Author's Note: Another chapter, much to my own surprise. I just can't seem to stop Mycroft from playing cupid! This time, he's set his sights on Molly. I hope you enjoy.

To view the object in question, go to the Harrods website and search for 17053737

Chapter 3: Dress for Success

Molly moved on autopilot as she made her way into Bart's that morning for her shift, anxiously replaying events from the day before and dreading the day to come. It had all happened so fast.

"Can I take you dancing at the Savoy on Saturday night?" Sherlock had looked so awkward and hopeful. How could she say no?

They'd been out on three dates – one lunch, one dinner, and one autopsy. Well, the autopsy wasn't a traditional "date," but Molly had really enjoyed spending time with him. Sherlock had done and said all the right things, and Molly was beginning to be cautiously optimistic that perhaps there was more to it than merely showing her they were still friends despite his sister's cruel experiment. He even brought her daffodils and a toy for Toby, which was tremendously sweet.

And then suddenly there he was at the end of the autopsy, asking in that unfairly sexy voice if he could take her dancing. But not just any old dancing, no. Ballroom dancing at one of the fanciest hotels in London. Stupid Sherlock with his stupid graceful hands and stupid curly locks and stupid hopeful expression! It sounded so incredibly romantic, so unambiguously a proper date, and in a moment of weakness she'd said yes. Now she was paying the price in panic. She was going to look like an idiot, a clumsy fool. He'd be limping on his stupid feet from all her stepping on them.

What would she wear? The last time she'd tried to dress up for him at that Christmas party had been a disaster. She couldn't possibly wear the black and silver dress from that party, which she was sure Sherlock hated, and the yellow dress from John and Mary's wedding wasn't right, either. Perfect for a garden party, but not for this.

She'd just have to buy something new. But when? He'd asked her out yesterday, their date was set for tomorrow night, and here she was stuck in the lab covering for Thompson all day. Tomorrow would be the same, with all the shops closed by the time she finished. Molly's heart sank. Maybe she could get away with the yellow dress if she left off the hair bow? Or should she call him and beg off with some excuse? She felt guilty just imagining the disappointed look on his stupid handsome face. And who knew if he'd ever ask again?

Discouraged, Molly shrugged on her lab coat and closed her locker with a sigh.

Mycroft carefully deposited his box on the floor and sat in Molly's darkened office, silent and still as any cadaver on its slab, completely at his ease. She would be along shortly, her shift was to begin in 5 minutes and Dr. Hooper was, if nothing else, ever punctual. A character trait of which Mycroft definitely approved, and he decided to tell her so. Sincere complements were, or so he understood, valuable currency when trying to get people to "like" one. Mycroft grimaced at the thought. To be honest, he didn't see why in the least it was important that Dr. Hooper like him, but Alicia insisted his errand would have a much higher chance of success if she did, and Alicia had excellent judgment.

Molly opened the door, still lost in her thoughts, and switched on the light.

"Good morning, Dr. Hooper."

"Oh my God!" Molly's hand flew to her heart in surprise. "M- Mister Holmes, you startled me!" She took a hesitant step forward. "Is Sherlock with you?" she asked, trying – and she feared failing miserably – not to sound nervous. She unconsciously smoothed down her hair.

"My brother is otherwise occupied, but I come on his behalf, in a manner of speaking." Mycroft replied placidly. "Please, do sit down." Alicia had assured him the good Doctor would be more at ease if she did not have to stand throughout the exchange.

Molly frowned. The nerve! This was her office, for goodness sake!

Mycroft gave her a watery smile. "First let me say I appreciate your punctuality." She blinked. Oh, well. That dispensed with, he continued, "My brother asked me to get him a table for two at" – he checked his notebook – "the Savoy ballroom for tomorrow night. Based on his known circle of acquaintances, I surmise you are his chosen dinner companion. I want first to assure you Sherlock is an excellent ballroom dancer, quite capable of making a lady with your limited dancing ability appear to best advantage in such a situation."

"H-how do you know how I dance?" Molly asked suspiciously. "Do you follow me when I go for a girls' night out?"

"No, of course not," Mycroft lied. Well, it wasn't technically a lie. CCTV really was a marvelous invention. "Balance of probability suggests a woman in your age group with your known associations and hobbies has not taken formal lessons. Am I mistaken?"

