A/N: Ok, another request which turned into a multi-chapter, this time from Bellarsam Chrisjulittle, who PMed me saying,

Hello! I have a prompt for you, if you'd like it: During Sherlock's two years away, Molly and Mycroft become close friends since they share this secret. Mycroft falls in love with her, and when Sherlock returns, he distances himself from Molly (becomes the Ice Man again). He is sure she could never return his feelings because he thinks she loves Sherlock, especially now that he's back - he thinks he was just a substitute. But his distance makes Molly realize she is in love with him (perhaps with some help from Anthea, or even Sherlock), so she goes to him and sweet Mollcroft will ensue!

And, to be honest, I was considering doing something like this already, and this helps me plan it out a little more so I can dig it. Let's do this!

It was at the funeral when Molly saw him. He was standing in the back of the small group, like an unwanted specter of something sacred. In a way, he was. John was standing bravely in the small crowd, trying not to cry and failing. Mrs. Hudson was sobbing. Lestrade looked empty on the inside, and maybe a little scared, as if worried what would happen now that Sherlock Holmes was dead. Molly took this all in and felt like she was going to burst when he caught her eye. He shook his head. Remember, you can't tell anyone.

Molly looked forward again quickly. She wasn't going to say anything. She couldn't, she knew what would happen if she did, but that didn't make it any easier. The service went by, and everyone paid their respects to Sherlock's empty grave. Eventually it was only her and him left. He walked up slowly until he was next to her right in front of the casket. "Even though I know it's not real, it still hurts, in a way, doesn't it?" he asked, one hand reaching out to feel the cool metal, as if he could assure himself it was empty just by touching it.

Molly looked over to Mycroft. "Yeah…even though Sherlock is safe on his flight to…wherever, it's hard to remind myself he's not dead."

Mycroft smiled sadly. "I almost had to do this once before. Sherlock OD'd and the doctors weren't sure he'd pull through. They were about to call our parents, tell them to come and be ready to say their good-byes when he opened his eyes and screamed at them to stop." Mycroft chuckled. "The doctor nearly had a heart attack."

Molly laughed. "I bet he did. There have been times where my bodies have opened their eyes even when I was nowhere near any nerves that would cause that to happen. The first few times I screamed. Now I just say 'peek-a-boo'!" she blushed at the last part. "That was more morbid than it was supposed to be…"

Mycroft looked over at her. "We're talking over my brother's grave. Honestly, I'd find it hard to not sound morbid at the moment."

Molly blushed. She probably sounded like the stupidest person in the world right now. "Right, sorry. I just keep tripping over myself when I talk. I should probably stop, so why do I just keep going on? You probably want me to just stop so you can leave and I'm sorry I'm really trying to I just can't find my off switch now…"

Mycroft held up a hand and Molly shut up, biting her lip as she did so. He scrutinized her and Molly resisted the urge to shift under the stare. It was nothing new to her-Sherlock did it all the time-but somehow this was a little different. Maybe it was because of the way Mycroft had more elegance than his brother lent him to looking sterner. Maybe it was because of Sherlock's warnings to Molly to stay away from Mycroft whenever possible. Maybe it was because she heard him threatening to put someone on a tax audit list once and didn't want to know what he might do to her if he thought she might talk. Whatever the reason, the longer he stared at her, the more she felt uncomfortable. That is, until he started to tilt forward and started like he just woke up suddenly from lightly sleeping. "Apologies," he said, "I haven't had much sleep these last few nights, and sometimes if I get lost in thought enough I might find myself waking up from wherever I was standing before planning."

Molly smiled despite her discomfort. "It's fine. There have been times where I've woken up on a slab in the morgue where I was resting for a minute and scared the person who walked in waking me up."

Mycroft gave her a-smirk wasn't the right word, but smile wasn't either-and turned away from Sherlock's grave. "Might I give you a ride back to your house?"

Molly internally started as she realized just where they were. "Oh, no, sorry. I only got the morning off to come to the service. I really need to get back to work."

"To work, then," Mycroft offered. "I'd like to hear more of your incidents in the morgue before I have to struggle through a few more painful meetings today."

Alarm bells were ringing in Molly's head, after all, she barely knew Mycroft, and before, Sherlock was always with her when she saw him so he could intervene if he wanted to try anything on her. But she doubted she'd catch a cab fast enough to make it back to work on time, so she shrugged. "Okay."

Mycroft smirked this time, sweeping an arm towards the exit, saying, "After you."

Molly gave him a look but started walking anyway. "So…exactly what about my 'incidents in the morgue' make meetings more bearable?"

Mycroft shrugged, and Molly had the insane urge to laugh at the action that looked so out of place on him. "Does there need to be a concrete reason? I understand a lot of people listen to songs or own furniture simply because it 'felt right' to them. I feel that if you can cheer up a graveyard, you could cheer up a meeting. Not that there's much of a difference."

Molly snickered. "Sherlock never said you were funny."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows for a fraction of a second before he masked his surprise, but Molly caught it. "He…talks about me? Talked, I suppose I should say. I doubt he'll be calling soon."

Molly looked over at him. "Are you kidding? When he had nothing else on, he'd come to me, and you would be close to the top on the list of things he'd talk about. Admittedly, a lot of it was rants or warnings to me, but I can pick apart what Sherlock is saying after knowing him for a few years, and I know enough to see what he thinks about you."

"And that would be…?"

Molly held a finger to her lips and giggled like a schoolgirl. "It's a secret," she laughed.

Mycroft arched a single eyebrow as they left the cemetery. Molly continued to laugh and just shook her head. "Sorry, you won't get that information out of me."

Mycroft sighed as a car pulled up, and opened the door for Molly. She walked passed him, trying her best not to bump into him and slid to the other side of the car. Mycroft got in after her and looked over. "So. What does Sherlock think of me?"

Molly glanced around conspiratorially. "You promise not to tell anyone?"

Mycroft made a cross motion over his heart.

Molly leaned forward and said barely above a whisper, "He thinks…that you…are…"

Mycroft nodded, prompting her to continue.

"…His older brother," Molly finished with a smile that barely concealed more giggles.

Mycroft made a face at her, which caused all the giggles Molly was holding in to be let loose. Mycroft jumped at the sound, only causing Molly to laugh more. She continued to laugh until they reached the hospital, at which point she quieted, because she figured laughing after she was at a funeral would turn some heads. She opened the car door and smiled at Mycroft. "Thanks for the ride," she said as she closed the door.

She walked into Bart's and got ready for an afternoon of work, feeling for some reason like she had just passed a test she wasn't aware she was taking at the time. But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed likely. Mycroft needed to know she could keep a secret under stress, getting something trivial out of her could be a good test of her character. Good thing Sherlock's death wasn't the only secret she'd ever promised to keep.