Hi guys! Sorry again for the extra week delay. I come bearing another extra long chapter as an offering, though. I'm afraid there's a lot less merry banter this go around as we explore Barts and get down to some serious business with the Hoopers. But! I promise a bit of Sherlock and Molly interaction for your patience, and a bit of Mycroft, too (because I do love a meddling Mycroft). Enjoy!

Thanks again for reading and a big thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story. It means a lot!

star-eye - You are lovely, thank you for the comment! So glad you liked the silver fox nod, I couldn't resist ;)

MizJoely - Thank you, very glad to hear the feedback!

AveP - Thanks so much, hope you enjoy this chapter!

Renaissancebooklover108 - Just a bit of a fun reference to Rupert Grave's Lestrade :)

yay - Yes, I do think Sherlock could be quite handy on that front! (When he could be bothered put the effort in, of course)

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or world, they come from the far more brilliant minds that conceived them. Thank you ACD, Moffat, Gatiss, and J.K. Rowling for being so imaginative and inspiring.

Christmas time had the unusual power to lift spirits to soaring heights or drag the miserable to deeper depths of despair. Molly Hooper made her way round St Barts Hospital in London and wondered why it was possible to feel sad and happy at the same time. She observed the activity around her as she wandered purposefully through the buildings.

Many people were waiting anxiously, some were crying, others sleeping. There were tears of joy at good news (especially in the nursery), and woeful cries at the bad. A few people were pleading with doctors or to a higher being, some people prayed for peace and others in hope. Spending the holidays mostly at a hospital was a new experience, and it turned out that it was a rather harrowing one.

While there were those moments of extraordinary human spirit, there was mostly sadness and misery. At least here I'm not alone. Molly immediately admonished the selfish nature of the thought, but couldn't deny the truth and small amount of comfort it held. Misery loves company, she thought wryly with a frown.

And Molly Hooper was very much in similar company with those around her. As a few doctors walked past in a hurry, she mustered up a small smile for them. Molly admired them for everything they gave to help the people who found themselves here. A smile was the least she could give them in return.

Another building over and down a flight of stairs and she made it to the basement level. It was quieter down here, much more peaceful. She exhaled in relief. A, by now, familiar layout of the building on the wall showed that she had made it to the area of the hospital dedicated to the dead. The morgue was down the hallway and a few labs branched off here are there for the pathologists.

In the week and a half she'd been at Barts, she had somehow managed to gain permission from one of the staff to come down to this section of the hospital. Molly had taken to roaming the large institution when her dad was asleep or undergoing tests. While she hated herself for it, she just wasn't strong enough to be with him every minute of the way. Her aunt had arrived and together the two acted as constant vigils at her dad's bedside.

They had other visitors as well throughout the day; her aunt's family and her dad's older cousin. The Hooper clan was small these days, but they stuck together. Her grandmother on her mum's side had made an effort to be there as well, which meant a lot to Molly and her dad.

She continued down the hall and peaked through the window of the morgue door, starting to familiarize herself with the area. She had just sort of gravitated this way every time she felt the need to be on her own for a bit. And it was probably my constant poking around down here that had the guy take pity on me. She recalled the young man had been rather amused at the fifteen year old who kept returning to the morgue. What was his name? Mike? Yes, that was it.

It was getting later but she watched, transfixed, as the lone figure prepped for a report inside. A hand falling gently on her shoulder had Molly literally jump in the air with a small exclamation.

"Sorry! Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you there," the intruder's eyes looked down at her in mirth.

"Mike! No, it's fine, I just," Molly shrugged, not really sure how to explain herself, "sorry."

"What are youapologizing for? Not your fault. Besides, some new guy with no backbone gave you permission to be down here anyway." He winked at her. The man had to be in his early to mid twenties and had a rounder face, glasses framing kind eyes.

She smiled wanly at him. It was refreshing to talk to someone here without worrying about upsetting anyone, or getting upset herself. He also had a personality and persona that just put Molly at ease. "Thanks again, for that."

