A/N: Here is my first real attempt at a Mollcroft fic, which is a ship I've always had a soft spot for. I know my Aprli Fool's fic falls into that ship, but I wrote it as a joke more than anything. This will be a short multi-chapter for now, and I'd appreciate any support or feedback I can get.
Fair warning: our dear consulting detective is a bit of a jerk in this story. If you ever feel like kicking him at any point, that's the reaction I'm going for.
Also, you'll see a different side to Mycroft, which is necessary for this kind of story. The Mycroft we see on the show is only the side of Mycroft that deals with his little brother, which explains his constant state of annoyance, weariness, and his snippy attitude. So in this fic, being one half of a sweet romantic pairing, you're going to see some of his nicer, dare I say sweeter, qualities. :) Now read and enjoy!
One
Molly was walking briskly from the hospital canteen to the lab, carrying a cup of coffee in each hand, one for Sherlock and one for John. She truly didn't mind fetching coffee for them; the pathologist was used to it by now. Besides, she would have a cup of her own on her break at her favorite café down the block. There, the stuff they brewed could actually be called 'coffee.'
But when Molly reached the lab door, the voices of Sherlock and John could be heard, since the door was open a crack. Her steps slowed and quieted as she heard the conversation, not wanting to walk in at the wrong time lest it be about a case and the discussion was important.
"So, you all ready for the ball tonight?"
"Ugh, John, why must you call it that? It is a government function in a ballroom that happens to be white-tie."
John chuckled. "Sorry, but when I hear formal dress and dancing are involved, the word 'ball' comes to mind. So, you all set for it?"
Sherlock huffed. "I suppose so. I have my armor – white tie and tails, as you call it – are ready, and I am picking my date up at seven."
"Your date? Wow, I was afraid you wouldn't get one."
"Of course I did, John! Not having a date would single me out at the event."
"So, who are you taking then? Molly?"
The indignant and hysterical snort that Sherlock let out froze Molly by the doors.
"Molly Hooper? Please, John, why would you think I would ask her to an event like this?"
"Um…because she would help you if you asked? Because you trust her as much as me? Wouldn't that be more than reason enough for you to ask her?"
"It would if Molly were at all capable of being credibly presentable at such an event."
Molly felt as though she had been slapped, and the hands holding the handles of the coffee mugs began to shake.
Thankfully, John was quick to come to her defense. "Sherlock, how can you say that? How can you believe that?"
"Oh, John, don't be stupid. Look at the way she dresses, especially that yellow monstrosity with an even more monstrous bow she wore to your wedding. Do you really think her capable of dressing for an event like this and not be an embarrassment? And given that conversation or social skills are qualities that completely evade her, and that Molly has a history of making a mountain out of a molehill when it comes to any gesture that I give her, you can understand why Molly Hooper would be the very last person I would ever ask to accompany me to such an event."
Molly had heard enough and had enough. None too quietly, Molly entered the lab, slamming the door open with her shoulder so it reverberated off the wall with great force that echoed through out the lab. She was satisfied in the fact that it wasn't only John who gave a little jump at her arrival. She approached the two men with a stony expression on her face. While Sherlock had turned back to his microscope and John was now looking at her in terror and apology, Molly knew that both of them knew that she had overheard their conversation.
When she came to John, she smiled at him sincerely. "Here's your coffee, John," said Molly, handing him his mug. "Thank you for being the white knight that you are. If you don't mind, I'm going to take my break now, so call for Mike if you need any help." Before John could reply, Molly had turned and begun to walk away. But before she could pass Sherlock completely, she paused and said sweetly, "Oh, and here's your coffee, Sherlock."
She then proceeded to pour the entire contents of it on his head of curls, after which she made a quick retreat out of the lab. The sounds of Sherlock's exclamations and curses of pain and John's hysterical laughter were music to her ears.
Molly had the good sense to grab her coat as well as her purse from her tiny office before leaving St. Bart's for her favorite café. However, it was the wrong coat to wear for a deluge of rain that she had not expected to encounter.
