft and Molly and Mycroft coming down with ... something. (What, has yet to be decided.) Molly's been having a rough time, so Greg takes her shopping (on Mycroft's dime, of course.) She's been dolled up and dressed to impress. This chapter starts at the end of their day shopping.

Hope you enjoy it, and it's not too non-sequitur...

FP

-

Greg drove Molly to Mycroft’s townhome and helped her out of the car. It had been an emotional day for both of them, but in the end, she looked rather posh. Lovely clothing that properly fit her body and make up that made her eyes pop. He pretended not to notice as she looked in the vanity mirror on the way.

“Thanks,” she whispered, looking at the town home. She brushed a long lock of hair behind her ear. “I feel like I don’t look like me,” she admitted, giving him a nervous smile.

“You look like you, Mol. It’s not like they put on clown make-up. But, a more refined you. And really, that was kinda the goal wasn’t it?” He knew that Molly felt the pressure of a curvy woman in the world. And, if the call he got from John was any indication, the poor thing was considering surgery – again. Usually, she only brought it up when they had been drinking. For her to have said it stone sober, she had to be feeling really down on herself. It made him want to slug the hell out of Mycroft. But, as much as anyone could figure, it wasn’t anything that Mycroft had done or said to cause it. Maybe she was finally feeling comfortable enough with herself to voice those thoughts. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe she had finally found the acceptance in Mycroft that she had pined for with Sherlock, and Moriarty, and Tom, and countless others. Maybe her honesty was a good thing. And, if it wasn’t, he would break that elegant nose of Mycrofts’.

“I feel like – pretty. Like posh, pretty. You know? I like it,” she confided with a large grin. She hugged him tightly. “Thanks for being there,” she whispered. “You’re my best friend, you know that?” she confirmed.

“Aw, Moll. Thanks,” he said, blushing a bit. “You know I’ll always be there for you. Especially if Mycroft’s paying,” he added with a chuckle.

“Oh, stop that,” she laughed, playfully pushing on his arm. “I owe you one. Something awful, like the next time your ex-wife tries to make your life harder.”

He chuckled a little more, and rubbed the back of his neck. “All right, so I’ll call you in about an hour,” he teased.

“You can,” she said, emphatically.

“Nah.”

“You could!” she insisted.

“Molly, enjoy your night. Mycroft won’t be able to keep his hands off you.”

Her grin grew and a small blush rose into her cheeks. She rather hoped that would be the case. He really was a fantastic kisser, and she found herself missing it. She thought about what Sherlock had said, and wondered if this was a good night to try to get Mycroft to explain why caring is not an advantage. She had thought that she had figured all of that out, until Sherlock told her the rest of the monologue. The concept that all lives end was something that she was familiar with, but that and the idea that Mycroft would say that all hearts are broken… who had broken his heart? She wanted to know. Suddenly, she found herself wanting to study him like a specimen. It was as though Sherlock had unlocked another level of complexity about someone whom she already knew to be quite complex.

Mycroft opened the door before she even rang the bell. He must have been watching Greg and I, she thought idly.

“Good evening, Molly,” he said, stepping to the side to allow her entrance into his home. “You look lovely. What’s the occasion?” He had not expected to go out tonight. He’d had a very trying day at work, and his bosses had given him a rather difficult ultimatum to conceptualize. He certainly didn’t mind Molly coming over, which was an oddity unto itself, but he was beginning to accept that he found her comforting.

She bit worried her bottom lip for a moment before wrapping her arms around Mycroft’s waist and pressing her lips to his. She breathed in his scent of expensive cologne and barely concealed insecurity. She noticed that it too a few seconds for him to wrap his arms around her as well, but once he did, she deepened the kiss. Finally, she pulled away and leaned against the wall, casually looking him over. “Nothing really. I just wanted to dress up a bit. Thank you for… assisting with that. You know, I can afford it…”

He sighed a bit. He had been afraid of insulting her by giving money to Greg to be used on her. Were they married, he knew it wouldn’t matter. But, as they were only just dating, he didn’t want to give her the impression that she needed to be provided for, although he did want to make it clear that he was comfortable doing so. Sentiment and affection were so difficult sometimes. All these little tricky nuances to maneuver. “I do know that, and I didn’t mean to offend you. But, I have a clothing allowance, and goodness knows I don’t need it anymore. I didn’t want to be pushy, telling you what you should wear and all that. Clothes that I’m used to wouldn’t be acceptable for your line of work, and I… I didn’t want you to think that I don’t already think that you have style.” Not that he found her layered work attire particularly alluring, but that was besides the point and this was not the time. When it came to gatherings that mattered, he had no reason to conceive that she would not dress appropriately. Despite the ghastly bow that he had seen her wearing in pictures of John and Mary’s wedding, she had looked quite good in the dress. And, not everyone could pull off that alarming shade of yellow. For himself, he preferred dark neutral shades. But, there was nothing dark or neutral about the young beauty staring at him from across the foyer.

“I appreciate it. It was a little weird, but it was nice getting nice clothes just to look nice,” she said, deciding that being gracious was the way to handle this. After all, it wasn’t like she was doing this just for him. She wanted to continue to be with him, and with the reality of dating that much further up came some learning curves. At least he didn’t expect her to fund it on her own.

“Well then,” he said, pausing a little as he weighed his option and how much he thought he could handle and still be halfway decent company tonight, “let’s do go out for dinner. I know of a little Moroccan place that is quite lovely. We can talk about our respective days, and anything else you may have on your mind.”

