Sherlock is not mine. Except inside my mind palace. There, he is sooo mine.
Molly Hooper sighed as she signed the last paperwork. It was the end of her working shift that day, the one that was extraordinarily long. She had three autopsies and one of them was a little child died from bland force trauma. She discovered that the little boy was not more than three years old, malnourished, repeatedly sexually abused and was beaten to death by an unknown metal object. Sgt. Kelly Peterson handled the case and she had just informed Molly that they caught the perpetrator, his adoptive parents. Molly loved her job, but at times like this, she really wished that she was a simple pediatrician in a country side instead.
She was tired, heart-broken and the only thing she wanted was to get home and played with her cat. That's why when she heard the baritone voice of Sherlock Holmes; she was less than thrilled, no matter how he was supposed to be the love of her life. An ever unrequited, that he was.
But she kinda made a promise to be his everlasting side kick/slave on solving crime, so she braced herself and got up to see what the beautiful ethereal man needed.
"Ah, Molly, there you are," he said.
Molly forced a smile and asked, as always, "What do you need, Sherlock?" She really hoped that he was just in need of fresh fingers or liver so that she could shove it to his beautiful hands that never desired to touch her and get home.
"I need your assistance on an experiment," he said.
Sherlock was there alone without John, so Molly guessed he wasn't working on an urgent case. Chance was he was just bored. Molly breathed and asked, "What kind of experiment?"
"I need to find the right amount of substance. It can be a matter of life and death," he answered.
"Are you working on a case?" Molly asked.
"No, not really. I just figured that this experiment can be useful if a case presents itself," he answered.
"So you're just bored," Molly whispered.
Sherlock looked at his pathologist and sensed that she'd rather go home than taking care of his need of assistance. And it annoyed him. Sherlock realized that Molly's newfound independence and confidence had made her somewhat immune to his charm. He'd rather have the Molly who gladly stayed all night with him just for the sake of BE with him.
But he'd be damned if he didn't somehow be considerate of Molly's feeling. After all, he wanted Molly to be happily assist him. So he put his best smile and said, "Please. I'll bring chips and coffee. It's not like you have anything important to do, right?"
Molly sighed. It will be a long night. "Sure," she complied. They worked together for one hour and Molly went to get their chips and coffee.
When she got back to the lab she bumped into the infamous Billy Wiggins, who was standing right in front of the lab's door. She spilled the coffees into Billy's shady jacket. "Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized.
Billy apologized and he diligently wiped the spilling coffee on the floor with napkins. Molly smiled and thanked him. "I will bring more chips and coffee," she said.
But Sherlock got up from his microscope and said, "No need, Molly. Just give my portion to him. He will help you continue our experiment. I need to go now. You would do as Molly say. Understand?" Sherlock pointed at Billy who nodded earnestly.
"Of course, Sherl," he answered.
Molly wanted to open her mouth to ask where Sherlock would go, but she closed it and just nodded. For some reason she didn't know yet, she felt that not knowing where he went that night was better.
Molly and Billy worked diligently. Billy proved himself to be a valuable experiment partner. He was, after all, had a master degree in chemistry. Fortunately there wasn't much left to do. In another half an hour Molly and Billy finished their experiment and sipping their coffee together like old best friends.
Molly found that Billy was intelligent and easy to talk when he wasn't high. He was polite and loved to tell stories about his adventure with Sherlock's homeless network. Molly had connections with some of the homeless, too, because she had helped Sherlock to contact them in many occasions. So she was happy to hear about the people she knew.
As much fun as she had talking to Billy Wiggins, Molly had had a very long and tiring day and soon the need to rest overwhelmed her. Billy realized that Sherlock's pathologist was tired and he jumped from his seat and started to collect the empty coffee cups and chips containers.
Molly smiled at him appreciatively. "Thanks, Billy. You are very kind," she said.
"Well, this is the least I can do for you, Missus," he grinned. "I'm sorry that Sherl had to go."