Molly stared at him speechless for a few minutes and then shook her head minutely. It annoyed her, though. She'd grown accustomed over the years to being so easily and rudely deduced by Sherlock, but it was still an unwelcome surprise coming from someone else. However, the ominous threats the elder Holmes brother had made at the time should she let slip her part in Sherlock's faked death scheme had made a lasting impression. Mycroft Holmes was cold, ruthless, and very powerfully placed. A man not to be trifled with. Anyway, she reasoned with herself, it wasn't as though he'd just asked a particularly personal question.

"Very well, then. As I said, Sherlock will make an excellent partner, so you need have no concerns on that score."

"Why are you here, Mr. Holmes?" Molly rallied, determined not to be bullied. "If Sherlock asks me out, that's between him and me. I don't see that you have any say in it."

"I come bearing a gift." Mycroft produced the large, low box marked Harrods from under his chair and set it on her desk.

"What is that?" she asked suspiciously. "You don't need to bribe me to go out with Sherlock."

"It is not a bribe; it is an inducement." Mycroft attempted again to smile, but Molly thought it looked more like a pained grimace. He tapped the box with the tip of his umbrella.

Molly rose from her chair and bent over the desk. She carefully opened the box and pulled aside the tissue paper. Inside was a gorgeous midnight blue satin gown. It had an asymmetrical neckline, capped sleeves, graceful rouching along the torso and hips, and a curve-hugging fit and flare silhouette. She gingerly lifted the gown and held it up, watching it shimmer as the silver threads woven throughout subtly caught the light. She couldn't help thinking, If it looks this good under fluorescents, think how much better it will look in the soft glow of a ballroom! We'll be so elegant together, Sherlock in a smart suit and me in this dress!

"I hope it is to your taste, Doctor." Indeed, Mycroft was very grateful to Alicia. The gown had been her idea and she had selected it herself, Mycroft having no eye and even less inclination for such a task.

After a few minutes of silent indulgence, Molly reluctantly laid the lovely dress reverently back in the box. "I can't accept this, Mr. Holmes," she said at last. "It's Talbot Runhof and must have cost at least £1,000."

"More, actually," Mycroft replied brightly. "But you needn't concern yourself with that. I offer it merely to relieve you of the trouble of obtaining a suitable garment on short notice. It will fit you perfectly," he added, as she continued to regard the exquisite gown with obvious longing. "Your weight has stayed virtually constant throughout our acquaintance and my ability to ascertain your measurements is quite equal to my brother's." He saw no need to mention that he'd had Anthea measure Molly's existing wardrobe a week prior, anticipating the knowledge would come in handy.

"I –"

"Please, Dr. Hooper. May I call you Molly?"

"Alright."

"Thank you. Please, Molly," Mycroft began, smoothly reciting the words he and Alicia had agreed would be most likely to persuade her, "It is his closely guarded secret, but my brother loves ballroom dancing. Not even John Watson is privy to such knowledge. That he chooses to share this secret with you indicates the high esteem in which he holds you." Here Molly blushed and looked down. "Sherlock will, of course, admire you regardless of what you wear, but he is partial to dark blue. You would indeed make him very happy if you accompany him to the Savoy wearing this. A happy Sherlock is a sober, productive Sherlock, two states of being which I have a strong vested interest in seeing Sherlock maintain. So you see, you'd be doing me a great service. A second great service, I should say, since I am still indebted to you for helping fake my brother's death, thereby enabling him to dismantle Moriarty's criminal network. I believe you will also get great enjoyment from the evening, making this what is known as a win-win situation."

"Well..." Mycroft gave her an expectant look and Molly found herself once again unable to say no to a Holmes brother. "In that case, I accept. Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"Excellent!" He rose and turned towards the door. "I shall get you the best table possible. Good day. Oh, by the way," he added, turning back, "you may call me Mycroft." There! Now they were on a first name basis. Definitely friendly. Alicia would be proud.

After Mycroft had gone, Molly held her breath for a moment, waiting just in case this was some cruel joke and he returned to take back the box. When she heard his footsteps recede down the corridor, she released it slowly and gingerly lifted the dress up to the light once more. She knew she could have searched all day in the shops and never found a more perfect gown. Hugging the stunning piece to her body, Molly felt empowered. She would look like a goddess! Yes, the consulting detective wasn't going to know what hit him!