“Um,” she said, eyeing him up suspiciously. There were several things in that statement which pinged her as out of the ordinary. First off, Mycroft Holmes did not discuss his day at work. And, anything else on her mind? That was the most obvious attempt at fishing for information that she had ever heard. He was either trying to be obvious or totally off of his game. Either way, she wasn’t quite certain what to tell him, and she wondered if her trip to the plastic surgeon had been reported back to him. “Crap telly and snuggles is typically the thing to counter a rough day.” She had already figured out what she wanted to watch – her guilty pleasure – although she was fairly certain that it would grate on Mycroft like nails on a chalkboard.

“Later.” He pressed his lips together and suppressed two coughs. “I have already watched one of my guilty pleasures, and we can talk about what to watch when we get back. You look so stunning that I couldn’t just keep you to myself. It would be a disservice to you.” Shrugging on his long wool coat, he reached out for her with one hand and texted with the other. “The car will be around in short order, my dear,” he said, intertwining her fingers with his own and pulling her into another embrace.

She felt like she was melting, all of her insecurities lifting away in his secure embrace. “You’re so kind,” she whispered.

He huffed a laugh. Compliments like that were still rather foreign to him. Usually when he showed up people were in trouble, or trying to stay out of trouble. He gazed down at her, feeling as though he wanted to lift away her troubles. Whatever they were… whatever triggered her weight concerns… he took a deep breath in and released it through his nose. He would have to eat unbidden tonight. Even if it made him feel unwell. He could not let his issues with food become her issues. He could not project onto her.

At his request, the car dropped them off about a block before the restaurant. The weather was warm, and the stars were actually visible through the light pollution. The two of them fell into a casual conversation about where Greg had taken her shopping, and how she found most of the items on sale. He knew the adage that people who had money didn’t talk about it. But, he recalled when he was new to the job and had come from humble beginnings. He didn’t want to silence her or make her feel bad for such a minor social faux pas, and hoped that such things would wane away as they grew closer and she grew more accustomed to using his clothing allowance.

Suddenly he lifted his hand to cover his nose and mouth as two wet sneezes burst forth. “Huh’Essshoo! Gusshoo!” The strength of the sneezes caused him to bend at the waist and lose his balance temporarily. Feeling her hands grasp around his arm in sudden support, he was unable to keep the embarrassment out of his voice as he nearly snarled, “Get off me,” and pulled his arm away. Annoyed, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped off his hand before tending to his nose. “Excuse me. My apologies, for the interruption.”

“Bless you,” she said, politely, always feeling a bit awkward blessing him after he had given his darling apology. She had been put off a bit by his attitude, but she could understand. If he was feeling disgusting, the last thing that he would want to be was touched. She was often the same way, herself.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice lacking the heat that it held only moments before. Holding out his arm slightly, he waited for her to wrap her arm around his before he continued walking.

Their conversation waned, and the silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity. They were in the middle of their salad course when Molly stated, “I have a twin sister who hates me.”

The world around her had gone silent. She had never told anyone about her sister Annabelle. The two of them had fallen out while she was in uni and never came back together. It had taken her years to remove the emotions out of her memories, and she did not like to talk about it. But, Sherlock’s words echoed in her head, and she hoped that by talking to Mycroft about her hard truths, he would give her the same courtesy.

Mycroft had been about to stick his fork into a cherry tomato, while mentally berating himself for being rude to her earlier. His fork missed and hit his plate with a loud clank. “I beg your pardon?” he said, looking up at her.

She would have laughed had this been a romantic comedy and not her life. “Her name is Annabelle. Born three minutes before me.”

None of this was in her reports… was it? Certainly, he would remember a twin… wouldn’t he? Ugh this news from work was taking up too much of his brain. He realized that he was simply staring at Molly, and straightened up. He gave her a cold, calculating look, completely oblivious that his barriers were up and he was regarding her the way he would any foreign dignitary that wanted his attention.

“Anyway, um,” Molly went to brush a lock of hair back but stopped herself and held her hands firmly in her lap. “There was a fight when I was at uni… she didn’t go. And I wasn’t quite part of the fight… in the end I interjected myself to fix it and it just made everything worse. Anyway…” She knew that she had to get to her point. Was there a point? She didn’t actually know if there was a point… “I just wanted to know, you know, in case you ever meet my family that there might be some underlying tension.” She picked her fork back up and took a bite of her salad, mostly to shut herself up.

“Ah… and that’s why you don’t like it when Sherlock and I fight?” Mycroft said, trying to gauge what exactly she wanted. She had to be telling him this for a reason. His job was to figure out what that was.

“Sort of. You see, Anna and I never fought. Ever. Like, we knew that it was expected of us, but we were really just best friends for the first twenty or so years of our lives. We actually would lecture our friends who fought with their siblings and let them know how special the bond was and how important it was that they kept it together.”

“But then something happened.”

She nodded, but didn’t go on.

“And now?” he prodded.

“She hates me. She won’t speak to me unless she has to. And even then I basically have to back her into a corner to get her to do so.” She was actually surprised at how logically she was handling this. Taking the emotion out of the story took the sting out of it as well.

Mycroft leaned back slightly. Not enough for his back to be touching the back of his chair, but enough to regard her carefully.

“Nobody knows. Not even Sherlock or Greg. I don’t ever speak of it. I just don’t go home for holidays. My friends have become my family, since I’m not worth my real one getting to know.” She was trying to maintain her calmness, but his silence was beginning to unnerve her.

“I understand. Unfortunately, I’ve never been very good at making friends. Certainly, I have some that I don’t pay to be so, but they are spread across the four corners of the earth.” He blinked rapidly and looked down. His salad could be a piece of art to him now, for all that it was appetizing.

“She was my everything. My world,” Molly said in a hushed voice, a sliver of venom dripping through. “But, all hearts are broken, aren’t they?” she asked.

