It all started with a simple accident. Molly Hooper was in the middle of an autopsy when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around in surprise and dropped her scalpel on the floor. An artery spurted
"Sorry to startle you." The intruder said.
Molly, dripping with blood, tried to look irritated, but was embarrassed more than anything.
"Can I help you with something?" She asked.
"Yes. I am here to discuss your association with Sherlock Holmes. He seems to spend very much time here in your presence." The man said.
"What does it matter?" Molly inquired.
"Are you going to continue interacting with Sherlock Holmes?"
Molly waltzed right up to him, poking a finger to his chest.
"I do believe that is none of your business if I spend time with Sherlock! Who do you think you are, walking in here and getting into my personal life? I will kindly ask you to leave my morgue before I call security!" Molly growled.
"Good day then, Doctor Hooper." The man left.
Mycroft Holmes walked down the street with a smirk on his face. Doctor Molly Hooper had a temper if you press her buttons. He was expecting the shy, mousy Molly that Sherlock talked about.
Molly stormed to the showers to wash the blood off of her. The nerve of that man. Thinks he can walk in and speak to her like that. What business did he have interrogating her about Sherlock? Unless he knew she had something to do with faking Sherlock's death a few years ago. She got back to work and tried to forget the mysterious man.
Sherlock came swooping into the morgue and could tell immediately that the pathologist was frustrated.
"What has you so irate today?" He asked.
"Some posh man came in here and demanded to know things about my personal life. I came so close to hitting him." Molly fumed.
"What business is it of his?" Sherlock asked.
"Exactly. Where's John? He's usually here with you." Molly asked, changing the subject.
"He had a date or something with his wife. I didn't pay attention." Sherlock replied.
Molly laughed a little. "Do you want a coffee?"
"Black-"
"Black, two sugars. I know." Molly said and left.
While making the coffee, Molly heard a voice behind her.
"Doctor Hooper." It was the man again.
"I thought I told you to leave. Or, better yet, Sherlock Holmes is in the morgue. You want information, go talk to him because I won't answer any of your questions. Good day, Sir." Molly turned to walk away, but he stopped her.
"Doctor Hooper, I just wanted to apologize for my earlier actions. My name is Mycroft Holmes. I'm Sherlock's brother."
"You know, this is the kind of conversation you have before you bombard someone with questions." Molly said.
"Thank you for the tip, Doctor Hooper. I just worry about Sherlock constantly." Mycroft replied.
"I'm not dangerous. If that's what you are thinking." Molly defended.
"No! Not at all. I was just seeing that Sherlock is in good hands. Between you and John Watson, he is well cared for." Mycroft replied.
"Okay."
"Apologies about the accident earlier. I can pay for your clothing replacements." Mycroft said.
"That won't be necessary. I didn't really like that outfit anyway." Molly said.
They stood in awkward silence.
"I better get going. I have a lot of paperwork to do." Molly said with a smile.
"Of course. I won't keep you." Mycroft said.
Molly entered the morgue to find Sherlock beating a body with a riding crop. Again.
"What took you so long? Did you have to pick the coffee beans yourself?" He inquired.
"No. I ran into that man again." Molly replied.
Sherlock looked up. "Did he try to question you again?"
"No, he didn't. He apologized for earlier and introduced himself." She said.
"Do I know him?"
"Yep. Quite well, actually." Molly shuffled nervously.
"Really? Who is he?"
"He said he was your brother, Mycroft Holmes."
"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Sherlock asked.
"He did not. Does he usually do that?"
"Yes. And it's quite annoying. If he does offer you money, take it. We can split the fee." Sherlock said.
"Or, I could keep it all. Now, I like that idea." Molly smiled.
"Oh, but splitting it would be more fun."
"For you, maybe. Not me."
"Although you could invest in a much better wardrobe. Frankly, most of your clothes are awful." Sherlock said dryly.
"They're comfortable." Molly argued.
"And horrendous." Sherlock added.
"Well, your coat is stupid looking with the collar turned up and I hate the purple shirt on you. It makes you look as pale as this cadaver." Molly knew it wasn't true, but it was a bad day, so she didn't care.
"I thought you liked my look." Sherlock said with a tiny hint of hurt.
"Oh, so you can dish it out, but you can't take it. I'll make you a deal. I won't say anything about your fashion choices if you say nothing about mine."
"Fine. It was getting dull anyway." Sherlock went back to what he was doing, signaling the conversation was over.
Molly sighed. She could never win with him. She turned to work on her cadaver when the blood spurted from this corpse too.
"Argh! Why is it always me?" Molly stomped back to the shower for the second time that day.