Hello there! I know a lot of you were wanting me to update with another chapter of You Do Count but I've been having a lot of Mycroft/Molly feels so I decided to change things up a bit and plant an entirely new story on you. This will only be a two part story with the epilogue coming soon, hopefully within the next few days.

Hope you enjoy!

-Lemon

Sherlock Holmes had been "dead" for almost four days now and the only two people who knew about it were currently sitting six inches apart from each other deep within the heart of London. Molly Hooper and Mycroft Holmes had been kept busy nonstop for the last couple of days it was nice to finally sit down and take a breather. Knowing that by now Sherlock was somewhere quite possibly far across the world they both took a quick and well deserved sigh of relief.

They sat within the heart of the Holmes manor in the West wing sipping overly priced brandy from crystal tumblers and sat in large leather loungers. They had been sitting in front of the grand fireplace now for almost an hour and in that time neither one of them said a word. That was the nice thing about them, they didn't need to say anything it was as if they knew what the other was thinking before they had even said it.

When Molly noticed Mycroft's frown she would put her glass down and tell a short story of Sherlock that would make Mycroft smile. When Mycroft noticed the lines of worry on her forehead he only needs to click a few buttons on his phone to know the exact location of Sherlock, it even tells him his heart rate so he knows he's still alive.

"Turkey," he says answering the question that lies on the tip of her tongue. "And yes, my dear he is still alive and very well."

Molly offers him a soft smile and continues to sip her drink. Mycroft tucks his phone away in his breast pocket and finds himself following suite and matching her smile. He doesn't know why he did it, something about her just made him light up inside. It's been almost a year since he's had the pleasure of knowing Margaret Hooper and in that time he had grown rather fond of his brothers pathologist.

It didn't take him long to deduce her obvious attraction to the young detective, he was always the more attractive of the two so this came to no surprise as Mycroft watched on as Molly's one sided flirtations hit a brick wall with his brother. Perhaps it was the way his brother was so quick to dismiss the young girl or perhaps it was the way she seemed to glow under the dim florescent lighting the morgue provided but whatever was Mycroft could no longer deny his attraction towards her.

It wasn't until Sherlock had come to him one night with a plan did Mycroft see an opportunity to get closer to the pathologist. The plan was simple, time consuming but simple. In the end Molly would be the one to give him the serum to "kill him" or at least stop his heart and he was to provide his brother with the knowledge and help he needs. It was simple, in a matter of minutes the whole thing was done. Sherlock Holmes was no more.

They buried him on a Tuesday in a cemetery walking distance from Mycroft's house. Mycroft served as pallbearer and was the one who stood between John Watson and Molly, the two people who loved Sherlock the most and in the end, the two who would suffer the most. As his brothers body was laid to rest and the workers began to fill in the hole with dirt he felt a small tug on his sleeve and when he looked down he was utterly shocked to see the pathologist holding onto his sleeve with a clenched fist. He hadn't noticed it before but now that he looked at her he could see the deep purple circles that lined her eyes and the tears that slowly filled them. He had forgotten he wasn't the only to love and lose him.

Wrapping his arm around her gently he pulled her close and allowed her into his private space, something he find himself doing very little these days. It felt nice to have someone this close to him, it felt nice to let someone in.

They stood there for what felt like hours, his arm around her shoulder, her arms around his waist pulling him closer to him. Her tears both stained and ruined his favourite pinstripe but when he got home later that night he couldn't find it in his heart to throw it out or send it to the cleaners. Instead he neatly folded it making sure the creases were straight and placed it gently in the back of his closet where, even for years, it remained untouched. The memory behind it preserved as well if it were hidden behind a glass case.

Noticing Molly's glass was empty he leant forward and refilled it with just under the halfway point and returned the brandy to its spot on the cabinet. Molly gave him a smile as a thank you and Mycroft found himself saying nothing in return, only nodding his head slightly.

He studied her movements carefully for the next while, he watched the way she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, he studied the way she moved her hands when she talked, he watches her mouth closely noticing that her smile starts from the right side then like a contagion spreads to the other side. When she isn't looking he studies the small freckles speckled slightly above her collarbone, he wishes he could reach over and brush his fingers against them, he wished he could place his lips over them and silently kiss every single one. He studies her eyes, more importantly the way the fire hits them and makes them sparkle and shine brighter than any star in the night sky could ever do. He studies her until he realizes that studying her isn't enough, he can't just sit here and study her like some specimen. He can only study and watch her before the desire to have her becomes too much.

Mycroft Holmes had always had an appetite; and tonight he craved Molly Hooper.

Before he could stop himself Mycroft leaned in close to the pathologist and gently wrapped his hands against her delicate throat, her soft skin burned his palms but he didn't care. Perhaps he'd never care again. Molly opened her mouth to say something but before she got the chance Mycroft covered her mouth with his.

Her lips were soft and inviting and sent his mind spinning in circles. How many times had he imagined this happening, oh how he wished he had done this earlier. Mycroft felt Molly sigh against his lips and decided this was the right time to deepen the kiss. He ran his lower lip against Molly's and waited oh so patiently for her to part them, when she did he sent his tongue inside her mouth and felt a spark run through his body as Molly's gentle tongue brushed against his.