He waved her thanks off. "Oh, not a problem."

"It's nice down here, quiet I mean. Not like the rest of the hospital."

He grinned and replied, "I should hope not! We'd have a real problem then…"

She giggled at the morgue humour. "Yes, I suppose so."

He looked at her again, brow creased in thought. "Do you plan to study here?"

"What?" She was taken aback at the question, especially considering where her current education was taking place.

"After you complete your secondary education. You clearly aren't phased by the bodies, and that's about ninety percent of the battle right there. If you have an interest, Barts could always use more pathology students."

"Oh. I…hadn't really given it much thought." Now that he brought it up, Molly did need to consider her option for after she finished at Hogwarts. What was she going to do? Distractedly Molly glanced at her phone and gasped. Merlin's beard, I've been down here longer than I thought!

"I need to make my way back to the hospital, but thank you for the chat Mike. Truly." She tried to convey with a sincere look how much his company did help her, and he seemed to understand.

"Hey, no problem Miss Hooper. Always a pleasure talking to someone down here who can respond." Mike smiled cheekily at the teenager and gave her a final pat on the shoulder. As she began to walk away he called out to her, "Think about what I said – I think you'd like it here!" He shook his head at the thought of being a "morgue recruiter" as he walked into his office proper to finish his work for the afternoon.

Molly did ponder his suggestion as she walked back upstairs and to the building where her dad was. She did have an interest she supposed; always had since she was young and her dad had brought her a collection of fossils one day. The fascination had grown from there. It wasn't morbid fascination, but rather an innocent, imaginative curiosity.

The deceased had stories and she would sit there and daydream about the twists and turns those lives took when she came across something like a dead animal, museum exhibits that had pieced together human bones so spectacularly, or caught a glimpse of the obituaries. Most people were too held up with the fear and uncertainty of death to dwell on the life that bloomed beforehand. It's actually quit similar with potions, she mused.

Potions were powerful and had a stigma to them despite the fact that they often times were used for healing. The analytical side of Molly's brain enjoyed the way potions told stories, too. The brew could be broken down and she could see how every element affected the outcome. Inversely, if she knew the symptoms, she could puzzle together the ingredients that would best address a magical malady or other problem. You just had to approach it from different angles to make sure you didn't overlook any possibilities.

John had actually come to her once for help in reversing some spell that had gone haywire on Sherlock. Now that was an interesting evening. Her mouth quirked up at the recollection of Sherlock emitting bubbles from his ears and robes and a singular focus on finding some water and floating in it. John hadn't been hit by it.

The boys – well, John – had thought to seek her out first in hopes of avoiding a trip to the hospital wing and the explanation that would undoubtedly be forthcoming. She hadn't gotten the full story out of them (John was full of "ughs" and "umms"), and it was clear they wanted to avoid any higher authority if they could. Luckily they weren't in any real danger, else Molly would have put her foot down and sent them to Professor Hudson (she hoped).

Shaking her head of the ridiculous memory, Molly found herself standing outside of her dad's room. She took a deep breath, then another. The treatments weren't working. Her dad was not well. She took a third deep breath. I won't cry, I won't cry, I won't cry. I don't need to add to the stress and worry. Come on, Molly, be brave like Greg and Sally and John. She turned the handle and walked in with a small smile on her face. She was just in time to say goodbye to her cousin and uncle before they left for the night.

"Molly," her aunt began quietly once it was just the three of them. "We need to talk about your future and sort some things out so that everyone is happy."

Molly swallowed. Why? Why is this happening to me? I'm fifteen, for God's sake, I don't want to talk about these things. I don't want to lose my dad! "Ok." Molly was sat beside her dad on his bed and when she turned her head to glance at him he was making a face at his little sister. Molly smiled weakly as her aunt made a face right back. Her dad never did like discussing more serious matters; made him antsy.

