They were sitting in a cafe, reading. Well. Mycroft was reading. Molly was fidgeting. She was playing with the idea of telling him Sherlock was alive. The cafe wasn't terribly crowded, she thought that should he be really upset & shout or something, there wouldn't be much of an audience.
She decided against it. A few more weeks, perhaps, Sherlock would return before she would need to say anything.
"How's John?" He finally said.
"John? He's fine, I suppose. Haven't seen him in a few days. He has a girlfriend, you know."
"Of course I know. I cannot imagine what drives one to such behavior. Dating. Preposterous."
Molly smirked a tad. Brothers, indeed. "Well, Mycroft. Some people enjoy the intimate company of another person. That's usually what drives people to date."
"I assume by intimate, you mean sex. What a trifle. How pedestrian. But then, I suppose you are often engaged in such banal activity."
Molly blushed. "No...er...not really, no. I mean, I have had...but I...not for some time now."
"Pity Sherlock never took you up. I'm certain he would've enjoyed it."
Preposterous was an understatement. This conversation was eerie & weird. Molly thought that they should change the subject immediately.
"So, Mycroft. Got plans for the weekend, then?" Molly was smiling widely.
"It's Tuesday, Molly. And you know quite well I seldom make "plans" as you would. My commitments are always too pressing to do such."
"Well, we need to change that. How about you & I take a drive to the country Saturday? I have this weekend off," she noted his eyebrow raised. "You can bring your mobile. You'll be reachable."
Mycroft was skeptical. He never left London for leisurely activity. Actually, he never took leisure time. It might be a pleasant distraction for once.
"Yes. That sounds rather pleasant. I suppose, just this once..."
"Wonderful! I need to get going, though. Work is waiting. I'll see you Saturday."
Mycroft stood as she did, always painfully old fashioned & polite in the extreme.
He reflected briefly on what had just transpired, when his mobile rang out a text. He loathed texts. Russia again. How tiresome.