The title's not a typo, in case you're wondering. So this happened because I simply love Mike Stamford. I can't really explain it, but I do. And since I won't be attending 221B Con and I will miss the lovely David Nellsit, I wrote this little story to satisfy my Stamford love. Big thanks to MrsMCrieff who helped me with a BUNCH of Brit issues and of course to MizJoely for betaing this. I know I get all sappy about these woman, but I can't stress enough how much they mean to me. I'm certain I wouldn't be writing at all if it were not for their encouragement.

Warnings: This one as some 'autopsy talk' and a tiny bit of crime scene conversation.

I own nothing. Enjoy. ~Lil~

Mike Stamford sat at his desk reading the wedding invitation he'd just received in his email. It was a bit unorthodox, but so was the couple.

~You are cordially invited to the wedding of William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Margaret Hooper (She wouldn't let me include her middle name on the invitation. It's truly awful though, I don't blame her) 10th September, 2016 at 6pm.~

~You will receive coded information as to the location of our nuptials at a later date. This information is classified and will only be shared with you once you've clicked accept. In doing so you have entered into a binding agreement and are subject to penalties including but not limited to, imprisonment and deportation should you share the location of our venue with anyone outside your plus one.~

~We are registered at Harrods and Fisher Scientific Supply under the Smith and Smith wedding. We hope you will be in attendance.~

Laughing to himself, he clicked accept, then let his mind drift to his earliest memories of the soon-to-be Holmes'. He wondered if anyone else knew about their first meeting. He doubted it. Of course everyone knew about Molly's long-standing crush on the detective, but it didn't start out quite that way…

o0o0o0o0o

"Listen," Mike said as he practically jogged to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. "While you were away in Yemen playing 007 with your brother, I hired a new pathologist. Dr. Molly Hooper. She's young, she's bright, she's..."

"Stop!" Sherlock interrupted. "Let me deduce the rest."

"No! That's what I'm getting at. I won't have you upsetting her or worse, scaring her off."

"She's a pathologist, Mike. I doubt she's easily frightened," Sherlock argued as they rounded the corner.

They'd finally reached the morgue and Mike was a little out of breath. "Didn't say she was. But you and your constant need to be right all the time might just…"

"Don't make the new girl cry, got it." Sherlock gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

Mike rolled his eyes and silently asked for strength as they entered. They found Molly Hooper, a bone saw in one hand and half of a femur in the other, hunched over a corpse. Her protective clothing was spattered with blood, a look of concentration on her face. She looked up and glanced at Sherlock then saw Mike.

"Oh, Mike, I'm glad you're here. Look at what I found." She focused her attention back on the body on the slab. "The bullet entered his right shoulder, traveled through his body missing miss all major organs, only to sever the femoral artery causing him to bleed out. If he'd been anywhere other than that abandoned warehouse… I believe he would have lived. Fascinating, isn't it?" She had never once looked away from the corpse during her explanation. "I want to do a study on the trajectory pattern."

Mike had been watching Sherlock during Molly's speech. The man was riveted. His eyes had widened and… did his pupils dilate? He'd never seen the detective so taken-aback, for lack of a better term.

Molly put down the saw and continued her exam, still paying no attention Sherlock. Finally he seemed to regain his composure.

"That is fascinating Dr. Hooper, however will it help me find his killer?" Sherlock asked, in his classic Holemsian way.

She looked up, one hand busy digging a bullet out of the dead man's quad muscle, the other steadying the leg. "I'm sorry, and you are?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." He nodded his head and clasped his hands behind his back.

She smiled, then nudged her protective glasses further up on the bridge of her nose, smearing them with blood in the process. "Consulting detective?"

"Yes, the only one in the world. The police call on me when they're in over their heads," he said with a smirk as he walked around to the other side of the slab and looked at he body.

"You work for the police?" she asked.

"With the police. It's an important distinction."

Molly narrowed her eyes. "Ah, you don't play well with others. Got it." She put her attention back on the leg.

Sherlock bristled at her comment. "No. You see…"

"No, really, I get it." She triumphantly held up a bloody bullet. "Ah ha! Will this help you find the killer, Mr. Holmes?"

