On the first Friday in February, Molly was in the middle of a post mortem when the morgue doors swished open. She glanced up, expecting to see a staff member or Sherlock, but instead locked eyes with Anthea, who had stopped a few feet into the room.
As they continued to look at each other, silently, Molly felt her heart start a dull pounding. She was vaguely aware that her hands had started shaking and pulled them out of Mrs. McKenzie's chest cavity, breaking eye contact with Anthea to look at her hands like she'd never seen them before. She abruptly turned and went to the sink to wash off the worst of the gore before removing her gloves with a snap and finally turning back to Mycroft's PA.
"Just tell me."
Anthea looked down for a moment, then met Molly's gaze. "Mr. Holmes – Mycroft has been delayed."
"Delayed," Molly repeated, tonelessly.
Anthea came several steps closer. "Yes, delayed. He won't be home this weekend and wanted me to inform you."
"I see." Molly nodded. "So he'll be out of town for a while yet, then?"
"A few more days, yes."
"All right," Molly said, dismissively. "Thank you for letting me know."
Anthea looked at her for several moments, then turned and left.
Molly quickly pulled a stool out and dropped onto it as her knees wobbled. She didn't believe Anthea – or, rather, she believed Mycroft was out of town, but she didn't believe he was simply delayed.
As soon as Molly got home, she turned on the television for news reports and ran searches on her computer for the latest news concerning hot spots around the world and any incidents that might have occurred within the last few days. She knew it was a waste of time – that violent incidents involving the shadowy world Mycroft moved in probably went unreported, and certainly Mycroft would never appear on any list of government representatives attending any official event. She turned the computer and television off and sat on the sofa, pulling Toby into her arms and burying her nose in his neck.
Mycroft couldn't be dead. No, not that. Even Anthea wouldn't have misrepresented the situation that badly. Molly knew though, she absolutely knew, there was more going on than his business taking more time than expected.
So she waited.
#####
On Saturday, Molly did some housework, played with Toby, and waited.
On Sunday, she wandered around her flat; stared at her book and then the television, taking nothing in; and waited.
On Monday morning, she went to work. She came home. She waited.
Tuesday morning, she went to work. Late that afternoon, Molly left the locker room and trudged tiredly down the long corridor. She pushed open the street door and stood on the pavement staring into space, flinching when the door banged shut behind her. She shifted her bag on her shoulder and turned to go, then froze.
A black car was idling at the curb. Molly felt a trembling start deep inside and slowly spread outward until her hands were shaking. She twisted them together and waited, certain it was Anthea with news. The back door finally opened and the first thing she saw was a black brogue lowering to the pavement and then his head appeared over the door frame.
She dropped her bag. "MYCROFT!"
Molly darted across the pavement and slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and breathing raggedly. After a few moments, she realized he'd said nothing more than, "It's all right, my dear," rather breathlessly, while patting her shoulder. She also realized that he'd winced when she grabbed him.
Molly dropped her arms and quickly backed away, looking all around them and checking for CCTV cameras. "Oh, god – I am so sorry." She stared at him a moment, taking in the extra paleness of his complexion and the stress lines around his eyes and mouth, then turned away to retrieve her bag from the pavement by the door. When she returned to the car, Mycroft was still standing just as he had been when first getting out of the car, but was now also scanning the area around them. For what, she wondered.
"What's wrong, Mycroft?" Molly hesitantly stepped closer, keeping the car door between them. "Are you injured? Did I … hurt you?"
The corners of his lips briefly turned up. "I'm fine, Molly." He took a step sideways, but kept his hand on the door frame. "Can you come with me now?" At Molly's nod, he got back into the car – gingerly, she thought, although she could tell he was trying to hide it.
Molly settled beside him and looked at him uncertainly. She felt ill at ease, unsure what was going on. "Mycroft – "
"I'm sorry about our weekend, my dear," he said, turning to her and meeting her eyes, but his eyes and expression looked blank.
"Oh for god's sake, Mycroft, it doesn't matter about the weekend other than what's happened to you." She shifted a bit closer to him. "You're obviously in pain."
She rested her hand on the seat between them, palm up. Mycroft bit his lip and briefly closed his eyes, but after a few moments he placed his palm against hers and threaded their fingers together. The knot in Molly's stomach loosened.
Mycroft took a deep breath. "Can it wait until we get to the house?"