Molly chuckled. She wanted to know if Sherlock would appreciate Billy apologizing for him. "That is not your fault," she said. "And I had fun working with you," she added. Yep, that was definitely fun. After all, she was in the middle of "moving on from Sherlock project."
"Well, if I had been aware that you had stayed late because of him, I wouldn't have informed Sherlock about Irene Adler just yet," he said. "You know, she had been back to London and Sherlock wanted to know when she's back. But I don't think he should've rushed at her and left you while he had been the one who forced you to help him in the first place." Wiggins shook his head, disagreed.
Irene Adler. Molly suddenly felt a pang of sickness in her heart. Who is she? What is she to Sherlock? Before she managed to synchronize her mouth and her brain and stop herself from asking, she found herself asked the dreadful question, "Who is she?"
Was it her voice that was so shaky and hurt? Wiggins shot her a glance. "You don't know Irene?" he asked.
Molly shook her head. Wiggins looked guilty. He shifted uncomfortably. "I think you should ask Sherl about that, Missus," he eventually said.
Molly sighed. Whatever makes you think he will tell me, Wiggins? She mentally spat. I am none to him. As much as he said I mattered, I know that I am not THAT matter. Nobody told me when Sherlock Holmes was shot and nearly dead for real. I had to read on the newspaper about his ex-fiancée Janine whom – apparently – got shagged a lot. And of course nobody bothered to tell me when Sherlock killed a man and nearly got exiled. It was just thanks to a terrorist cell that used Moriarty message that he got back to London.
But all of that was not Billy Wiggins' fault. So Molly forced a smile that she hoped spoke 'Whoever she is, I don't care' and said, "Ok." Without having to look at a mirror, she knew that she failed miserably on her attempt to look and sound ignorant.
Billy made sure that she safely got inside a cab. Molly googled Irene Adler in her phone and got herself into her infamous website. Looking at Irene's nearly bare body Molly realized who she was. She was the woman in the morgue; the woman whom Sherlock identified from not her face. And then Molly recalled a posting from the blog of John Watson. John wrote about THE WOMAN who were then in a witness protection program. Yes, that's right, her name was Irene Adler.
So she's back now, huh? Molly thought. Well, that should mean Sherlock will not be bored anymore, will he? And that's good. He will stop coming to the morgue and demand her assistance. That's great. That's super. Molly chuckled. She felt chill creep her spine and yielded in the urge to cry.
SHMHSHMH
Billy Wiggins stood on the sidewalk as he watched the cab that carried his master's pathologist went away. He swore mentally to his infernal big mouth for revealing Sherlock's Irene condition. He could see that the petite pathologist's hurt eyes, how she tensed and how her face became darker and her figure became smaller.
Billy had always liked Molly Hooper. She was kind and caring and she gave a lot of shit about Sherlock and everyone around her. And sometimes she gave too much shit about all of them. Billy was no fool. He could tell that Molly was genuinely kind hearted with no single selfish bone in her. But he could also tell that it did her no good to be that unselfish. All Sherlock did was hanging her around like a marionette. And Wiggins projected that one day the marionette would be broken, alas she would still be hanging there.
But the decision about Sherlock's love life was not Wiggins' to make. And Irene Adler… Well, she was Irene Adler, the most beautiful woman in London. A femme fatale. Wiggins could see why Sherlock was hung to her like another broken doll. Love was a strange thing, indeed. He shivered a little as he swore to the life of celibacy.
Billy Wiggins could not dictate Sherlock Holmes to love Molly Hooper, but he could do the second best. He could ask Mycroft Holmes to give Molly the things she well deserved, a great night: Anthea style. And he, Billy Wiggins, could play the escort. It will be super!
"What is it, Wiggins?" Mycroft Holmes answered Billy's call.
"Yo, Mike. It's been a long time, eh. Just a head up for you, Irene Adler is back in London," Billy informed.
