Mycroft left his dressing room early Christmas morning and crossed to the bed, where Molly was still asleep, flat on her stomach, covers pulled over her ears, only the crown of her head being visible. Smiling, he took his phone from the bedside table, then quietly left. As he went down the hall, Toby darted out of Molly's room, bell jingling on a bright green bow tied around his neck.
Mycroft rolled his eyes, wondering how and when Molly had slipped out of bed to do that and returned without waking him, and then followed the cat down the stairs and into the kitchen, checking his pocket watch. 7:00. He looked at the worktop, turned around when he saw the tea tray was missing, and found his father at the kitchen island, watching him with an amused expression. Mycroft mentally winced, then went to take the turkey out of the refrigerator and put it on the counter before taking a seat across from Siger. "Morning, Dad … er, Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Mycroft." He reached for the teapot, poured Mycroft a cup, and slid the saucer across to him. "Hope you slept well."
"Yes ..." Mycroft glanced at Siger, looked at his cup, glanced back up at his dad, then turned his head to stare out the window, uncomfortably aware that the tips of his ears were probably turning pink. "Thanks."
They sipped their tea in silence for several minutes. His dad cleared his throat and Mycroft turned back to him. They stared at each other, silently, for some time, then Siger raised his right brow. With an effort, Mycroft maintained a neutral expression, but then his dad gave him a smile, which slowly widened into a rather wicked grin. Mycroft paled and pressed his lips together into a thin line, reminding himself that his bedroom was sound-proofed. His dad stroked his cheek, a flicker of amusement passing over his features. Mycroft cleared his throat and (damn it) knew his cheeks were flushing. He tried an indignant glare, but eventually his lips twitched. "It's from Molly, OK?"
They went back to sipping their tea and talking a bit about nothing in particular. Siger finally stood, took his empty cup to the sink, then walked back to the island, stopping at his son's side and resting a hand on his shoulder. When Mycroft looked up, Siger said, "I'm proud of you, son." He gave Mycroft's shoulder a squeeze. "I'll just go see what's keeping Violet."
As his dad's footsteps faded away, Mycroft finished his tea and then carefully placed the cup in its saucer just so.
#####
They would have to make do for themselves for meals and housekeeping. Mycroft had told Mrs. Collingwood to take the week off, but she'd delayed her departure until that morning. Her son was arriving from Sydney and they were leaving straight from Heathrow for her other son's home in Sussex. She'd called Mycroft on the house phone before leaving for the airport at 6:00 to wish them all a happy Christmas.
Mycroft expected his mother would be down shortly to make breakfast since she liked doing that. He poured himself another cup of tea, then paused with the cup halfway to his mouth, unexpectedly thinking about Molly and the special gift she'd had for him in the wee hours of the morning. He felt his groin twitch and - "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, as his mother walked into the kitchen, followed by his dad. He was appalled that his parents had caught him thinking about sex with Molly. The only good news was their appearance had an immediate deflating effect, so problem solved.
"Good morning, dear," his mother greeted him, kissing his cheek. "Merry Christmas." She straightened with a frown and held her palm to his forehead. "You feel a little warm, Myc. Do you feel like you're coming down with something?" Her gaze moved lower and her jaw dropped.
For a moment, he wanted to bang his head against the table until he was unconscious. "It's Mycroft and, no, I feel fine." He stood and kissed her forehead. "Merry Christmas, Mummy."
Violet raised her gaze. "Where's Molly?"
"She's still in bed –"
"No, she's not," Molly interrupted, coming quickly into the kitchen, ponytail tied with a bright red bow that, like Toby's, jingled with every step. "Merry Christmas, everyone!" She hugged his dad ["ooh, nice bow tie, Siger!"], then his mother, and finally turned toward Mycroft, bright-eyed and smiling. She froze, staring at him wide-eyed.
"Merry Christmas, Molly," he said, giving her a light kiss on the lips before turning them toward his parents with a hand on the small of her back. He'd felt Molly flinch in shock at his touch and, without looking, knew she continued to stare up at him, while his parents watched with raised brows. He was determined to ignore their (over)reaction. "So, Mummy … what's first on your agenda?"
His mother quickly rallied. "Let's get some breakfast going."