Molly squeezed his hand and lay her head against the back of the seat, glancing sideways at him. "All right."
He sighed, rested his head against the seat back and shut his eyes. They said nothing more during the trip home, nor did they look at each other, but their hands remained clasped. Molly sat up when the car turned through the gate and looked at Mycroft. When the car came to a stop, he met her eyes. Molly pulled her hand away, got out of the car, and stood on the doorstep with her back to him.
The front door opened and Mrs. Collingwood came out with a big smile on her face. "It's good to see you, Miss Molly." Molly returned her greeting and watched her face fall into concerned lines when she turned to her boss. "Welcome home, Mr. Mycroft."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. C," he said as he stopped beside Molly. "I hope you are well."
"Thank you, yes," she replied, stepping aside. "Are there bags?" Molly looked at Mycroft curiously.
"No." He waved Mrs. Collingwood back inside, then put his hand on Molly's back. "After you, my dear."
Once in the house, Mycroft took off his scarf and coat [failing to suppress a pained grunt] and hung them in their places alongside his umbrella, then moved toward the stairs, carrying a briefcase. Behind his back, Molly looked at Mrs. Collingwood, shrugged her shoulders, and followed him upstairs. She trailed after him into his bedroom and across to the dressing room, where she stopped at the door, watching as he sank onto the padded bench, setting the briefcase on the floor beside him. He looked across at her and raised his brows - not looking, she thought, particularly welcoming - but she went to stand in front of him anyway and then dropped to her knees and started to untie the laces on one of his shoes.
"Molly –," he started, irritably.
"Let me help you … please." She paused, looking up at him until he nodded slightly. She carefully removed his shoes, then pulled off his socks. She took a bare foot in her hands and massaged it slowly but firmly and heard him groan under his breath. She glanced up and met his eyes as she switched to the other foot. "Will you tell me what your injuries are?"
He exhaled noisily. "A couple of cracked ribs, a cut to my thigh. Nothing serious."
Molly looked at him steadily, brows arched, and he pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Will you let me help you with a shower?"
"Molly –"
"You need the help, Mycroft." She stood and held out her hands. "Let me help. Please."
He looked annoyed, but let her help him up. Once he was standing, she unbuttoned his jacket, then stopped, looking at him. "OK?" He nodded again, and Molly carefully removed his jacket and waistcoat, then unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his shirt. She tried to suppress a blush, but couldn't. Even worse, when she glanced up at Mycroft, his cheeks looked a bit pink as well. Rather than ignore it, she wrinkled her nose at him. "It's ridiculous to be embarrassed, but you know how ridiculous I can be." She smiled and his lips turned up briefly at the corners. It wasn't much of a smile, but better than nothing.
He sucked his stomach in when she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled his shirttail out. She removed the shirt as carefully as possible then unzipped his trousers and let them drop, bending to pick them up as he carefully stepped out, leaving him only in pants. Mycroft had not been unaffected by being undressed by Molly, despite his injuries, and she was blushing when she stood back up and met his eyes. Her eyes lowered again involuntarily and she gasped.
"Mycroft!" Molly bent to look at his left thigh, where a long line of stitches closed what had obviously been a bad wound. He flinched when she touched the edges very carefully, feeling for any heat. The wound itself was pink, but didn't look inflamed. "Did someone give you an antibiotic for this?"
"It's in my jacket pocket – the inside one." He replied, and Molly pulled that bottle out, as well as one with pain medicine. "I'll take the antibiotic, but I don't need anything for pain."
There was dark bruising all over his torso, but especially over his left ribs, and both arms had multiple minor cuts on them. She would guess those cuts and the one on his thigh were from flying glass, but couldn't think what caused the rib injuries. "Mycroft, could you at least tell me if these injuries were targeted at you specifically?"
"I wasn't the target."
Molly set the medicine bottles on a table, then went through the door into the adjoining bathroom. He followed slowly. "Mycroft, I'm sorry if I'm imposing my presence on you, but I am a doctor, after all – even if my patients are normally dead." She grinned at him, but he didn't return it. All righty then, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes. She went to the shower and turned on the water, holding her hand under the spray and adjusting the temperature. "Shall I get in with you?"
