As far as kisses went, it was rather strange. For one, Molly's eyes were still open, as he'd gone in for the gesture as simply as he would take your last dumpling. For another, it was Sherlock kissing her, like he meant it. She tried to ask, What are you doing, but at this point, it was rather obvious.

"You can stop your little performance, little brother," Mycroft Holmes' voice floated through the room.

"Oh my God!" Molly gasped, pushing Sherlock away, to his older brother's amusement. She couldn't hide the blush on her face, so she turned away, as if that would work. Why is Mycroft in the morgue? She wondered. Seriously, was there some kind of "Harass Molly at Work Day" going on?

"What now?" Sherlock said to Mycroft, his tone utterly bored and his face disdainful. Was this the same man who kissed her so passionately just a couple of seconds ago?

"Miss Adler is rather displeased with you, and as a result, so is Mummy," his older brother said, somehow managing to look down his long nose at the both of them, even though they weren't standing that close any more. "I don't know why you have to make everything so hard for yourself, Sherlock, surely you know we want what's best for you."

"What you want is to meddle in everyone's business, and what I want is for you to leave," Sherlock stared emotionlessly at him.

"Surely you don't expect me to believe that you and Miss Hooper are actually an item, now, do you?" Mycroft sneered in his upper-class way. "Flatmates, yes, with very little boundaries, apparently, but engaged? No."

Sherlock smiled thinly. "Believe what you like," he said.

"I believe you are toying with both Miss Adler and Miss Hooper's affections," Mycroft said sternly. "A gentleman would do no such thing."

"I never said I was a gentleman," Sherlock snapped, "and how could I toy with Adler's affections when she has none to give me?"

"And Miss Hooper?"

"She knows exactly where she stands with me."

"She pushed you away. I highly doubt it," Mycroft smiled the same empty smile Sherlock did.

"Unlike myself, she's modest," Sherlock stated, and Molly blushed again.

"Modesty is one thing, flaunting a platinum ring like that is another," Mycroft said, "and how did you acquire them so quickly?"

"Ask your lowest lackey to dig that up," Sherlock shrugged, "or you can stop wasting the government's time and do something useful, like, I don't know, fix the rail system or something?"

"We're trying to keep you from destroying your future," Mycroft said sternly.

Molly stared as the brothers went at each other, but at that last bit, she had to speak up. "I'm right here, you know," she said, her voice shaky, "and why would being with me destroy Sherlock's future? I'm not that bad, am I?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows slightly, the only sign that her speaking up was a surprise. "On the contrary, Miss Hooper, you're too good for my brother. You need someone who has a stable income, a stable lifestyle, someone," his face twitched ever so slightly, "nice."

"What if I don't want that?" she cried. "Why doesn't anyone ask me what I want?"

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, his tone suspiciously even.

She turned to look at him, and while his face looked as impassive as ever, his eyes looked a little, well, distant. As if he was already trying to cut himself off from her. Why would he do that, when he was already out of her reach? Fine, then. "If none of you are willing to be the adult here, then I want to speak to your mother," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Now Sherlock looked alarmed. "No, Molly!" he said, throwing a hand out towards her.

"Oh, it should be fine," Mycroft said, pulling out his mobile. "Mummy would love to see her."

"Molly," Sherlock said urgently.

"It's fine," she told him, even though her tone went up worryingly. "She's your mother, and she loves you. It should be all right." Why was she reassuring him, she thought, when she should be turning tail and running away from this whole insanity like any sane woman would?

Before she could do just that, Mycroft finished his brief conversation. "Mummy will see you tomorrow afternoon for tea," he announced. No, not just saying, he announced it, like a PM would a national declaration. Lovely.

"But I have work tomorrow!" Molly cried.

"It'll be taken care of," he replied blithely, pulling out his mobile again and murmuring in hushed tones.

She stared at him, then looked at Sherlock. "Can he do that?"

He glanced sourly at Mycroft before returning her gaze. "Apparently, yes."

She was so, so very doomed.