Groaning, poor Molly shoved her hands into her pockets and lowering her head before beginning her walk at a rapid pace. She still got completely soaked after only a few long strides, though. "Great," she mumbled to herself. "They'll probably be too frightened of a wild creature like me to serve me."
Just as Molly came to the café, she suddenly felt the rain above her cease. But before she could look up to see the reason for that, she collided with something solid and warm. The force of the collision caused Molly to lose her balance, but before she could fall backwards, an arm wrapped around her waist and steadied her. Looking up, Molly gasped.
"Mr. Holmes!" Molly exclaimed breathlessly, in complete shock. For it was indeed the elder Holmes brother, shielding them from the rain with his elegant umbrella.
"Dr. Hooper," greeted Mycroft smoothly, a small smile of amusement on his face, but his eyes held only kindness, even…admiration.
Realizing how close they were standing under the umbrella, not to mention that his arm was still around her waist, Molly blushed and lowered her gaze. "Um…to what do I owe this…meeting?" The fact that Molly had almost said 'pleasure' shocked her even more. His arm fell to his side, and Molly's breathing calmed somewhat.
"I wondered if I could join you for a cup of coffee here," said Mycroft. "Would you mind?"
Was it her overactive imagination, or did she see a drop of nervousness in his eyes? Definitely my imagination, she thought, but she replied aloud, "Um, sure, of course."
Mycroft sheltered her from the rain until they came under the awning of the café, closing his umbrella before opening the door for her. He then led her to two stuffed armchairs before the fireplace in the corner. Still in a bit of a dazed shock, Molly didn't wonder for too long how the most popular seats in the café, which she'd never seen free before, were free now.
After Mycroft had helped her out of her soaked coat, and hung it up along with his own long one, he walked to the counter to order for them, and Molly took the opportunity to warm up in front of the roaring fire, taking off her soaked shoes so they could dry and squeezing the rain from her wet ponytail. She was quite cozy and warmed up by the time Mycroft returned. Not only had he brought her coffee just the way she liked it - cream, no sugar – but he'd also purchased homemade cinnamon rolls that she had a sweet tooth for.
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she said sincerely, after he'd taken the seat in the stuffed armchair by her.
"Please call me Mycroft, Dr. Hooper," said the elder Holmes.
Molly smiled. "Only if you call me Molly, Mr. Holmes."
Her cheeks went a little pink. Her teasing had come dangerously close to flirting. Since when would she ever have the nerve to flirt with the British government? She had only had a handful of encounters with the elder Holmes brother, after all. But she had never been afraid of him, not really. Oh, she knew that he was an incredibly powerful man, even dangerous should he choose to be, but never had she feared for herself in his presence. Perhaps that and the shock accounted for her nerve now.
Whatever it was, Mycroft seemed to like it. He smiled again and raised his coffee cup to her. "Molly," he toasted.
"Mycroft." Molly raised her own cup to return the toast.
They drank their coffee and ate their cinnamon rolls in silence for a while. Her shock was wearing off now, and Molly began to feel quite self-conscious. While Mycroft was dressed so elegantly in a light grey suit without a raindrop on him, Molly sat beside him with a clashing cardigan and blouse, in her stocking feet, and her head matted and drenched. Realizing her state caused her to remember Sherlock's scathing comments about her style and personality compared to something elegant and formal, like a grand ball or the man whom she was having coffee with now. She was soon poking her cinnamon roll with her fork rather than eating it.
"Molly."
Said pathologist looked up quickly, being pulled out of her daze. "Hm?"
Mycroft was looking at her with – could it be true? – some concern. "What's happened?"
Instead of wondering something silly like how he knew something had happened (he was a Holmes, for God's sake!), she instead asked a much smarter question: "You don't know already?"
He smiled briefly. "While I may have eyes and ears all over the British Isles, I am not an omnipresent being." He soon became serious again. "Has my darling brother treated you carelessly again?" he asked, a bite in his concern.
Molly sighed and sat back in her chair. "Is it that obvious?"
