Um, this is another weird story…sorry…However never fear, I am still working on my other two stories!
Also, sorry another story not beta'd so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Still I do hope you enjoy.
I don't own Sherlock. I don't own Molly or even Mycroft, hell all I own is my crazy weird imagination! Which I enjoy sharing with you!
Warning in future parts there might be some hints or not so hints of past child abuse, I doubt we will see it however, for I am more fond of the aftermath then the actual reading or writing of it. I have a rough outline of how the story will go or could go however, I haven't decided yet if past child abuse will be placed in here and if so I'm not sure how much or how far, the rough draft is still quite rough! So let us both be surprised, yes?
~*~ I.O.U. My Dear~*~
~*~Part 1~*~
I felt Holmes's hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring shake, as if to say that the situation was within his powers and that he was easy in his mind.
-Charles Augustus Milverton by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
'I had only one confidant-my brother Mycroft.'
-The Empty House by Arthur Conan Doyle
~*~SHERLOCK~*~
It was quite stupid actually.
Dr. Molly Hooper honestly believed she wasn't somebody important. A little ordinary, mostly boring, nobody who wasn't all that special.
Yet, Sherlock Holmes knew better and had attempted to show her that when he had invited her along on his cases.
But sometimes it's hard for people, people like sweet Molly Hooper to accept such obvious things.
If he had known more about her past, Sherlock might have been tempted to work harder on revealing the great truth of her worth and that she was indeed someone special…
Really, she was quite important in fact…
Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, who thought of himself the smart one, also knew the great truth that Molly Hooper was indeed somebody.
Somebody quite important in fact…
For a nobody would not have been trusted to help fake his brother's death and risk her career or even possibly her life. No…A nobody would not have been trusted to keep the secret that Sherlock was really alive for two years or beyond that if necessary…
Molly may, at times, act like a meek little mouse but she had slipped up and revealed that to be a fantastic façade for she actually had a loyal heart of a lion, who could roar and actually bite and claw if deemed necessary. She would even fight bravely when times called for it.
Mycroft, the powerful British government, did not need or really even want a little petite woman with a heart of a pure lion to fightbravely for him…
Nor should the little lioness have taken an assassin's bullet that had clearly been meant for him…
Yet, she had.
That was exactly what Molly Hooper did.
Taken a bullet…for him…
She, Molly Hooper, who was definitely not a nobody had recently saved his life!
She was in surgery because of that bloody bullet…
A bullet meant for Mycroft Holmes…
Her own blood had been spilt simply because she, Molly Hooper, had seen something the Holmes brothers had not noticed as quickly as she had…A small sudden red dot and she had shoved him out of the way, taking the bullet herself…
Mycroft was a man of great deduction and observation skills and yet he hadn't noticed the damn deadly little red dot…Sherlock had but he hadn't been close enough to reaction…To attempt to save his life…Or even decide not to save it…and if Sherlock had saved his life he probably would have blamed it on instinct or even say he hadn't wanted to piss off mummy…Molly, however, had been walking much closer to him and so…
So…
Molly had actually saved his life; she had simply reacted, placing herself in mortal danger.
Now…
Now a very important somebody was, right this very minute, fighting for her life…All he had to do was wait to see if she left this mortal coil…
Mycroft was normally a very patient man. A very still spider awaiting its prey…A coldly smirking cat watching a mouse before it leaps…He could control wars and countries…So many things he could easily control…
Yet, here in the waiting room of Bart's hospital, Mycroft Holmes had no control here….or even in this situation…He felt a bit impatient, wanting and waiting for the news about Dr. Hooper…As much as he hated to admit it; Mycroft actually felt a deep concern over the girl. He didn't like getting involved with people…or their lives…nor did he like dealing with the emotions that normally went along with them…
At the moment, however, he was feeling all kinds of things…
All because of Molly Hooper.
She touched something deep within him that he felt highly uncomfortable about it and on a normal day he could easily ignore those horrid things called emotions. Today sadly, was not a normal day.
A sometimes shy pathologist was at this very moment making the legendary 'ice man' care whether someone lived or died. Seriously, Mycroft Holmes preferred to never get involved in the lives of others, yet he found himself very much involved…
For Molly Hooper saved his life…
"Molly better not die because of you." His brother stated this coldly, finally speaking after a long seemingly dead silence where nothing was said since the moment all this happened.
Sherlock was sitting in an uncomfortable chair, looking as if he was a pale beautiful block of white marble. His hands still had Molly's dried blood on him.