"Let's start with living situation. As you are still a minor…"

That night Molly forwent her usual spot in the hospital to sleep next to her dad. She had not made it through the discussion without shedding a few tears, but then, it was tough for all of them. Luckily the whole Molly's a witch thing had been squared away earlier in the week by a long discussion mostly between her dad and her aunt, and now all legal matters regarding Molly were attended to in full detail, with everyone's approval.

An unexpected buzz caught her attention and she fished her phone out of her pocket. Despite being emotionally drained, a glance at the name of the sender had her stomach do an all too familiar flip and her heart rate elevate. She scolded herself. Stop it. Shrugging off her reaction for her curiosity, she opened the message.

Thank you for the gift. I am not aware of the premise, though John assures me I will 'no doubt find inspiration in it'. You should know he seemed rather less enthused about it after his initial amusement. An intriguing reaction. –SH

She did feel a bit for John, but in the end she couldn't resist.

Ah. Well, you're welcome. And you didn't have to thank me. (I suppose I should tell John that?) –MH

"Oh, what's this? Who could be texting you so late?" Molly smiled at her dad's overly dramatized voice.

"It's no one dad." It wasn't that Molly didn't want to tell him about Sherlock. It was that Molly really didn't want to tell him about Sherlock. Specifically her feelings for Sherlock. It was embarrassing!

My brother, actually. He would drop dead on the spot if a Holmes were not being proper and minding manners. John is no longer here. –SH

"Won't tell me who he is, hmmm?" Her dad teased. "Is he your," and here he paused to whisper conspiratorially, "boyfriend?" Predictably, Molly's face turned beat red at the insinuation.

"No! He's not...we're not," she wasn't even sure why she was so flustered. It was only her dad, and she knew he was just taking the mickey out of her.

He laughed good-naturedly at his daughter's all too obvious reaction and pulled her close to him. "Liar."

"We're just friends," Molly stated with an indignant huff and stuck her tongue out at her dad. After a beat of more serious thought towards the matter she added, "Maybe."

"What? Maybe that you two are friends, or maybe that you're just friends?"

"Maybe that we're friends," she groaned. "He's my friend, at least," she added distractedly as she typed out a response to send back to Sherlock.

I do hope you like it, btw. I know it looks a bit silly, but I thought you might find something non-magical a bit refreshing. –MH

"So you got him a Christmas gift!" Her dad exclaimed, now looking over her shoulder. "Well I'd say that is pretty conclusive. I think I should meet this mysterious maybe friend of yours…"

"I send Greg a Christmas gift every year." Molly countered.

"Yes, but you would have told me if it was Greg texting you. Unless it is Greg and there's something you're not telling me. I know you two have been very close for the past few years, and friendship can easily become…"

"Ugh, dad, no! He's a great guy and all, but he's my best mate! Just…no." Their relationship was built on a different foundation than the sort that turned friendships into something more intimate. They would always love each other, but she's pretty sure Greg would have the same reaction where the thought posed to him.

"Alright, alright! No beating around the cauldron there I see." The man chuckled slightly. Ever since they had discovered that Molly was officially a witch, he would find every excuse to sprinkle 'magic vocabulary' into their conversations.

Molly sighed. "He's John Watson's friend, dad."

At the mention of John, her dad brightened. "Oh, Watson you say? Good family - always did like that boy. You know, the two of you have quite a bit in common…"

"Again, dad, I'm afraid that's not going to happen." How much easier things would have been, though. At least I might've had a fighting chance if my stupid heart hadn't decided to stupidly zero in on stupid, brilliant Sherlock Holmes.

"Ah well, a father can hope." He made a show of sighing and settling back against the pillow to close his eyes. He waved his hand in her mobile's direction as if making a grand, regal gesture and adopted a tone to match. "But I can rest easy knowing that your mystery man is friend of the noble House of Watson."

