Ode to hope

by EvannaLy

"The moment Sherlock and John had entered the morgue this morning she could tell that something was off. They shared nervous glances every few minutes and seemed to have whole conversations without saying a word." - A long angsty OS about Mollys life and all the hardships she has to face.

Ode to hope

"It's amazing how someone can break your heart and you can still love them with all the little pieces."

– Ella Harper

Mollys life had never been easy. Her mother left her and her father when she was only seven. They were heartbroken but managed to pull through. Then her father became ill when she had just turned 16. Two-and-a-half-years full of hours spent at hospitals, researching anti-cancer medication and trying to scratch up enough money to pay the bills while trying to get her graduation degree followed. They both tried their best to stay optimistic, to cherish the moments of happiness instead of grieving over the ones filled with sadness, fear and frustration. But neither of them could deny how her father became weaker day by day and how the pain began to overwhelm him more often than not.

Three days before christmas the cancer finally won the battle and Molly Hooper was left alone in the world, just having started studying pathology at university. There were no tears left to spill. She was so tired!

Three years later she earned her medical degree as one of the best of her year, moved to London and finished her practical education at St. Barts. She owned a cat by then, still having only few friends with whom she had only little contact and a nice little flat in the city she barely managed to afford. After three months she got hired by Mike Stamford.

It wasn't long after that that she firstly made the acquaintance of Sherlock Holmes, not yet a consulting detective but a suffering drug addict, who was brought into the morgue by Sergeant Lestrade. She took one glimpse at his dark, unruly curls, his high cheekbones and his electric-blue eyes that swept coldly over her form to know she was in danger of falling. Turned out that her fate was sealed by then. Even though he deduced her relentlessly that day and on many occasions that should follow she was falling deeper for him the longer she was able to be a witness to his intelligence, to his absolutely fascinating brilliance.

And it was ok that he seemed to be completely ignorant towards her feelings for him, ok for him to be downright cruel to her sometimes, because he behaved like this all the time with everyone, SHE wasn't the problem, and she could convince herself that maybe, just maybe she would be the one to change him into a better version of himself, no matter how far fetched that seemed.

So she continued helping him in every way she could, bringing him coffee, staying late at the hospital despite having worked two shifts in a row because there were some very important experiments he needed to work on and she was the only one who still had the patience to put up with him and his antics.

She also bravely faced the man she would know as Mycroft Holmes in the future. She was kidnapped on her way home from work, pulled into a black car, then was blinded with a scarf. Her terrified questions were ignored and all she could hear was the tipping of fingers on a mobile phone. After a ten minute long journey she was pulled out of her seat and led further out into the unknown area. She had an inner breakdown she managed to hide, but that was only further fuelled when the scarf was taken away and she found herself face to face with a well-dressed man with an umbrella who looked at her the same way Sherlock sometimes did in those rare moments when he actually realized she was a breathing, human being and not just a piece of furniture. Deducing. Evaluating. He was standing behind a chair, its counterpart was standing in front of her.

„Where am I? Who are you?", she asked with a stronger voice than anticipated. „No one important to you, my dear.", „You abducted me, so yeah, I think it is important!" She was beginning to get angry, but the strange man only ignored her. „It was brought to my notice that you are in regular contact with Sherlock Holmes, is that right?", „Who wants to know that?", she gritted her teeth. She wouldn't tell this man anything! He probably was a criminal from one of Sherlocks cases and she would do all she could in order to keep Sherlock out of harm's way.

„He would probably say, his archenemy.", „Oh, now I feel SO inclined to tell you everything I know about him!" The man sighed and seemed to deduce her again. Something in his expression changed when he took in her protective stare. „I only have his best interest in mind. I worry about him, constantly!", „Why?", „Because I'm his brother." Hearing this particular fact she had lost some of the tension in her body. She cursed under her breath and sat down on the chair before her, „Couldn't you have said that at the beginning?" While she was reluctant to put herself into a position that could prove to be a disadvantage, she needed to sat down for a moment and collect her thoughts. Besides, that mans concern for Sherlock seemed genuine and she could normally trust her gut instinct.