Mycroft was tempted to suggest that he go wash the blood off…But a strong survival instinct told him that his suggestion would not go over too well. It would perhaps be best to wait for the good Dr. Watson to say something to his brother. At the moment, Sherlock was most likely to listen to his best mate than to blood…
God, Molly…
She had spelt her blood for him…
Mycroft wondered if Sherlock noticed how his pale hand tightened on his favorite brolly's handle.
"It will not be my fault if she dies, Sherlock…" He informed him just as coldly yet a small part of himself wondered if he was lying…
Sherlock slowly turned his head to glare coldly at him. Even with his face hardened into granite a muscle moved ominously in his cheek. Perhaps in not wanting to worry about his friend or be deathly afraid it was better for his little brother to be angry instead…He could handle that emotion easily. Plus, Sherlock also found it easier to blame him…
Sherlock should blame the man who dared to fire that awful shot. The man who dared to aim his weapon…He should blame the bloody cult that was trying to resurrect Moriarty's network…
Mycroft already had enough on his mind…Okay; mostly his thoughts were on a woman who took a blasted bullet for him! She could be dead right at this very moment…God, she could be flat lining even as they were sitting here in these awful uncomfortable chairs! Simply waiting for any type of news, good or bad.
All the while Sherlock simply laid the blame at his older brother's feet
"I asked you to protect Molly, Mycroft…I pretty much begged you to protect her! I hate begging and I pretty much begged!"
Mycroft knew that wasn't all that was bothering his dear sweet brother…Nope, there was a reason why he was the smart one…
He knew his dear brother all too well…
"Sherlock…" He attempted to cut off his brother's icy accusing words…
"I warned you that some slightly creative idiots were out there trying to make it look like Moriarty had pulled off an even better fake death than my own. These idiots love Moriarty and certain members are actually trying to resurrect his old network and perhaps Moriarty himself. Those bastards had already murdered eight of my twenty-five in my homeless network that had helped me, Mycroft! And I remember bloody well telling you that Molly would need protection…your bloody protection…Because if anyone could protect her it's the British government…All knowing and powerful—"
"Sherlock—"Mycroft tried once more to speak. He did not need or want to hear Sherlock's angry and bitter words.
Yet, his dear baby brother continued, his arctic cold words were burning ever so harshly into his soul. His soul that he had thought he had lost years ago…Yet, if felt as if it was still there…that his soul had simply been sleeping and now simply waking up…
Sherlock still continued…
"I even warned you, Mycroft…my dear brother…My only confidant…that if these foolish people were going after the people who had helped me fake my death then…Then your life was also in grave danger. When I told you that do you remember your reply? Hmm? I do! You smirked, even chuckled, you damn bastard and said—"
"Sherlock…please, must we do this now?"
"You said 'no one would dare come after you'! No one! And what happens?! Molly, my pathologist, one of my friends, damn you, is now fighting for her life because she took a bullet meant for you! You, a man no one would dare touch…let alone kill!"
Sherlock's brutal on slot finally stopped and he looked away. As if he couldn't stand to look at his brother any longer, as if he hated him…as if he actually disgusted him.
Mycroft suddenly wished that he could apologize. If only he could find the words that would make everything right once more. Perhaps…He had indeed held too much pride and thought any attempt on his life would be idiotic…He also knew telling his brother, 'sorry' wouldn't change things. Wouldn't make everything right once more. Saying 'sorry' would not have stopped that savagely brutal bullet that had been meant for him hitting Molly Hooper instead…ripping into her fragile body.
No, his words would do no one any good especially Sherlock.
Maddening silence reigned once more.
Mycroft sighed heavily, holding the handle of his brolly with an even tighter grip. Wishing that the doctor or even a nurse would come by and tell them something, damn it!
How was Dr. Hooper? Was she still alive? He needed to hear something! Anything and at the moment, not even his position in the government could bring him the answers he so desperately needed.
Suddenly, he felt his brother's eyes on him once more before he heard Sherlock's soft voice…This time without any heat or coldness…In fact he sounded almost…lost.
"Promise me, that Molly will live, brother mine."
When Mycroft turned his head to look at his baby brother he saw him the exact way he had been when he had been about eight. A small, normally mischievous boy, with a head full of curls. His face was full of intense emotion. Looking at him, one would never think that one day he'd grow into a brilliant hard, cold and most of the time an emotionless man…at least he attempted to be emotionless…His dear friends knew differently.