He glared at her. She knew he was hurting, but he simply raised his hands to push his pants down, then stepped out of them and into the shower. She knew it would be better if she got in to help him, but he didn't want that, so she turned away and went to get him some pajamas. She hovered around the door, peeking in occasionally to see if he was finished, then went back in when he turned the water off. She grabbed a towel and started to dry him off, but he took it from her, glowering. "Molly –"
"All right," backing away. He dried his torso, but left his legs wet. Without asking, she took the towel and quickly dried his legs before holding the pajama bottoms for him to step into. She pulled them up, then helped him into a button-up pajama top. She left him to do up the buttons.
Molly got his briefcase from the dressing room, picked up the medicine bottles, then went into the bedroom, setting the bottles on the bedside table and laying the case on the bed. She sat beside it, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom and wondering why he'd asked her to come to the house if he was going to be irritated by any assistance she provided. What had he expected her to do?
Mycroft combed his hair, then frowned at his reflection, mouth tightening at the sight of his pale face and slumped shoulders. He looked weak. He straightened, grimacing at a sharp pain from his ribs, but leveled his shoulders before leaving the bathroom. He stopped in the doorway, studying Molly, whose own face was pale in sharp contrast to the dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired and off balance. He knew he'd given her mixed signals by asking her to come to the house and then being so ungracious about accepting her help, but – god, he hated needing any help.
Molly stood aside when he walked across to the bed. "Stretching out will be better for your ribs than sitting."
He sat on the edge of the bed. "You don't have to stay, my dear," he said, sounding bored. "I'm not going to be up to having sex for a while." After a few moments of charged silence, he looked up at Molly, who was staring at him with blank eyes.
Molly drew a deep breath. "Congratulations, Mycroft. That remark surpassed even Sherlock at his most cutting." She turned and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
#####
Molly hesitated outside the door of "her" bedroom, thought about the things she'd left there, then continued down the hall, sinking onto the top stair and dropping her face into her hands. What just happened?
"Miss Molly?"
Molly looked up at Mrs. Collingwood's anxious inquiry. She got up and went down the stairs. "How about we have a cup of tea," she said, patting the housekeeper on the arm, then followed her to the kitchen and sat on a stool at the island while the tea was being made.
Molly turned to look out the window, deliberately discouraging conversation. She knew Mrs. Collingwood was still watching her anxiously, but couldn't bring herself to reassure her. She turned back only when the tea tray was placed on the table. "Please join me, Mrs. C."
When they'd taken their first sips, Molly replaced her cup in its saucer. "Mycroft has been injured, Mrs. C. I don't know how it happened – your guess is probably better than mine – but he has a couple of cracked ribs, a lot of bruising on his torso, some relatively minor cuts on his arms, and a bad cut on his left leg that was stitched. I don't see any sign of infection, but it will need to be monitored." She sighed. "He has antibiotics to be taken every six hours. He was given pain medicine, but I doubt he'll take any of it."
She took a sip of tea, then continued. "I don't know when he last ate or where he was returning from since he didn't choose to tell me, and I didn't choose to ask considering the mood he was in." Molly's tone had hardened, and Mrs. Collingwood frowned, pressing her lips into a thin line. "I'm leaving now, but I'll return if he wants me t-t-to." Her voice broke, and Mrs. Collingwood reached over to cover Molly's hand with hers. Molly pulled her hand away after a moment but gave the older woman a smile. "It's all right, Mrs. C. The real surprise is not that Mycroft is suddenly acting like the Ice Man, but that he ever stopped doing so."
Molly quickly finished her tea and stood. "Would you please be sure he has some dinner and takes his antibiotic. If he gives you a hard time, I'm sure you know how to deal with him after all these years." She gave the housekeeper a smile, then turned to leave.
"Miss Molly, please let me call Walter."
"No, thank you. The tube is just a few blocks away. I'll be fine."
Mrs. Collingwood followed her to the front door, twisting her hands. She watched until Molly reached the gate, pushed the remote button to open it for her, then turned away and raised her eyes toward the ceiling, knowing she now had to deal with the other injured party.
#####
Mycroft looked up at the knock on the bedroom door, then refused to acknowledge feeling any disappointment when Mrs. Collingwood entered, carrying a bed tray. She came to a stop beside him and raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to move his paperwork. When he'd done so, she folded open the legs of the tray and set it carefully across his lap.
"I could get up, Mrs. C," Mycroft said irritably. "I'm not an invalid."
"I didn't think you are, but you're already settled there, so why move?" She turned away and looked around until she spotted the medicine bottles. "When is your next dose of antibiotic due?"