„I believe you. When you know what to look out for you can actually find a lot of similarities.", she said, now being the one who deduced. „Why don't you introduce yourself as you probably know all there is to know about me already?" The man arched a brow, seemed almost intrigued and slowly sat down himself. „My name is Mycroft Holmes. And we're here because I want to ask you to give me regular updates about my brother, how he is doing, what he does to occupate his time, who he interacts with, that kind of stuff. You will be paid for this inconvenience of course or receive any other reward you may desire." Now it was her turn to arch a brow. „Why would you think that I'd do that? I'm considering myself a friend of his. So no, I won't spy on him and go behind his back. And I'll definitely not accept any money from you! BUT, as I can see that you really are concerned and are obviously tangled in some kind of mess with him that makes it impossible to ask him directly I'll agree to call you, if he should be in any danger. Now I'd like to go home. It was a long day. Just send me your number, I'm sure you have mine already. Nice to meet you." She stood up and nodded towards Mr. Holmes, before turning around and leaving through the door. They were at an old warehouse, but another black car like the one that had got her here stood in front of the building, which driver told her to get in. Not questioning any of that or the huge influence Mycroft Holmes seemed to own she gladly accepted the offer and was driven home to her tiny flat. What a day had that been!

It would take another few years and a faked death for the two of them to properly meet again.

But so much happened in between! The most important thing without a doubt the introduction of John H. Watson. She could still remember that day as clearly as if it had been yesterday, when she finally scrambled enough courage together to ask Sherlock out and ended up bringing him the coffee she had wanted to drink with him. But nothing could have braced her for the scene she was greeted with at the lab. Sherlock and an unknown man discussing becoming flatmates with her boss as the introducer! Even if both of them didn't know if an arrangement would evolve, Molly had known from that moment that their routine would be changed forever. She had seen the glint in Sherlocks eyes when he took in all that was John Watson and how the ex-soldier seemed to forget his „injury" for a few moments while talking with the famous detective. They were complimenting each other in ways beyond her comprehension.

She watched half a season of Dr. Who that evening while killing a bottle of wine all by herself,

Her observations proved to be correct. The following months were filled with mysterious cases, a never-ending work schedule and a little less of Sherlock in her lab than usual. He and Watson got along quite well – better than she had ever seen anyone getting by with the detective, despite maybe that old landlady of his that she had seen once when she had delivered some body parts to his flat. Soon they became an inseparable duo – the brilliant detective and his blogger. And she couldn't even blame the man she soon called John and who was really nice – always remembering and greeting her, asking her how her day was and such things. She couldn't hate someone this kind. And he was also a lot like her in some aspects, like admiring Sherlocks brilliance instead of calling him a freak. And he definitely had a remarkable influence on Sherlock. The detective was a bit calmer these days, not as wild as before and even remembering his manners once in a while.

And just when she had thought that things had gotten better, that horrendous Christmas party took place. She had been over the moon after being asked by John to join them at Baker Street, had been nervous for nearly a week. She had bought a really amazing dress and felt good wearing it. Even make up had been used for the occasion and she had hoped that all of it might finally be enough for Sherlock to really look at her. So she had grabbed the bag with presents, took a cab and only arrived a little late. With a big smile on her face she had walked up the stairs. The impressions of John and Greg had assured her – she looked great. Maybe overdressed, but for once she couldn't bring herself to care. And just when she had turned to greet Sherlock the already well-known procedure began anew and inch by inch her smile dropped down of her face. He deduced her. Cruelly, detached and wrong, above all things. He ignored Johns and the others comments and just went on while she sunk deeper and deeper into herself. When he finally read the label of the present everyone was quite. She felt embarrassed. She felt stripped to her very core, unable to process what just had happened. And she asked herself how she could love this man after all he did, after all the shit he threw upon her.

„You always say such cruel things. Always. Always." She spoke more to herself than to him.

Then he took her and all the others by surprise by apologizing genuinely and kissing her. On her cheek, but still. Kissing her! And just when she thought that maybe, just maybe everything could be alright again a loud moan was heard. From a woman. She hastily stuttered that it hadn't been her, when she was already dismissed again by Sherlock who took his mobile from the mantle while John commented on that ominous ringtone. Molly drew back into the background, made herself invisible again, trying to understand everything that had happened the last few minutes and the myriad of things she felt. It was worse than any rollercoaster she had been on!