Mycroft was silent for a moment and asked, "And my brother has been made aware of this?"
"He went straight to her like a bullet through your brain," said Billy.
"I can assure you that no bullet shall pass through my brain," Mycroft replied.
"Hold that thought, Mike. I have a request to make," Billy said.
Mycroft Holmes had a lot of people making a lot of requests at him. Sometimes they were easy, sometimes they were hard. Mycroft was not the one who made promises he couldn't keep, so naturally he would only accept the requests he most certainly could grant. And the people who could make a request to him was very limited, only a selected few. But of course he could at least hear what could possibly be the request of Billy Wiggins. After all, Wiggins was a valuable asset for England.
"Very well, let us hear your request," Mycroft spoke.
"Let me take Missus Molly Hooper on a super date in London: Anthea style," Billy shot.
Mycroft was not a man who was easy to be surprised. But indeed the request Billy Wiggins made surprised him. Did Billy just ask Mycroft permission to take his brother's pathologist, who was by the way infatuated by his brother so much Mycroft nearly believed that she was in love with his brother? And on top of that, what was his own personal… secretary… yeah, just secretary had anything to do with it?
"I don't follow," Mycroft simply said.
"Well, you see, the Missus seemed a little under the weather these days," explained Billy. "I think it was common courtesy to give her a little spark in her life. I mean, she did help you and your brother a lot."
"So, you want Anthea to arrange a nice dinner, maybe opera show and dancing at the club for you and Molly Hooper. And I am expected to pay for that?" Mycroft realized what Billy had meant. He WAS the smart one, after all.
"Not opera. For God's sake, you don't even know what your Anthea is capable of doing, do you?" Wiggins laughed out loud. "Just ask her to arrange a date for me and Molly Hooper and give her your diamond card, will you?"
Mycroft didn't like what Billy insinuating, at all. Whatever he means Anthea is capable of doing? He thought angrily. But his anger somewhat subsided when he realized that Billy had actually said your Anthea. Mycroft felt something very similar to happiness because of that acknowledgment.
Anyway, of course HE knew what Anthea was capable of. She was the most efficient secretary he'd ever had. She was indeed capable of many things if she managed to take care of his needs for so long.
"You know what? I have a better idea, Wiggins. Instead of you, I will embrace the task of showing Molly Hooper a good time instead," Mycroft said.
"Fine," Billy chuckled. "That's great. I don't need to shave, then. Just make sure that Anthea is the one who arrange your date, ok, Mike?"
SHMHSHMH
Mycroft hang up the phone and called his Anth – his secretary, Anthea.
"Yes, bos." Anthea floated into his chamber. Mycroft always had a feeling that Anthea always floated, never walked. That's how graceful she was. If he didn't know better, he would swear that Anthea was one of the Veela from Harry Potter's book.
"What could possibly be your dream date?" Mycroft asked her. "Where would you be taken on an ideal date?"
Anthea seemed a bit surprised by the question. Mycroft NEVER watched her taken by surprise, or in her case, she never had any emotions. It was just a mere second but Mycroft Holmes was a very perceptive man that he didn't miss the flash of pink tinted Anthea's fair cheek.
But when she answered, her voice was as cool as always. "A nice home cooking dinner will do."
Really? Mycroft frowned. That doesn't seem very special. "Do you think Molly Hooper will enjoy that kind of date?" Mycroft asked again.
Anthea never asked questions. She knew Mycroft hated slow people so she only gave answers. Even though she was in fact very curious about the connection between her ideal date and Mycroft Holmes' brother's pathologist, she only answered what Mycroft had asked her. "Absolutely not."
So that was her own ideal date, Mycroft thought. Not that I need to have that information whatsoever. He glanced at his glamour secretary and imagining her in a simple date like she had suggested. He imagined that she would wear something less formal than her everyday attire, maybe a simple skirt and cardigan… Mycroft realized that he was daydreaming and Anthea was in fact waiting for him to say something.
