This is a prompt fill for the lovely SammyKatz. I tweaked it just a bit, I hope you don't mind. This one gave me a lot of Holmes brother feelings.
Sherlock and Molly were huddled together in companionable silence, studying a specimen on the detective's favorite microscope, when the door to the lab burst open. The pair leapt apart, their cheeks a matching shade of rosy pink.
Sherlock scowled when he noticed who had interrupted them. Mycroft Holmes meandered into the lab, his umbrella swinging casually by his side. His eyebrow rose as he took in their flushed faces and guilty expressions. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked his brother, triumph evident in his eyes.
"Of course not, Mycroft. Dr. Hooper and I were just finishing up an experiment." He quickly gathered his belongings, looking everywhere but at the blushing pathologist.
Mycroft turned his attention to Molly as Sherlock composed himself. "Dr. Hooper, I trust you have been well?"
Sherlock glanced up in surprise. Normally the elder Holmes did not concern himself with social niceties, at least when he had more pressing matters. If he had come to collect Sherlock personally, then this must be very urgent, indeed. The consulting detective narrowed his eyes, observing the interaction between the other two. The only other time he had seen them together had been on that awful Christmas when he supposedly identified the Woman's body. Sherlock cringed at the memory. He knew that Mycroft and Molly had formed a bond of sorts after his faked suicide but had not had the opportunity to examine it for himself.
"I've been wonderful, Mycroft. Thank you for asking!" She gave him a sunny smile, one that made Sherlock's heart stutter even if it was not directed at him. Mycroft's mouth lifted into a tight smile in response, and the government official tugged uncomfortably at his collar. That was odd. Mycroft seemed almost… nervous.
"Yes, well…." Mycroft cleared his throat and turned to his brother. "Sherlock, we really must speak. In private."
"Of course. Molly." He tipped his head in her direction, winking at her, and was rewarded by an increased reddening in her cheeks. He followed Mycroft out the door and into a deserted corner, far from prying eyes.
"What is this about, Mycroft? It must be important, or you would not have sought me out."
"It is about your relationship with Dr. Hooper."
"Oh for…! Really, Mycroft, this is none of your c –"
"Hush, Sherlock, and let me finish." Hearing the seriousness in Mycroft's tone, Sherlock nodded in agreement. Mycroft continued. "Since we were young, Father ingrained into our brains that caring was not an advantage. He taught us to abandon sentiment in favor of logic and reason. We both have certainly taken his lessons to heart." He paused, letting his words sink in. Sherlock merely stared at his elder brother, sensing that he was not finished.
"Recent events, however, have led me to a different conclusion. If you care for Molly, and I know you do," he added at the denial on Sherlock's face, "you should tell her immediately. Otherwise, she will find someone else who makes her happy, and it will be too late. Believe me when I tell you that there is no worse feeling than knowing that the person you love is in love with someone else."
"What did you just say?"
"You should tell Dr. Hooper how you feel –"
"No, you said if I care for Molly. I didn't realize the two of you were on first name terms." Mycroft shifted uneasily under his brother's scrutiny. "Ah. Of course. Stupid! You are in love with Molly."
Mycroft refused to meet his gaze. Instead, he fiddled with the handle of his ever-present umbrella. Finally, he lifted his head to look at Sherlock. The pain in Mycroft's eyes shook Sherlock to his very core.
"Sherlock, I know it is terrifying to let someone else get close to you, to completely trust another person with that part of yourself. There are very few people I would deem worthy of my little brother's affections, and Molly heads the list. Please. Tell her how you feel. You will deeply regret it if you do not."
Sherlock's eyes drifted back toward the lab, where he knew Molly still resided. In an uncharacteristic show of fraternal affection, he grabbed Mycroft's hand and squeezed. He let go and started to walk back to Molly, stopping when his brother spoke again.
"And Sherlock?" The detective looked over his shoulder. "If you hurt her…." Mycroft left the sentence unfinished, but Sherlock understood his meaning.
"Thank you," he murmured, glancing once last time at his brother before returning to the lab to give in to the emotions he had repressed for far too long.
Poor Mycroft! Please leave a review! I love to hear your thoughts!