And while she emptied her second glass of wine, Sherlock already gone to god knows where, she realized how wrong she had been about everything. Beginning with the fact, that while John maybe thought of her more kindly than Sherlock ever would, he still saw her more as a good acquaintance than a friend. She hadn't been invited for herself, but to make Johns newest girlfriend feel less alone. And he had known that she would cancel every plan that might have existed for being on Sherlocks Christmas party. She felt pathetic and hurt and raw.

Without anyone noticing she had left the flat and returned home, changing out of her dress and burying it in the backcorner of her drawer, feeling the need to ban it from its existence. Then she made herself a cup of tea to calm herself while breathing slowly in and out, trying to forget the whole evening, pushing her feelings in the back of her mind. It was one of the times she wished she had Sherlocks ability to simply delete things or at least push the memories so far away that she would almost forget they ever happened. But her being her the only thing she could do was having a good cry before ignoring everything and acting as if nothing had happened, with a smile on her face and a helpful hand for everyone who cared to ask.

This was also the reason why she stood in the morgue at Christmas instead of celebrating somewhere else. But as she had no one to come home to and no family to speak of she had volunteered to work to let those who had some going home. And she was ok with that. Mostly.

So she had brought some leftover food and her MP3-Player with her in order to celebrate quietly on her own after she had finished paperwork and only had to kill the time left of her night shift. She absolutely hadn't thought she would see Sherlock! Especially not so short after the horrible party. But as it was the case the murderer never sleeps, and she had a new body in front of her. A woman, badly damaged, nearly unrecognizable, in need to be identified. By none other than Sherlock Holmes. Why Mycroft had come with him she couldn't say. Not that he would have deigned to talk to her.

And while she wouldn't have thought it possible, her heart did break a second time when she was asked to show the woman's whole body, instead of only her face.

Prior to this it wasn't exactly easy, but she had been able to put up with everything Sherlock threw at her, because firstly it was his usual behavior and secondly, because there always remained the hope that if she just held on long enough, that he would learn to feel, that he would finally see her as a woman, as her being everything she was, not only his sometimes useful little pathologist! But not so different than when John entered their life, she was proven wrong again. Sherlock was apparently already able to feel at least enough attracted to women to be able to identify this dead woman in front of her only by her body. And what a body! Not even her smashed face could deny the fact how utterly beautiful she had been. Molly felt sick.

She couldn't remember what she did 'til the brothers where gone afterwards, but then she had another breakdown, the second in two days. And though she hated it, she was helpless to do anything against it. In the end she began – despite her normally absolutely peaceful heart – to loathe this person wholeheartedly. The Woman. She hated her!

And with seemingly no time to take a deep breath and calm down for a moment the next catastrophe came rushing into their life in form of the one and only James Moriarty. Jim. Sweet Jim, that seemed so into her for once, not the other way round. She had jumped on the chance to try and get Sherlock out of her head, not that it worked as planned, even when she still hadn't known about Jim's true nature. Now she still got sick when she thought about the fact that she had dated one of the most dangerous men on the planet who had declared it his life goal to kill Sherlock. And was succeeding! Not that anyone would have told her so, but she wasn't as stupid or naive as everyone thought. She could put two and two together. And the way Sherlock got this sad look whenever he felt unwatched – it was way too familiar to be ignored. So she had been brave once more despite being completely worn out by all the autopsies she had to look after due to the Moriarty mess and had offered herself. It was embarrassing! But how could she do any differently when he looked like this, forlorn, sad and more vulnerable than she had ever seen him?

And then he did the unthinkable. He actually asked her for help. Well, after insulting her first, of course. But still. With their joined efforts and the help of his brother they managed to trick the infamous Moriarty and the whole wide world into believing Sherlock really had been defeated. Jim's death hadn't been planned though, so Sherlock was forced to fake his own death, to keep Moriarty's network at bay while he dismantled it slowly from within its ranks. Poor John, poor Mrs. Hudson, poor Lestrade – they couldn't be trusted with the truth. Every emotion, every action had to be believable. There was no way around their grief, though it broke Molly's heart to watch them suffer. She made it her personal mission to look after them regularly and make sure they pulled through somehow, even if they didn't want her to, especially John. But it couldn't be helped, Sherlock would come back eventually, after all.