"Please promise me that Molly will live." Sherlock repeated. Mycroft blinked and Sherlock was back to being a grown man.
Really…As if his promise would mean anything…As if his promise could keep Molly Hooper alive…
Sherlock had to realize that his promise, his vow, held no power. None at all.
He was quite logical and not known for whimsy.
Mycroft found he couldn't apologize. He simply couldn't even if there was a part of him that actually wanted too…But they were words…if he did actually speak them they were for Dr. Hooper's ears only
Yes, he had men who had been looking after Molly from a distance but perhaps he should have requested more men…Done something more…Had the area better searched….Maybe…
'Promise me…' Sherlock's voice seemed to echo in his head.
Mycroft really should have demanded better protection for himself and then maybe…
Maybe…
But that was too late now…Having regrets…Did no one any good.
'Promise me that Molly will live'
'Promise me…'
He wasn't the one who had fired the rifle but maybe some of the fault did rest upon his shoulders.
Bugger it, it would do no good to promise…No good at all…His promise wasn't magical…It wouldn't make Molly Hooper live…
But…
His baby brother needed to hear his promise…
So…
What else could he do?
If it truly mattered to his baby brother…What harm would his promise do? Perhaps more than even Mycroft Holmes could handle…
Perhaps…
His brother, though highly annoying, was indeed his one of his true weaknesses…that and sweets…Okay, to be honest sweets were more of a weakness than he wished…
"I promise you, Sherlock…Molly Hooper will live." Mycroft finally found himself saying softly.
This was truly a promise that could easily come and bite him hard on the arse. He knew that and his brother had to know that as well…Yet, with a short nod Sherlock seemed to accept his word and now actually looked…well…not as worried as he had been before.
His baby brother seemed to trust his word way too much and if Molly died…Damn it all, if she died there was a chance that Sherlock would never trust another word coming out of his mouth ever again. He'd savagely and quite wrongly blame him with a fire that normally only certain dastardly criminals ever saw from the legendary consulting detective.
Which would be so bloody childish of Sherlock, so very idiotic and so damn cruel…heartless…mean spirited and wrong…So very wrong…Yet it was just as wrong of Molly to take a bullet meant for him.
Oddly enough a couple of minutes after Mycroft had given Sherlock his word a doctor came and informed them that Dr. Hooper was indeed going to make it…
She was going to live!
Dr. Molly Hooper…was someone quite special…someone important…and she was going to live. That bullet had meant to take his own life wouldn't now wouldn't take hers instead…In fact; it wouldn't take neither of their lives.
After Mycroft made sure that guards would be placed outside her door, he made certain that he would be allowed to see her. Seeing that he was indeed the British government saying 'no' was highly frowned upon.
Sherlock seemed okay that Mycroft would be the first to see her, for he seemed happy that Molly was going to be fine and John came around to make sure Sherlock washed his hands. Mycroft had also heard John suggest that they go and buy some flowers for Molly. For she did like flowers and off the two men went walking down the busy hallway…Still talking, of course. Sherlock informed John that Molly really didn't need flowers; it wasn't a funeral mind you... What she needed was more morphine and he would be happy to go looking for some just for her…Luckily they were in a hospital so it shouldn't be too hard to find or take.
Oh, God…
Seriously…
As Mycroft watched them leave and listened to the tail end of their conversation he couldn't help but sigh. Wondering if John would be able to stop Sherlock from attempting to steal from the hospital. Mycroft sadly had a strong suspicion that both he and John were about to get a Sherlock induced migraine.
Some moments later Mycroft was allowed to enter the room where Dr. Hooper lay. He simply stood still like a statue near her bed. He looked down at the extremely pale woman lying upon the hospital bed. Hooked up to a machine…
He wasn't sure how long he stood there. Perhaps an eternity, even longer it seemed, for her to open her eyes…to regain consciousness…There seemed to be no great urgency for Molly, still a bit foggy with pain killers to gather her bearings and remember.
Her brown eyes rested upon him before weakly, oh so weakly Molly asked if he was okay.
For the first time in his life a question nearly brought him to his knees.
"I…I'm good." Mycroft informed her, his voice feeling quite raw for some odd completely strange reason. So strange he couldn't seem to comprehend it…Unlike his brother, he rarely missed anything. Puzzles were boring to him for they were much too easily solvable. For once…he may have come upon a puzzle much too complex…and he wasn't use to all these bloody emotions that were trying to drown him…
Molly Hooper…the woman who saved him from an assassin's bullet…Dr. Hooper could have easily died…She hadn't done it for money, or gain…She had simply done it because that was who she was…
She was not a normal goldfish…Maybe not a goldfish at all, actually.
