A/N: This has taken forever, and I apologise. My only excuse is that the new series launched me into a Sherlolly frenzy and I couldn't quite concentrate with the bombardment of feels. But here we are, settling back into sanity, keeping the ship afloat and sailing strong. Thanks for bearing with me, loves. x
Chapter 10
They had arranged to meet at three o'clock at a tea parlour in one of London's finest luxury hotels. Evelyn was a regular here and often had her own private room ready for her whenever she had any appointments of her own.
"Evelyn, hello." Mycroft greeted as he walked into their private tea area.
"Mycroft," she getting up from her seat to kiss him politely on both cheeks, "It's always a pleasure. Please, sit down."
"The pleasure is mine," said Mycroft.
Evelyn signaled the waiter who then brought in a tray with an assortment of petit-fours and a large porcelain teapot of fragrant Earl Gray. She reached for the teapot and gracefully poured a cup for Mycroft and then one for herself.
"So, tell me," Mycroft said, sipping his tea, "What has earned me an afternoon of tea and cake with you, the ever-busy Ms Lancaster?"
"How direct you are today, Mycroft." She said with a bell-like laugh. "No ice-breaking pleasantries? No politically-correct banter?"
"Only when I have to, Evelyn dear. You're a busy woman and I am a busy man. So I can see that with you, those are vastly unnecessary."
"Perceptive, as always."
"You are a keen observer yourself, Evelyn. Always have been. Your father talks highly of you, you know."
"I know." She replied, slowly stirring her tea, "But let's not talk about my father, for a change."
"Yes, of course. What are we here to talk about then?"
Evelyn took a sharp breath and frowned, as though troubled. Mycroft kept his eyes on her, quietly studying her expression. She smoothed her skirt and sat up even straighter.
"I would like to talk to you about Sherlock."
"Don't we all?" Mycroft replied with a smirk.
"Your brother is…" Evelyn had not quite thought about what to say.
"Yes?"
"He's…taken a pathologist."
"What do you mean, taken?" asked Mycroft.
"We have a pathologist, one of our best ones at the hospital, he works with her sometimes…"
"Oh, you mean, Molly?" Mycroft interrupted.
"Why, yes…how did you know?" asked Evelyn, surprised.
"He only works with the best. And having elected her to be the best, he works with her all the time, I have been assured."
"Ah…I see…" Evelyn replied, containing her displeasure.
"Please, do continue."
"Yes, sorry…" Evelyn cleared her throat and gathered her thoughts, "Molly Hooper had been taken ill, very ill and was being treated at Bart's. But as of early this morning, it seems she is no longer warded at Bart's but has been taken away by your brother."
"Ah…" Mycroft remarked solemnly. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the armrest.
"Not only has she disappeared, so has the rest of the hospital equipment. I'm afraid your brother has committed an unusual combination of theft and kidnapping."
"Unfortunately, that isn't half as unusual as what he normally gets up to," said Mycroft with a sigh, "But it is certainly unacceptable."
"I cannot have your brother make off with one of my hospital's best pathologists, no matter how honourable he perceives his intentions to be."
"I cannot disagree with that, Evelyn."
"And certainly not an entire room of state-of-the-art equipment. I will not have your brother cause a disturbance at my hospital."
"I am in full agreement. Hospital personnel and property are not to be tampered with."
Reaching for his tea, Mycroft slowly sipped it and paused to think. A few moments of quiet passed between the two illustrious figures.
"I have but one question," said Mycroft.
"Yes?"
"How do you know it was Sherlock?"
"Well, I…" Evelyn realised she had not thought this through and internally chastised herself for it.
"What reason would my brother have, to take his best pathologist out of their normal workplace? Especially if she were taken ill? Would he not want her to have the best recuperation possible?"
"Yes, well…" Evelyn's brows furrowed as she thought hard, "I suppose nobody can know what goes on in your brother's head."
"And yet, you seem to know undoubtedly that it was my brother who somehow whisked Ms Hooper away along with every machine in the room."
"I suppose I…"
"Yes, what do you suppose, Evelyn?" asked Mycroft, sitting forward and looking right at her, "What is your rationale for his behaviour, then?"
Evelyn kept quiet but her mind spun frantically. She knew Mycroft was no fool to pull wool over but she had not expected such sharp questions.
"I am so sorry, Mycroft, perhaps my emotions have gotten the better of me." Evelyn replied, sighing.