Another change in her routine were her monthly meetings with Mycroft Holmes. At first it had been a purely professional exchange of information about Sherlocks wellbeing and whereabouts. Mycroft was of course always the one with the majority of facts, but he seemed to make an effort to include her a little. Maybe it was his form of thanking her for her help. Either way they quickly realized how they both enjoyed their little get togethers. They were the only two who knew about the secret of Sherlocks fake death, so the fact that they could talk freely in each other's company was freeing for both of them.

The monthly meetings soon turned into weekly ones, the topics they talked about not only revolving around Sherlock any longer. Both cherished the easy company that held no expectation. There was no pressure at all, no role to play. They could act more like themselves without being judged for it. Before they knew it they had crossed the line to friendship, with no way back from there. Not that they would have want that. Though Molly did wonder sometimes what would happen, when Sherlock would be back. If Mycroft would free himself of this temporary agreement, no longer in need of the distraction. If they would simply stop meeting altogether, with the reason of them meeting in the first place being gone. She feared that, but never once brought it up. He probably knew either way. He was a Holmes, after all.

During Sherlocks 'death' she only got to see him a few times, when his work demanded his presence in London. It was one of the most dangerous places for him to be, but it couldn't be helped. So he stayed under the radar and took over her flat during his visits. Not that he ever asked or thanked her for it, but well, at least she got to see him and confirm his well-being for herself. And he did thanked her, in his way. In ordering dinner for both of them, not only himself, or in waiting for her to come home from work before disappearing for another few months. It felt like his death all over again every time. She couldn't wait for the moment, when he could walk through London's streets again as a freed man.

When this exact moment arrived though, everything changed yet again. Mycroft had informed her about his plans to extricate Sherlock from his imprisonment in the east so she pressured Greg into visiting John and made sure that Mrs. Hudson was also at home. It was a really awkward affair, but they all ended up sitting in the living room of Sherlocks old flat, sipping sporadically at their tea and maintaining a superficial flow of smalltalk. Just when Greg was almost getting up to leave they heard the opening of the front door and the creaking of the stairs a moment later. Then HE stood in the doorway, looking just like he had the last time they had seen him, hair all curly, coat all black and flowy. If he was a little more gaunt than before he definitely knew how to hide it well. Mrs. Hudson lost her grip on her tea cup which shattered on the ground and let out a shriek, before running towards Sherlock and engulfing him in a tender hug. Greg was muttering silently, before shaking his head, calling Sherlock a bastard and also bestowing him with an embrace. Even to Molly, who had known of the farce, it seemed as if he had returned from the dead. She remained on her place on the couch though, knowing a hug from her wouldn't be appreciated at all – there was no reason for her to get all emotional after all, given her knowledge.

No, it was Johns reaction which counted the most and also the one about which Molly and Mycroft had argued the most about previously while discussing several scenarios. Everyone in the room sent the man in question a nervous look and simply waited in silence. John was frozen on the chair he sat on. Had been like this since he first laid eyes on the man he had believed to be dead for two whole years! Now he just stared disbelievingly, his eyes locked with Sherlocks'. Several emotions flickered over his face. Shock, happiness, disbelief, hurt, so much hurt – in the end it was Sherlock who moved first. He took one small hesitant step forward, then another and another before closing the distance to his friend with two large steps. He stopped mere inches before John, cautiously taking his hand. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." For a second everything was frozen in time, then a loud slap was proof of the punch John had just delivered direct to Sherlocks face. Almost in the same heartbeat though he grabbed the hem of Sherlocks coat, pulled his face down and kissed him with all his heart. At first Sherlock seemed just as dumbfounded as the rest of them, then his whole posture changed. His hands found its way into Johns hair and he answered vigorously, letting out all the pent up passion, the worry, the fear.

It was raw and desperate for any outer witnesses. It was beautiful. And it didn't come as that much of a surprise, if one thought about it. It all made sense in an inexplicable manner. That didn't stop Mollys heart from breaking all over again when she watched the scene unfolding before her eyes and she wondered, why she had even bothered to try to stitch it up again. So she did what she could do best and slipped into the background and left the flat without anyone noticing.

Upon leaving Baker Street she was greeted by a black car with darkened windows and she let out a grateful sigh before entering without hesitating. "How did it go?", "Good, I think, giving the circumstances. And you might want to have another concerned brother talk with John soon.", "Indeed." Mycroft sent her a calculating sideway glance while she closed her seat belt next to him. Without another word he tapped the window to the driver with his umbrella and the car took off into the streetmaze of London. Nobody commented on the right hand of his that was holding hers. When they arrived in front of her home she silently thanked him though before getting out of the car.