At that Mycroft’s focus sharpened and his lips parted slightly. She felt as though he was a predator and she was his prey. He was going to divest her of any pride… and confidence that she had built up. His face told her that much. The way he sat up straighter told her that he was coming in for the kill. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath in and she tried to shore up her insecurities by thinking everything that he could say that could hurt her. She had long since learned that if she could prepare herself for the sharp comments, they hurt less.

“Your relationship with your sister is regrettable. Is there no chance of reconciliation?” he asked. He reminded himself to breath and allowed the motions to push through the anxiety pooling in his stomach. Sherlock must have told her something. She used his exact wording, and it was quite unlike her own vernacular. His next goal was to find out exactly what Sherlock had told her.

“Appears so,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. She forced herself not to drink it all down.

“Hm.” He forced himself to take another bite of salad to buy himself sometime. Siblings… she was trying to … connect? with him… regarding siblings? He tested the waters. “Well I do sympathize with you regarding difficult siblings.”

“Were you and Sherlock ever close?” she asked, trying to gain more information.

No. Not siblings. It was something else. “I don’t wish to speak of him tonight. You look so beautiful, and you know how he causes my blood pressure to rise,” he deflected.

A gentle blush crept into her cheeks at his surprise compliment. She wasn’t certain if she was supposed to thank him or not, so she just smiled. “Then it is my turn to apologize, Mycroft,” she stated.

His eyes squinted ever so slightly. Had he apologized to her? Not since his… sneezing. “It is of no importance,” he said, waving her off with a gentle gesture of his fingers. “Why did you tell me that? Are you insinuating that Sherlock hates me? As you might imagine, I have known that for quite some time.” He knew that he was being contradictory, but it was obvious that she was playing at something. And he wanted to figure out what precisely. Hopefully before dessert.

“I don’t think he does, actually. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when no one is watching. It’s like a child who feels left out when the older siblings play. I really think he wants to please you. But, he’s so unreceptive when you show him kindness that the conundrum is quite confusing, isn’t it?”

“He does not wish to please me. I assure you,” Mycroft said, his tone and volume a little lower than before.

She frowned at his answer. The change in his voice was heartbreaking to her, and she desperately wanted to know whose life end that broke his heart. She tried to phrase the question just right. Asking about caring was too close to sentiment, and she doubted that he would be receptive. He had requested not to speak of Sherlock, although he had then brought him back up.

“Molly, do simply ask the question. We can work out what you meant afterwards,” he said, a slight huff to his words. He was starting to get a headache, and he wanted this whole conversation to be behind them.

Tact, she reminded herself. Mycroft was a man with feelings and a rather depressing, if not realistic, mantra. She reached across the table and stretched her fingers towards him, earning her a look that read clearly as disgust. When he didn’t take her hand, she flattened her hand to the table, but didn’t remove it. “I assume growing up, you mostly raised Sherlock.”

A shocked look rippled through his features, but was gone in moments. “I did. Our parents were,” he cleared his throat, “are perfectly lovely normal parents. They raised us to the best of their ability, but they do not think like us. Someone had to guide him.”

She gave a small frown at that. “Did anyone in your family ever mentor you?”

He found himself uttering a sentence that he did not very often. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Who raised you?” she asked, pointedly.

“O-our parents of course,” he said, more than a little surprised at the accuracy with which she hit the nail on the head.

“Was there no one who cared for you, especially?” she asked sadly. This was worse than she thought. Perhaps he lost a university lover, or perhaps he had been married, or engaged, at some point. Her eyes flickered to the ring on his hand.

Mycroft huffed a breath, seeming to ponder his answer. Abruptly, he turned away from the table, withdrawing his handkerchief from his inside breast pocket. “Herctcccch!” he sneezed suddenly, giving a tentative sniff.

Molly watched as he pressed his handkerchief tighter to his face.

“Eh-heh-EH-Tccsssh!” He sniffled and gave his nose a light blow. “Do excuse me, Molly. I don’t know what came over me.” He used the sneeze for the diversion it was and did not answer her question. He would need to talk to Sherlock. And soon.

“Bless you,” she said, politely. She waited for a bit, and then retracted her hand, saddened, but unsurprised that he did not take it. Conversation continued, but on a much more light tone than before as they finished their meal.

Pulling out his pocket-watch, Mycroft pulled a slight frown. It was later than he had intended to stay out. “I am terribly sorry, Molly, but we either have time for dessert or you can introduce me that which you call rubbish telly.”

She laughed a bit. “Telly it is then. It’ll be a bit of a learning experience for you,” she said with a small laugh.

“Oh dear. That sounds dreadful.”

“You’ll think so. I know. Just let me watch an episode or two, and then you never have to sit through it again. I’ll watch it at my place.”

“What on earth have I gotten myself into?” he muttered as he asked for the check.

What he had gotten himself into, he came to find out, was a television show about how a small business owner ran her rather successful business, despite a more or less unsavory staff.

The two of them had set themselves up with tea and crisps. Sitting on the sofa, Mycroft couldn’t help but sigh as the anxiety that seemed to have been gathering all day finally released. “And what, pray tell, do you believe I will learn from this? I already know bad business practices. Good ones as well.” He asked, pulling out his handkerchief again and dabbing at his nose a bit.

“American street slang,” she answered, laughing at his incredulous look. “On come now, Mycroft. Certainly you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“I taught myself Russian in three hours and Arabic in an afternoon.”

“Yes, but those languages use words. Street slang is more like a codex with words used in place of other words. If you don’t know what the replacement words are, or what they mean, the sentence doesn’t make any sense,” she explained.

He sighed and nodded, turning the show on. This night was about making her feel better. Not about her pandering to him. If it was truly awful, he would just think about work and block out the background noise.