"Do you know what kind of things she would mostly enjoy on a date?" Mycroft asked.
Do Mycroft want to ask his brother's pathologist who is in love with the mentioned brother on a date? Has he lost his mind? Is it another Holmes boys' thug war? Anthea felt something very similar to jealousy. But she was nothing if she couldn't hide her feeling. "Of course. I can arrange a perfect date for both of you," she answered efficiently.
"You don't have to input me factor as a consideration. Just focus on the perfect and best evening for Molly Hooper," Mycroft dictated. "I'll just be there to be a… accessory." He waved his hand gracefully.
Anthea checked her smart phone. "Fortunately, an event just presents itself as an opportunity of a perfect date for Molly Hooper, that will also work for your favor, Boss," she said. "That is Saturday night's ball in Baron Friedrich's mansion."
"Won't you come with me?" Mycroft asked. "It was nearly a social gathering. I have to be there for information."
"Sadly, Boss, the only thing that will make Molly Hooper agree to go on a date with you is if she believe she is needed to help you and serve England," Anthea said matter of factly. "And the Baron will be less uptight if he thinks you are there for a social gathering. And bringing me speaks business. After all, I am quite well known."
"If you say so," he surrendered. Mycroft always trusted Anthea's opinion.
"Let us not making delay and inform Miss Hooper immediately. If she's already had plan,-"
Mycroft snorted before Anthea finished her sentence. The secretary looked at her boss questioningly. "She's not having any plans. She has nobody to make plans with Saturday night," Mycroft smirked diminutively.
Anthea felt bad about Molly. These Holmes brothers had always taken her for granted. "Maybe you shouldn't tell her that," she suggested coldly.
Mycroft felt her anger and shut up.
SHMHSHMH
Molly Hooper was lying in her sofa and scratching absent mindedly the back of her cat's head when she heard the knocking on her door. Who could that possibly be? She knew it wasn't Sherlock because Sherlock never knocked and he most certainly was with The Woman right then. But she still hoped a little that it was the devilishly handsome sleuth who would take her room and make her sleep on the couch as always.
Molly peered at the key hole and found the devilishly beautiful secretary of Mycroft Holmes and her boss. What has happened with Sherlock? She frantically opened the door. "What happened?" She asked the two with so much fear that her voice was barely a whisper.
Anthea smiled assuringly and took over as Mycroft seemed surprised with her reaction. "Nothing happened with Sherlock, Miss Hooper. Can we come in?" she asked sweetly.
Molly's jaw dropped. She never thought that Mycroft secretary could be very sweet. She always thought of her as intimidating because her beauty and uptightness. But right then she just seemed like a nice and more beautiful big sister; someone whom Molly would look up to growing up.
"Yes, sure. Please come in," she said. Molly awkwardly tidied up her laptop and journals that scattered on her table. "I'm sorry for the mess," she apologized, huffing a little from the nervous. "Please sit down," she offered her guests.
Anthea smiled sweetly and Mycroft sat immediately. "Can I offer you beverages?" Molly asked.
Anthea answered efficiently, "Please sit down, Miss Hooper. I would make the beverages."
"Oh, no, no. Please don't bother," Molly almost got a panic attack imagining the shining and gorgeous woman making beverages in her kitchen.
"Tea, please," Mycroft Holmes spoke politely for the first time and help himself sat on Molly's couch.
Molly smiled and rushed to the kitchen.
Mycroft used the opportunity to look around the petite pathologist's flat. He could almost understand why his brother would use it as a bolt hole. Oh, no, not the safety or privacy. The flat was awfully unsafe and Mycroft wouldn't – in a million years – approve of it as a bolt hole. But it was somehow comfortably messy and warm. It reminded him a lot to their parent's house back in Yorkshire. He could almost see Sherlock sit comfortably in the biggest couch and Molly laugh at something on the telly. Mycroft Holmes shook his head to eliminate the image. What did he just think? Maybe he's really getting old.