"I don't know – 10:00, I think."
"Well, be sure to take it. I'll bring you some fresh water closer to the time." Mycroft grunted, rolling his eyes. "Do you need anything else right now?"
"No," he said shortly, but looked up at her and finally gave her a small smile. "Thank you, Mrs. C."
Mrs. Collingwood stopped at the open door, her back to him. "Miss Molly has left. She wouldn't let me call Walter, but said she'd get the tube." She closed the door on the silence behind her.
#####
Two days later, Sherlock burst through the laboratory doors, startling Molly into dropping the pipette she was using. "Shit!" She jumped up, brushing at her labcoat, then glaring at Sherlock. "Couldn't you give me some warning? Whistle or something?"
"Molly, Molly, Molly …," he sighed, shaking his head. "Why so irritable? Is associating with dear brother finally getting to you?" He stared, blinking, when Molly whirled and stomped out of the room.
She didn't return.
#####
An hour later, Anthea jumped up when the outer office door opened without warning, but Sherlock simply breezed past her and into Mycroft's office, shutting the door in her face. She opened it just in time to see Sherlock drop sideways into her usual chair, legs draped over the chair arm, then looked at Mycroft apologetically. He flicked a hand at her dismissively, but gave her a quick nod.
"What have you done to my pathologist, brother dear?" Sherlock asked, flippantly, brows raised, after the door closed.
Mycroft steepled his hands under his chin and glowered in response. "What do you want, Sherlock," he said, stonily.
Half a minute passed during which the brothers stared at each other, then Sherlock sat up abruptly, his gaze narrowed. "What was it you said to me on a recent memorable occasion, dear brother? That I was answering the 'siren call of old habits'? Is that what's happened? You've thrown your goldfish back into the pond so you can return to the safety of isolation?"
Mycroft stared daggers at Sherlock, mouth tightened in annoyance, at being the subject of his brother's deductions. "This is none of your business, Sherlock."
"None of my business? Whatever it is you've done to Molly has left her sleep-deprived and unhappy" [he waved his hand, grimacing] "… but, more importantly, she's avoiding me just when I need her assistance with my latest experiments at the lab –"
Mycroft suddenly slammed his hands on the desk, then just as quickly sat back, wincing at the sharp pain in his side. He took a careful breath, then said between gritted teeth, his voice dangerously soft, "Leave this alone, brother mine."
Sherlock stared at him, head tilted, an arrested look on his face, which slowly changed to one of incredulity. "You're scared."
Mycroft rubbed a hand over his face, then looked at his brother and said, evenly, "I don't have time for this, Sherlock."
"You've been physically injured … somehow -" [again, he waved his hand] "… and it's made you more concerned about Molly's safety." [Sherlock ignored Mycroft's scoff.] "And her seeing you injured has caused you to – no, really? You were embarrassed that she saw you in a weakened condition?" [He leaned back, steepling his fingers under his chin.] "Did you seriously fall prey to such a typical male reaction? Good god … is it really that simple - and obvious?"
Before Mycroft could react, Sherlock shot to his feet and leaned over the desk, locking gazes with his brother. "You've been an idiot, Mycroft." He straightened, but continued looming over the desk, so that his brother had to look up at him. "Far be it from me to advocate sentiment in" [he grimaced] "any fashion, but Molly, dear brother, is the best thing that's ever happened to you." Sherlock strode to the door, then turned, with a swirl of his coat. "And I need my pathologist back on form."
Mycroft leaned back, staring at the closed door. He picked up his pen, fingers turning it in circles for several seconds, then sighed and placed it carefully on his desk before opening his laptop.
Two hours later, he was interrupted by Anthea's soft knock, followed by her entering with a cup of tea, which she placed by his right hand. He thanked her, then turned back to the file he was studying. After several seconds, he looked up at her, eyebrows raised questioningly. "Was there something else?"
"Sir, about that CCTV clip –" She broke off when he frowned and flipped a hand at her dismissively, which, after taking a deep breath, she ignored. "Sir, I think you should see it."
Mycroft glanced at her, eyes narrowed. "I thought it had been deleted."
Anthea nodded jerkily, "Yes, it was, but I kept a copy. Sir."
Mycroft swiveled his chair until he was facing her directly, then said in a soft, even voice. "And who authorized you to do that, my dear?"