Even Mycroft pitched in, and thirty minutes later, the four of them were sitting in the dining room, passing platters around and pouring each other cups of tea and juice. Mycroft was surprised at how easily the conversation flowed - that his parents were chatting as if they'd known Molly for ages, that his mother wasn't trying to sneak in questions about their relationship, that none of their usual concerns were voiced about his work schedule, his life, his health … that indeed nothing particularly aggravating occurred. He quickly realized Molly's presence and ease of manner had taken the focus off of him.
Afterwards, they carried everything back to the kitchen, then Violet dismissed Mycroft and Siger, who headed to the sitting room to read the morning papers by the fire. Molly and Violet took care of the breakfast cleanup, then discussed what needed to be done for Christmas dinner. Mrs. Collingwood had prepared a good portion of it ahead of time and little more was needed for those things to be ready. Molly had made mince pies, and Violet had brought her Christmas cake. The turkey had been stuffed and in the oven for two hours, and the salmon just needed a dill sauce. The vegetables wouldn't take long to cook; the sausage rolls, bread sauce and gravy would heat up quickly; and the pudding was ready to be steamed closer to eating time. Champagne was already chilled, and Siger was in charge of the wines and other drinks.
"Sherlock and Mycroft can set the table," Violet decided, adding with a grin, "since they so enjoy any opportunity to work together."
"I'd like to see that!" Molly laughed, then excused herself to go upstairs. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
#####
Siger and Mycroft turned toward the sitting room door as the sound of jingling approached. Molly hesitated in the doorway at seeing them both staring at her, then crossed the room, one hand held behind her back. She came to a stop in front of Mycroft, who looked up at her curiously.
"Here –" Molly brought her hand around.
Mycroft looked at what she was offering, then raised his fingers to his throat. "You don't like it?"
She grinned at him, wrinkling her nose. "I never thought you'd wear it. I thought you'd pass it on to your dad." Siger chuckled behind her. "Here –" [waving her hand from side to side].
"Actually, I'll keep this one -," Mycroft said, stroking a finger down his cheek. "… if only to see Sherlock's reaction."
And that's how Mycroft ended up wearing a bow tie on Christmas day – a muted shade of sage green silk with darker green holly leaves and bright red berries. Molly returned the rejected tie to his dressing room.
#####
They didn't have long to wait for his brother's reaction. Shortly after 1:00, Mycroft had just stepped into the hall from the kitchen when Sherlock let himself in using a key he'd purloined years before (not that Mycroft really tried to get it back).
"Ho, ho, ho, little brother," he greeted him drolly.
"Ah, brother dear … already been at the mince –" Sherlock broke off, staring fixedly at Mycroft's bow tie. "Hmmm ... it appears that having regular sex is turning you into dad -"
"SHERLOCK!" He jumped, whirling to face Violet, his cheeks turning pink, then froze in place, blinking slowly. When Molly came to stand beside Violet, both women glaring, Mycroft actually felt sorry for Sherlock for a moment … possibly a nanosecond … then smirked.
Sherlock unfroze and almost leapt toward his mother, throwing his arms around her and noisily kissing her cheek, then turning to Molly. He paused at the expression on her face, then bent slowly and gave her a soft peck on the cheek. Both women relented and smiled at him when he straightened, then Violet reached up to brush some curls off his forehead.
They all turned as Siger came into the hall from the sitting room. Sherlock greeted him cheerfully without any snide remarks, though he did squint at his dad's shiny red bow tie. Before taking off his coat, Sherlock reached into various pockets, switching hands from side to side, each time emerging with a small, brightly wrapped present that he handed to one of the others.
#####
They sat down to Christmas dinner at 2:30 p.m., and it was a noisier affair than usual. Siger and Violet met each other's eyes often and exchanged eye rolls at sharing the table with three overgrown children, as Molly seemed to fall into squabbling with Sherlock as easily as his brother did. She even got into playful arguments with Mycroft. What they noticed, however, was a lessening of the caustic nature of the brothers' verbal dueling. It was almost … affectionate, though Siger and Violet wouldn't dream of pointing that out. Molly seemed to have had a positive effect on both sons.
They all left the dining room just before 3:00 to watch the Queen's speech in the sitting room. The others sighed noisily at Sherlock's surprised comment, "Oh, we have a queen?" Afterwards, they returned to the dining room and made further headway with their sumptuous repast, before eventually carting the remains to the kitchen.
Even Sherlock ate more than usual, but only to the point of mild indigestion, so enjoyed making rude comments about what he called the others' gluttony as they all slumped in mutual misery on sofas and chairs after putting the leftovers away. Behind his parents' backs, Mycroft gave his brother a two-fingered salute, while Molly escalated their response with the flick of a middle finger.