Anthea suspiciously eyed her boss. She didn't miss how Mycroft's cheek reddened a little. It was cute. But she didn't like the idea that Molly's place was what caused him to act that way. She still didn't know the reason of this particular date. Was Mycroft somehow infatuated by the lively and cheerful girl? Anthea looked at Molly who was stirring the tea. She was lovely, warm and normal. She was nothing like the icy façade she had to act every single day. She was beautifully clumsy and just adorable. Anthea could see why Mycroft would like her. She would like her if she were a man. Molly was nothing like her.
Molly got back with the tea. She nervously placed the cups and sat down.
Mycroft sipped his tea elegantly. Anthea eyed her boss. She always loved how he puckered his lips to sip his tea. For a moment Anthea felt unreasonably jealous at the lucky cup. She imagined how it would feel if those lips were on her hardened nipple, nibbling happily. Yes, she would very much enjoy being nibbled by the lips of Mycroft Holmes. Anthea giddily shifted in her seat.
Mycroft smiled at Molly and told her about their objective. Molly seemed unsured at first. She glanced at Anthea a couple of times like she was unsure whether the beauty was hurt by Mycroft decision to take her instead of his assistant. Anthea almost felt loved from her action.
"But, wouldn't Miss… Anthea make a better partner?" Molly spoke.
Anthea smiled assuring at Molly. "Not this time," she explained. "Baron Friedrich expects boss to bring a date. And he knows that I'm boss' assistant. We need someone who can convince him that boss is actually there for social event, not for business. That's why we need your help, Miss Hooper."
Molly bit her lower lip. She wasn't an expert about love and dating but she'd be blind and heartless if she didn't notice how Anthea's perfect manner almost faltered when she acknowledged herself as a mere assistant of Mycroft's. Molly shyly glanced at her. She felt something in common to the beauty. That was they were really head over heels with the Holmes brothers. But she scolded herself of being pompous. There was no way you could be 'the same' as the beautiful creature that is Anthea.
"I'm sure there are many… people you can… use for something like this. I mean, I'm not trained. What if I do something stupid, make some mistakes and blow away our cover?" Molly nervously asked. She really didn't want to get involved in some international incident, or to be the cause of international incident.
Mycroft smiled this time. "Well, you don't have to worry yourself, Miss Hooper. All you need to do is enjoying the party, dance with me and be beautiful. Those won't be hard, especially the last thing," he bowed in respect.
Molly blushed. The older Holmes did have his way with words. Molly couldn't help to note that – unlike his little brother – Mycroft Holmes didn't have difficulty to utter compliments. She couldn't help but glanced nervously at Anthea, though. The later woman seemed unaffected and efficiently pulled a card from her bag.
"There will be a chauffeur accompanying you to get ready, Miss Hooper," Anthea said, smiling sweetly. She handed Molly the card and told her to show it to whatever place the chauffer would take her. "You'll be in the right hand."
As surprising as their presence, Mycroft and Anthea was gone before Molly could comprehend what had just happened. She looked at the card in her hand, a simple name card with Mycroft Holmes' name plastered on it. Molly shrugged. It seemed like she was having a date with Mycroft Holmes this weekend.
SHMHSHMH
The rest of the week was uneventful. Sherlock didn't visit the morgue and his absence made Molly sad. She imagined that he was indulged in painfully pleasurable experience given by the strong, beautiful, glamour dominatrix.
"They do look perfect together," she sighed while cutting open Mr. Barnes' chest. Molly could imagine the always elegant detective who could even pull a model-look-alike appearance while playing junkie walk hand in hand with the striking dominatrix. "It is a view worthy of a painting!" she shouted.
"What is?" Molly jumped as someone replied her. She turned her head and managed a small, forced smile at the sleuth.
There he is, smart as ever, she thought. He always looks so damn delicious like he is just jump out of a magazine cover or billboard.
"Hi," she greeted Sherlock.