"What emotions do you mean?"
"Well, it is always distressing to know my perfectly run hospital is being upset all because of one renegade genius who does what he pleases…"
"But how…did…you…know…it…was…him?" Mycroft asked quietly and calculatedly.
"It's Molly…" Evelyn blurted.
"Molly?" asked Mycroft with a frown.
"Yes…Molly…" Evelyn repeated, surprised she had come to this.
"Interesting. Go on."
"I think…your brother is a little more than obsessed with his pathologist."
"My brother? Obsessed with Molly Hooper?" Mycroft was wide-eyed at the suggestion.
"Yes, I believe so. And I think that's why he took her. She was, after all, in a vulnerable state…"
"Evelyn, my brother is infamous for his incredulous behaviour, his outlandish ways to achieve his noble, crime-fighting purposes, so to speak…"
"Yes, we are all aware of that," Evelyn answered quietly.
"But for him to simply take someone, with no relation whatsoever to a case or a form of research, is an incredulous notion. Even for an incredulous character as my brother."
"But you must believe me, Mycroft,"
"I believe that he would take equipment. I believe that he would take machines. I believe he would badger and upset the entire clockwork of your brilliant hospital. But you will need to convince me of his need to have taken Ms Hooper."
Evelyn lowered her head and studied her half-drunk tea cup and the untouched plate of petit-fours .
"I told you, Mycroft, he was obsessed with Molly Hooper."
"And what is the reason for his obsession with her?"
"I…oh, this won't work…" she whispered, covering her face with her hand.
"What have you really brought me here to tell me, Evelyn?" Mycroft asked, his voice a mix of gentleness and curiosity.
"Your brother…is in love with Molly Hooper."
"Molly…" Sherlock said, quietly tapping her shoulders, "Molly."
"Hmm?" Molly's heavy eyelids slowly lifted.
"The six hours are up," he said, with a quick smile, "You can eat now."
"Thank God…" said Molly with a grateful sigh.
After he slowly detached all the tubes and needles from her, Molly tried to prop herself up to get ready to eat. However, she simply had no energy left. She shut her eyes and tilted her head back, sighing in frustration. Molly did not like being in such a vulnerable state. She liked being on her feet, working or researching. This prolonged bed-rest did not suit her very well.
"Could you help me sit up, please, Sherlock?" she asked.
"Of course…" he said, quickly reaching to assist her. With one hand on her back and the other holding her arm, Sherlock carefully eased Molly into sitting position.
"Thanks," she said, turning to smile at Sherlock.
"You're…welcome."
Sherlock turned away from her quickly, walking briskly to the kitchen only to come back out with a tray of food for Molly.
"Smells wonderful," she said, taking a deep appreciative breath.
"Mrs Hudson prepared your meals before she left for Bingo this morning. I'd been tasked to keep them warm for you."
"I appreciate that, Sherlock." Molly said, carefully receiving the tray and placing it on her lap.
Molly had never been more grateful for the simple bowl of pumpkin soup and toast that were set before her. The pumpkin soup was warm, nourishing and perfect for her recovery. As she ate, she realised Sherlock had moved his armchair to be right in front of her daybed where he simply sat, watching her. She also realised he was not dressed for going out. He was in a t-shirt, some form of pyjama pants and with his signature long robe draped over his frame.
"So…any interesting cases while I'd been…asleep?" Molly asked, breaking the ice.
"Not really. Another heist of sorts but I think it's simple enough for Lestrade to get sorted."
"You really should be kinder to Greg. He does a splendid job."
"I suppose he does…on occasion." said Sherlock, leaning back into his armchair.
Molly smiled at his casual remark. She knew that he trusted Lestrade more than he let on. And regardless of whether Sherlock would ever succumb to properly remembering Lestrade's first name, there was no doubt this consulting detective certainly respected Detective-Inspector Lestrade.
As she slowly enjoyed her meal, Sherlock's eyes never left Molly, and it was starting to unnerve her. She found herself getting more and more self-conscious about the way she was scooping the soup into her mouth, or the way she had to bite into her toast. Unable to stand it any longer, Molly gently put her spoon down, wiped her mouth and returned Sherlock's stare. When she did so, his eyes widened with an odd mixture of surprise and guilt. Like he had been caught doing something he should not have been doing.
"Sorry, I…" he muttered, suddenly scanning the flat for anything he could rest his eyes on other than Molly Hooper.