Anthea decided she was not going to be intimidated and continued to hold his icy stare while dropping into her chair. "I'm sorry, sir." She closed her eyes for a moment, then met his gaze again. "I've interfered in something that you'll say is none of my business, but after working for you for so long, I couldn't just stand by and watch you … um, make a mistake."
Mycroft leaned back in his chair, draping his hands over the arms, and repeated in a mild voice. "A mistake?"
Anthea felt her cheeks flush. "I'm going to forward the clip to you and then delete any trace of it elsewhere. What you do with it is your business." She stood. "It won't happen again, sir."
After the door closed behind her, Mycroft rubbed his temple, wondering how so many people had come to think they could interfere in his life.
A few moments later, an alert signaled the arrival of an email from Anthea. Mycroft hesitated before opening the attachment, then watched the scene outside Bart's play out. He watched it a second time, then swiveled his chair to face the back wall of his office and leaned his head back. Five minutes later, he sighed and turned back to the screen. He watched the clip once more, pausing it twice, then deleted it. Permanently.
What he could not delete from his brain was the memory of Molly's face – first being frozen in absolute dread, then a few seconds later being illuminated by utter joy.
He picked up his pen, fingers turning it in circles for several seconds, then tossed it onto his desk.
#####
After bringing the car to a smooth stop at the curb outside Bart's, Walter glanced in the rearview mirror, watching as Mycroft stared through the window at the hospital, face tense, a crease between his brows. When his forehead smoothed and he seemed about to move, Walter jumped out and hurried around to open the door. Mycroft looked at him, surprised, but Walter just waited as his boss carefully straightened, lips tight, then stepped onto the pavement. After working for him for so many years, Walter could tell Mycroft was using his umbrella for support but didn't think it would be obvious to anyone who didn't know him so well. He waited until his boss disappeared through the door, then returned to the car and drove off.
#####
Mycroft paused inside the hospital door, considering where Molly was likely to be at … checking his pocket watch … 3:30. He went down the corridor and pushed through the lab door, glancing around, then continued to Molly's office. He tapped on the door three times, then opened it slowly, and met her startled eyes. He saw a stricken look pass over her features before she dropped her eyes to the file she was holding. "I'm glad to see you're apparently doing better, Mycroft," she said, then glanced up at him. "But what do you want?"
Mycroft pushed the door shut and leaned against it, resting part of his weight on his umbrella handle. He just stared at her until she looked confused and dropped her eyes again. "What do you want?" Her question was less aggressive the second time.
"You." He said finally. "I want you."
Molly swiftly looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted … shocked.
Mycroft sighed. "I'm sorry, Molly." He straightened, then winced and leaned back against the door, eyes closed. "I'm sorry, but I'm not up to making the sort of grand gesture that I believe would be suitable for this occasion." He opened his eyes and gave her a brief smile. "Would you be so kind as to come over here?"
Molly continued to stare at him for several moments, then dropped her eyes, swiveled her chair away from him, and swallowed silently, eyes closed. She took a deep breath, then stood, removed her labcoat, and rounded the desk to stand facing him from two feet away. He opened his arms and she gave a gulping cry, then walked into his arms, very carefully settling against him while keeping her weight off of him. He winced just a bit, but closed his arms around her and rested his cheek against the top of her head. Finally, he sighed and raised his head, tilting it to look down at her. "Molly –"
"Can we please not talk about it right now?" She carefully backed away, turned and went around the other side of her desk. He frowned, then smiled when she stooped and came back with a stepstool. She put it on the floor in front of him, climbed up, then braced her hands against the door on either side of his shoulders. "There, no bending for you."
She leaned forward and he met her halfway, lips touching gently, then pressing more firmly, before pulling back to rest their foreheads against each other. After a moment, Molly said, thoughtfully, "You know, what we're doing has been referred to as 'forehead sex' by some people – usually after watching a period drama on television that had no real sex." She pulled away, grinning.
"Well, I hope you enjoyed it because that may be the closest we get to real sex for a while," Mycroft said, wryly. "If you think you – we – can stand the frustration, do you want to stay with me this weekend?"
"I'd like that," she said, giving him another careful kiss, "but I'll leave Toby at home. You don't need him leaping on you and running around your feet."
They kissed again, more lingeringly, then Molly stepped down and pushed the stepstool out of the way. She waited until Mycroft got himself balanced on his feet again, then followed him out of the office and across the lab.