"Good…That's good…I was worried that you…had…been harmed." Molly said softly, quite weak in fact, still no matter how pale or fragile she looked she gifted him a beautiful and lovely smile.
No. Molly Hooper was in no way a goldfish or like any manipulative woman he normally knew…
She was Sherlock's trusted pathologist and friend…Maybe she could be his trusted friend as well?
What a crazy thought…
Or…Or was it?
He normally didn't care for touching ordinary people but then Molly had already proven that she was in no way ordinary…So he reached out and awkwardly patted her hand. Her very small, fragile feminine hand…
The hand was surprisingly cold for such a warm hearted woman…He watched carefully as with the last of her strength she grabbed it to hold on to it much like a lifeline. Perhaps…she was simply seeking comfort and warmth…Maybe because he was Sherlock's brother that made her instantly trust him or assume that he was her friend…
All because of Sherlock…
Not that it really mattered…
All that mattered was that she needed a hand to hold and his hand was there.
Odd that.
Comfort and warmth…from him…the man who many called 'the ice man'. No one had ever sought comfort from him…They usually knew better. However this was Molly…
Mycroft swallowed hard, trying to desperately think of something to say and for once his brilliant and normally always busy brain was strangely silent as if waiting…almost peaceful for once…
Finally…
He found himself saying, "I'm quite glad you are going to live." His words were soft and honest.
Yes, he might as well be truthful. He wasn't sure why exactly but he knew he was…thankful? Perhaps, just perhaps he might be more than that…Much more and to be quite honest that alone confused him greatly. He was a man who could end and start wars. He was a genius that knew pretty much knew everything and could play a dangerous deadly game of calculations with people and nations…
Yet…
Here he was a man who was never easily confused…
Molly Hooper confused him…greatly.
"I-I'm so…glad…that you are okay…S-Sherlock, he would have…have…I know he secretly doesn't want to lose you…"Molly attempted to say, her voice quite weak.
Mycroft knew instantly that it was perhaps the strong drugs that were making her highly stupid but he found himself willing to forgive her of her drug induced stupidity.
"That is highly doubtful, but do feel free to believe what you want." He found himself informing her.
Molly blinked at him with beautiful eyes before saying carefully, "Sherlock may do mental exercises where he will murder you but it seriously speaks volumes that he has never once actually attempted to do it…"
"He simply fears mummy's wrath." Mycroft told her dryly, knowing full well that his brother wasn't the only one to highly respect and fear mummy's wrath.
There were moments in his life that he simply hoped like hell that mummy never finds out about. He knew damn well that there was no country he could hide in, not even his beloved Diogenes Club, where mummy couldn't find him and make his life completely miserable.
Molly sighed and tiredly closed her eyes before speaking once more. "He cares…He doesn't want too and he hates himself for it…for he thinks it's a foolish weakness but…he still cares…very deeply in fact. I've come to believe quite strongly that you both are very much alike in that aspect…Gosh, I'm tired…So…very…tired…"
"Then be quiet and sleep." Mycroft ordered softly.
Defying him, she shook her head. It wasn't much of a shake but he nevertheless witnessed it.
"I'm cold…so cold and I want to be warm but I'm cold…why…why can't I be warm—" The last of her sentence ended in a weak mutter as she seemed to be fall back into unconsciousness.
Mycroft rang for the nurse and immediately ordered more blankets.
Then…After some time carefully watching her breathe he informed her ever so softly that he owed her a favor. Anytime she needed something, anything at all and if it was in his power…and seeing that he was indeed a powerful man…he'd do it. Anything…All Molly Hooper had to do was ask…
Mycroft was not sure if she actually heard what he had said…What he had promised her but she did however squeeze his hand slightly.
So perhaps, Molly Hooper had indeed heard him and if she had hopefully her pride wouldn't keep her from calling the favor in…
That wouldn't surprise him in the least…however that light gentle squeeze had. For a he was a man who prided himself on noticing everything…especially details that his own brother missed…Yet he, the great iceman…the smart one… Mycroft Holmes had failed to notice that he was still holding her hand…
He was also greatly surprised to find he had no desire to let go…
(End of Part 1)