Sherlock just gave them his freakishly toothy "Joker's" grin.
Late in the afternoon, Mycroft got a call and left the room, phone to ear. Until Molly saw his face fall into its neutral mask, lips tight, she hadn't realized how relaxed Mycroft had been all day. She heard the study door close behind him.
Sherlock shot up with a clap of his hands. He crossed to the sofa where his parents were sitting, gave each of them a brisk kiss on the cheek, turned around to smile at Molly who was sitting on the opposite sofa, and then headed to the door without giving any of them much time to react. Violet and Siger called their goodbyes at his back, but Molly jumped up and followed him.
She caught him in the front hall, donning his coat with a swirl. Before he could take defensive actions, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him to a stop. "You don't have to go, Sherlock," she said, looking up at him insistently.
"I really do, Molly," he said, flicking his eyes from side to side before meeting her gaze again. "I need –"
"All right, Sherlock," she said softly, pulling him down to give him a sweet kiss on his cheek. "But I wish you'd stay."
He gently removed her fingers from his coat. "I'll see you at Bart's. Tomorrow afternoon, right?"
"Right." She watched him put on his scarf and pull on gloves. "Wait a minute." She hurried to the sitting room and came back with a bag of presents. "Don't forget these."
"Thanks, Molly." She watched him leave, then closed the front door with a sigh. She knew Sherlock could stand only a limited amount of togetherness but hated to think of him being alone even if it was what he wanted. She stopped to lean against the wall, taking her phone out of her pocket. She thought for a moment, then sent a text. A reply came in just a few minutes.
Merry Christmas to you as well, Molls! Ours was great though Lizzie seemed to prefer the wrapping paper to what came in it! No worries – we'll get S over here later or will drop by Baker St. See ya soon. JW
#####
Almost three hours after leaving the sitting room, Mycroft shut down the laptop, then slumped back in his chair, eyes closed, his features strained. After several minutes, he sighed tiredly and straightened his back. As he opened his eyes, the new addition to his desk caught his attention. The beautifully framed pen-and-ink drawing depicted Molly in her labcoat, bright-eyed and smiling up at him, Mycroft in a suit, a spark of amusement in his eyes but expression otherwise impassive as he leaned rather jauntily on his umbrella, both of them being shown in full-length partial profile, facing each other from a few feet away, against a background of roughly sketched images associated with their work – Bart's, Scotland Yard, The Diogenes Club, etc. The caricature gave gentle humor to their slightly exaggerated figures - the artist had been surprisingly tactful about Mycroft's nose - and was very well done. When Molly gave it to him, Mycroft was initially concerned that anyone had seen him well enough to create such a drawing. She said she'd "commissioned" it from a member of Sherlock's homeless network who always seemed to be about somewhere. Studying the neat lines of the drawing, Mycroft wondered if the caricaturist did any other type of artwork ... and if he'd be interested in getting off the streets. He'd have to ask Molly.
Mycroft looked up at a tap on his door and checked his pocket watch when his mother slowly pushed the door open. "Come in, Mummy," he said, snapping his watch closed. "I'm sorry this has taken so long." He rounded his desk to meet her in front of the fireplace.
She looked at him silently, a crease between her brows. "You look tired," she finally said. "Are you finished with work for the night?"
Mycroft gestured toward the wingchairs and waited for Violet to sit before taking the other chair. "That should be all, but –" He shrugged, then sat back, crossed his legs, and draped his hands over the chair arms.
Violet studied him for a few moments, then sighed "Mycroft, I know you are bracing yourself for whatever ghastly conversation you imagine is coming. I hope this doesn't rise to that, but I need to say something to you, and your dad agrees with everything I'm about to say." She took a deep breath.
"Darling boy, although we have grieved over it, we had finally come to accept that you needed, or thought you needed, to be alone, to stay isolated from people, to avoid personal contact and messy emotions, to do your job. I am not asking you what your intentions are in regard to Molly, but we know you think yourself cold-hearted at best, heartless at worst. Your dad and I know better."
