PROMPT:

Molly, Mycroft, Anthea and Molly's bodyguard (and fake fiancé) play poker every Friday night. They place bets, (like how long will it take everyone else to figure out Tom's gay and is actually Molly's body guard.) Most of the time Molly wins-and it's usually half of everyone's pay checks she gets. By the time Mary figured out that Tom was gay (but didn't figure out he was a bodyguard) Molly was a millionaire-close to billionaire from all the poker nights.

-x-x-x-

Nice headcanon! I've continued from here to involve Sherlock. Slight tweaks on the amounts of her winnings. Go Molly!

Pocket Aces

"Hello dear brother," Mycroft sauntered slowly into Molly's flat. "What a surprise to see you here. So good of you to answer the door. And, in nothing but a tea towel no less."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and spat out a witty insult. He'd never be able to live it down. He closed the door behind his older brother keeping the floral tea towel securely over his nethers.

"Molly!" Sherlock grudgingly called out.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything?" Mycroft arched an eyebrow as his lips curled into a smile.

Sherlock pursed his lips and inhaled deeply through his nose. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever lost this badly at a game that was all but made for him to win. He could read players like a book. It was child's play. A dull afternoon at his favorite bolt hole with his favorite pathologist had needed a little livening up. He'd dazzle Molly with his skills at reading players and bluffing. But, he had taught his pupil too well.

"Mycroft," Molly stepped out from the bathroom in the hallway. "You're early! Tea?"

"Please," he bent down and lightly pecked both Molly's cheeks earning a soft growl from his brother. "Did you bake?"

"But, of course!" Molly winked. "Your favorites."

Mycroft happily bounded towards the cookie jars on the counter where he knew he'd find some tasty things to nibble on.

"You were expecting him?" Sherlock scowled.

"Uh-huh," Molly nodded as she put the kettle on the stove.

"Let me guess," Mycroft popped a bite-sized cookie into his mouth. "You had a friendly wager over a game of cards."

He glanced at the coffee table which was strewn with cards. He let out a hearty chuckle as Sherlock flushed with embarrassment. The redness bloomed down his bare chest to his navel.

"What do they call it?" He exaggeratedly tapped his chin. "Ah, yes. 'Strip poker'."

Molly giggled as Sherlock rolled his eyes again at his brother's thinly veiled attempts to bait him.

"She lied." The consulting detective tried to cross his arms but realized he wouldn't be able to hold his towel properly if he did. "She has played the game before."

"I didn't lie!" Molly feigned hurt. "You simply said, 'It's not terribly complicated. I think you'll be able to catch on'."

"And, you suggested the stakes?" Mycroft's eyes twinkled at Molly with mischief.

Molly smirked and shrugged her shoulders, "I may have made a suggestion or two."

"For the last time," Sherlock ground his teeth. "May I, at least, have my coat so that I can go home with a little dignity?"

"You bet the Belstaff?" Mycroft was shocked.

"He really shouldn't have gone 'all-in'," Molly tutted as she retrieved the teapot.

"And pray tell, what were the hands?"

"He went in heavy with pocket aces and pushed all-in on the turn." Before Sherlock could answer, Molly jumped in surprising him even more than he'd already been."I had a full house. Eights full of Queens."

"Your favorite hand, my dear." Mycroft clapped. "Well done!"

Sherlock's jaw-dropped, but he couldn't have predicted the shock that was to come.

"Before I forget- which I often do," Mycroft pulled out an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. "The swiss account details. Everything is in order."

"Thank you!" Molly beamed and placed a kiss on Mycroft's cheek.

"What is going on?" Sherlock demanded. "In one afternoon, I have been hustled and stripped. Am I to believe you two are laundering money to international untraceable accounts as well?!"

"Don't be silly, Sherlock." Mycroft sipped his tea. "It's only a few million pounds."

Sherlock growled and launched himself at his brother. He grabbed his collar and shook him.

"What have you gotten Molly mixed up in!?"

"Sherlock!" Molly grabbed his arm. "Stop that!"

Mycroft peeled Sherlock's hand off him and dusted off his collar.

"Her winnings," he smiled proudly. "They're her winnings from our weekly poker games though we are on a break for now. She cleared everyone out. I took the liberty of opening an investment account for her."

"Who else?" Sherlock asked intrigued.

"Anthea, Tom, a few of my other staff. One or two of my employers on occasion. She's really the best poker player I've ever encountered. MI6 could benefit from a person with skills such as hers."

Sherlock couldn't believe his ears. He turned and eyed Molly, his sweet, yet spitfired pathologist who was biting her thumb to keep from giggling. He had underestimated her once again. She had bested him and he'd no idea how far the deception ran until now. She'd strung him along and divested every single piece of clothing on his back while making him think it was sheer beginner's luck.

And, it was the sexiest thing anyone had ever done in his presence. Hands down.

"And that," Mycroft saw the looks being shared by the only other people in the room. "Is my cue to leave post haste. See you soon, Molly. Sherlock."

The door clicking shut went unnoticed by both Molly and Sherlock. And, the tea towel lay discarded on the floor where he had dropped it just before he scooped her up and took her to the bedroom to illustrate just how impressed he really was.