"Possibly," he said as he lowered his head to get a better look at the projectile held between her gloved fingers. "I'll need…"

"A forensic analysis of the bullet? Yes. Mike did tell you that I'm a pathologist, right?" She gestured to her bloody clothes. "This isn't a fashion statement."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak to her, then turned to Mike. "I have everything I need… for now. I have to return to Scotland Yard." Then he marched out of the morgue.

Mike was actually pleased with their first meeting. Sherlock had managed to behave himself… somehow. He felt like he'd finally found someone who could handle the irascible detective, at least until Sherlock came storming into his office three days later.

"How long did you expect me to keep it in?" Sherlock asked as he paced.

"Keep what in?" Mike searched his desk for some paracetamol as he listened to the detective. His head was killing him.

"My deductions! I met her three days ago. It was bound to happen!"

He paused his search and looked at Sherlock. "Oh my God! What have you done?"

Sherlock stopped pacing and stood, hands on his hips, facing Mike. "Nothing… really. I deduced that she was an only child, top of her class, has only had one serious boyfriend."

Mike checked the cupboard behind his desk, but found nothing to stop the ache in his head.

"Okay, not so bad…"

"And that she can blame her poor social skills and awkward sense of humor for her lack of acquaintances."

"Why in God's name…"

"And that pretending to be happy and perfect all the time won't bring back her dead parents."

"Shit!" He gave up searching and rubbed his temples.

"And that her trousers make her hips look larger than they are."

"Holy shit!"

"What? That one was a compliment!" Sherlock argued. "You know what you have to do, right?"

"Yes," he said. "But murdering you would take too much energy."

Sherlock actually laughed. "That would be wildly ambitious of you, Mike."

His laughter died when Mike looked up at him with the best glare he could muster. "Sherlock, Dr. Molly Hooper is a brilliant pathologist. We were lucky to get her. If you bugger this up for me, I'm going to... " He thought for a moment then gave the detective a triumphant smile. "I'm going to call your brother!"

"What's Mycroft going to do?"

Mike smiled. "Do you know that I speak to him, oh, about once a month or so?"

"What on earth for?"

"Friendly chat. And he likes to keep tabs on you. Your access to these facilities is contingent on many things." He watched as the wheels turned in Sherlock's mind. Mike got up and walked over to him. "Look, none of the other pathologist or lab assistants will work with you. I had hoped that this might be a fresh start, someone you could actually get to know… maybe even become friends…"

"I don't have friends," he interrupted. "Nor do I want them."

"Fine. But at least a person you could work with and not make them want to kill you. Why don't you at least attempt to…" He paused as the searched for the right words. "Butter her up a bit."

"I'm sorry?"

"Just be kind, or as kind as you can be. She's bright and eager. Not to mention a pretty young thing." He leaned against the front of his desk.

Sherlock gave him a disgusted look. "I'm shocked! You're a married man…"

"I'm married, not blind, Sherlock. I'm just saying, for instance, don't tell her that she has a fat arse."

"I didn't…"

"That's what she heard, I guarantee." He stood up. "Any idea where she is? I'll need to try to smooth this over."

"She stormed out of the lab and headed toward the locker room."

"All right." He started to leave.

"Mike, I don't know how to... butter up to a woman," Sherlock said, sounding not at all like his usual cocky self.

The doctor smiled. "Research it, Sherlock. You'll figure it out."

A week later, sitting in his office trying to catch up on some paperwork, Mike was interrupted once again, this time by Dr. Hooper. She knocked on his open door and had the strangest look on her face.

"What can I do for you Molly?"

" Well something… odd just happened," she started.

"Really?" He motioned for her to take a seat. " I can only assume this has to do with Sherlock."

She giggled nervously. "Good guess. Um, I think he… ah, I think he flirted with me. Or tried to."

"Flirted? Are you sure?" he questioned. "I was hoping he'd apologise. Perhaps…"

"No, he didn't mention what happened the other day." She worried her lip, her brow furrowed. "He said, well it was awkward as hell. But he said, that I was aesthetically pleasing. And that I had a certain symmetry to my features that wasn't altogether unpleasant."

Mike sighed and immediately started looking for something to take for the headache he knew was coming.

"What did he mean?" she asked, clearly suspicious.