"I need your lab, Molly," he said sternly.
"Sure," she nodded. Sherlock seemed busy and not in the mood for chit-chat so Molly just smiled and continued with her work as the detective slipped into the lab. Sherlock called her a couple of times to ask for coffee, body parts and asked her opinion about the result of his experiment. Molly obediently and efficiently did all the tasks he entrusted, but with lack of personal interest.
She knew her place. She was just someone convenient for Sherlock Holmes. If she slacked off and indulged in sentiment that render her to comply with Sherlock's demands effectively and efficiently, she would be replaced easily by Billy Wiggins. She realized that Wiggins was smart and a brilliant chemist. In no time Sherlock would have his perfect protégé and his needs for Molly would lessen.
And she didn't want that to happen too quickly. She knew she was pathetic but rather than dignity, she'd prefer having Sherlock Holmes in her life, whatever position he placed her, even if it was only as a disposable lab assistant/general affair/slave. She had decided that she would dutifully continue her job until Sherlock disposed of her for good. That was the most stupid decision she'd ever made, she knew.
She was concentrating on examining Mr. Barnes' heart when Sherlock walked out of the lab, having finished his experiment. "Thank you," he said coldly. Molly just smiled and nodded.
Sherlock walked out of the morgue and he didn't like what had just happened. Molly seemed disturbed by his presence. She did let him did whatever he wanted. She helped him if he asked her. And she did comply with his demands and get him things he said he needed. But she didn't come to the lab just to check on him like she used to. She always found a need to check on him. Ok, maybe in the past he had always tried his best to look annoyed with her "curiosity" but he actually liked it when she walked in when he was doing an experiment, all smiling, blushing and stammering, tried her best to impress him.
But now, none. She busied herself with her work all the time and not once came inside the lab on her own. He felt… lost and abandoned, which was strange because it really felt that he couldn't really function without Molly Hooper. And that was very peculiar, strange, uncomfortable and… cold. Sherlock shivered and blamed it to the chilling wind of London night.
He had been busy for a couple of days, working on a case with Irene in Denmark. She came in handy because she had an inside "connection" with an old and respected royal family that he had to investigate. That was why he was so eager to see her once she had been back. It was he who arranged for her coming back, after all. She was more useful in London, anyway. She was thankful and as usual invited him to dinner to show her gratitude. It was the offer that he didn't have to think about to reject. Dinner with Irene was – surprisingly – nothing extraordinary for him.
And as soon as he was back in London, the first place he wanted to visit was the Bart's morgue. He did need to do some experiment that he'd been thinking since he was on the plane. But it was really not that important. If John was there, he would say that Sherlock only made up a reason to visit Bart. Which is ridiculous, he mentally laughed. I am not making up excuse to visit Molly.
Liar! Spat John's voice.
Sherlock scrunched his nose. Well, for the purpose of full disclosure, he kinda missed how Molly would dote on him. He wanted to walk in and had her gapping, smiling, her face lit up just from seeing him. At least that was what he had thought would happen. But instead he found her lethargic and low spirited.
Maybe she's not feeling well, you bloody git! John's voice slapped him. Not all the things are about you, Sherlock!
Sherlock stopped suddenly and ran back to Bart's to check on Molly. If she was actually feeling unwell, I didn't mind to forgive her cold behavior and accompany her home.
Mike Stamford was humming happily and making notes in his clipboard when Sherlock got back at the morgue. "Where's Molly?" Sherlock asked without preamble.
"Oh, hi, Sherlock!" he said happily. Mike looked always happy. He was content with his life and married the love of his life. "Molly had just gone, actually," Mike answered. "Do you need anything?"
Not from you, Sherlock forced his mouth not to utter the sharp reply. It wasn't Mike's fault that Sherlock's an idiot. "She's gone home already?" Sherlock didn't know why he asked. He felt stupid as soon as he uttered the question. Of course she was heading home. Where else would she be heading?