~ ~ ~ a few months later ~ ~ ~

The moment Sherlock and John had entered the morgue this morning she could tell that something was off. They shared nervous glances every few minutes and seemed to have whole conversations without saying a word. Then there was the fact that Sherlock was doing an experiment again that he had already finished two days prior, while John tried to occupy her with a lot more small talk than usually. After half an hour she had enough and decided to share her observations.

„Ok, what's going on with you two? You're behaving odd – have done so since you came here. Is there something you want to tell me?" She sent both of them a glare that said 'you better answer me right now or you'll leave this room this instant'. The two of them shared a glance once more before John finally seemed to find the courage to speak.

„Well, you know, uh, this is kind of embarrassing, well, you know Sherlock and I have been together for quite some time. And with all the chaos following the Reichenbach Fall finally solved, we wanted to, you know, take the next step.", „What John is trying to say in his unbelievably eloquent way, is, that we want to have children. And as we're obviously lacking some elementary ingredients we are searching for a surrogate mother." Molly stared at them uncomprehending. Was this some kind of joke?

„Even though he could have been a bit nicer about it he's right. We want children. Took some convincing on his part, but we've finally agreed. We thought about adopting, but it wouldn't be the same, therefore we came up with the idea of a surrogate mother."

Molly didn't know what to say, what to feel. She was in shock. All she knew for certain was, that she had lost Sherlock for real now. This was the proof, that all hope has been in vain, that he has been lost to her for a very long time. And while she of course knew that, intellectually for quite a while, she only completely realized it in this moment. Children!

„May I ask why you are telling me this?", she managed to say, praying that her inner turmoil wasn't recognizable for the two men in front of her. „Isn't it obvious? We want you as our surrogate mother.", Sherlock said as if telling her about the weather, while she couldn't believe her ears. „WHAT?", „Sherlock! Please calm down, Molly. We thought of you, because you have all the qualities we could wish for our children. You're one of the kindest people I know, we know and trust you, you're a friend of ours, so you could be in their life after their birth as a motherly influence, could continue to play a minor role in the children's life later on instead of being an anonymous stranger-", „You also have a medium but decent enough intellect, you're not as boring and normal as all the others, and then there are the facts that you currently have no one in your life, it would cost us much less this way and you have never said no to me before, so all in all you'll agree that you are our most obvious choice for this request."

She was in some alternate universe, she had to be – she had no explanation for what had just happened, otherwise. What were they thinking? Asking something like that from her while knowing she still had feelings for Sherlock? She was horrified! Angry, hurt! It was like getting everything she ever wanted, just thrown through a funhouse mirror. She loved children and had always wanted some of her own. More specifically – she had always wanted children from Sherlock. He was the one for her, after all. But this – it would break her! And who were they to think they could ask something like that AND think she would agree right away, without hesitating?

„Out! Now!" She pointed to the door, her voice trembling, her hand trembling, her whole body shaking. Both men were frozen on the spot. They dared to be surprised at her reaction!

„OUT! I won't ask you again!"

They leave, still surprised and she falls into her chair. What the hell had just happened? She usually wasn't one for swearing but if there ever was a situation that called for some exclamations, it had to be this! They really had the nerve to -, and they-, but – she forcefully stopped herself from thinking and concentrated on her breathing instead. In and out. In and out. It didn't work.

She actually used up some of her countless hours she had worked overtime and went home early that day. She couldn't concentrate on anything other than the absurd encounter in the morning anyway. When she finally sat on her couch with a large mug of hot chocolate in her hands and Toby in her lap she realized the worst thing – that despite everything, despite Sherlocks obvious disinterest in her she still loved him and would continue to do so. This was the worst, because it meant, that she actually thought about their proposition. Despite hating herself for embarrassing herself in weighing up the pros and cons she couldn't stop it. She had always wanted children. She would always love Sherlock, no matter how much it would destroy her, because it would never ever happen in this world. And this was her only chance to have at least some part of him and also tying herself to his life, even if she would always be a bystander in his eyes, a figure on his chessboard. But was she really ready to take this step? It would dissolve any chance, however tiny it may be, that she would start over someday. She would always be reminded of everything that could have been but that was never bound to happen. She would be a joke in everyone's eyes. And Mycroft – he would be the one to hate this most. He was the one who preached her that she shouldn't let Sherlock lower her self-esteem all the time, after all. That she should stand up to him and try to get over him already. And he was right on all accounts. But it still didn't change the way Molly felt. He fought an already lost battle. But still, he would definitely hate it the most.

