Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

A/N: I'm soooo sorry! I probably won't be posting anything until April. I really want to finish this story, but I want to devote the appropriate amount of time to it as well. Again, I apologize to anyone who is still reading this!


Molly wrapped her ducky robe tighter around herself as she led the tall, graceful woman up the stairs. She trembled at the chill the woman brought in through the once open door.

"Sherlock, an inspector is here," Molly called throughout the flat. She cleared her throat. "I mean a BURA inspector. She wants to talk to us."

Molly heard a muffled surprised mumble, "She?!" come from the back of the flat.

Molly turned once more to the vision in white. "Would you like to sit?" She gestured vaguely to the couch behind the woman.

Irene started a slow smirk as she sat and crossed her legs primly. Her sharp aquamarine eyes gleaned everything from the small living room.

Molly wrung her hands, unable to stop her nervous habit. Sherlock had pointed it out to her a few days ago, but it made her even more nervous to try to stop it.

Irene filled the awkward silence as they each waited for Sherlock to appear. "Well, how are you enjoying your mate, Molly?"

Molly laughed brokenly. "Well, it is never boring," she glanced back at his bedroom door, "although, he might say differently."

The inspector adjusted her small handbag on the seat next to her. "What activities have you two been up to?" She asked, innocently.

Just as Molly opened her mouth to respond, Sherlock burst into the room. "Don't answer that, Molly Hooper. You have no obligation to submit ourselves to her scrutiny. Particularly because she is not BURA inspector. Indeed, all low-level BURA inspectors are male."

Molly gasped slightly, turning back to the mysterious woman. "Well, who exactly are you then?"

Sherlock again stole the breath from the guest, who now was standing in mock outrage. "Oh, Molly, dear. This woman is a snake. She finds the weakest point in her nemesis and she strikes venomously. She is actually..." Sherlock cleared his throat, turning to the fireplace, "an old friend."

"Not old by any means, Mr. Holmes, the younger. But thank you for the lovely comparison. I suppose that is better than a spider." She winked at his slight glance to her spot. Her previous smirk had returned in full force, and the shock she once displayed had jumped to Molly's countance in sincerity.

"You lied to me? For what reason?"

Irene stood and walked slowly around Molly's still form. "Would you have let me in, feeling threatened as you were, had I mentioned I was an old friend of your mates? Would you have jumped to conclusions like all dim-witted companions are?"

She chuckled lowly, with a rich timbre. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, please stop playing with you food. That is enough of that. Now, what brings you here?"


Sherlock listened with astonishment as Irene described the current situation with his brother. Having played games with the elder Holmes, Irene knew her way around Mycroft's associates. Typically, Sherlock would never utilize a stoplight hogging asset like Irene Adler, the Woman. However, as an unmarried and unmated woman, Irene desperately wandered the shadows of the government, an emeny of her own fair sex. This put her in the prime position for finding Mycroft.

She discovered through her contacts that Mycroft was abducted from his office at the Diogenes Club a week after the regime change due to the plague.

Where exactly he was taken was the one thing Irene could not find out.

Sherlock flickered his attention to the other occupant of the room. Molly. Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion. She had sat down after Irene started speaking, and now was wringing her pale, tiny fingers together. It make Sherlock feel a tick inside his chest when she did that.

He dismissed Irene with a wave of his hand. He picked up his violin to think. Irene mentioned that the newest regime's MI6 had been the ones to actually steal Mycroft physically. However, the really question for Sherlock was how Mycroft could almost disappear from thin air without a single minion of his worrying. No evidence at the scene, of course. Also, why was Molly's hair so reflective today? Was a different shampoo she used? Her scent hasn't changed.

The petite woman in question made a muffled cry from her seat on the dark couch. Sherlock shook himself from his distracted thoughts. He stopped playing the wooden sting instrument in his hands. Stepping closer, he saw her wipe at her eyes with the sleeve of her childish robe.

He heaved a sigh. "Why are you crying, Molly?"

"It's just so sad, Sherlock. You didn't tell me your big brother was missing." She paused, sniffling and looking around the room, "Actually, you never even told me you had a brother."

The tall man started up playing once more. "There is no need to sob, little mate. Mycroft is a dreadful bore, and merely causes trouble wherever he goes."

She stood, hands balled by her side. "Sherlock. Your brother is missing. We need to go try to find him!"

Sherlock sighed once more, heavily. Slowly, he put his beloved instrument down. "Molly," his azure pupils met her warm ones, "I am looking. However, I am being watched, so I cannot scour the streets as you are suggesting. If I should find his location, but those holding him realize so, then he will be moved and the process will begin again. Now, please go back up the stairs and finish getting ready for our appointment tonight."

Molly gasped slightly. "How could I forget? Uhh-B-b-b..." She returned to biting her bottom lip and wrestling her palms. Sherlock rolled his eyes once more.

He walked up to her position in the parlour. Grabbing her small hands gently in his large ones, his thumb stroked her dry nipped skin slowly. "Molly, go back up the stairs, put on the underthings you feel most confident and comfortable in, and come down to meet me. We need to continue this process quickly. Understand?" He nodded her head, hoping she would follow. Her melted chocolate orbs were overflowing with compassion and intensity. Sherlock felt another twinge of his chest.

After a minute of keeping the gaze of his mate, she nodded, so he let her hands fall to her sides once more. As she slowly stepped up the stairwell, Sherlock turned to the doorway. He shut and locked the door, hoping no more visitors intruded upon his time with his government-mandated mate.


Molly took two more deep breaths, in addition to the three she took after stepping into her room. She passed the floor-length mirror in her room. Turning to face it fully, she squinted, critically examining herself. She decided on the pair of black cotton nickers and soft black bra.

Molly turned slightly to the right, and then swiveled to the left. Her taunt skin was not unattractive, but her chest left much to be desired. She had made sure to shave her legs and... other areas in her shower, so she felt as smoothe and pristine as she could be.

Taking another deep breath, she pointed to herself through the mirror. "You are the mate of the most intelligent man on this earth. You are the youngest female pathologist in the UK. You.. You are Molly Holmes."

Molly squeaked, clasping her hands to her red cheeks.

She sighed, shaking her head in dismay.

"Oh, dear."

She took another deep breath.

"You are Molly, Molly HOOPER."