But Mike's answers surprised him. "I don't think so. She seemed hurry after she got a text. Maybe she's going to a sick relative or else. She seemed worry and agitated."
Where would you be, Molly Hooper?
SHMHSHMH
Not long after Sherlock had left, Mycroft texted Molly that her chauffeur was ready and she should head to the entrance immediately since she had a lot to do before the ball. Molly almost forgot about the dreaded ball. She had been so sure that Mycroft would've come to his sense and cancelled the affair before the text came.
Molly didn't mind to confess that she was a little afraid of going undercover with the older Holmes. Well, she led a normal-ish silent life all her life - albeit dating the most dangerous man in England and faking suicide of the only man she'd ever loved. But Anthea said that England needed her service so she would be brave and accompany Mycroft Holmes dancing.
That would be the case if she had the courage to come out of the room at the apartment Mycroft had prepared for her 'transformation'. Molly never considered herself beautiful. Well, she was aware she at least had all the proper things intact, or else Tom wouldn't have wanted to marry her at some point. But she knew that she wasn't starlet gorgeous like Anthea or… Irene Adler – The Woman. Molly recalled the dreaded Christmas 2 year prior when she had been so confident and feeling beautiful, wearing a new dress she hoped would make him see her. That night Sherlock tore her self-confident into pieces. How could she ever have thought that Sherlock would ever find her aesthetically pleasing?
She wore a sapphire blue dress Anthea had handed her after a band of – what Mycroft describe – the best make-up artists in England did her hair and face. There was no mirror in the room and Molly didn't know how she looked like. Once she had felt beautiful, but Sherlock – oh, Sherlock… Molly chuckled a little, feeling absolutely silly that she let the man haunted her thought even when he was absent.
Anthea knocked on the door. Molly breathed and opened the damn door. She looked at Anthea and suddenly feeling very vulnerable. The later woman smiled very sweetly at her.
"Is –is it good?" Molly asked.
"Why don't you see it yourself, Miss Hooper?" she answered. Anthea led her to a full body mirror and Molly couldn't believe that the goddess standing beside Anthea is her. Anthea is a goddess even with her efficient secretary suit. But Molly also looked beautiful. Her face looked glowing even with minimal make-up. The hairstylist did her hair loose and soft like a silk curtain fell down her back. And the dress hugged her small figure magnificently, accentuating her strength and hiding her weakness.
"You are beautiful," Anthea said with a sincere smile.
"Thank you," Molly said, smiling nervously.
Mycroft was a real gentleman and Molly enjoyed his companion. The party was magnificent and Mycroft introduced her to all the important people Molly couldn't place again after the introduction. She felt fabulous and beautiful and if the appreciative gazes of the ambassadors, lords and dukes were any indications, she could tell that they also found her beautiful.
Mycroft danced with her and told her funny stories about the royal families. Molly loved the ambience and she even confident enough to accept a dance request from a Russian lord or something while Mycroft did what he was supposed to be doing.
Mycroft came back smiling at Molly, clearly had been successful to get what he came for. Molly smiled back at him. She truly enjoyed the party and feeling thankful at the older Holmes. That ended when the one man she didn't want to meet the most walked toward her.
"Ah, Sherlock," Mycroft greeted his little brother. "England thanks you for your service. And thanks to you, too, Miss Adler."
A woman – goddess mermaid princess? – extended her hand and Mycroft Holmes gleefully kissed it. Molly didn't realize she was staring until the goddess looked at her and spoke with the most glamorous voice she's ever heard. "I believe we haven't met, dear. Are you Mr. Holmes lovely assistant? I've heard a lot about you."
Molly stared at her. Did she talk about me? "O –oh, no," Molly almost fainted hearing her raspy voice. She felt like a chipmunk trapped by a serpent, a beautiful serpent goddess. Molly couldn't help but thought she was somewhat pretty when she looked at the mirror back at the apartment early that night. But that time, being so close to Irene Alder with her black dress, skin like porcelain and red lips, she felt like a child, messy and ugly. "I'm Molly," she said, trying hard not to stutter.
