Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock BBC.
"I understand that you were initially appointed to head a project but unfortunately it was aborted due to the hospital's budget cutting. I can help you but on one condition. You are to regularly update me in regards to the daily activities of Sherlock Holmes." The British Government did not even attempt to hide the boredom from his expression and voice. It was as if he repeated similar words to a lot of people before and Mycroft expected the same outcome this time round for he assumed that she was no different from them.
"You…are asking me to keep tabs on Sherlock? And if I don't do as you say?" Molly Hooper asked the older man with a cautious tone and upon hearing her question; Mycroft smirked to himself. A handful of them did try to display their supposed bravery and loyalty to his brother but what they did not realise was that how easily their 'bravery and loyalty' disappeared with a simple threat.
"You would be finding a new job." Mycroft finally lifted his eyes and stared at the pathologist hard to demonstrate the seriousness of his promise. The light in Molly's eyes never diminished as she smiled kindly at the British Government.
"I wish I have a brother like you. You can always come and find me at St Bart's then we can talk about Sherlock. Of course, my information would be free of charge. Don't worry; I'll do my best to keep an eye on him. I'll leave first if there is nothing else? I still have two more autopsies to perform." It would be an understatement to say that the British Government was caught off guard by the turn of events and he barely withheld his surprise from showing. Rare as it is, the pathologist made quite an impression on him.
Tonight could definitely be considered as the most terrible date Molly ever encountered but the pathologist was not one to hold on to negativity for long. However it would seem that the heavens did not want her to forget it just yet when without any warning, it began to rain heavily. Those who brought umbrellas with them, rain is the more common weather element in London anyway, opened theirs and continued walking while those who didn't, for a variety of reasons, darted to the nearest shelter except for Molly.
According to the pathologist's estimation, the tube station was not very far from where she was and holding the bag over her head, Molly picked up her pace but the rain still managed to find the pathologist. Under the cloak of the heavy rain, Molly did not notice an unmarked car that stopped nearby and a man wearing a three-pieced suit stepped out of the vehicle. While trying to avoid a rather large puddle, the pathologist suddenly felt none of the rain's merciless attack on her anymore.
"Mycroft, what are you doing here?" Curious, Molly asked with a small smile. "Hope I'm not too late in coming to the lady's rescue?" The British Government did not answer her question, instead he merely extended his arm towards the pathologist to better shield her from the downpour. "Allow me to send you home, Molly." Mycroft gestured to the vehicle parked beside them.
"Oh no, its fine. I'm just a stone's throw away from the tube station." Molly waved her hand, not wanting to further trouble the British Government. Mycroft tilted his head, "I'm sure you would not want me to get reprimanded by my mother for not being a gentleman. My back is getting uncomfortably wet as we speak, Molly." As Mycroft expected, the pathologist became flustered at what he said and immediately acceded to the request even if it was only to keep him out of the rain.
Once inside the car, Mycroft instructed his driver to switch on the heater and turned to look at Molly who was trying to occupy the least amount of space as possible. "It's alright to lean back and be comfortable, Molly. You have my word that the car seats would not be damaged," The British Government spoke seriously but his eyes revealed the humour behind his words. Before Molly could reply, the vehicle slowed down in front of a red light. The momentum coupled with her wet clothes and the fact that she was sitting literally on the edge of the seat triggered the inevitable from happening.
The pathologist prepared herself for the impact of slamming into the front passenger seat but she was pulled back to safety just in time. Molly's breathing quickened as she saw a close-up of Mycroft's face. The pathologist then clumsily removed herself from his embrace with a burning face. The sound of rain hitting against the car was a convenient excuse for their awkward silence that followed after. "Here," the British Government gave his handkerchief to Molly. "Thank you." She nodded shyly and wiped her face with it as the silence between them resumed.
Clutching Mycroft's handkerchief, Molly bravely sneaked a glance at him and was partly relieved to find that the British Government did not seem overly bothered by the incident. After all, she did not want Mycroft to feel uncomfortable due to her being a klutz. Like Sherlock, the pathologist considered him as her friend too. Mycroft would often come to St. Bart's to discuss cases with his brother and he would also talk to Molly if he had the spare time. She always enjoyed such times because the Holmes brothers are good conversationalists when they choose to.
By the time they reached her flat, the rain had ceased and the pair stood on the pavement. "Thank you for the ride home, Mycroft," and Molly held up the handkerchief, "I'll wash and return it to you soon." Leaning on his umbrella, the British Government replied, "You are welcome, Molly. Goodnight." The pathologist tip-toed and kissed him on the cheek before disappearing into the building, "Goodnight, Mycroft."
The British Government instinctively inhaled the distinct smell of the post rain as the sensation of Molly's lips on his cheek lingered on, forcing him to acknowledge the acceleration of his heart rate. With her heart still pounding, the pathologist leaned against the door and gazed at the handkerchief.
The pathologist made a loud sneeze and rubbed her nose that was starting to resemble like Rudolph the reindeer. The Holmes brothers paused their discussion and looked at her. Noticing the stares directed at her, Molly apologised abashedly, "Sorry about that," yet her sniffles continued. After the discussion had ended, the consulting detective recalled that he still has an experiment in another lab and went to inspect the results. Sherlock made a detour to the cafeteria before coming back to the main lab. Mycroft also left the room, only to return first with a cup of ginger tea.
Engrossed in her own work, Molly was naturally surprised when the British Government appeared by her side and passed her the tea. "It is to my understanding that this would help with your cold." The pathologist accepted it with gratitude, "Thank you. Oh, I had already washed your handkerchief but I forgotten to bring it with me today." Mycroft shook his head to reassure Molly, "There's no rush in returning it."
Sherlock stood outside of the lab and saw the smiles the pair gave to each other; they probably did not even know how sweet of a scene they were effectively portraying. Looking at the ginger tea he was holding just made Sherlock feel all the more worse. Mycroft was always a bloody step ahead of him. Putting back his mask, the consulting detective re-entered the lab while causally sipping the tea.
"You would not like the taste of ginger tea, Sherlock. You never did since you were a child." The British Government warned him in a big-brother manner and Sherlock mentally cursed at Mycroft as he winced from the spiciness of the tea. As usual, his brother was right. The consulting detective repeated the internal curse to suppress his anger. Concerned, Molly questioned, "Sherlock, why are you drinking ginger tea? Are you feeling unwell?"
The sincerity of her tone pricked his non-existent heart and to deflect the pain, "I'm experimenting what are the possible alternatives for coffee. Lately I have felt too dependent on it, not a wise habit I believe. Unless you would wish for me to revert to drugs, brother mine?" With what little information he had at hand, Mycroft connected the dots but the British Government found no will in him to challenge his brother with the new knowledge he had gained.
"If you really don't like it, why don't I make you some coffee instead?" Sherlock really did not like the ginger tea, too spicy for his taste and strangely, bitter too. "No need, Molly." He should have cut off this addiction long time ago and he needed to start now.
Author's note: Due to my exams, it's been a while since I posted a new story so please pardon my rusty writing skills and hopefully you readers would still enjoy it!