Before they reached the doors, Sherlock pushed through them, stopping to glance from one to the other, then he grinned, smugly. "So, are you ready to help me now, Molly?"
She rolled her eyes at Mycroft. "All right, Sherlock, go get started. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Mycroft's eyes met Sherlock's and she saw something pass between them, but Sherlock's gaze slid away and he stepped around them and farther into the lab before she could figure it out. Molly walked down the corridor alongside Mycroft, pushing the doors open, then waved at Walter through the car window as they left the building. She went ahead of Mycroft to open the door, then leaned in once he was settled and gave him a big smile. "I'll see you after work tomorrow."
The warmth of Mycroft's smile reached his eyes. "Good night, Molly."
Molly shut the door, then watched the car pull away before heading back to the lab. Walter, glancing at his boss in the rearview mirror, smiled to himself.
#####
Walter was standing beside the car when Molly came out of Bart's Friday evening. "Good evening, Miss Molly," he said, taking her weekend bag and opening the car door for her with a flourish. She returned his greeting with a big grin, then climbed in. Molly had slept well for the first time in a week, Toby was spending the weekend at Mrs. Harrison's flat, and Molly was hoping for a quiet weekend with Mycroft.
Mrs. Collingwood was already on the front step when the car drew up. She opened the car door, smiling. "Welcome back, Miss Molly."
Molly got out of the car, with a bounce. "Good evening, Mrs. C! How's our patient doing?"
"Improving much too slowly for someone of his impatient nature," she said, giving Molly a side glance as they entered the house, "but he was in a much better mood today for some reason." Her lips twitched when Molly flushed. "He's in the study, by the way."
Molly smiled at her, removed her coat and scarf, then went to find Mycroft. They met at the door to his study, and Molly quickly glanced down the hall at Mrs. Collingwood, who smiled before heading for the kitchen. Molly turned back to Mycroft, put her hands lightly on his chest and lifted as far as she could on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. "Hello."
He returned the kiss before letting her lower her heels to the floor. "Hello, yourself." He stepped back to let Molly come in, then closed the door behind them.
They spent a quiet evening by the fire in Mycroft's study. Molly didn't want to start off the weekend questioning him too much about his ribs – although he did say he was feeling some better when she asked a general question - so she kicked off her shoes and settled in the chair beside him. From the corner of her eye, she saw him change position more often than usual and knew he was uncomfortable, but she wasn't going to challenge him on it. She held her breath quietly every so often to listen to him and was relieved that his breathing was easy and without any sign of congestion. She decided that, whatever his reaction, she would check more carefully before they went to bed.
They had a light supper in the kitchen, then went upstairs before 10:00. Molly stopped in her room to brush her teeth and get her night clothes, then joined Mycroft in his dressing room, where he had just started removing his clothes. Molly set her things down, then went to help him off with his shirt.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you going to argue about my helping tonight?" He looked at her, then rolled his eyes. "Why not make it a little easier on yourself while I'm here? Besides, you know I like to get my hands on you."
He grimaced. "Not much joy in that right now."
"Oh, how little you know," she said, pressing a quick kiss to his chest. "I enjoy touching you, even when there's no possibility of it going any further." She glanced up at him, grinning slyly. "You, however, will be better off if I resist doing so as much as possible." She reached to help him pull his shirttail free and get his arms out of the sleeves. "Seriously, though … would you like me to wash your back?"
"No, having you in the shower with me tonight – or, rather, not being able to have you in the shower - would definitely be too frustrating," he said, with a twist of his lips.
"Then I'm going to my room to get a bath." She motioned for him to sit on the bench, then dropped down to remove his shoes and socks, before standing again. "Is there anything else I can do?"
He stood, wincing a bit, then unzipped his trousers. "No, go ahead." Molly left quickly before he bared his legs. The next month or so was going to be very frustrating indeed.
#####
Mycroft was already in bed when Molly returned. She carefully climbed in beside him, turned off the lamp, and settled on her back a few inches away. He turned his head toward her. "You could get a little closer, you know."
Molly took his hand. "How about this instead? I don't want to put any pressure on your ribs or to cause the mattress to dip under them."
He sighed and turned back to look at the ceiling. "Having your company in bed is good, but –"
"I know. It's going to be a long month … or six weeks."
He turned toward her again, frowning. "I wasn't given a time frame."
