AN: This is a little teaser chapter for you, my awesome readers. Should have another- EXTREMELY IMPORTANT )- chapter coming up later tonight, but I love Mycroft Holmes and this little jewel was delightful to write. Enjoy.

BBC's Sherlock is not mine.

The enticing aroma wafting from the kitchen of 221B teased Mycroft's rumbling stomach as he made himself comfortable in his brother's sitting room. Sherlock sat across from him plucking fretfully at the strings of his violin. Dark shadows graced his features and he had not bothered to comment on Mycroft's new umbrella. An umbrella with a spring-loaded blade and GPS device located in the handle. Truth be told, he was rather looking forward to Sherlock commenting on his new toy. It would allow him to show it off. This Undertaker case must be getting to him. Then again, his brother's mood could also be affected by the Sphinx currently prancing around in his kitchen.

She came into the sitting room bearing a tray of tea and pastries. "Here we are." She poured Mycroft a tea to his specifications and offered him a pastry. He was sorely tempted. They smelled positively scrumptious, but his diet was going so well...she must have sensed his hesitation because she plowed on, "They're fat-free."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow at her. She blushed prettily and explained, "Sherlock told me you were visiting today. I remember him mentioning at some point that you were trying to drop a few pounds and I know how frustrating that can be, so I baked these this morning. My recipe is good on the taste buds and the waist line." She giggled at her joke and Mycroft indulged her with a sardonic smile.

"You didn't have to go the trouble, Doctor Hooper." Even as he spoke he plucked a pastry and a napkin from the tray, preparing for disappoint. In his experience, these healthy 'treats' never came close to the real thing. He took a small bite...Oh my.

"Please, call me Molly, and it was no trouble at all."

Mycroft finished the pastry in seconds and reached for another one. "Doctor H...Molly, have you ever considered a career in the culinary arts? I am aware of an opening in the Diogenes club for a chef and..." Sherlock's bark of laughter interrupted his genuine invitation to the pathologist.

Molly shook her head. "No, Mr. Holmes. I love to cook, but pathology is my true calling. Thank you for the compliment though."

He nodded his head, disappointment clear in his features. "Very well then, onto business. My brother tells me a very curious thing. He believes you are the last of a supposedly extinct breed."

She nodded. "I am." At her soft tone, Sherlock set down his violin and grabbed her wrist, tugging her to him. She settled on a pillow in front of him and he rested his hand at the nape of her neck. Mycroft chose not to comment on this display of affection.

"Forgive me, but I find that hard to believe. I have a highly developed sense of smell, more than the average Other and I have never detected anything but human in you. Even now, as you sit before me, I scent nothing special." Mycroft caught a glimpse of fang from Sherlock.

"Watch your tone, Mycroft."

"No, its alright, Sherlock. Masking my scent is second nature to me. I didn't realize I was doing it now. Why didn't you remind me?" She asked Sherlock, pinching his thigh in admonishment, but he only grinned at her. Good heavens, was that a loving glance his brother was giving her? This was serious indeed.

Mycroft watched her close her eyes and concentrate. Moments later, a potent scent filled his nostrils. It's heady nature took him by surprise so violently that he was moving toward her before he could sort out his reactions, his skin warming with a Phase. Sherlock leapt up, stripes darkening and claws extending, a roar ripping from his throat. It was enough to snap Mycroft out of it. He moved back away from a wide-eyed Molly and a glowering Sherlock and took a moment to compose himself. He turned away and shut his eyes, allowing his mind and his Beast to process the scent.

FEMALE FELINE. Unfamiliar breed.

IN HEAT. Yes, but entirely off-limits. His Beast seemed to consider this. NOT OURS? No. CHALLENGE? Absolutely not. The opposing male would be our brother. The Beast shook his mane and hissed at that. NEVER. Neither Mycroft nor his Beast had any desire to hurt their brother. In fact, from the moment Sherlock was born, they had made it their life's mission to protect the rambunctious cub, despite his best efforts.

Having comported himself, he turned to offer apologies and found a most unsettling sight. His brother was still semi-phased and watching him, keeping a flustered Molly positioned behind him.

"Forgive me, I was...not expecting that." Mycroft began in what he hoped was a soothing tone.

Sherlock's only response: his upper lip lifted to expose elongated fangs.

"Please, Sherlock, its okay." Molly's voice. She moved around him keeping her body pressed against Sherlock's the entire time, until she was in front of him, his face in her hands. "I'm okay, nothing happened. It was just a misunderstanding." She turned to Mycroft now, Sherlock's left hand coming down on her waist, his right still poised in a defensive position, claws sharp and sprung. "Right, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft nodded. Her scent still affected him, but it was different now. Her presence was settling into another sector of his conscience.

SISTER, his Beast thought. Interesting.

"Of course. I...I'm sorry." The apology stuck in his throat, but he supposed it was deserved. He did just lunge at his brother's prospective Pria after all. He retook his seat, giving Sherlock the high ground.

This seemed to do the trick. Mycroft watched in undisguised fascination as his brother reined in his Beast and moved to stand behind the chair Molly was making herself comfortable in.

After several minutes, Sherlock spoke. "Right, so we can skip the disbelief stage, correct?" he sneered at his brother. Mycroft twitched his head and rolled his eyes in agreement. "Very well, lets move on. Molly is the last of the Sphinx, a breed our own parents tried to help, albeit unsuccessfully. Should her identity be uncovered, she would be in danger from Profiteers and Hunters. Not to mention, there is a serial killer who has a taste for pathologists, attacking her on the streets."