He flinched as people spoke to each other in harsh tones and wondered in what world that sort of unprofessional behavior was tolerated. Rubbing his handkerchief under his nose, he sighed a bit as the tickle from dinner returned. Folding the handkerchief in half, he allowed the tickles to push forward. “Hah-Etssschh! Esttchhh!” he sneezed, the force of each rocking him forward.

“Bless you, Mycroft,” Molly said. “Are you feeling all right?”

He thought he was, apart from being tired. “Yes, thank you. My apologies for interrupting.”

Molly pulled one of the small throw pillows from behind her and put it on her lap. “Mycroft lay down,” she said, offering him the space.

“What?” he asked, turning his attention towards her. His fine eyebrows knitted together as he regarded her with an air of confusion. He’d done such a thing for Sherlock from time to time… and he had a vague memory of his mother doing it for him when he was a child. But, he had been ill with pneumonia. Whatever it was that he was fighting off wasn’t that serious. So why she would try to provide that level of comfort was beyond his comprehension.

“Take off your jacket. I promise I won’t touch your neck.” She had once been threatened while snuggling and she carried fears of people touching her neck while snuggling for the rest of her life. She figured a man such as he with so many body autonomy issues would appreciate a similar awareness.

He seemed to consider it and then bent over, nearly bending himself in half.

She leaned forward and smiled softly as she realized he was untying his shoes. He removed his jacket and sighed softly, allowing himself to lean over and do as she requested. He sighed a bit and focused on his breathing, only tensing a little when she started rubbing his back slowly. When she didn’t remove her hand at once, h realized that she didn’t even notice that she was doing it and had allowed herself to become engrossed in the show. It suddenly occurred to him that this act of … caring… was just as much for her benefit as for his. The realization calmed him enough to be able to accept being in a place of physical vulnerability and give the show at least a modicum of his attention.

Molly was surprised when Mycroft agreed to the comfort that she was offering. She knew that his job was stressful on a level that very few could understand, and she couldn’t even imagine. She rubbed his back gently, feeling the knots that had worked their way down his spine. Eventually, she would work on those. But, for now, she would enjoy the fact that he allowed this situation to happen.

He drew in a deep breath, and she realized that it was likely that his handkerchief was in his jacket and the tissues were too far away. She flattened her hand on his back, ready to help him right himself enough to get to his handkerchief. Stupid, she admonished herself.

But, instead of sneezing, he asked her a question. “Did he just call her a jelly roll?” he asked, completely confused.

“What?” she asked, completely baffled as to what he was talking about.

It felt odd speaking to her while turned away. But, he repeated his question. “Did he just ask if she was a jelly roll? He asked, “Are you jelly roll?”

She snickered, grasping his upper arm firmly when he stiffened. “Jelly,” she explained, “is a shortened term for jealous. He was asking if she was jealous, and the last were was yo.” She paused trying to explain ‘yo.’

“Ah. All right. I don’t understand why one would be jelly of that, but fine. Don’t worry about explaining ‘yo’. I did live through the eighties after all.” He said jelly as though he were sounding it out for the first time.

Molly thought it was incredibly adorable.

The next episode started, and she was happy that he didn’t make her turn it off. She had a wonderful day with her best friend. A wonderful dinner with her boyfriend. And now she was watching her guilty pleasure with the most powerful man in the British government comfortable in her lap. There had been bumps in the road, and she had gone through the full gambit of emotions. But, this was pretty special.

When Mycroft sucked in another breath, she was ready to answer whatever question he might have. But, this time the breath deepened, and his head snapped forward into his sleeve. “Ehk-Hetccssh! IgnKAshoo!”

“Bless you,” Molly said, putting her hand on his arm to hold him in place, while she leaned over and got his jacket. Draping it in front of him, she averted her gaze while he pulled out his handkerchief and tended to his nose. “You’re all right,” she murmured, despite herself, as she rubbed his arm gently.

“Thank you,” he sighed, his voice becoming gravelly. He felt as though the energy was leaching out of him as he lay there. But, he didn’t want to move. This was nice. Being cared for was nice. His thoughts wandered to his perspective on sentiment. He had loved and cared for people his whole life. He had lost the people who meant the most to him. Going down this path again would only lead to heartbreak. One of them would die, eventually – if they even made it that far. One way or the other their hearts would be broken. Until then, they would unfocus their lives to make room for each other in it. Others might not notice the difference, but the fact was that they would no longer be as focused as they once were. They would no longer not care if they were late. They would check in on each other. Things would change. It would be –

“Did he just ask her about her ear buds? What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, as his subconscious whirred in an attempt to piece together the sentence together.

A small chortle. “No, love,” she answered, softly although there was a brightness in her voice. “Ear-jacking is the same as eavesdropping.”

An eyebrow raised. He could hardly overlook the statement of affection. But, moreso, for someone to not understand the history of the word eaves-dropping… but of course these were Americans and the history was so very far removed both physically and figuratively from them… “How ghastly,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

He was asleep before Molly could mutter, “Indeed.”

January 29, 2018

Adorable!

January 31, 2018

Yay, caretaking fluff. Totally what I need today.

February 3, 2018

Lovely fluffy care taking. I'm rather enamored of the idea of Mycroft lying in Molly's lap asking her about the meaning of various slang terms.

June 10, 2018

Another small bit of fluff - with caretaking, sneezing, and an exhausted Mycroft with a ticklish nose.

Their foray in Austria was simply magical.

They walked thought St. Marks Square, and enjoyed some touristy things in Vienna before Mycroft made his excuses and made his way to the office. While he was out, she enjoyed the use of his personal car in order to get to the Central Cemetery, which she heard had some absolutely beautiful tombstone art.