"Did you actually ask? About resuming sex?"
"Well, no." He sighed. "A month."
"To six weeks." She raised up on an elbow to look down at him. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could just make out his expression in the gray light coming in from the not-quite-closed drapes. "The timing depends on how you feel." She waited until he looked at her again. "But it's important that you don't return to too much activity, of any kind, too soon. You could cause a setback in your recovery." A crease appeared between her eyes. "By the way, did the doctor who treated you tell you to do breathing exercises throughout the day? To breathe as deeply as you can every hour or so? Getting pneumonia or a collapsed lung is a real possibility with cracked or broken ribs."
Mycroft grimaced. "I don't have pneumonia."
"You can get it without knowing. Come on, take some deep breaths now." She lay on her back again. "I'll do them with you."
"I'd much rather be breathing deeply with you for other reasons."
"Mycroft -," she said, warningly.
"All right."
"Breathe in as deeply as you can, slowly, then hold it for a few seconds, before exhaling slowly. You want to expand your lungs."
When they'd taken several deep breaths, Molly sat up, then raised onto her knees and carefully reached across him to brace herself with a hand on the bed. She slowly lowered her head to kiss him without touching him anywhere but his lips. When she raised her head, he turned his lips down in an exaggerated frown. Molly huffed, but kissed him again with a bit more … oomph. She pulled back when they both moaned. "OK, that was too much."
She settled on her back beside him again and reached for his hand. "I'm happy to be here with you, Mycroft." She turned her head and met his eyes. "It's enough."
He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. "Unfortunately, it will have to be for now." He smiled when Molly laughed.
#####
The next four weekends passed in a similar fashion, but the frustration for both of them showed itself in little spats that were quickly smoothed over. Toby joined them on the fourth weekend after Mycroft's injuries were incurred. (Molly still didn't know how they were incurred, but resolved not to ask.)
When they got into bed on the fifth Friday after his injuries, Mycroft rolled over and deliberately started something. Molly carefully pushed against his shoulders. "Mycroft, it's still too soon."
"You said the timing was based on how I feel, and I feel like making love."
Molly's heartbeat seemed to flutter a moment before speeding up. She wondered if he knew what he'd said, then realized he was always deliberate in his wording. She continued to push carefully until he rolled onto his back. "So do I, but this time let me do the major work." She grabbed the hem of her pajama top and started to pull it over her head, before stopping to look at him. "Are you sure your ribs feel well enough?"
"Just be gentle with me," he said, deadpan.
Molly laughed and quickly stripped, before getting up on her knees and looking down at him. She reached for his waistband and paused. "Are you ready?" He snorted. "Oops, sorry! I see that you are," she said, grinning. He lifted his hips enough for her to pull the pajama bottoms down his legs and off his feet before tossing them over her shoulder to join her pajamas on the floor.
Mycroft watched as Molly lifted her left leg and slid over to straddle him, then raised onto her knees, grasping him lightly in her hand, and slowly took him into her. That sight alone was almost enough to make him come. He raised his eyes to hers and watched as she lowered herself to rest lightly against him, breast to chest, her weight mostly supported on her forearms on either side of his head. She kissed him, licking his lips and then slipping between them until he sucked her tongue into his mouth, drawing her into a teasing game that had both of them moaning. She pulled back, breathing heavily, then licked along his jaw and down his throat, before sinking her teeth, gently, into the side of his neck. She released the skin from between her teeth, then lapped at it like a cat, making little gasping noises in between licks. Mycroft caught his breath as he felt Molly's internal grasp on him tighten and release in a gentle pulsing, then again, and realized she'd come just from kissing him. He took her lower cheeks in his hands and ground their bodies together, coming himself with a long exhale. Molly froze, then abruptly lifted her head to stare at him, rather accusingly he thought. "Did you just come?"
"Yes, and so did you." He laughed, when she narrowed her eyes, then abruptly widened them. Even in the dim light, he could see her face flush. "You didn't feel it?"
"I do now!" She said, dropping her hot face against his throat again. "I was more interested in the taste of you."
Mycroft angled his head until he could kiss Molly's cheek. "You'll have to pay more attention this time." He felt her tense as she indeed paid more attention to what was going on with their nether regions.
She raised up on her forearms and stared at him. "I don't know whether to be amazed or appalled that I could have –"
"Let's go with 'amazed' … now, come on - amaze me again."
