"We're ready. Can you come now?"

"Molly, I'm in the middle of –"

"Sherlock, you promised, and Mycroft doesn't have much time."

[Annoyed huff] "On my way …."

#####

"What? Where are you going?" [Walking across the room] "You're just gonna leave this bloody mess - oh, god … is that a thumb?! - on the kitchen table –"

"John! Got to go. Molly needs me."

"Should I come?"

"NO!"

#####

"Mycroft, you came in too early."

"On the contrary, little brother, my timing as always was perfect."

[Eye roll] "Molly, how do you stand his clumsy fingering."

"Don't stop!"

"Your left hand's a bit out of control there, Molly."

"Shut up, brother mine – keep going, Molly dear … almost there –"

"Oh, oh … just one last little … ahhhhhhhh."

Deep breaths were drawn all around, then the brothers scowled at each other before turning to Molly, who grinned impishly at them and blew some dangling hairs off her cheek.

Mycroft, glancing at his pocket watch: "I have time for another go, but it has to be a quick one."

"If you'd just stop plodding along –"

"Shut up, Sherlock! Mycroft has brilliantly dexterous fingers!"

Mycroft, pink-cheeked: "SHUT UP, MOLLY!"

#####

[Christmas Eve, Mycroft's music room, lit by a blazing fire, flickering candles, and twinkling tree lights, as the last note faded ….]

John snapped his mouth shut with an audible click of teeth and slowly shook his head in amazement. "That ... was … bloody amazing!" Eyes stretched wide, mouth again agape, he stared from one maddeningly secretive Holmes brother to the other and finally looked at Molly, his lips quirking into a smile, as he again slumped back on the sofa. He straightened abruptly and turned to Mary, brows lowered in a suspicious frown. "Did you know about this?"

"Nope," Mary said, rolling her eyes. "C'mon, John … you know those three are the best secret-keepers in England -" [glanced at Sherlock] "… sorry, the Commonwealth –" [glanced again at Sherlock] "… Oh, right, sorry – the world!"

Sherlock grinned, toothily. "Oh, Mary … spare my blushes."

At the same time, from across the room: "Boys, Molly –" [sniff]

"No crying, Mummy, or the performance ends here."

"No, Myc –" [seeing his grimace, Violet hastily continued] "- roft … please go on. Siger, tell them."

"Here," he said, handing her his handkerchief. "Why do the women in this family never prepare for tears? Ow – that hurt!" Siger rubbed where Violet pinched his arm, then pulled her to him, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

Sherlock scowled ferociously, squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh, god – don't start that or I'm out of here!"

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, but successfully suppressed his own scowl. "Oh, do grow up, little brother."

"Yes, DO get a grip, Sherlock," Molly said, lips twitching, "and stop twiddling with that bow. She returned to the piano, changed the sheet music, then raised her eyebrows expectantly, first meeting Mycroft's eyes - giving him an appreciative smile for his (mostly) successful effort to hide his impatience and get through the evening graciously - and then turning to Sherlock. "Ready?"

Mycroft rubbed his temple and sighed deeply, but again sat in his chair by the piano, positioned the cello between his knees, picked up the bow, and gave his still scowling brother a dead-eyed glare. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock reluctantly placed the violin under his chin and lifted the bow. "Oh, if we must …."

And the sweet sounds of Violet's favorite Mozart Trio filled the room.

#####

By 11 p.m., John and Mary, wanting to spend Christmas morning at their own home, had been driven off in Mycroft's car after collecting a sleeping Elizabeth from Mrs. Collingwood.

Shortly thereafter, Mycroft and Sherlock successfully escaped Violet's watchful eyes and headed to a dark corner of the back garden, where Mycroft leaned toward his brother, flicking his lighter. Sherlock took a deep draw and released a slow stream of smoke.

"Are we to expect this to be an annual event, brother dear?"

Mycroft tilted his head back and carefully blew a smoke ring at the moon. "What a ghastly thought." Another slow inhale, then a second smoke ring followed the first, before he gave Sherlock a withering look. "We could hardly return to The Cottage so soon after last year's events."

"Point taken."

They smoked in companionable silence for several minutes, then Mycroft dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it underfoot. "Coming?"