Taking a slow stroll through the cemetery, she was amazed by the craftwork. Despite the beautiful cemeteries that she had seen in England, those gravestone couldn’t even compare to these. Better yet, she was able to stop off at a nearby bakery, and was even able to convince the driver of the car to come in with her. This was more of a boon than a benefit, as he was able to speak the language, when all she was able to do was point at what she wanted.

The waitress brought them a full coffee and tea service, with their respective pastries, and even though he didn’t speak often, she enjoyed polite conversation with Andre, the driver.

Later, when they picked up Mycroft from the office, she couldn’t help but notice that he seemed exhausted. Pale and drawn, the bags under his eyes gave the indication of a man who had been awake for a week today. They were supposed to got to Strasburg for a nice dinner and the symphony. But, looking at Mycroft, she didn’t think that the helicopter ride there would be in his best interest – let alone an entire evening out.

“Good evening dear,” she said, leaning over to him and placing a kiss on his cheek, noticing how cool it was.

He grunted at her, squinting at his cell phone before turning it off and putting it away. “My apologies,” he whispered, massaging his temple with his long fingers.

“Perhaps we should stay in tonight. We can call in room service, and -.”

“While I appreciate what you’re doing, we do need to go to Strasburg as expected tonight. Although perhaps you would be kind enough to allow me to sleep on the way there.” Brown eyes looked at her in askance as his mental shields started to slip down.

“That is fine with me. It’ll give me some time to work on a project. Don’t worry – it’s all software, no internet – as promised.“ She didn’t like that he still felt the need to be out and about, when it was obvious that he was so drained. But, she knew that while this was a vacation for her, it was a working tour for him. If they needed to be in Strasburg, she would not fight him on it.

For every step that she had been slow in Vienna, he seemed delayed in Strasburg. He sneezed rather violently at the restaurant, unable to get away from the table in time. But, as it was only one sneeze, she chalked it up to stress, or maybe exhaustion. She wasn’t certain if he had fallen asleep or was simply enjoying the orchestra with his eyes closed during the symphony. Concerned, she had put a hand on his knee, startling when he startled. She withdrew her hand sharply, her heart thudding and a strong sense of regret for disrupting him. The regret subsided immediately, however, when he placed his hand over hers, bringing it back down to his knee, and squeezing it gently. She smiled, not looking at him; just enjoying the moment. Magical.

After the symphony, they opted to walk back to the hotel, and Molly couldn’t stop grinning when he did not relinquish hold of her hand. This was amazing, perfect. It was everything that she ever expected and wanted. It was truly one of those magical moments in life, and she never wanted it to end.

“You know you’re humming a waltz,” he mused at her.

She smiled sheepishly, not even realizing that she had been humming. Thinking for a moment, she grinned confidently at him. “Actually, I’m humming a minuet.”

Brown eyes slide over to regard her as his brows furrowed slightly in thought. “Technically, the timing is that of a waltz, although you’re correct, it was originally written by Henry Purcell as a minuet.” He pulled out his handkerchief and tended gently to his nose. Tucking his handkerchief away, he held his hand out. “May I have this dance?” he asked.

“Here?” she asked, wondering about the odd bout of spontaneity.

“Where better?” he asked, withdrawing his phone and starting the same waltz that she had been humming. “Venetian?” he asked, asking what kind of waltz she wanted to do.

“I’ve never been very good at it,” she admitted. “I get dizzy.”

“We’ll slow it down somewhat. Just follow my lead,” he whispered, looking into her chocolate eyes, which reflected the deepness of the stars above them. He felt a twinge in his chest that he couldn’t quite place as he pulled her a little closer, and settled his hand on the small of her back. With a small rocking motion, he started to move them in time to the music. After the song ended, he bowed to her and paused. Both of them were slightly out of breath, and he found that he didn’t want to do the ‘right thing’ and kiss her on the hand. He wanted, to pull her close to him and give her a passionate kiss.

As he pressed his lips to hers, Molly felt as though her lips were alight with tingles. Her heart pounded so hard that she lost the ability to hear as she felt his tongue along her lips in askance. Meeting him halfway, she drew in a deep breath as they deepened the kiss. His hands in her hair, her hands roaming down a bit on his back. She wished that they were already at the hotel, because she couldn’t imagine Mycroft being the type to have a romp on the sidewalk.

She felt a tug on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she realized that his car had rolled up next to them, and he was holding the door open for her. With a smile, and a gentle touch on his arm, she got into the car. They snuggled together, ceasing their activities until they got back to the hotel, where she felt like a teenager for the first time since she had fallen for Tom.

Feeling his touch seemed to set her skin alight. He was gentle, but confident. Clumsily trying to undo his waistcoat, she realized how much her dexterity was affected by the current situation. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he moved gracefully to complete the action; years of practice making his fingers move by muscle memory alone. Gently, he wrapped one hand around her shoulder as he laid her down on the bed.

About an hour later, he laid with his head in her lap. “I’m so sorry, Molly,” he muttered, humiliated by the way his body betrayed him. They had been enjoying the moment when suddenly, his body temperature skyrocketed and he was nearly blinded by a migraine.

Molly gently pat away the sweat that gathered on his forehead with a cool washcloth. Gentle fingers combed through his thinning hair. “Not another word,” she murmured. “Truly, it was an enchanting night.” She bent down to place a gentle kiss on his long and distinguished nose.

“Moll-hah,” he gasped. The kiss had released a barrage of ticklish prickles. The part of his forehead above his nose started to pound in congested pre-sneeze pain. He huffed another breath as he arched his pointer finger under his septum.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured gently, her voice lowered with post amorous hormones.

She squeezed his shoulder gently, pressing down as he started to curl up with a semi-stifled. “EssYesccch!” He winced and drew in a stuttering breath.

