The front door clinks quietly and John pauses for a moment, just a moment, before pulling a second mug from the cupboard. He fills it with tea, adding a small splash of milk and a hefty spoon of sugar, and then walks to the sitting room in time to see Mycroft walk through the door.

"Afternoon, Mycroft," he says lightly, passing him the mug.

"Ah, yes, thank you John."

There's a pause where Mycroft observes the good Doctor before speaking. "Sherlock is not here?"

John snorts. "You know he's not."

"Good. Excellent," Mycroft moves across the room, passing the mug of tea from one hand to another as he goes, and sits in Sherlock's chair. "I…I have a dilemma, John, and I don't quite…I don't know which course of action to take."

"So you came to me? Why?"

"I think, perhaps, that you were in a smiliar situation and have now at last found your way out of it. I wish for your help and, failing that, at least for a companionable silence."

"Maybe you should tell me what's going on, yeah?"

Mycroft shifts in his chair. "I have developed…an attachment, if you will."

John's eyebrows shoot up. "To who?"

"Whom," Mycroft corrects, "She is, in the most technical sense, a person in my employ."

"Ah. I see. So, you like her, but you're afraid to make a move because she works for you and you're worried about what might happen if she says no?"

"I hardly 'like' her, as you put it. I admire her, her strength, and tenacity. She's intelligent and unfailingly kind to me. She makes me smile."

"Woah. You've got it bad."

Mycroft frowns. "Evidently."

Hiding a smile, John forges ahead. "So how can I help?"

"You've recently upgraded your relationship with my brother after worrying on the subject for an extended period of time. I was wondering if you would advise me on how to go about such an endeavor."

Boiling hot tea shoots up his nose. It had only been three days! "How – nevermind. I don't really know what to tell you, anyways. We sort of…skipped all the first date stuff."

"Yes, I'm aware."

Christ, don't tell me you know we've shagged already. "Er, right. So. Find out what she likes, if you don't know already. Knowing you, you probably do. Take her out to dinner or something."

"And if she refuses?"

"Say thanks and go on about your day. But honestly, I think Anthea would say yes. She's not the kind to be intimidated because you're her boss."

"Anthea?"

"Ah, you weren't talking about her, were you?"

"No. I was speaking of Molly Hooper."

"Molly?" Wow. I did not see that coming. "I thought you said she worked for you?"

"In a manner of speaking, she does. I am the majority shareholder at St. Barts. She's aware of this."

"Wow. Um. Right. Course. Molly Hooper," he stumbles around this new found information, rolling it through his head. "Take her for coffee."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Trust me. Take her for coffee. A café will do just right."

"I don't –

"Frequent café's, I know. Take her for coffee, say thanks for putting up with your brother, and then casually mention you have tickets to a show and ask if she'd like to go."

"That seems rather underhanded."

"All is fair in love and war."

Setting the mug down on the table, Mycroft stands. "I never took you for a philosopher, John."

"I never pictured you and Molly Hooper, but hey, it's that's life. You never know what to expect."

"Thank you, John. You've been most helpful."

"No worries. Any time."

"Where to, sir?" the driver asks when he climbs into the sleek black car.

Mycroft settles into his seat next to Anthea and smiles. "St. Bart's Hospital. Do you know any good café's, Roger?"