When she tells Sherlock and John to meet her the next day and informs them of her decision, they have the audacity to act as if they had expected this outcome and she is on the verge of changing her mind, but in the end, her sense and logic gets silenced. Two months and a testtube foetus later and a huge fight with Mycroft later she's actually pregnant with not only one but to little babies. Twins. And she relishes every second of it. John and Sherlock start to care, or at least act like it. They are around her now almost every minute of the day and cater to her every whim. She feels appreciated despite the absolutely crazy circumstances, despite her sadness of the babies not really being hers. Even Mycroft begins to back down after seeing her more happy than she had ever been. Not that Sherlock and John would be aware of his concern. They were still blissfully ignorant of their friendship, that hadn't been weakened at all by Sherlocks return from the dead, so many months ago, against all of Molly's fears.

No, she's pretty sure she had never been this content in her life before.

When she gives birth, both fathers are present and Mycroft waits in a room nearby. Everything starts out normal, then havoc breaks loose. One baby's in the wrong position, the other begins to strangle itself on its umbilical cord. Internal bleeding is detected. Due to the complications Molly gets sedated and she later gets told how lucky she is to got through all of this relatively unharmed. The second she lays eyes on her babies though everything else seems unimportant. They were worth every sacrifice in the world! Her little girl and her little boy, both the living definition of perfection. Sherlock and John are in the room with her, letting her hold the babies for the first time. John seems completely enamored with them himself and states his thanks to her in a heartfelt manner. He also says that he's relieved everything turned out alright for her. Sherlock on the other hand doesn't say anything to her at all, doesn't asked once how she's feeling after the whole ordeal. He just stares at the babies, as if he can't decipher how he ended up in this situation, though his eyes betray his calm appearance and tell any alert observer of the infinite love he holds in his heart for these two little creatures. But for once she doesn't care at all about his indifference towards her. Because her gravity center has changed, everything has changed.

Later in the evening she is alone in the hospital room, with Sherlock and John already returned home for the night and the babies safe and secure in the baby room of the maternity ward. Now she can feel the exhaustion of the day and, as the pain relievers starting to wear off, also the pain as a result of the difficult birth. She struggles to find a comfortable position, before finally giving up and staring at the ceiling again.

It is in this position of silent contemplation that Mycroft finds her a little later. Their eyes meet and Molly smiles. "How does the role of the favorite uncle feels like?", "It'll take some time to adjust." He walks to the side of her bed, sits down on the chair previously occupied by Sherlock and let his eyes roam over her form. "How are you?", he asks sincerely. Molly has to smile again. Always the concerned one. Who would have thought? "All right, I think, given the circumstances. There's a little pain left, but I'm sure it'll all be ok in no time." He knows all of this already, of course, but she appreciates the fact that he takes the time to ask her. He really is a good friend and he will make a formidable uncle, of that she's sure.

"It has been a tight fit. I'm glad everything turned out as well as it did." A scowl takes over his lips. "Sherlock and John haven't been helpful at all. The only thing in their mind are the babies.", "Quite understandable, don't you think?", "No, I definitely don't think so!" He jumps out of his chair and begins to pace through the room in a really un-Mycroft way. He seems furious, though Molly doesn't understand why. "What's the matter with you?", she asks silently. He stops mid-step and stares straight into her eyes. "The matter is, that you just were in the danger of loosing your life while giving birth to the children THEY have wanted so bad and they never once cared for your well-being throughout it all. All they were concerned with were these crying worms!" Molly tries to sit up and from one second to the other Mycroft changes from angry to full-concerned mood and rushes to her side. It's a little disconcerting to see this always so stoic man in an emotional turmoil like this. She takes his hands in hers and it's her turn to look him straight into his eyes. "Mycroft, please believe me when I say that I don't care. Of course it hurts a little, but all that matters now are my so very beautiful babies! But I'm really happy to know that YOU care, at least." She smiles at him and tightens her hold in his hand for a moment before letting go and laying back down into the pillows. She knows any more contact would be too much for him.

