A/N: Second chapter, yay! I hope this is going to go the way I tell it to, I'm just getting used to ordering my stories around and I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. I usually just let them go wherever they want but I need to keep some of them short. But enough about that, we have a story to read!

Mycroft watched Molly leave the car with a mix of relief and confusion. Confusion being particularly tied into the relief. After all, he was, to coin Sherlock's term, the British Government. Why should he be relieved that one mousy pathologist had left him alone in his car? The driver started to pull away from the curb, but Mycroft continued to stare out to the doors of St. Bart's long after Molly had passed through. It was only when the car turned and Mycroft lost sight of the building that he turned to face forward again and noticed Molly had left her purse in his car. He reached out for it, then halted. He was pretty sure going through a lady's purse while she wasn't around it was considered "a very bad thing indeed" by his mother. Nevertheless, he did need a way of contacting Molly, and going through her purse seeing if there was an emergency number one could call if it was misplaced seemed better than just admitting he had access to every phone in England. Immediately on the inside he found a tag that read Property of Molly Hooper. If found please call St. Bart's (where I will more likely than not be at work) and ask for me =) It had a little kitten in the corner and Mycroft found himself smiling at the childishly endearing style this woman named Molly Hooper had. Mycroft pulled out his phone and dialed the number for St. Bart's, asking for Molly. The secretary sounded confused at first, then sounded like she was smirking on the other end, probably figuring he was a date of Molly's. He was on hold for only a minute before Molly came on the other end. "Hello, Molly Hooper speaking."

"Dr. Hooper."

"Oh, hello Mr. Holmes. How can I help you?"

"Well, it appears you left your purse in my car. I thought it would be good for you to know."

There was a pause on the other end, probably Molly looking around for her purse and realizing he was right. "Oh! I'm so sorry!"

"No need to apologize. Everyone misplaces personal effects every once in a while. I merely wanted to ensure you had it as soon as possible."

"O-of course. Thank you for telling me, I left my house keys and phone in there, so there's not much I could do come the end of my shift without it."

"Well, why don't I send someone to pick you up at the end of your shift, I know a private place where we could talk. And by then I should think a certain friend of ours will have landed from his plane ride and we could phone him."

"That sounds nice. Though we don't have to call Sherlock, I have faith that he won't do anything too stupid," Molly laughed. "Is 5 okay?"

"5 is fine. I'll see you then."

Mycroft hung up and banged his head against the back of his seat. What was he thinking? Why was his stomach doing flips thinking about talking with Molly at the Diogenes? It was purely business, a simple returning of a lost item. No reason to be nervous at all.

…So why was he?

Mycroft was sitting in his private room at the Diogenes tapping on his desk impatiently, Molly's purse in front of him. Molly wasn't running late, he just wished this meeting would be over. He had decided Molly was a wild card, hard to read and even harder to control. And if there was one thing Mycroft required, it was control. Which was the exact opposite word he'd use to describe Molly as she burst into his room, and bending over panting from the evident run in she had taken. When she stood up she was red in the face, and not from the run. It looked like she just realized where she was and how out of place her behavior was. "S-sorry…I was just eager to get…my purse…back…"

Mycroft smirked. "No need for apologies. I understand." He gestured to the chair sitting across from his desk. "Please, sit."

Molly obediently walked up and sat down. Interesting. She'll do as she's told when embarrassed, but when and how she gets embarrassed follows no obvious pattern…how to control this situation…?

Mycroft cleared his throat and pushed the purse closer to the edge of his desk. Molly took it tentatively. "Thank you," she muttered.

Mycroft waved away the thanks, choosing instead to focus on what he'd been thinking about for the entire afternoon. "Dr. Hooper, I tried to get you to tell me a secret today. Namely, what you thought about how Sherlock considered me. Trying every tactic, I got nothing from you, yet you seem like one who would be the easiest to get information from in a group. Why is that?"

Molly fiddled with her purse. "I just…don't want to betray my friends. I value their trust above all else, and when I lose that, I lose them. That's my motivation to keep my mouth shut."

Mycroft blinked, confused. "I wish I could understand what you mean by that, but I'm afraid I'm at a loss."

Molly looked up at him with confusion and sympathy written across her face. "Don't you have any friends?"

Mycroft made a sour face. "No. At least not the kind of friends you know of. I have people who agree with me and have my back in a debate, but it's more for their own personal gain than anything else."

"That's sad," Molly muttered. "Isn't there anyone who will have your back just because they like you?"

Mycroft snorted. "Please."

Molly got a look of determination in her eye. "Well, I will."

Mycroft looked at her, startled. "What?"

"I'll be your friend. Meet me Friday night with a pizza. Any toppings will be fine. I'll provide an episode of Doctor Who for us to watch."

"What's the catch?"

Molly stood up. "No catch. It will be you, me, a pizza, and some Doctor Who, to talk about whatever we want. Get to know each other. Become friends." She stressed the last part as she started walking out. "Be there!"

Mycroft sat in his chair, stunned into submission. He didn't know where this was going to go, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. But Molly had piqued his interest, so he started up a search to find out what her favorite pizza topping was and how much Doctor Who she'd watched. He'd been a fan since he was a kid, he needed to know what episodes and Doctors he could talk about and what ones he couldn't. After all, he couldn't spoil anything to a fellow Whovian and potential future friend.