“Bless,” she said, continuing her ministrations. “Thank you for a wonderful night, Mycroft. I know this is a business trip for you, but it’s really been a lovely vacation for me.”

“It’s been my pleasure, my dear,” he responded softly, his words starting to draw out as he drifted off to sleep feeling the embarrassment start to wane with her gentle and calming touches.

“I love you,” she whispered, unable to stop herself. She had wanted to say it for the longest time, but was pretty certain that he would never say it back. And, after everything that had happened with Sherlock, she was certain that she wouldn’t be able to hide the hurt of being turned down by the oldest Holmes sibling.

“I love you, too,” he sighed as he drifted off to sleep.

June 11, 2018

Awww. Sweet.

June 15, 2018

Yes yes yes OMG so cute!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you for continuing!!!!!

July 2, 2018

Chapter 23 on AO3

Mycroft felt as though his entire body was being torn apart by the shreds of his muscles. What had started as the inkling of a migraine the night before was now a full body function issue complete with an ocular migraine and muscle cramps.

To her credit, Molly was a doll. He could not have asked for a more concerned and doting partner, and found himself relaxing into her care. A quick call to Anthea had allowed Molly to know his medication regimen, which consisted of medication regulating both his physical and mental health. Were he feeling better, he would have been anxious about her judgement of his transport issues. As it was, though, he simply felt wretched.

He had placed an eye mask over his eyes after taking his migraine medication. She had tucked the sheet over him, the coolness of the cotton helping drop his body temperature. The chilled washcloth that she placed on his forehead was also a help, although he didn’t respond and continued to pretend to be asleep. If pressed, he wouldn’t be able to explain why he felt like he needed to pretend, or to withhold appreciation. It was something that he meant to consider when he dozed off.

She had known he was awake, however. He breathed out a little further when the cool cloth was gently placed on his forehead. Besides, he had the most adorable little snore when he fell into a deep sleep. Having studied the brain and ailments of the brain in medical school, she knew better than to touch him, but she didn’t feel the need to go out and do her own brand of sightseeing without him. Instead, she went into the sitting area and pulled out her tablet.

She had fallen in love with a game that was typically played online with others, but had a non-internet based component. Basically, it was a interior designer game, where there were challenges that were set forward for different rooms, and the goal was to decorate the room and get ‘paid.’ Payments were set in the offline mode, but bonuses could be gotten in the internet based mode if the design was one of the top voted.

She had moderate success with the game. If she were still in uni, it would be enough for her to pass with a B+. The issue, however, had to do with money. No matter how much she tried to save from past jobs, she was always low. If she had internet access, she would have just bought another quid pack. But, since she didn’t have that option, she was about eight rounds from being able to level up, and out of money.

“Whatever it is, please stop huffing like a locomotive,” Mycroft mumbled, his voice lower than usual.

She had not realized that she had been sighing repeatedly. “My apologies, Mycroft. Please do go back to sleep.”

He grunted and drew in a deep breath, suddenly sucking in a deep breath before cupping his hands over his nose and mouth. “Heffccch! Ugh.” The sneeze caused a feeling like his brain shifted in his head and all of the pain pushed into his forehead, causing his skin to buzz.

The bed divoted as she sat next to him. He felt his handkerchief brush the back of his hands and a light brush on his upper arm. Unable to spend much time thinking on any of these things, his long fingers wrapped around his handkerchief as he sneezed again, “Heffcchhh!” Again, he winced in pain, this time leaving a ringing in his ears.

Molly weighed her words carefully. Obviously, he wasn’t feeling all right, and the sneezing was likely causing his head to feel like it was splitting. “What can I do?” she asked, quietly.

“Come, sit near me,” he whispered, pulling the eye mask back with a severe wince.

She got up and drew the curtains closed, causing the room to darken considerably. He sighed in relief and asked her to bring her tablet with her.

“I’m hesitant to turn this on,” she said, climbing onto the bed next to him. “I don’t want to cause you undue eye strain,” she explained gently, brining her hand close to his body but not touching.

The corners of his mouth twitched as though he might smile, but none was to come. Not that she saw it anyway. “Tell me what you’ve been working on,” he asked, reaching a long hand out to touch her upper leg ever so lightly. He rested it there, waiting to be flinched away, but the rejection never came. “Just dim it, and I’ll be all right,” he responded, even though his pulse pounded in his ears.

Turning it away from him, she did so before turning it back slowly.

“Now, show me what you’ve been working on,” he directed. Had he not been so weary, it would have been asked assertively. He wanted to know what had taken so much of her time and attention during this trip. Not that he had minded, really. He had so much on his mind between setting his plan in motion, remaining offline, and keeping away from his brother and her support system that he was pleased that she had something that kept her busy.

She explained the point of the game. “I keep running out of money though, so I have to sell my stock to make more money to buy better stock. I’m not a very good business owner.”

Upon seeing her designs, he started to tune her out. She was good. This was not just a few well placed pieces, she actually had a really good eye for interior design. He knew how rare that skill actually was, and he wanted to give her a chance to capitalize on it. “Would you ever consider doing interior design for a hobby?”

“Well yea, that would be great. But, I could never afford the start up costs, and I don’t have anyone who is interested.”

“I could supply both,” he stated easily, as though it was as simple as bringing the ingredients for a chicken and mash dish.

“No, Mycroft. That’s too much. It would be thousands.”

“About ten to twelve thousand for a proper quad showroom, and then a few good introductions.”

Subconsciously brightening, she couldn’t deny that the offer was tempting. But, what would she owe him? At least the start up costs – and then a percentage of the profits? “I… I could never pay you back. What if it’s a failure, and- I and I don’t make the money back. It’ll take me years to pay you back.”