This time the pills were in his top left drawer (he'd made sure to keep some on hand since his last run in with Sherlock). "I think he's just trying to be nice."

She looked disappointed for a split second. "Oh, well that explains it. Because really, I actually thought he was gay."

Mike didn't know how to respond for a moment since he'd never given a thought to Sherlock's sexuality one way or another. "Ah, I have no idea if he is or not. But just take it for what it is, Molly. He's making an effort. That's saying something... for him."

She stood up, still looking a bit flummoxed and slowly walked out the door.

Later that week Mike rounded the corner on his way to the Path lab and happened upon a conversation. Once he realised what he was hearing, he paused and, well, there's no nice way of putting it, he eavesdropped on the pair. He told himself it was for the good of the department. That he needed to see how Sherlock and Molly were getting along. His mother would have had other things to say about his behaviour.

"...I do need them, Molly. How will I prove whether or not a person can blow enough air into a victim's lungs to cause them to rupture if I don't have actual lungs?" Sherlock was very nearly whining.

"I don't know, but I'm sure you'll figure it out!" Molly rebutted. "I suggest pig lungs."

Mike heard Sherlock huff, a sound he was quite used to. Clearly the pathologist started to leave because of what he heard next. "Wait, Molly have I ever told you that…" There was a pause, such a long pause that even Mike was getting uncomfortable.

"What Sherlock? I have to get back to work."

"That your skin is always very clean and blemish free."

Mike shook his head and waited for the young woman to laugh in Sherlock's face. However…

"Oh, well… that's nice. I suppose."

What the hell? Mike wondered.

"Yes, and your hair… you have no split ends, to speak of." Pause. "It's… shiny and… healthy. It sort of glistens."

Mike was enthralled. No split ends? What kind of line was that?

Molly giggled. Giggled! "Well, I use this conditioning treatment…"

"I can tell," the detective interjected.

Unbelievable.

"What about just one lung? Surely you have a single lung lying about. Please?" Sherlock asked, in a soft, completely insincere voice, Mike noted. Don't fall for it Molly! It's witchcraft!

"I might have… something that would work. But you can't keep asking me, Sherlock."

"Of course, Molly. I wouldn't dream of it."

He walked away, cursing himself for ever suggesting that Sherlock try to 'butter up' poor Molly. What had he been thinking? He'd have to find a way to stop this before it got out of hand. Molly was young and sweet and far too trusting. Sherlock would take advantage of her and in the end, hurt her. Mike would have none of that.

He spoke to the detective a couple of days later. It was received just about as well as he expected. Sherlock wouldn't admit to anything other than trying to get along with the pathologist. He was simply taking Mike's advice and being more friendly. Mike warned him and Sherlock nodded before asking if he could 'borrow' a severed head. He, evidently, wanted to measure the coagulation of saliva after death. Mike shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sherlock walked away mumbling that he'd get that head, one way or another.

From that point on Mike decided to keep an eye on the two of them. He couldn't have Sherlock running Molly off. She was a valued member of the staff and well, she was the only person who put up with Holmes. It was a delicate balance, but it needed to be kept in check.

They seemed to settle into a fairly normal working relationship. Mike was feeling pretty good about the situation until Molly came running into his office one day in a blazing fit, red-faced and cursing. He knew he was imagining it but there was a moment he thought he actually saw smoke coming out of her ears.

"That… that… wanker!" she shouted.

"Holmes?" Mike asked

"That egotistical, self-serving, over-dressed, pretty boy! With his stupid deductions and his ridiculously curly hair and gorgeous eyes that just can't seem to pick a colour. Oh, and those sculpted cheekbones, and legs for days…"

"Yeah, you sort of stopped insulting him there at the end."

Molly shot him a glare.

"Sorry. Continue." He motioned with his hand. "What did he do?"

"Cancelled my date!"

Mike actually did a double take. "You and Sherlock had a date?"

"No you idiot!" Her eyes bulged and she clamped her hand over mouth. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm… a bit worked up. Ah, no. I had a date with Donald Sanderson. He's a paediatrician, Mike! And tall and blond and sweet, I think. Yes he's sweet. But Sherlock wanted me to stay here. No other pathologist will do. He took it upon himself to personally tell Donald that I wouldn't be available tonight or in the near future." She'd started pacing halfway through her rant and hadn't quite stopped.