She shifted to face him. "We are amazed and delighted that you've allowed Molly to crack that shell, but we do understand why you have. You are far too intelligent not to have recognized how special she is. Molly is a lovely woman in every way, such an incredible mix of practicality and whimsy, dark humor and lightness of heart, hard-eyed realism and rainbow-hued optimism. Despite all that she's seen and how lonely her adult life has been with no real family, she's remained so warm-hearted and caring. She seems to understand you and to accept all the quirks, for want of a better word, of your life and the demands of your work. She even seems to accept that work comes first for you – work that she knows will always be in the shadows, held secret from her. We truly never imagined someone would somehow come into your orbit who not only suits you so well but that you'd take notice of her … and actually pursue a friendship."
Violet paused and sighed. "Whatever happens is obviously between the two of you, but know that if this - 'relationship'…" [she arched a brow, and he nodded] "… continues, we will support the both of you in every way." She leaned forward and took his hand. "Mycroft, my darling boy, you deserve to be happy – or at least to be content, which is a sort of happiness in itself. You must know that Molly is happy being with you. She fairly glows with it. Whatever you're doing is enough … you are enough. Whatever you feel you lack in sentiment, in romance, Molly doesn't need it. She is happy with you just as you are." She squeezed his hand and released it with a pat. "Your dad and I love you, too, you know – just the way you are."
She stood and smiled down at him. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it? I asked you no questions."
Mycroft just looked at her for several moments, then stood and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Thank you, Mummy."
They came out of the study together and followed the sound of voices to the kitchen. Siger and Molly were sitting at the island, eating Christmas cake and drinking champagne. Toby was sprawled on the floor by Molly's feet, batting at the hem of her trousers.
"Dear lord, Siger, where did you find room in your stomach?" Violet came to a stop beside his stool, reaching for his glass and taking a sip. "Umm, that is good." She dropped onto the stool alongside him.
Molly looked up at Mycroft. "What about you? You want some cake or something else?" She smiled when he took the last stool and reached for a side plate and fork from the stack in the middle of the island.
They made for a cozy group of four, each couple brushing shoulders and occasionally hands on their side of the table, facing the other couple across the rather narrow tabletop. Mycroft couldn't remember a time since he'd become an adult when he'd laughed so much with his parents. By the time they all headed wearily upstairs, none of them was entirely sober.
#####
Molly stopped in the doorway to her room. "Ignore what I've done with some of your furniture. It's just for tonight, and I'll explain when I get there."
He raised his eyebrows, but nodded and continued down the hall. Molly got her bath, then put on her new pajamas and dressing gown, which were a pale, peach-colored silk. The dressing gown had roses embroidered on its lapels. Mycroft had chosen well.
When Mycroft came out of his dressing room, Molly was sitting on the side of the bed. She stood and ran her eyes down his body and back up. She'd given him new pajamas and dressing gown as well, also in silk, but his were a dark silvery gray except for the black T-shirt style top. He started to reach for her, but she ducked to the side. "Do me a favor and don't ask any questions … just come over here." She backed away from him to the space she'd cleared earlier in front of the fireplace.
Mycroft followed her and stopped where she pointed. While he waited, she went to turn off lights until only a bedside lamp, the fire and the fairy lights on the mantel lit the room. She then started some music, stepped in front of Mycroft and smiled. "Dance with me."
"Dance?" He frowned.
"Yes, dance." She pressed herself to him, front to front, and pulled his arms around her. "Come on, it's just a slow dance – not hardly a dance at all." He slid one arm all the way around her, but brought the other one up to take her hand and hold it against his chest as they began swaying, their bare feet brushing against each other. "See? Another Christmas gift to me and it isn't costing you a thing other than – what? Possibly a little dignity?"
Mycroft snorted, then leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "What is this music?"
"It's by a group called E.S. Posthumus, but one of the brothers that started it died some years ago and that was the end of it. Anyway, I've programmed three tracks from their Unearthed album - first Nara, then Isfahan and lastly Estremoz, but Estremoz is going to repeat once, since I've fantasized for years about dancing to it with someone I – with someone." They swayed in a circle to the beat, with Mycroft settling more into the rhythm as the song continued. "What do you think?"
"Well, I wouldn't call it ghastly," he said dryly, then laughed when Molly reared back to glare at him. "It's actually not too bad, for modern music."
"I'll have you know it's been described as twenty-first century classical music."
"By whom? Their agent?"
"Oh, you!" She slid her free hand higher on his back and pressed closer. "I thought you might find it interesting, being such a combination of orchestral music and drums and – yes, I know – electronic sounds as well." She pulled back to look up at him. "Maybe I should warn you that I find the third track extremely, um, hot."
"I shall endeavor to endure whatever may ensue," he said, deadpan.