“My gift to you,” he responded, gently squeezing her leg.

Inquisitive eyes looked him over as if she was wondering if he was serious.

He met her glance as openly as he ever did. But, he made sure that his face was neutral. “Do think on it. I think that you would be quite wonderful at this – even if it was just try.”

He startled when she snuggled into him, humming happily. “I’ll think on it. Thank you, sweetheart,” she replied. She realized that she had used a term of endearment, but let it go. Instead of saying anything, she pressed a kiss to his too warm neck. “We’ll discuss it more when you’re feeling better.”

As though her comment reminded him that he was feeling unwell, he quickly snatched the handkerchief off of his end table. “HURCCHHUFFF!” The sneeze pushed her off of him and nearly folded him in half. Spots danced in front of his eyes, and he felt her grab his shoulder and guide him back down onto his pillows.

“Bless you,” she whispered, readjusting the way she was sitting. She firmly brushed her thumbs across his forehead.

Sighing with relief, he muttered, “Well if you’re going to do that…”

She leaned back as he repositioned himself so that his head was in her lap. Smiling, she happily drew her thumbs across his forehead and applied precise pressure to his temples. Unable to help herself, she bent forward and placed an exceedingly gentle kiss on the top of his distinguished nose.

No sooner did she withdraw her lips, than he was thrust forward with a violent, “HURRASSHHHFFF!” His handkerchief out of arms reach, he sneezed freely and then cupped a hand over his lower continence. Two quick, desperate breaths came to fruition with several rapid fire sneezes. “Heh-tissh! Tessh! Essh! Eh-Tessh! Tissh! Essshhh!” He swallowed as he leaned over and took up his handkerchief, blowing his nose thickly. Despite his sinuses being sore, he could not find the strength to be angry at her kiss. It was so gentle, and he had felt completely at ease; a rarity in his life.

“Goodness, I’m so sorry Mycroft. Bless you, of course.”

“My apologies, my dear,” he said just before he took a breath and blew his nose again. “Fact is that that between the massage and the kiss, I’m feeling much better,” he said, talking around a yawn at the end. He curled himself around his pillow and allowed himself to fall asleep.

Even though she wasn’t tired, Molly swallowed her concerns about respecting his personal space and curled herself around him, draping her arm over his midsection. She knew that he had done the right thing when he squeezed her hand gently in response.

July 2, 2018

Awwww. Sweet.

July 3, 2018

These last two chapters are heart melting. Molly is just perfect. I like the way you have Mycroft relax and unwind when he’s with her. :wub:

August 6, 2018

Nice!

August 17, 2018

Awww this is the sweetest. I love how you write these two together!!! ❤️

April 21, 2020

Another chapter...

There,” Molly said gently, as she placed a warm – nearly hot flannel over Mycroft’s forehead, eyes and nose. “That should help.”

Mycroft lay prone on the couch, clothed in his pajamas, despite it being the middle of the day. He was swaddled in his robe and two blankets, and still trembled with cold. He made a small noise that didn’t indicate if the warm washcloth felt better or not. He drew in a sharp breath when Molly moved away from the couch, only relaxing again when heard her sitting in her chair. Apparently, she either thought that he was asleep, or she was afraid of making his sinus infection induced migraine worse.

He heard the opening of a zipper [her satchel] and the removal of a smooth substance [work folders]. He was not the only one who brought work home, although he was the only one who needed to let it interfere with their time together. She was always careful to make the time that they had together special.

The pressure increase in his head. The muscles around his sinuses trembled and he forced himself to bring a hand up to his chest, where he had placed his handkerchief, getting it to his face just in time. “Hih-Tissh! Heh-Tessh! Heh-eh-EH-TessSHOO-oo!” He groaned as he blew his nose, and his non-vision nearly whited out with pain. He felt a hand under his shoulder helping him sit up, making it easier for him to clear his sinuses.

He kept his eyes closed, bracing against the pain, and felt the wash cloth come off his forehead. He felt Molly sit down behind him and thumbs press to the base of his skull. Slowly as gentle but firm fingers massaged his neck and the base of his head the pressure released. She said nothing, not a word. Slowly, very slowly, he felt himself relax and become drowsy. As he leaned against her more, she told him that she was going to lay him back down.

There were few times in his life that he was completely vulnerable and not surrounded by the best agents in Britain. But, this moment, sick as a dog, in pain, he realized that he would rather be with no one else. He’d know Molly for years. But, he’d really only gotten to know her in the past nine months. They’d been through so much together, such an intense relationship. So many mistakes, some on her part, most on his. There was so much forgiveness. So much to be learned. The greatest puzzle of all time. And, somehow his loss of Cheryl was… not as prominent. His mantra, while still true, no longer felt like it protected him. This woman… the one nudging a spoon of liquid antihistamines into his mouth so that he would have a prayer of sleeping. The one, helping him sit up to take his migraine medication with a sip of… scotch? She knew better, but she also knew that a sip of find scotch would not hurt him severely. And it was one of his creature comforts. One of the little things that made him happy.

Ill, in pain, medicated, and cared for, he knew what he wanted to do next.

“I need to get to the bathroom,” he muttered as his stomach twisted uncomfortably. Feeling her arm brace the middle of his back, he was surprised at how strong she was. Her small stature was nothing on her strength and agility. She wasn’t a powerful woman, but she was a resolute person.

His eyes opened a she heaved his dinner up and he realized that she hadn’t turned the light on. The only light filtered in from the hallway. A great blessing. Something that he appreciated. A cool washcloth took up residence on the back of his neck. “I love you,” he stuttered out as he landed on his hip and leaned against the wall.