"A case?" Mike asked.

"Of course it's a case. It's always a case. And you know what? I don't even mind. I'm more than happy to help. But when I suggested that he ask you to stay late just this one time, he stormed out of the lab. The next thing I know I'm getting a text from Donald canceling our plans." She squared on him. "I'm not his bloody personal assistant!"

"I can stay," Mike reassured her. "I don't mind."

"It doesn't matter. I called Donald and he wants nothing to do with me. Called me Holmes'…"

"What? He called you my what? I'd love to hear this," Sherlock said as he walked into the room.

Mike was almost afraid for Molly to finish that sentence. There were rumors flying around about the pair, ranging from them being secret lovers to Molly being on his brother's payroll.

Molly raged toward the detective. "He called me your lapdog! Me. I'm a fucking doctor. Do you know how long and hard I've worked to get to where I am?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Sanderson's an idiot. Who cares what he…"

"I do! I… did!" She turned to Mike. "I'm leaving. You be his puppy for a while!" She pushed past Sherlock and stormed out.

"Right," Mike said. "What's this case?"

The case was a double homicide and Sherlock was obviously perturbed at being stuck with Mike instead of Molly that evening. But they got through it of course. As they were waiting on some test results Mike decided to try to talk to him, see if he could make Sherlock understand that he'd gone too far this time.

"You know, I do understand that you prefer to work with Molly…" he started.

"It's nothing personal, Mike." Sherlock interrupted. "But Molly's just graduated and besides you've settled into a more administrative role." He never looked up from his mobile as he spoke.

"Wow."

"What?" Sherlock asked, finally looking up.

"That was the most diplomatic I've ever heard you. Still, I didn't miss subtext. I'm old and stuck behind a desk ten hours a day." He laughed. "Like I said, I actually understand. But you can't man-handle her. She clearly won't allow it."

Sherlock nodded and went back to his phone.

"Just a bit of advice from someone who's, well at least older if not wiser. But Molly actually seems to care about you. And I know she cares about your work. Try not to make her hate you."

Sherlock had no response and shortly thereafter the test results came back confirming his initial deductions, as per usual.

More than a week had passed and Molly still refused to work with Sherlock. She performed autopsies, of course, and that included ones sent to them with priority from Scotland Yard. Several days after the almost date incident Philip Anderson came into the Path lab to speak with Mike and Sherlock happened to be at a microscope working on some sort of tobacco ash research. The forensic tech took one look at Sherlock and asked if he could speak to Mike in private. They stepped into the small office that was used by the pathologist on duty.

"Look Mike, I know you're fond of that new little pathologist you hired, but she completely undermined my assessment on the Holland murder and I want you to go over her autopsy report. Maybe pull some of her past reports as well, and double check them. She's cute and all and I realise that she's Holmes' little bitch, but there's no way I missed…"

"Anderson," Sherlock said entering the room. "Let me put this in a way that even a mind as small as yours can understand it. Molly Hooper is no one's 'bitch'. She's a scientist and a far better one that you will ever be. You did miss the injection site. I saw it myself after she'd completed the exam. She most likely would have seen it in the dark alley where the body was dumped, it was that obvious. And furthermore, if I catch you spreading any more rumors about her, or calling her such a demeaning name, I will personally make your miserable life even more miserable than it already is."

The greasy little man squared on the detective. "Are you threatening a member of the Met?"

"No, I'm threatening you, Anderson. And I mean it. Leave Molly Hooper alone. She's off limits, understand?" Sherlock said in a low, dangerous tone.

Mike saw where the situation was headed and it wasn't good. "I've been working with Sherlock this week, Phillip. I looked at the report myself. He's right. And he's also right about your attitude regarding Molly. I'll have none of it in my department."

Anderson narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "He's got you all under some kind of spell." He walked out the door mumbling under his breath. When he was just outside the door Mike heard him say 'Dr. Hooper'. Sherlock and Mike looked at each other before following the tech out the door.

"Molly," Mike said. Thankfully Anderson had continued on his way.

She was staring at the detective. "I heard what you said."

He nodded.