"I'm afraid so," he answered, not unkindly. "I'd prefer to hear the story from you, rather than resort to…other methods." And both knew perfectly well that Mycroft Holmes was more than capable of finding out a number of other ways.
His words touched Molly, and it gave her the courage to relay what had happened just twenty minutes ago. She kept her eyes on the half-eaten cinnamon roll she continued to move around with her fork as she spoke, her cheeks burning as she repeated Sherlock's words about her, not daring to look at his brother; her current state of dress and wet only made Sherlock's scathing words all the more true. Finally, in a rush, she ended the story with her own juvenile reaction and took a bite of her cinnamon roll. It tasted like soaked cardboard to her now.
The sound of an amused chuckle caused Molly to finally look at Mycroft again. He was looking at her with genuine admiration in his eyes as he quietly laughed. "Well done, Molly," he said, giving her another toast with his mug before setting it down. "Your punishment fit the crime."
Molly let herself smile a bit. "Really?"
"Oh, yes. Considering how many times you have fetched coffee for him, he deserved to wear it after speaking such nonsense about you."
Molly felt her cheeks heat up again. "Nonsense?" she asked, twisting the end of her damp ponytail unconsciously.
Mycroft nodded, the expression in his eyes shifting from amusement to something more serious that made her breath hitch. The intense moment was broken, however, by the sound of her mobile going off in her trouser pocket. She pulled it out, praying that it was not the younger Holmes brother, but breathed again when she saw that it was John. She looked at Mycroft again, who gave her a little nod that reassured her he wouldn't mind her taking the call. She smiled apologetically before answering.
"Hello, John."
"Molly, hey. I just wanted to…well, after what happened…are you okay?"
His tone was so concerned and guilty that Molly couldn't help but smile a bit. "Yes, John, I'm okay. This is hardly the first time this has happened, and nothing that he said truly surprised me since it's all rooted in at least some truth."
John sighed. "Don't say that, Molly. Please don't think any less of yourself because of what he said."
"Oh, I don't," said Molly firmly. "I just know myself, and I only said that what he said was rooted in truth, not that what he said was true. So if he wants to stereotype me, that's his problem. I am not the doormat that he could manipulate to walk through hell for him that I once was. And don't you dare apologize for him; you did nothing wrong, and he doesn't deserve you doing that for him."
"Thanks, Molly, I appreciate that," said John before he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And incidentally…your reaction was fucking brilliant. Thank you so much for that image."
They shared a laugh. "I assume he's still pouting."
John snorted. "If by pouting you mean throwing a temper tantrum worthy of the most tiresome toddler, oh yes. I could only last five minutes, and I dearly hope he'll have calmed down by tonight."
"Ah, yes, this ball…Is this for a case?"
John chuckled. "In a way. Our most recent success caught the notice of some pretty…high-up people, let's call it, and we really couldn't turn down this invitation made from gratitude."
"All right…" said Molly, deciding not to push for details in case he couldn't answer. "Is Mary able to go with you?"
"Yep, Mrs. Hudson is watching Emma. Mary's really looking forward to being glamorous after giving birth, especially since she's gotten back to her weight before the pregnancy."
"Good for her! So…who is Sherlock's date, anyway?" Molly wasn't jealous, just curious.
"Ah, yes…" John sounded both uncomfortable and a bit surprised. "It's Janine, actually. Do you remember her?"
Molly's eyebrows went up. "Really? After all he put her through, she agreed to this?"
"Apparently. It seems that when she got her media revenge on Sherlock for faking a relationship with her, both of them thought this made them even. Also, I think she is excited for this opportunity to be among so many rich and powerful men, and have Sherlock Holmes deduce the best one for her like he did at the wedding."
"Ah," was all Molly could say, while she thought: Well, he did call her beautiful, so of course she would be an acceptable woman on his arm for such an event. Swallowing her injured pride, she continued aloud, "Well, I hope you and Mary have a wonderful time, truly. Make sure she gives me all the details by the weekend."
"Absolutely, Molls, we'll talk soon," said John. "And if you need anything at all, you know you can call."