"You forgot to mention the part where you have taken a beyond friendly interest in her, brother dear." Expecting his brother to bristle at the implication, Mycroft was taken aback by Sherlock's next comment.

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't be obvious, Mycroft. Of course I have. In fact I intend to take her as my Pria at the next full moon in two and a half weeks time. Now, moving on-"

Molly looked to be in a mild form of shock. She jumped up and stared at Sherlock incredulously, hands on her hips. "Sherlock!"

"What?"

She stammered, seemingly unable to collect her thoughts, "Ugh! You can't just say things like that!'

"Nonsense. Its fact. The Undertaker is hunting you and we must take measures to keep your nature hidden from those blasted Hunters-"

She interrupted him again, "No Sherlock! not that! The other thing you said!"

Mycroft watched Sherlock search his memory for what he could have said to garner this reaction from the female.

DUMB BROTHER. Quite.

Mycroft saw the moment it hit him. "Oh, the Pria bit?"

"Bingo," Molly growled out.

"Not good? You deny my proclamation?"

Molly threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "Not the content per say, but the manner was most definitely 'not good'."

"How so?" Poor Sherlock. His brother seemed genuinely confused, a condition that Mycrfot knew Sherlock did not handle well. No matter, the increasingly impressive woman cleared things up quickly.

"It's the female's choice Sherlock. I have to issue the challenge. If I want you as my Prius, then I run and you chase. You can't just declare it!"

Sherlock was around the chair and crowding the Pathologist in the blink of an eye. His voice was low and intimate. "And will you Molly? Will you offer me a Chase at the full moon?"

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was beginning to feel a bit like a voyeur.

"I don't know. To be a Prius is a lifetime commitment. You would be tied to me, and only me, forever. It all seems a bit sudden, doesn't it?" Mycroft wasn't sure who she was trying to convince- Sherlock or herself.

Sherlock turned toward the window, hands in his pockets, but answered her, as confident as ever. "Sweet Molly. Consider the evidence. I decided John Watson would be my partner after speaking with him for 3 minutes in the lab of St. Bart's. I planned and executed my own death and multi-year mission within a day of deducing Moriarty's scheme." He paused and turned to her, sincerity burning in his eyes. "I have known you for years. Accepted my attraction to you months ago when I watched you with Tom. I've known for over a week that you, and only you, could satisfy me, both romantically and in a domestic capacity. More than satisfy. Enrapture."

Mycroft thought the clinical method his brother employed would serve him ill in his pursuit of the female. But he was soon proven wrong. Molly smiled at the consulting detective and moved into his embrace. Sherlock immediately buried his nose in her hair. Well, I'll be damned. She accepted that as a romantic proposition? It seemed his brother had found the one woman on Earth compatible with him and all of his eccentricities. Mycroft found himself wishing them all the happiness they could find in this cruel world. Not that he would ever admit this out loud.

Sherlock raised his head to address his brother, "So, brother, about Molly's protection?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. He called him 'brother'?" Sincerely? Show no emotion. No emotion. "Of course. Well, once she bears your Mark, it will go a long way toward warding off the majority of evil-doers. Not all of them mind you, further measures will need to be taken for the truly dangerous lot, but still...Until the full moon, she is quite vulnerable. And then there is this 'Undertaker' character. Do you know his connection?"

"Not yet. But I will. Soon. I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't more to his case than I thought. You will assign a detail to her, one worthy of trust?"

SISTER. PROTECT. "Of course, I..." Molly interrupted him. It would seem that was a bad habit of hers.

"You know, I am capable of defending myself. My Other form may be smaller than you overgrown lot, but I can still protect myself."

"Do not take offense, Molly. These precautions are necessary. We may heal far faster than humans due to our higher metabolisms, but we are not invulnerable. Please. For me?" Oh Sherlock was really turning on the charm now. Mycroft found himself delightfully entertained.

She rolled her eyes but gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips. "Oh go on then. You two would do whatever you felt was necessary even with out my blessing, so I'm going to give it and pretend that it made a difference.

Clever girl indeed.

She picked up the tray bearing the remainder of the tasty pastries and Mycroft was sad to see them go. He stood to leave, gathering up his umbrella and coat. "I will make all the arrangements and be in touch." Sherlock then did something that he had not done since childhood. He grabbed Mycroft's hand in a brief shake. Mycroft was so stunned, that he almost missed the next, equally astounding moment.

"Thank you, Mycroft." For once in his life, Mycroft was speechless. Molly chose this moment to re-enter.

"Here you go. I've packed the rest of the pastries in a container for you. I've also added some little gourmet sandwiches. They too are fat free and quite good if I do say so myself. Diet or not, we cannot have you going hungry. You work too hard for that." Mycroft nodded in stunned appreciation and left 221B before he could embarrass himself and tackle the poor girl in a hug. Plus, that would most likely lead to another incident. Until she could be properly Chased and Claimed, Sherlock's Beast would be too close to the surface to allow such contact.

SWEET SISTER. Indeed. Mycroft would have to show his appreciation and burgeoning affection in the best way he saw fit. By turning the considerable resources at his disposal to her protection.

Molly Hooper may not be aware of it, but she and her delicious cooking had just made a staunch ally of the most powerful man in Great Britain.

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