Sherlock took a final puff and ground the butt into the grass before responding, gloomily, "After you."

At midnight, looking martyred, Sherlock suffered through Molly's enthusiastic hug and an even more encompassing squeeze from Mummy that ended with her staring up at him, hands enveloping his cheeks, and whispering, "Thank you, my darling boy." Sherlock awkwardly kissed her cheek and strode quickly to the front door, coat dramatically swirling, curls in a wild halo. In the sitting room, Mycroft exchanged eye rolls with his father on hearing the door slam.

By 1:30 a.m., Siger and Violet had sunk lower and lower into the deeply cushioned sofa where they'd been idly chatting from time to time with Mycroft and Molly …

("Hmm? Oh, Mycroft found out I played the piano but stopped when I moved to London. He encouraged me to go back to it and -" [glanced at Mycroft, rolling her eyes] "… made suggestions for pieces to work on. At first, I didn't know he had a secret plan and that it included Sherlock. Mycroft badgered me to keep practicing, but it took ages for them to stomach rehearsing with me." [Mycroft exhaled noisily.] "Oh, c'mon – you were just as rude about it as Sherlock. Anyway, you must have noticed how they modified my part to make the Mozart easier.")

… but mostly time passed with the four of them – five counting Toby, who was purring in Siger's lap - simply staring rather sleepily at the still blazing fire.

The younger couple were on the matching sofa facing Violet and Siger. Molly's shoes were kicked off, bare feet drawn up to the side under the skirt of her dress, and Mycroft was trying to look relaxed while keeping a discreet, three-inch space between their bodies. To tease him, Molly occasionally shifted her position just a fraction, hiding her amusement when Mycroft flinched before carefully mirroring her movements in order to maintain his distance. Finally, hiding a wicked grin, she deliberately dropped her head against his suddenly rigid upper arm. He glanced down at her, meeting her eyes with a stern glare, and drew his lips into a straight line. (Ahhh … The Iceman Stare.) Molly gave him her most innocent look, then abruptly yawned, with an audible squeak, before she could cover her mouth. Blushing, she turned hastily to his parents and apologized.

"No, dear … we should have let you get to bed before now, but this has all been more wonderful than I ever -" Violet broke off with a sniffle, then struggled a bit to scoot forward from the cushions. Siger set Toby down and stood to help her up. Mycroft also started to rise, but his mother blocked his path, causing him to look up at her, apprehensively. Leaning over, she gently rubbed her thumb across his cheek, until her hand rested against the side of his head. "Mycroft, my beautiful boy." His eyes dropped, cheeks darkening. "Thank you, darling. Your dad and I will never forget this … you sitting here with us, enjoying – I hope! – the peace and quiet."

Stepping to the side, Violet leaned over to kiss Molly's forehead. "And dear girl, how can I tell you what this -" [waving her hand vaguely between the younger couple] "… means to us."

Molly's eyes moistened. "Mrs. Holmes –"

"Violet, please – or, if you like, Mummy or Mum."

Molly dropped her feet to the floor, stood and moved into Violet's arms, resting her head against the taller woman's chest. A moment later, there was a sniffle, and Mycroft sighed.

"Miss Hooper -"

"I know, I know - too much sentiment …."Molly's voice trailed off as she slowly turned her head to look at Mycroft, a glint in her eyes and a crease between her brows. "'Miss Hooper?' Really?"

Mycroft sat up, his body visibly tensing as his eyes met Molly's and she leveled her version of a dead-eyed stare on him. He cleared his throat a bit nervously. (No, damn it, not nervously. I'm certainly NOT afraid of Miss Molly Hooper!) He kept his eyes on hers and saw the moment her expression softened and an entirely different emotion took over. (Oh, god - not that, not now ….) He scooted forward and started to stand.

Molly's stare had lowered to Mycroft's mouth. Those gorgeous, soft lips …. Silently, mmmmm. Then aloud: "Oh, YOU!"

Giving him no time to react, Molly shoved a visibly horrified Mycroft back, swiftly dropped sideways onto his lap, wrapped both hands around his head, and forcefully dragged his mouth to hers. Mycroft instinctively started to push her away but feared that Molly, in such a teasing mood, wasn't above getting into an undignified tussle in front of his parents. As she lingered a moment against his lips, what started as soft chuckles from his parents changed to delighted laughter. Mycroft reached up to grab Molly's wrists and gently but firmly pulled them away from his head. Molly could feel the warmth of blood rising from his chin and up his cheeks as she slowly sat up, smirking. (Iceman, indeed.)