"Are you okay, Sherlock?" Molly asked.
"Fine, I'm fine." he said, quickly glancing back at her with a split-second smile.
"It's just…you were staring. And I don't know what at." Molly remarked slowly and carefully.
"Neither do I." he answered.
"Well, why don't you head out for a bit? I'll be all right here, now that I've had something to eat." she said, gesturing to his homely outfit. "I think you need to get out of the flat."
"You sure?" he asked.
To prove that she was all right, Molly held her tray and stood firmly up on her two feet. She gave him a grin and began walking to the kitchen.
"Go on." she said from the kitchen, "I'll wash up here and sort myself out."
"There's nothing for me to do out there," he said, getting up to join her in the kitchen.
Sherlock walked up to Molly and stood beside her. She was just about to soak the dishes when he took them from her hands.
"Let's do this together," he said, turning to her, "Like when we're at the lab."
"O-okay…" she replied, amused and perplexed. "If you say so."
"I do." He said, with a charming half-smile.
"You scrub, I'll rinse." Molly suggested.
"Certainly."
As ever, Sherlock and Molly worked quietly and efficiently. The dishes were done in a jiffy and so quick were they at their little task, they decided to clean the whole kitchen up. Well, it was more Molly's decision, really. It was her way of saying thank you to Mrs Hudson for sorting her meals out. And unlike Mrs Hudson, Molly had no qualms stumbling upon little zip-locked bags of severed toes and concealed jars of brains.
"Oh! That's Ronald Miller's brain. I recognise the little Broca's area lesion there." she said, taking the large porcelain bowl out of the vegetable compartment in the fridge.
"Hmm, yes." Sherlock replied, amused.
"Now, let's save Mrs Hudson from more anxiety attacks and cordon off a section of the fridge for all your experiments, yes? It's not good to have them scattered everywhere like that."
Sherlock stood back and observed his pathologist, who had now regained her strength from food and her vigour from having something to do. She continued to potter around the kitchen, cleaning off burnt fingernails from the oven grills and separating body parts from actual food. Her calmness around what he was accused of as 'oddities' genuinely struck him.
"Molly Hooper, you are perfect." he said aloud, accidentally.
"Sorry, what?" she asked, turning to face him.
"You. Are. Perfect." he repeated, and smiled.
"My brother does not love, Evelyn. At least not in the way the world imagines." said Mycroft.
"Then I have no other way of explaining his obsession with Ms Hooper."
"I am sure you are mistaken, Evelyn." Mycroft said, getting up from his seat.
"Are we finished?" asked Evelyn.
"Yes, Evelyn. We are."
Mycroft buttoned up his jacket and straightened his suit. He took a good look at Evelyn who suddenly seemed very small before him. Her eyes were falsely fierce and Mycroft could detect something about to crack beneath the surface.
"I will see to it that your hospital is restored to its proper state and that all stolen property is returned." Mycroft assured her.
"And the girl?"
"What about her?"
"Shouldn't something be done?"
Smiling to himself, Mycroft reached for his mobile phone and casually scrolled through it, reading.
"Surely there are more things for you to trouble yourself over, Evelyn? Your father tells me you have been travelling a lot recently. Hong Kong, Paris, Alger…"
"That is completely unrelated to the topic at hand, Mycroft."
"Is it?" asked Mycroft, his politically correct smile in place.
"Entirely."
"Perhaps." Mycroft said, returning his phone to his pocket. "Good day, Evelyn. Thank you for tea."
"Mycroft!"
"See you again, Evelyn. Perhaps at next week's dinner for the outgoing Italian Ambassador."
"What are you going to do about Sherlock?" Evelyn was persistent and refused to drop the topic.
"I will do what is necessary for the sake of the hospital and for the sake of law and order."
"What about the girl?"
"I don't think she should be of any concern, Evelyn."
"She works in my hospital. She is every bit a concern."
"Your concern seems…a little misplaced to me, if I may be a little transparent."
Evelyn walked up to Mycroft, looking up sharply into his cold, intelligent eyes.
"Do something about her, Mycroft. Or I will." she whispered fiercely.
"What do you suggest I do?"
"Anything that will keep her away from your brother."
"You mean, keep my brother away from her?"
"I don't see a difference."
"Oh, there is, Evelyn. Plenty."
"I don't know what you're playing at, Mycroft."