"I do know, John, thank you," said Molly. "Bye." She hung up her mobile and put it back in her pocket.
Turning her gaze back to Mycroft, Molly saw that he was looking at her quite thoughtfully. She was about to inquire what was on his mind when he leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands as his elbows rested on his knees.
"What would you say if I were to offer you the chance to prove my brother wrong?" he said carefully.
Molly lifted an eyebrow. "I would say that I'd like you to elaborate on what you mean."
Mycroft briefly smiled. "What I mean…Given my position in the British government, which I'm sure my dear brother has made no secret to you, I am obligated to attend this ball. However, I am in need of a partner for it." His look asked the question he was asking her.
Molly's eyes widened once she understood that. "Me? But…I…"
Mycroft interrupted her by holding up a finger. "Before you list all of the objections that are going through your mind, let me put them at ease. I know that your shift ends at noon today, giving you the entire afternoon to prepare. I can have Anthea escort you to several boutiques and salons, where she can help you find something perfect for you, since you have no experience of anything so formal. The costs you needn't worry about, for I will cover them. Consider it part of my gratitude for saving my brother's life.
"I know that you will not know any of the guests apart from the four we mutually know, but do not worry: I will be there to guide you through each introduction and encounter should you feel you need it.
"As for my intentions…I do not ask out of pity, for pity is a base emotion I would never feel for someone that is…of importance. And I also would not ask you if I did not believe with utter surety that what my darling brother said about you was completely and utterly false."
Safe to say this speech left Molly quite speechless. His tone was sincere, as was the look in his eyes. Though Molly knew that the clever Holmes men could easily manipulate almost anybody through deception, Molly's gut feeling told her that nothing like that was going on. He certainly had covered each of her objections and doubts, except for…
"Mycroft…are you sure? Wouldn't it be better for you to have a partner there who is at your…well, your level?"
It was Mycroft's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Level? Care to elaborate what you mean?"
"Well…" said Molly, lowering her gaze as her neck burned in embarrassment. "I mean, intelligence level, government level, class level...importance level…"
Her gaze was on her hands, which she was wringing in her lap. But when a large, pale, elegant and long-fingered hand stilled them by covering them both, Molly's head immediately lifted. The gentleness of his gaze and smile caused Molly's heart to skip a beat.
"My dear Molly…nobody expects my partner to be on my intelligence level because frankly…well, you know what I mean. The same applies for the government level. Class? While many of tonight's crowd carry the snobbery of their ancestors, I do not."
He paused, and Molly felt his thumb move back and forth once across the back of her hand. She felt goose bumps rise on her arms. When he resumed speaking, his voice was quite soft.
"And I assure you, Molly…your importance level not only meets but exceeds many who will be there."
Please, heart, quiet down, he's got to be able to hear this pounding…
She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed before pulling his hand away and sitting up straight. Molly couldn't help but let out a long exhale as she herself sat back, for it felt like she could suddenly breath again.
The sound of a vibrating mobile broke the tension, and Mycroft swiftly pulled his own out of his inside jacket pocket. He read the text he'd been sent, sighed, and stood up. "I'm afraid I must go now. Emergency meeting with North Korea that cannot be delayed any further."
"Oh," said Molly, standing up as he put his coat on. "Well, good luck with that."
Mycroft chuckled and faced her again. "So…do you accept my offer, Molly?" He held out his hand and caught her gaze again.
Though Molly still felt nowhere near as confident about this as she wished she could be about this, she knew in her gut that there was only one answer she could give.
Molly placed her hand in his and said, "Yes, Mycroft, I accept."
The smile he gave now was the biggest and brightest she had ever seen from him.
She expected him to shake her hand, but instead brought hers up elegantly and kissed it gently. "Until tonight, then…" he said before walking out of the café, leaving a speechless Molly standing before the fire. After a moment, she collapsed back into her chair, her jaw still hanging open. Eventually, she was able to break her shock by laughing a bit breathlessly. The first thought that entered her mind couldn't help but be tinged with girlish excitement.
Wow…I'm really going to a ball!