"Th-thank you."

He nodded again.

"You working on ash today?" she asked.

"I am," Sherlock replied.

"Need any help?" she asked with a smile.

Mike sighed and walked out of the lab, happy that things could finally go back to normal. And they did, or the new normal that he would come to know. Molly soon developed a bit of a crush on the detective and Sherlock learned very quickly how to take advantage of said crush. His compliments got better and Molly willingly gave up more of her free time. Mike continued to keep an eye on them but never really had to intervene again, especially after he introduced his former classmate John Watson into the mix.

He watched the pair go through many ups and downs. The Moriarty scare wasn't fun. As a matter of fact he was actually frightened for his employee when he found out that her young man had been a criminal mastermind and not an unassuming IT worker.

There was some incident at Christmas. He never got any details, he only knew that Molly wasn't quite the same for some time after, though in fairness, neither was Sherlock.

After Sherlock jumped off of the roof of the hospital Mike had to watch the young woman, who he'd come to think of as a daughter, go through her own personal hell. Of course as it turned out she was simply missing him and worrying about him, but watching her 'mourn' was painful nonetheless. It made sense later why she seemed so different than John. At the time, Mike had assumed it was because she'd known the detective longer and perhaps, because she was in love with him.

After Sherlock died Molly met that nice Tom fellow and Mike thought that she was finally going to be happy. But of course like Lazarus himself, Sherlock rose from the dead and was once again flitting around the lab. Not too long after John's wedding, which Mike had missed much to his dismay, Molly's engagement ended. Then all hell seemed to break loose with the detective. He knew about the shooting and he saw the newspaper reports about an engagement, unlikely as that seemed. Mike wasn't privy to any details, but he did watch as Molly withdrew into herself.

The holidays came as they always do, and he hadn't given much thought to the detective until the broadcast on New Years day. The face of James Moriarty was enough to shake anyone back to reality. He found Molly huddled on the floor of the Path lab, head in her hands, trying to control her shaking limbs.

"My office. I'll sit with you," he said, helping her to her feet.

He put her on the small sofa in the corner of the room and made her a cup of tea. Her skin was a deathly pallor, she was barely able to hold the cup.

"How? How is this possible?" she asked.

"I don't know, Molly. But Sherlock will sort it all out, I'm sure of it."

She laughed mirthlessly. "No he won't. He's gone." Her voice was small and broken.

"What?" Mike asked.

Just then the office door opened and Sherlock barged in. He seemed even more intense and focused than usual. Molly looked up and stared at the man like she was seeing a ghost. "How are you here?"

Mike stood up, recognising the look on the detective's face, and quickly got out of his way.

Sherlock knelt at Molly's feet. "Doesn't matter. I'm here and you're safe. I promise."

"But last night…"

He took the mug out of her hands and placed it on the floor next to him, then gently cupped her face in his hands. "Last night… well, last night was wonderful, but now we have to deal with this."

"What about everything you said? Do you still…"

Sherlock nodded then kissed her tenderly. If it had been any other man he would have called it lovingly. Mike watched the scene in awe, then slowly and discreetly started inching out of the room.

"Can I assume Molly has the day off, Mike?" Sherlock asked, never taking his eyes off of the crying woman in front of him.

"Yeah, sure, of course, yeah," Mike answered.

Sherlock stood, holding Molly's hand in his. "We'll be in touch," he said. They left without ever looking at him again.

o0o0o0o0o

Mike was brought out of his memories with a knock on his door. He looked up to see Molly's smiling face.

"There she is," he said. "I got your… invitation."

She rolled her eyes. "The king of overkill, that man." She sat down.

Mike laughed. "What can I do for you? You're off today. Shouldn't you be planning a wedding?"

"Well, I am actually." She looked a bit nervous. "Ah, of course you know my dad's gone. And, um, well… I was wondering… It's just that… You see, you introduced us, Mike. And you've always been a big part of our lives. So, I wondered if you'd give me away? I don't really have anyone… else."

Mike felt his throat start to burn and his eyes start to tear. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he was completely humbled at that moment. After a few seconds he cleared his throat and said, "It would be my honour, Molly."

I hope you liked it! Please let me know. Thanks so much for reading. ~Lil~