"Well," said Mycroft, beginning his exit from the room, "I do."
When his back vanished from the doorway, Evelyn could only seethe where she was left standing. If Mycroft was not going to do what she wanted, then she would have to do it herself.
"What are you talking about?" asked Molly, returning to her task. She had finally sorted out all his science equipment and created a little niche on the kitchen counter for all his apparatus.
"You're the only person who's not screamed this place down or cursed me for what I consider to be activities terribly crucial to my work."
Hearing this, Molly let out a little chuckle and put away the last of the pipettes.
"That hardly counts for calling someone perfect." she remarked, heading back to the living room.
"Why not?" he asked, following her.
"Because no one is, Sherlock." she answered, "No one can be inherently perfect."
"Well, you're perfect for me." he said, matter-of-factly.
On hearing that, Molly could not help but chuckle lightly. Trust Sherlock Holmes to take an infamously clichéd declaration of love and friendship to one of scientific austerity.
"What's so funny?" he asked, frowning in puzzlement.
"You." Molly answered, biting her lip to stop further chuckling.
"I don't understand."
"And you probably won't, Sherlock." she said, smiling warmly at him.
They were interrupted by the sound of Sherlock's phone that suddenly began to buzz incessantly on his desk. Sherlock leapt out of his seat and quickly reached for it. When he saw the name on the screen he rolled his eyes and cancelled the call.
"Who was it?" asked Molly.
"Mycroft." Sherlock muttered.
"What do you think he wants?"
"Nothing that would interest me, I'm sure."
"Right." Molly could sense his sudden change in mood, "Perhaps I should…go take a shower. I hope you brought some of my things over?"
"They're in my room." he answered, still visibly irritated from his brother's call.
"Right. Okay." Molly answered, quickly escaping the scene of rising tension.
When Molly left the room, Sherlock's phone buzzed again. This time, it was a series of short buzzes in succession. Mycroft had resorted to sending texts. With an angry sigh, Sherlock unlocked his phone and with a cynical eye began to read through his brother's messages.
I have been informed of some disturbances at St. Bart's that point directly to you. – MH
"Disturbances. Ha." Sherlock scoffed to himself.
But what has most disturbed me has been the revelation that you are, perhaps, in love with Ms Hooper. - MH
Sherlock was both shocked and perplexed at the message. Why would anyone have made that sort of revelation? Why did it concern anyone anyway?
I don't know if there is something you haven't told me, brother dear. But I will need to see that the hospital has its rightful property reinstated. I will be coming over to Baker Street to personally see to it. – MH
"Marvellous…" Sherlock cursed under his breath, flinging his phone onto the daybed. Why did Mycroft have to come meddling about his business, again? The hospital was perfectly fine without one ward's worth of equipment and frankly, it meant one less patient for them to worry about. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes to think. This was all frightfully annoying.
"Sherlock?" came Molly's voice, from his room.
"Yes?" he snapped out of his thoughts instantly and raced to his room. Since her poisoning, he had become a lot more acute to anything that had to do with Molly.
He came rushing into his room to find her standing in front of his mirror, dressed in a fresh set of clothes, rubbing a towel through her damp hair.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to alarm you…" Molly said, a little stunned from how flustered he looked.
"It's fine. Did you need something?" he asked, relieved to see she was fine.
"Yes, I was just wondering if you had a hair-dryer." she said.
"No, I don't. Sorry." he replied.
"Perhaps you should go home, Ms Hooper." came the one voice that grated most on Sherlock's nerves. "You are bound to have the luxury of your hair dryer there. I am afraid this bachelor's flat is a poor choice to house a young lady."
"What are you doing here, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, annoyed.
"To find out what she's doing here, Sherlock." Mycroft answered with the snide smile that Sherlock utterly detested.
Sherlock strode up to his brother and stared hard at him.
"You have no business coming here." said Sherlock vehemently to his brother.
"Law and order is part of my business, Sherlock," Mycroft answered calmly, "And when it has been disturbed, it most certainly becomes my business."
Mycroft sauntered to the living room and sat himself down at Sherlock's desk. Sherlock followed and sat in his own armchair. Molly was a little unsure about what to do, but decided to stick with Sherlock and so quietly joined the brothers while slowly drying her hair, as surreptitiously as she possibly could.
"Now, brother, if you would be so kind as to explain yourself." Mycroft began, "Brevity is much appreciated. I haven't got all day."