"Oh, god – you have to kiss me after that," she said, with a slow smile. He complied, while keeping them moving in a slow circle. Molly laid her head against his chest, humming along with the song. When the next track started, she pulled back to look at him and couldn't stop a few tears from falling.
Mycroft came to a halt, looking concerned. "What is it?"
She pressed her face against him. "I just love this song so much, and I can't believe we're here, like this." She turned her face to the side and sniffed. "I've cried by myself listening to this so many times." She stepped away from him, smiling. "I know – you don't get it." She grimaced. "It's the dreaded sentiment." As the track ended and the third began, she perked up. "Prepare yourself … we're about to reach the whole point of this. Dressing gowns off now."
As the rather dramatic opening measures of Estremoz began, Molly lowered her head a bit and glanced up at Mycroft under her brows. When the song changed to a more Latin rhythm, she started moving her hips in a slow salsa step and held her hands out to him. Mycroft took them, but was biting his lip and had a crease between his brows. She held his gaze as she brushed against him teasingly, then twisted around, continuing her hip movements and adding shoulder action, rubbing against him from side to side as she pressed the back of her head against his chest. He slid his hands around her middle, laced his fingers against her lower stomach, then kissed the side of her neck. Molly moaned and twisted back to face him.
Molly took his hands and tugged him toward her as she continued dancing slowly, a dreamy look on her face. Mycroft regarded her for a moment like he might a King Cobra, then moved closer. She spread their arms out to the side, hands still clasped, and pressed her body against him, encouraging him to follow her undulating movements. She felt his heart rate increase under her cheek, then glanced up as the song came to a close. "The song's about to start again. Try to think of it as having sex, standing up."
Molly bit her lip to stifle a gasp when he did start to copy her movements. When he dropped one of her hands and raised their joined ones overhead, spinning her in a twirl, she gasped aloud. "OK, how did you know to do that?" He just smiled slowly and did it again. When he pulled her back to him, she let go of his hand and slid both arms around his waist and under his T-shirt, gripping his bare back. She felt him immediately react and pressed close. He took hold of her hips and pulled her closer still.
They came to a stop as the music ended and Molly tilted her head back, smiling at him. "Thank you. Another fantasy checked off my list." Mycroft leaned down to kiss her and passion exploded between them at the touch of their lips. Without pausing to consider the how or where of it, they were on the rug in front of the fire, pulling each other's pajamas off, breaths ragged, open mouths dragging across whatever freshly bared skin they could reach, frantic to make the ultimate connection. He rolled over to take the brunt of the hard floor and watched while Molly rose above him, lifting on her knees and then sinking slowly onto him as she opened her eyes to stare into his. They both released a long, jagged breath as she lay on his chest, his hands moving to cup her backside and hold her tightly to him. After a few moments, Molly pushed herself up, then started riding him slowly, every dragging withdrawal and slow sliding return causing a sharp intake of breath. They continued to stare at each other and Molly felt naked in a way she never had before. She wanted to close her eyes against the intensity of his, but instead increased her pace. Mycroft gripped her hips more tightly, helping lift her on the withdrawals and pulling her more firmly to him on each return. Their movements became more vigorous, more deliberate, and he began lifting his hips on each of her strokes, pushing himself more firmly and deeply into her. He trailed one hand along the juncture of her hip and thigh until his thumb was rubbing her in exactly ... the … right … place … and Molly arched and threw her head back, coming with a loud groan. Mycroft moved his hand to grip her hip again and thrust sharply upwards once, twice … then came with a jerk on the third, falling back onto the floor, arms thrown wide. Molly collapsed onto his chest, and they lay there, panting. After a few minutes, she swallowed audibly and raised up enough to wipe off some drool that had pooled under her mouth. She didn't have anywhere else to put it so wiped her hand against the rug. "Ugh … sorry."
Mycroft huffed out a laugh. "Think nothing of it." He finally had enough strength back to encircle her with his arms. "I think we need another shower."
They eventually got to their feet and went to clean up, then fell into bed and almost immediately to sleep.
#####
Boxing Day
The senior Holmeses were returning home that morning. Molly was due at work by 1 p.m., but needed to go to her flat first to leave Toby. Mycroft would head to the office after he dropped her off at Bart's.
The four of them had another easy-going breakfast together, then Siger and Violet went upstairs to get their things together, leaving Mycroft and Molly on kitchen clean-up duty. Molly was surprised that he knew where things went and didn't hesitate to roll up his sleeves and get his hands wet.