As their lips parted, Mycroft quickly looked toward his parents, an apology ready, only to see them halfway across the room and heading for the stairs, Dad's arm wrapped around Mummy's waist. "Happy Christmas, children," came over Mummy's shoulder as they reached the first step, followed by Dad's deeper tone. "Sleep well."

Mycroft called after them, a bit hoarsely: "Merry Christmas!"

Molly added, cheerfully: "See you in the morning." She rested her chin against his arm and looked up with a sweet smile: "Forgive me?"

Mycroft glared at her indignantly and jerked his arm away. "NO!"

Molly flashed him her best puppy-dog eyes, then sighed wistfully and headed dejectedly toward the kitchen, carefully hiding her smirk until she turned the corner.

#####

At 2:30 a.m., a private rendezvous between lovers, like a scene from a big-screen romance …

Fairy lights intertwined with holly branches on the mantle and a freshened fire illuminate the shadows of the big room, soft golden flickers touch the two figures pressed front-to-front on the wide bed, catch the shine of a smooth knee bending upwards along a bare masculine hip, glint on pale fingers clutching a broad muscular back. Then from a panting Molly, breathlessly – "Brilliantly … dexterous … indeed, My –" gasps "- croft!" Moans break from both of them. The shadowy figures suddenly roll over, Molly now looking down at Mycroft, a deliciously husky laugh huffs from him, more panting gasps from her, then he rolls them again, pauses for a moment, lowering his forehead to hers, then drops his face into the crook of her neck, his lips dragging against her throat. A few moments pass, then Molly's other knee rises and she wraps her legs around him, resting her crossed feet at the base of his spine. Another pause before a quiver ripples through her, a groan shudders from him, and he arches back to raise his upper body onto his forearms. Their breaths quicken, he groans again, deeply … "Molly." Then bodies adjusting, sharp movements of limbs, figures separating to change angles, pressing, pressing, grinding together, him sliding deep and deeper still, a momentary rest, then a dragging withdrawal and deliberately slow thrust, over and over in a relentlessly steady pace, a continuous pull and push, hot wet friction, sweat-slicked flesh rubbing rhythmically, choked murmurs, thrusts quickening, an abrupt break in rhythm, a high-pitched scream smothered against his shoulder, fading into wet gasps tickling his skin. Molly's teeth nip the tensed muscle between his neck and shoulder. A powerful surge by Mycroft, a cut-off shout, then his complete collapse.

Still joined, chests heaving, limbs entangled, both of them experiencing that melting feeling of not knowing where one's body ends and the other's begins. Ragged breathing slows and quietens. A soft apology from Mycroft and an attempt to slide to the side. A muffled denial from Molly and swift tightening of arms and legs, locking him on and in her. Heads pull back just enough for gazes to meet in the flickering light, lips touch softly, press together more heavily, then lips separate to allow tips of tongues to tease, then slide deep. Again pulling away for eyes to meet. Another quick press of lips from Mycroft, then a deep sigh and tightening of muscles as he finally rolls off, pulling Molly with him.

A resettling … Mycroft on his back, Molly alongside, head nestled under his arm, which then wrapped around her back. A happy sigh from Molly. "Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

"Merry Christmas, my dear Molly." Looking down at her, he continued, sternly. "But you're still not forgiven."

Molly started to drift toward sleep. A moment passed ... two ... [Mycroft was about to release the breath he was holding] … three – [damn] – as Molly snorted and sat up. He sighed silently and waited.

"'Miss Hooper?' For god's sake, Mycroft! Your penis has been in my body so many times that I finally stopped counting."

"Thirty-seven."

"You've even come in my m-" [broke off] "Wait … what?"

"We've had sexual intercourse thirty-seven times."

"Thirty-seven times? You've been COUNTING?!" Molly fell back onto her pillow, utterly confounded.