"He isn't my man!" But even as Molly exclaimed this in exasperation, she couldn't keep a straight face. Laughter bubbled up from the pair of them at her dad's antics. They were quiet for a few minutes, each deep in their own thoughts, before Molly broke the silence.

"Dad?"

"Yes my brilliant, silly girl?"

She couldn't quite hide the anxiety from creeping into her voice. "What do you think I should do after I graduate from Hogwarts?"

He took her hand and squeezed it tightly. "I think you follow whatever direction your heart pulls you to. And even if you don't know exactly what that might be right away, it will come to you. You are my Molly. You will figure it out."

She nodded but began to sniffle. "Yeah, but…"

Her dad could follow her line of that exactly. "Don't you be worrying about that, Molly. You know that I will always be with you and support you in whatever you choose to do. Just like your mum. Don't think for one second that we'll ever truly abandon you."

She swiped at her eyes hastily as something between a laugh and a cry escaped her throat while nodding again. She met her dad's gaze and he must have found what he was looking for as with a final squeeze to her hand, he settled back against the pillows and closed his eyes to rest

Molly settled in as well and was focusing on taking even breaths when her phone buzzed once more. Sherlock is still texting me? He must be bored and has probably ticked off John in some way. She reached for her mobile once more.

Yours was the only muggle gift I received. I'm sorry I had nothing in return to give you. –SH

Molly could almost see the debate that went on in his head before deciding to add that last bit. Ok. Why is he being so considerate? I wouldn't have pegged him as a Christmas spirit kind of guy. Molly had never been to the Holmes estate or discussed the home with Sherlock, so it never occurred to her that he might just be lonely. Still, she wasn't about to not take advantage of this rare "chatty" mood he seemed to be in.

It's fine, really! I wasn't expecting anything anyway. It's a gift. I just wanted to give you something. Please don't worry about it! –MH

A few minutes passed with no response in which Molly fretted she had said something wrong.

Did you like John's gift? –SH

John's gift? Molly was momentarily stumped, a testament to her tired and stressed brain, before remembering that, duh, she hadn't opened any Christmas gifts besides those from the mini celebration they'd done at Bart's. She hadn't been home to do so.

I haven't actually opened it yet. Have been at Barts and Greg must have passed on that I didn't want any owls here. Not that there would be that many to be suspicious! Just a lot going on and haven't been home. –MH

I'm sure it's lovely though :). –MH

I'm sure you're right. Goodnight Molly. –SH

Goodnight Sherlock. Thank you. –MH

Sherlock Holmes just effectively tucked me in. Over mobile. It didn't matter if Sherlock would be confused why she said thank you. Texting him had actually been a comfort and helped to calm her down. Well, in some ways. I don't think my stomach is going to stop feeling like butterfly paradise anytime soon.

Molly stared at his final message for another few seconds before putting it away and turning over. Maybe we are friends. She tried not to overanalyze the brief conversation but thoughts of the Slytherin stayed with her as she drifted into another restless sleep.

Thank you. Sherlock Holmes stared at the final message and must have sat there debating the sentiment for at least ten minutes before tossing the device away and sulking into his mind palace.

Mycroft Holmes smiled primly to himself as he watched his brother check his mobile again. While his nickname at the Ministry was "Iceman" for a reason, he had a soft spot when it came to his brother; even if Sherlock would never see it that way. He still didn't fully believe in the merits of caring, but his curiosity over his little brother's interest in the Ravenclaw girl had gotten the best of him. He had begun monitoring Miss Hooper and he had to begrudgingly admit that she had been fairly likeable from the start, much to his surprise.

She was small and insignificant, someone easily lost in a crowd, but then there was more than met the eye with Miss Hooper. One needed to spare a second glance to see the sharp mind at work behind the overly soft exterior. Ironically, this quiet girl's quirks and strengths seemed to match his brother's almost…complimentarily. He sighed as he walked away, swinging his umbrella around as he retreated to his own internal sanctuary.