Irene's confused look made Molly realized that she was being unreasonable. Clearly the goddess didn't know who the hell she was. "I – I'm –" Molly looked at Mycroft, pleading for help.
"She's my companion for the lovely evening," Mycroft finished her sentence gracefully.
"Molly… Hooper?" Irene asked.
Molly looked puzzled. "Yes," she answered.
"The one I should be thankful for keeping Sherlock alive," Irene spoke. She looked at Sherlock, who had been surprisingly quiet. "You never told me she was so lovely. I'm jealous."
Molly fiddled with her hand, nervous as to what the super sleuth would say.
Sherlock looked at her and laughed. "She looked like a child trying hard to be an adult," he said mercilessly. "Mycroft, why did you allow her to do her own make-up? Surely you know that she doesn't know anything about make-up by her everyday appearance?"
Molly bit her lip to stop tears falling from her eyes. She didn't dare to hope that Sherlock would fall on his knees and proves his love for her, telling her she look beautiful like a princess and propose her to be his bride. But at least she hoped that he would say that she looked nice, or well, or decent. That would do. Just that would do.
But maybe you did look ridiculous, a voice came to her mind. Sherlock always said the truth. Maybe you really look ugly and childish and you didn't know it. You have to admit that you don't know anything about being fashionable. And he is the one with good taste. Look at him, very handsome, sharp and edgy.
"You are not insulting my companion, are you, Sherlock?" Mycroft coldly replied, tilting his head with a disgust look at his brother.
Sherlock seemed embarrassed but he just curtly answered, "That's the truth." The detective turned his back and walked away briskly.
Irene touched Molly's arm and whispered, "Don't listen to him. I find you delicious." The Woman smiled seductively and walked away.
Mycroft shook his head. "Well, aren't they a lovely couple?" he sighed. "Shall we go to our next destination, Molly? Anthea has prepared an impossible reservation at Chez Renoir downtown. I believe you will find it to your liking."
Molly gulped. "If you don't mind, I – I kinda feel tired. So, if you don't mind, I would like to go home," she said. Molly really wasn't in the mood for the best meal in London with the best view in Chez Renoir tonight. Not after she was consoled by Irene Adler after Sherlock Holmes had insulted her.
Mycroft looked disapproved, but he just smiled politely and said, "Of course not."
SHMHSHMH
Anthea found her employer came alone to the restaurant. "What happened?" she asked. She kinda worked relatively hard to come up with the most delicious menu Chez Renoir could offer. She had grown to care for the clumsy pathologist. She knew exactly what it was like to be in love with a Holmes. And Molly always looked at her with affection. It was like having a sister. So when she realized that something must've happened that rendered Molly from dining, she couldn't stop herself asking question.
Mycroft sighed. He updated his secretary with the recent event in the party. Anthea was a very calm and composed lady. Like her employer, she never showed sentiment. But at that moment Mycroft was positive that she was angry at Sherlock. Her eyes got bigger after he told her about Sherlock's insulting Molly. Mycroft could also detect that her lips became thinner.
Anthea sighed – Mycroft never saw her sighed and he liked it. She always looked like a goddess – a cold and composed goddess. But that moment she just looked like a woman, a very beautiful, compassionate woman. "it's a shame," she said. Mycroft was impressed with Anthea's self-restraint. He bet everything that originally she wanted to spat something poisonous about Sherlock.
"Would you join me for dinner? I'm starving," Mycroft asked non-chalantly.
Anthea looked at him. She opened her mouth to say that it was inappropriate for them to have dinner together. But she stopped before saying that. What the hell, England wouldn't fall just because I have one dinner with Mycroft Holmes, she thought, surrendered to the temptation.
Anthea smiled and professionally led her employer to their table.
SHMHSHMH