“I love you too.” The kind words delivered with a soft smile. No depreciating comments. No sarcasm. It was as though she understood that his brain function was abysmally low.

Crouching down in front of the most powerful man in Britain, Molly made no quick moves. No unnecessary sounds. He looked painfully wretched. He’d taken the weekend to rest, but if this continued he would have to ‘work from home’ again on Monday. More likely he would have to take the whole day off, but that was between her and Anthea to work out – so long as he thought it was his idea.

“Do you think you can make it to bed?” she asked at just above a whisper.

He looked up at her, clad in her new loungewear, hair in ridiculous low pig tails that she liked even though he had scoffed at the immaturity of her choice. Despite his personal feelings, they were in their own home. And, he rather liked that she had enough confidence to do what she wanted. Even though it didn’t please him. It showed confidence. Confidence in herself and him and their relationship. It was the best thing that could have happened. The best response.

She offered him her arm and he took it, nearly collapsing into her arms. She caught him deftly, despite the eight or so inches taller that he was. If he thought it was at all practical, he would have collapsed into her arms. But, he figured that then they would have collapsed onto the floor. No, he had to be at least a little mobile. There was no magic to make him lighter, or her taller. There was no jump cut that would put him in bed and her tucking him in. No, they had to make the ascent up the stairs and he had to get changed.

Righting himself, he blinked against the stabbing pains in the side of his head. “Hah-Shoo! Heh-EH-Pesshtoo!” He coughed and squinted, sniffling and immediately regretting it. A handkerchief was pressed into his hands just as an exceptionally wet sneeze worked its way out. He leaned against the wall, noticing that Molly didn’t seem to know where to put her hands to brace him. This was not his most dignified moment. And he didn’t have a damn clue what to do about it. Resting his forehead against the blessedly cool wall, he sputtered a wet cough. “My apologies Molly. I just… I cannot…” He keened a bit, feeling just so ill and ready to fall asleep on his feet.

“We’ve gotta move you, babe,” she said, leaning up to kiss his fevered cheek. “You can’t fall asleep here. Come on.” She put an arm around her shoulders.

He laughed a bit. He’d crush her under his insane weight. Like her, he was all lean muscle and a few extra pounds. “You’re not strong enough to bear my weight.” Looking over, he noticed that his words landed as a blow. “But, I appreciate the help. Yes, let’s take the stairs… slowly. Let me go ahead. I don’t… I don’t want to knock you off balance.”

They ascended the stairs slowly, and he flopped on the bed. Crunchy coughs worked their way out, and he pressed one of his hands against a cheek. His poor circulation kept him perpetually cold. But, it felt wonderful against his fever, which had started rising since his had become ill. When he opened his eyes, which he hadn’t realized where closed, Molly had unbuttoned his loungewear shirt, and had pulled off his slippers. “You’re too good to me, Molly,” he mumbled.

“No, I’m just right.” She stood up and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Going to the dresser, she pulled out a sleep top. Handing it over to him, she went into the bathroom.

He heard the water running. Putting on his shirt with a shiver, she came out with a cup of mouthwash, an empty cup and his toothbrush already wet and ready. “It’s all right. I won’t watch.” As he brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth out, he realized something.

As she helped tuck him into bed. He knew that there would never be a better, more resilient woman in his life. There would never be another person that he trusted so soundly. As he felt her kiss him on the forehead, he smiled and blew her an air kiss. Ridiculous thing really. But, he wanted to be affectionate with her. He wanted her touch, to inhale the scent of her skin. But, of course, he couldn’t smell much of anything. So, instead, he waited for her to climb into bed next to him.

When he heard her pad across the room, and not get closer to the bed, he startled awake. “Where are you going?” he asked, looking at her, as she had her hand on the door. There was a sadness that he couldn’t place in her eyes. Had he done that? Again?

“I thought I would sleep in the guest room,” she said, licking her bottom lip. “I don’t want to crowd you. I know how you don’t like to be touched when you have a migraine.”

Yes, that was true. But… “There is something wrong. What’s wrong?” He tried to deduce her, wincing when the spiking pain throbbed through his head again.

“I have work to do before tomorrow.”

No… yes. That was true. But… “Why are you sad?”

“I don’t know,” she said, with a small sad grin. “There is nothing wrong. I just feel sad. I – I’m sorry.”

She sounded sad. So sad. Like she was going to start crying sad. And, he knew that it wasn’t fair for him to think that she should always bee in a good mood. Or even have complete control over her moods. She had a right to be upset if that’s the way she was feeling. “I understand that you have work. Please bring it to bed. I would like to be close to you.” He didn’t really want to be close to anyone. But, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.

She started to cry.

His head swam. The pain throbbed. There had to be a reason.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.” She said, staying where she was, trying to hold back the tears. Fingers pressed against her eyebrow ridge as she felt exhaustion overwhelm her. She wasn’t that overworked, and she had long since been used to taking care of her boyfriend when he had the misfortune to fall ill. She loved him so much it hurt sometimes. She never wanted to be with anyone else. They were to odd people who didn’t fit in with much else, but they made sense to each other.

“Come, sit by me,” he said, hoping that she would forgo the work that she was going to leave to do. “You don’t have to validate your feelings to me,” he said, as she sat down, still sobbing. It didn’t matter that his head hurt, or that his chest felt full, or that he knew he could start sneezing at any time. Holding onto her, he felt better. He felt better that she didn’t have to deal with this on her own. Better that he had changed enough to be a comforting presence. Better that she wanted him here. And as she drifted off he pressed a kiss to her head and switched off the light. Better that this time when she needed him, he made things better. Not worse.

April 21, 2020

LOVE THIS! Honestly adore the Mycroft/Molly pairing!

Day by Day (Sherlock, Mycroft)

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