She tasted like tangerines and vanilla, quite the combination but with her it worked. He filled his body with the scent and taste of her and sent his mind reeling with every touch she made. He felt her delicate hands run up his chest painfully slow and finally latch onto the lapels of his jacket. She moved her hands from his jacket and wrapped her arms around his neck forcing him closer to her, he responded by following suite and wrapped his arms around her small waist and let his fingers dig into her sides.

His lips continued to move against hers when suddenly the warmth her body produced was lost. Mycroft opened his eyes and stared deeply into Molly's warm pools of brown.

"Why did you do that?" She asked quietly.

"I had to," he replied waiting no time. "I just wanted to see-"

"I'm not some experiment you can toy with, I have feelings I-"

"Why would you say those things about yourself?" Mycroft asked interrupting his companion. "I don't look at you as an experiment; I look at you as you. Why would you poison your mind with those thoughts?"

Molly pulled herself away from Mycroft and avoided his intense gaze. "I don't count, I know you and Sherlock, I know that caring is a disadvantage. Why would you say those things then do that if you didn't care?"

Mycroft opens his mouth to answer but finds no words come to mind. He closes his mouth and opens it again once more in hope that this time something will come out; but nothing does. It feels as if his tongue had turned to lead, it feels heavy with the weight of the words he so desperately wants to say.

He wants to tell her everything. He wants to tell her that she counts, she's always counted for both him and Sherlock. He wants her to know how important she is and how badly he needs he. He wants to tell her everything.

He wants to tell her how he thinks about her constantly, he wants to tell her that she's the last thing on his mind before he goes to sleep and that she's the first thing on it when he wakes. He wants to tell her that over the last few weeks he's read every single book that resides on her bookshelf even the horribly written teenage trash that young girls seem to fancy so much. He wants to tell her that her iPod wasn't stolen it was just borrowed, he wants to tell her that it was him that took it from her desk at work; he didn't mean to take it for a long time he just wanted to know what she listened to. He was surprised by the amount of movie soundtracks and classical pieces that took over the small music player. He wanted to tell her that he learnt how to make French toast just for her because he remembers her saying how her father used to make it for her every Sunday before church. Or that he recently purchased all of the medical journals she has contributed to over the years, he knew he could just simply find them online or in one of his offices but he wanted to own them for himself. He could go on for hours, days even like that just listing off everything and tell her what he thinks about her but he can't right now. He can't even say a simple word.

"Mycroft, say something."

"I don't know what to tell you," Mycroft says quietly.

Molly begins to pull away but before she gets out of reach Mycroft reaches out and grabs both her hands gently in his large ones.

"Let me finish, I don't know what to tell you because there's so much to say." Leaning forward gently Mycroft pressed his forehead against Molly's and shuts his eyes. "I imagined this for so long, for some many days and nights. You keep me up at night, I can't sleep and when I do I can only dream of you. When I'm lying in bed I can't help but start thinking about what you look like under those sheets, I can't pass a floral shop without being reminded of your love for them, or pass a market without smelling tangerines which in turn reminds me of you. You smell like tangerines and vanilla, did you know that? It's such an odd combination but I couldn't imagine you any other way. I think that's the first thing I noticed about you.

"You go on living everyday telling yourself that you don't matter and that you're only being used by others but I wish you wouldn't think like that. You should never think like that. You're so smart and so beautiful and so perfect that you should never think like that ever again. You shouldn't care what people think of you, you should think yourself above all that. You should think of yourself like the way I think of you."

Mycroft waits for a few moments for Molly to say something, to say anything. He waits for what seems like hours when in all reality it has only been less than a minute. He can feel Molly shift uncomfortably under him and for a second he fears that he has offended her or even worse perhaps she didn't feel the same.

"Do you really mean that, all of it?" Molly asked quietly.

Mycroft nodded his head and brought both her hands to his lips palm up and kissed each one of them softly before placing them both on his chest right above his head.

"Every word, my dear," he replied. "I cannot promise you everything you've ever wanted but I can promise you everything you'll ever need. I can give you security, I can provide warmth and comfort and above all I can give you my love. I have so much to offer you and so much to give but nothing more than my heart itself."

After a moment Mycroft can't help but open his eyes. He finds himself staring directly into Molly's orbs, her face is practically unreadable, something that catches him off guard. Feeling defeated Mycroft begins to drop his hold on her but before he can break contact he feels Molly's hands pull him back in.

"All I ever needed was you,"

It's all he needs; it's all he's ever needed. Love. A word he used to loathe and hate, the word so rarely was used in his vocabulary he wasn't sure if he even know how to say it anymore. Yet here it was, the word he had only said in a mocking way was coming to him in a brand new light.

Placing both hands gently on her face Mycroft pressed both his lips on hers and kissed her softly, gently, lovingly just like before. Only this time he made sure to put his heart into it for safe keeping, in case he lost it again.