Mycroft says no more. She can see that he doesn't agree with her but decided to let the matter go. Instead he sits with her in a peaceful silence, keeping her the company she didn't knew she needed. He's there when she falls asleep due to exhaustion and he's still there when she wakes up in the morning, until she forces him to go home and sleep some more and relax his cramped muscles, that didn't appreciated a night spent in an uncomfortable hospital chair.

The first few months with the addition to their family are glorious. She lives at Baker Street for now, she still has to nurse them after all. She helps wherever and whenever she can, trying to make Sherlock and Johns life easier, all the while really enjoying that she's needed, that she can be there for someone. Everything goes that harmoniously that she's completely shocked about what happened as soon as the twins are old enough to drink out of a bottle. She can't find better words for it, but she's banned from their life. Sherlock and John ask her to move out, nicely, but leaving no room for discussion. They explain that they want to establish their uncommon family structure as soon as possible, therefore leaving no room for a mother who was never supposed to play a larger role in their life. She leaves the flat in a daze and ends up at Mycrofts place without any recollection about how she got there. The older Holmes isn't amused at all at the sight that greets him that evening when he comes home. She has used her emergency key to let herself in and had fallen onto his couch. She had pulled her knees up to her chest, silent tears streaming down her cheeks and hadn't moved since. Mycroft covers her up with a thick blanket and starts a fire in the fire place. After he manages to get the whole story out of her he has his trademark 'Didn't I told you so' look on his face but thankfully refrains from voicing his thoughts. He just talks her into eating a little, before showing her into one of his guestrooms. When he's sure that she's asleep he leaves his house and heads straight to Baker Street. Someone had to talk some sense into his little brother after all.

In the end it doesn't make any difference. All his efforts are to no avail. Sherlock's quite stubborn about it all and won't move an inch from his position while John's simply too occupied to pay attention and care. Of course, they both know they can't exclude her completely. They don't even want that. But it's still a pretty hard cut. She goes from being around the twins almost 24/7 to maybe two days a week. In the beginning the kids have a hard time being separated from her this much, but sooner than she would have liked they find an awkward routine and Molly learns once more how to paint a smile on to her crying face. Because it hurts so damn much when she realizes how serious they were about her playing only a minor role in their life. During her pregnancy she thought that while she wouldn't be around them the whole time she would at least get to see them regularly and be referred to as mom. She could claim her rights of course in court but would never put the children and everyone else through it. At least she get's to be their aunt – the result of a tiresome debate with Sherlock and John about whether the twins should be aware of who she really was. But they wanted them to grow accustomed to only having two fathers instead of a father and a mother, so they don't even know she's their mother. She's just the nice, sometimes a little awkward aunt who looks after them every now and then, when dad and papa have to work late. Sherlock and John have restricted their time together though, so that the kids won't get to attached to her, so it doesn't happen to often.

But oh, how proud she is! They get bigger every day, have learned more things every time she sees them, reminding her of how many firsts she misses. Her heart aches to play a bigger part in their life. But it's as if the more she longs for them, the lesser she sees them. John and Sherlock proceed to limit the time more and more until she sees no other way than to talk with Mycroft about it. He knows of her pain of course, but he would never act out of his own initiative. He respects her choices and only ever interferes when she asks him to. It's one of the many things he learned after years of dealing with Sherlock and seeing, how interfering openly never worked quite well. But now it's time for her to ask for help.

She drives to Diogenes club in her lunch break on a rainy Tuesday and finds him sitting in his trademark leather chair, some kind of paperwork laid out before him and a nice steaming cup of tea nearby. He nods in greeting and asks her to sit down on the couch in front of the fire place. Only when she also has some tea – courtesy of Anthea – he starts to speak again. "What can I do for you today? It's quite unusual for you to come to visit outside of our preplanned meetings.", "You know why." She sends him a meaningful look and he sighs and sits down next to her. "My dear, I really am glad you finally came to me and talked about everything. It's not a healthy situation at all and you know that. I never understood how you could choose this to begin with." He shakes his head and looks at her as though trying to solve an unsolvable riddle. "It hasn't been a choice really. It's been the only way and I never regretted it once. I only regret how bad the situation with Sherlock and John turned out to be. I never anticipated how far they would go in maintaining their idea of a stable family life and how indifferent they would act towards me and my feelings in this matter. At least from John I would've expected more empathy…" Her voice get's weaker and her eyes get misted. She angrily rubs at them, refusing the tears to spill. She didn't went here to cry, she came to ask a friend for help.

