DEAREST, Chapter One.

A fanfiction by Hrlyqin based on intellectual property owned by it's original creators.

A/N This started as a chapter for my story Pulling The Strings but it became something of it's own. Thank you to Roxanne-Michal for her ideas, help and support. Please enjoy and if you like it drop me a review. -hrlyqin

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Mycroft wasn't often forced to figure out how a good conversation starts with "So, I've been spying on you." Frankly, with the nature of spying being what it is, it didn't come up much. But increasingly, it seemed like he was involved in situations he never imagined.

After the bombings, there were so many pieces to pick up (both literally and figuratively). A lot of things fell through the cracks. One of those things was Molly Hooper. After she gave her statements and after it became clear that she had no useful information, no one really paid attention.

No one except Mycroft.

So now here he was, waiting for Lindley to show her in to the study, trying to figure out how to best begin with "So, I've been spying on you..."

"Miss Molly Hooper, sir." announced Lindley. Mycroft rose from the sofa and waited for Molly to sit before he did again. After she was settled, Lindley bustled about fixing them tea while they exchanged basic pleasantries (Molly was very good at basic pleasantries). It wasn't until they were alone that the real conversation began.

"Molly, I must confess, I had a reason for asking you here."

She stirred her tea sadly, all pretense of cheer gone. "You want to talk about Jim, don't you?"

"Yes, and no. You see..."

Mentally he flipped through his list:

I think Moriarty might come back to tie up loose ends like you.

I can't believe that you know nothing of value, it is much more likely that you just don't realize what you know.

I've been taking care of Sherlock my whole life and look at the mess he's gotten us all into now.

So you see, for Sherlock, and to catch Moriarty, I've been spying on you.

He dismissed each of these as true statements, but none that would help if spoken aloud. Instead, he told her, "People give me information sometimes, Molly. So I can put it to good use. While a certain degree of...power comes with having all this knowledge, I try to use everything I know to make the world a safer place."

He took a sip of tea. There, the foundation was laid. He hoped she was with him so far. "For example, I know you've been to the doctor. Three times now. How far along are you?"

In an instant, he saw that trying to make her as relaxed as possible had been a waste. Her hands started shaking so badly that tea was getting everywhere, scalding her exposed flesh. He took her cup away from her and started to wipe her hands off with his handkerchief, using the physical contact to try and assert calmness upon her. When she was dried off, he kept his grip on her fingers and repeated his question. "How far along?"

Her lips curled up and she gave a pathetic whimper, but she answered at least. "Two months."

"And, within that time frame, there aren't any other possibilities?"

There was a shake of her head. "Jim was the only one."

For a moment, Mycroft wondered if she was glad to say it to someone else. She had not confided in any friends, and had only told her doctor that the father was 'out of the picture'.

"Do you know what you're going to do?"

She shook her head again, more adamantly this time. The tears were flowing now and her face was getting blotchy. He was about to offer her his handkerchief when he remembered that it was marinating in tea at the moment. Blast. Maybe Anthea...no, he had requested privacy.. ...

"Lindley!" he called out, trying not to sound out of sorts.

After a minute, Lindley popped his head in the door. "A warm towel for Miss Hooper please."

He patted her tiny hands and let her 'have a gold cry' (one of his nanny's expressions) while he waited. He wasn't used to this amount of...emotion. At least not this type. Normally, there was screaming, cursing, mild outrage, seething resentment, but not crying. He pondered settling this by simply knocking her out and having her placed back in her bed at home. But no, not in her present condition.

Lindley appeared with a warm hand towel as well as a fresh handkerchief Bless that man. He took them both and found himself wiping Molly's tear-stained face with the towel, like she was a small child. She had cried for precisely 12 minutes straight. He had counted.

"Better now?" he asked, setting the towel next to the abandoned tea.

"Yes, thank you. I'm sorry, it's ju-just-st that this isn't..."

"What you planned?" Mycroft offered. He knew the feeling.

"Yes, I mean, no. I mean, right. This isn't what I planned. I always thought I would get m-married first, or be in love, or at least...at least be able to suh-say..."

She was winding herself up for another spell, he could see that. Alright, he was trying to be understanding but honestly, this wouldn't do. "Molly." he said forcefully. "Molly. Stop."

She looked over at him, startled, but she did at least attempt to reel in back in.

"I know how you must feel. No, I'm sorry, that's a lie. I haven't the faintest idea how you feel. But I can imagine. You feel ashamed, not only for the slightly outdated stigma of being unwed, but mostly due to the fact that the child's father is..."

"A mur-mur-murdering lunatic?"she whimpered. "A stark raving mad psycho killer who tried to blow up my fri-friends? An evil murderous bastard?"

"A less than desirable parent." he finished. That won him a smile at least. "If you decide to...terminate, I could arrange for it to be extremely private. No one would need to ever know."

She put those tiny white fingers on her stomach. "I don't think I could do that." she told him quietly. "I know it would be the smart thing but I just couldn't."

Mycroft tried to remain as passive as possible about that statement. "You realize, scientifically speaking, there is no evidence to prove that children of disturbed individuals are any more predispose to lead violent lives."

She smiled again and Mycroft wasn't sure why until she said "You sound like Sherlock."

Ah, passively observant and emotionally detached, good. "There is always adoption."

"I know. A lovely young couple with a little cottage and a p-puppy. Yellow curtains in the nursery." She was now rubbing the area around her navel, did she realize that?

She talked about yellow curtains. Had that been her plan for her life, a little cottage and yellow curtains in the nursery? She was 31 now. The age when people start beginning to reconcile the difference between what their lives were and what they thought they would be. How lonely was Molly that she had fallen prey to Moriarty? He had seen her webpage. The cat pictures. She put up such a bright exterior, coyly flittering around his brother, always excited to have visitors. But he was gifted at reading between the lines and now he looked underneath all of that. She must for some reason feel herself exceptionally undeserving of good and honest love. Especially after what happened. But she wasn't a cold creature. No, on the contrary, she had an enormous amount of love to share.

"Or, you could keep it and raise the child yourself."

Her hand stopped moving. "I don't think I could do that either. It's not fair. Better to give him or her a fresh start where no one would know about their father."

Was she...? Yes...she was crying again. But now it was silent tears. She seemed so heartbroken.

"You could say it's mine."

"Excus-se me?"

"Molly, you want to keep this baby, you just don't know how. I think it's foolish. You think this might be your last chance but it's not. You still have time to marry and have other children. However, it isn't my decision, and I also think to give the baby away would mean involving more people in this mess, as the parents would need to be informed. So keep it, and say it is mine."

"You would do that? You...you barely know me."

"I'm an extremely private man. You are an attractive acquaintance. People would believe we were sexually involved at some point, we needn't pretend to be a couple now. It would also allow me to assist you financially. It's the best solution."

She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him. Not happily, not romantically. But in relief. He patted her back and tried to share in some of that relief. After all, this was a victory.

Now, when Moriarty showed up to try and claim his offspring, he would be right here waiting.