"I do actually know my way around the kitchen," he said, rolling his eyes. "I simply don't need to put the knowledge into practice very often."
Molly was not surprised that he loaded the dishwasher so methodically and efficiently. Thorough in everything, she thought, then blushed. He happened to glance her way at that moment and paused, brows raised, before turning back to the sink.
An hour later, Mycroft stood with Molly outside the front door, watching as the car with his parents departed for the train station. Molly and his mother kept waving until the driver turned through the gates. Molly sighed, happily. "That went well," she said, glancing up at him. "Don't you agree?"
Mycroft looked down at her, brows raised. "I will admit their visit went much better than anticipated, and most of the credit for that goes to you, I think." He took her hand and pulled her into the house, continued down the hall to his study, tugged Molly round his massive desk, then dropped into his chair and pulled her onto his lap. She squeaked in surprise and tried to get her balance, gasping as Mycroft claimed her lips in a kiss that started off passionate without any buildup. She grabbed blindly for his shoulders as he tipped her back over his arm, one hand cupping her head and the other curving around her backside, pressing her to him.
Just when Molly thought she was going to pass out from shock and/or a lack of oxygen, Mycroft pulled away, breathing heavily and hotly against her face. He was staring at her – eyes piercing, face taut, nostrils flared, carotid artery visibly pounding in his neck. Molly stared back at him, wide-eyed, and tried to catch her breath. He continued to stare intently at her, and she suddenly thought he was waiting for something, but she didn't know what. She became aware of his erection under her hip and, flustered, ducked her head to hide her face against his chest.
Mycroft ran his fingers through Molly's hair, once, twice, then again cupped his palm around the back of her head. He sighed and shifted his weight under her. She took that as a signal and sat up with a quick apology. "No, stay where you are – if you want to." He reached between them, flipped his pocket watch open briefly, then slid his hand back under Molly's hair and rested his hand against her bare nape. "We don't have to leave for another hour."
Molly relaxed again, resting her cheek on Mycroft's chest. She listened … to the steadying beats of his heart, his slow breaths … and concentrated on the placement of his hands, the press of each individual finger against her neck and hip. Picturing those long, strong, flexible fingers on her made Molly's heart rate speed up again and her breath hitch. Mycroft hummed a question, then, "Molly, why don't you stay here for the rest of the week?"
"You just want someone to cook for you while Mrs. C is gone," she said, teasingly, her fingers twisting a button on his waistcoat. She let go of it and sat up straighter. "Seriously, though - I don't want to leave Toby here alone while we're at work. I'm not sure what he might get up to, having all this new territory to explore." Molly shook her head. "I really need to take him back to the flat." She bit her lip, thinking. "If Mrs. Harrison will be around, she might like to keep him at hers since she enjoys his company."
"Or we could simply shut a lot of doors and limit his access," Mycroft suggested.
Molly's heart rate sped up at his continued urging. She tried to calm down when all she really wanted to do was to unzip his trousers and take him into her – right there, right then. "All right, if you think that will work." She sighed. "I don't mean to make such a big deal about it, but you have so many beautiful things here and the fixtures and finishes are – well, I'd hate to find out Toby sharpened his claws on any of them."
"It will be all right, my dear," Mycroft replied, tucking some stray hair behind her ear. "Even if Toby did do his worst, everything can be fixed – or, if something can't, they're just things, Molly." She looked at him a bit wonderingly until Mycroft shifted again and this time helped her stand up. She blushed upon realizing he was still partially erect, so kept her face turned away. "Molly," he whispered gently, causing her to look at him. A warm smile reached his eyes and lips, and Molly was absolutely enchanted, and she didn't care if it showed. "Thank you for making this one Christmas I actually … didn't hate." He gave her a quick kiss. "We better tell Toby he's staying," he rolled his eyes when Molly giggled, "and barricade the off-limits areas."
While Mycroft quickly went through the house shutting some of the doors, Molly went upstairs to find Toby, then brought him to the kitchen. She pulled his daybed into a sunnier spot near the window and set him down. "You be a good boy today, OK?"
Mycroft came to the kitchen door, holding Molly's coat. "We need to go." Molly walked ahead of him to the front hall, took her handbag from the hall table, then waited for Mycroft to grab his umbrella and open the door. His free hand took hers, threading their fingers together as they watched the car turn through the gate and come up the drive. Molly took a deep breath as she let go of his hand and stepped into the car.