"Could you talk to them please? They never listen to anything I say. But you might have a chance to talk some sense into their thick skulls." Both are quiet for a moment. Then Mycroft clears his throat. „You know, I fully underestimated you for a very long time. I'll never make that mistake again! You're one of the strongest people I've ever met, Molly Hooper, never forget that!", he had taken her hands in a rare show of affection. "It would be my pleasure to give them a piece of my mind!" Their eyes hold each other's until she loses the fight and her tears start to spill over and she pulls him into an embrace. He awkwardly pats her shoulder while she begins to sob into his far too expensive suit. „Thank you!", she says quietly into his chest. Mycroft sighs and tightens his hold of her. He wishes he could do something to ease her pain, but this was another fight she had to fight on her own – it had been her choice after all. He had once loved his brother, despite his disdain of sentiment of any kind, but he wasn't so sure if it was still the case. He didn't know if he could forgive Sherlock for all the times he had uncaringly hurt the petite woman in his arms who had sacrificed so much for Sherlock and never got anything in return. He wouldn't go so far as to say his brother didn't care about her at all, but he certainly never cared enough to see what he did to her. He still took her for granted, not even realizing the consequences of his thoughtless words and actions every time he interacted with Molly. And Mycroft was so tired to pick up the pieces every time. Molly didn't deserve that. And he hated to feel absolutely helpless about it.

It takes another two years for her to come to the conclusion that she had been wrong, that she couldn't take it anymore. The sight of their happy family makes her nauseous and she has a hard time to remember how to smile even when she spends precious time with her twins. In her desperate attempts to flee from this hopeless situation she seeks refuge in Mycrofts mansion. It's the perfect place to hide from Sherlocks prying eyes for some time. She doesn't know how it's possible, but he and John still haven't deduced that she and Mycroft are friends. They really are ignorant around her.

And who would have thought – but despite both of their initial worries living together works surprisingly well. She helps keeping his loneliness at bay while he's her anchor when everything else is chaos. With him to comfort her in the evenings and to keep Sherlock in line from time to time her life takes a turn for the better. In turn she distracts him when the worries of a whole country get too much for him or when Sherlock had reminded him yet again of the fact, that no one, not even his own little brother cared for him, how Moriarty and Adler and all the others have been right in calling him reptile, unable to feel, unable to love. She hates Sherlock on those days. She just can't understand how he could do this to his own brother, who obviously cared about him so very much, despite what he says. It's one of the reasons she actually manages to get a little over Sherlock. She still loves him, despite knowing how unhealthy it is, but she isn't in love with him anymore. And she has to thank Mycroft for that, for he played such a big role in opening her eyes.

Before long they decide to move in together for long-term. It wasn't about her hiding away from Sherlock and John any longer, it was about friendship, even about brotherly and sisterly love. Now her things are clattered all over his place. Her coats hang next to his in his entry way, her romantic novels stand next to his political and classical dramas. She has declared the kitchen as hers and he gets to eat something other than takeaway every day now. He finally got rid of her old battered car and makes sure she gets to work safe every morning and back again in the evening.

When she looked back at her life until this moment she saw pain and heartbreak and shattered dreams. She saw her own flaws and what had come out of them. The bittersweet life she had lived for far too long. But still, she had found something truly special along the way, despite all pain and hurt. A true, loyal, caring and loving friend. A brother. She would have never thought that she would find those qualities in Mycroft Holmes, but fate has found its way and she was more than thankful for that.

END

Hey there,

I don't know what possessed me to write this, really, I don't. It's super sad and my heart aches for poor Molly. Everything that could went wrong actually went wrong. But she still managed to pull through! And she learned the value of asking for help. Everyone should take that as an example!

But it's my first story in quite some time so I'm really happy about it despite the angsty feels.

Sry for any grammar or spelling mistakes - I'm still no native speaker, no matter how much I'd like to be^^ And of course I own nothing despite the story idea.

Lots of love,

EvannaLy

PS.: Reviews? Please tell me what you think about it! :D