Mycroft rolled over, propped himself on his elbow and looked down at her. "I wasn't deliberately keeping track – it just happens. To be exact, we've had penetrative intercourse thirty-seven times, I've performed cunnilingus eleven times, and you've performed fellatio nine times. I suppose fingers should count as penetrative, so we'd need to add another –"

Molly's face got redder and redder and her eyes wider and wider as Mycroft recited their sexual history, oh-so-matter-of-factly, until she grabbed her pillow and dragged it over her face. "Oh my gawwddd." [Faintly]

"What did you say, my dear?"

Silence.

"Can you breathe under there?"

Silence.

[Indistinct muttering]

More silence … then Mycroft started to chuckle, then he was laughing and laughing and kept on laughing as he rolled over and sat on the side of the bed, hands braced on his knees. Molly shoved the pillow off and glared at his back.

"You GIT!"

Mycroft doubled over, still laughing. He finally gasped and stood, holding his side and looking down at Molly – eyes bright with amusement, tear tracks on his flushed cheeks, and face split by a wide, toothy grin. Molly glowered at him and he rubbed a hand over his face, looked at her again, soberly, then quickly turned and headed for the bathroom. As soon as the door shut, she heard him burst into laughter.

Molly huffed through her nose, but then started to smile. That Mycroft could laugh like a loon was one of her most cherished secrets. The way The Iceman thawed in their private times thrilled her heart - even if occasionally being due to a joke at her expense. The rat [fondly].

#####

Molly's eyes were closed when Mycroft slipped back into bed, but she sat up and swiveled toward him as soon as he settled on his back. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and cleared his throat upon meeting her stare. "Are you all right, my dear?"

"Nice try, Mycroft." Molly rolled her eyes and snorted. "You almost managed to wiggle out of our previous conversation."

He looked … alarmed? Resigned? Molly was unsure but could feel how rigid his body had become. Sighing, she moved over and onto him, hands splayed across his chest, fingers combing through his chest hair. She dropped her head between her hands and pressed her cheek to his chest.

"Mycroft, I share your reluctance for public displays, but you don't seem willing to acknowledge even to your parents that we're – that we're in a –" [huffed in frustration] "… that we're whatever it is and have been so in some fashion for the past six months." Molly hesitated, biting her lip. "Mycroft, you do truly consider me a friend now, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Molly." He lifted his hands to her shoulders, then slowly slid them down her back, stopping when he was cupping her hips. Molly shivered, then stilled. "You're my best friend."

"According to you, I'm your ONLY friend, so that's hardly high praise." She rolled her eyes, then continued more seriously. "There's no 'of course' about it, Mycroft. I know you care for me in some way or you'd never have been with me like this. Believe me, even after all these months, I'm still amazed that you've chosen to be with me - to let me into your life in any way." She kissed his chest. "I don't want to change you ... not one little bit. I don't want to do anything to destroy your Ice Man image –"

"It's not an image -" [he muttered, grumpily] "… I AM an Ice Man."

"Shhhh" [pressing her forefinger against his lips]. "You have an amazing heart." Molly ignored the scoffing noises against her finger. "Yes, I know - caring is not an advantage and all that." She pushed herself further up his chest and looked down at him. "Just don't start backing away from me now. Please, Mycroft."

"No more accidental 'Miss Hoopers' to my parents, I promise." He slid his hands back up to her neck, then around to cup her cheeks. "And I have absolutely no intention of backing away from our relationship." Before Molly could react to his finally uttering the "R" word, he captured her lips and pulled her tightly to him, their kiss deepening, tongues dueling, breathing getting ragged again.

Molly hummed as she felt a definite spark of interest in his nether regions. "Mmmmm -" [smiling slowly as she pulled her mouth away from his] "… so soon, Mycroft?"

"Well, I just thought ... now that we have that sort of sorted –" He gasped sharply as Molly wiggled her hand between their bodies, grasped him lightly, and started sliding down.

"You got it, Ice Man," she drawled, wickedly, "since it's Christmas."

Mycroft's only response was to groan. Loudly and at length.

#####

Sometime later, Molly reached over Mycroft to switch off the lamp, then flopped down beside him.

"Ten."

A full minute passed before a completely wrung-out Mycroft muttered, "I forgive you, Molly."

Molly laughed, slung an arm over his middle, and finally went to sleep.