The next day, Mycroft woke to a Molly who had been mostly returned to normal. She was her usual pleasant self as she prepared for her first day back at work, and Mycroft assessed her carefully while he readied himself for a long day of psych evaluations and debriefs.
"You can stop staring at me," she said wryly over a bowl of cereal. "I'm not angry anymore. You're just going to be responsible for waking me up and calming me down if I ever get Moriarty nightmares again."
"I think I can handle that," he agreed, poking at the mysterious beige crispy things in his bowl, and deciding to have second breakfast off of the office tea trolley later. "When do you finish up today? I can meet you with the car and we can go to mine together, if you don't mind leaving straight from work."
"Eight, I think, provided there are no mass murders or terrible outbreaks or things like that," she said with a smile.
They packed up and left, stopping for a goodbye kiss at the bottom of the stairs. It seemed to hit them both at the same time that this would be their first time apart in many weeks, and Molly seemed reluctant to let go.
"I'm safe," Mycroft said reassuringly, gathering her back in for a tight hug. "I'll see you in a few hours." She nodded, and made her way out first. A cool gust of wind swept in from the door, chilling him after their warm embrace, and he reminded himself that he would be too busy to miss her for the rest of the day.
The indeed was busy, and followed the expected agenda, but neither could keep from checking the clock regularly. Promptly at eight, Mycroft was there and Molly was waiting, and they sat close as the car sped through town. It was a quiet trip, neither speaking much. Mycroft was reviewing his answers to the thousands of questions he had been put through as part of his debriefing, psych eval and reorientation. They'd probed his personal life deeply, and he'd frequently found himself surprised at his own answers.
The morgue had been slow, and Molly had spent most of the day picking up the dropped ends of some research she'd had to abandoned when she left for France. He could see in her eyes that her brain was spinning away on something. When they arrived at the house they went through what was becoming their usual paces, similar regardless of where they were actually located. The silences were long and comfortable, and communication was easily understood when necessary.
They ate a simple dinner, split a bottle of wine, and moved into the library.
Mycroft picked up a newspaper, and Molly curled up with her tablet on the opposite chair.
"Was it just me, or did today feel long," she said softly.
"I admit, I momentarily looked for you several times, forgetting you wouldn't be there," he answered.
"I got so used to being lonely, I didn't really recognize anymore that's what it was. Being with you feels like being alone. No, that doesn't sound right. I meant, being with is-"
"Being with you is as easy and comfortable as being alone," he finished. "I've always found the idea of one constant companion somewhat tedious, until I experienced it with you. I must say, I hardly expected another person's habitual presence to actually bring enjoyment and comfort to my daily life."
Molly bit her lip, watching his eyes slide back to his newspaper. There was a blush of colour high in his cheeks, and she knew he wasn't actually reading but thinking.
"What would you think if we just kept doing this, always?"
Silence fell again in the cosy little room. Molly looked at the fire in the fireplace, and considered whether she should elaborate. Mycroft stared, unseeing, at the words in front of him. He wondered if he was misunderstanding her question, and felt the vulnerability of mistaking it for more serious than she had meant it.
"Are you inquiring about whether I'm interested in making our arrangement permanent," he asked cautiously.
"Yes," she said, her heart in her eyes, "I am."
A warm flush ran through Mycroft, making his toes and fingertips tingle and his stomach give a little leap.
"I do believe I would, my dear. What did you have in mind?"
"Nothing elaborate. More an understanding than a formality. I've never been the sort to dream of the white wedding or any of that. I don't even care if we were to be married, unless it's important to you."
Mycroft mentally pictured the horror of a proper wedding and internally congratulated himself on finding a partner who was as disinterested in the pageantry. He peeked over his paper at Molly, and while her eyes were still averted, took the opportunity to give her a detailed assessment.
There was something enchanting about the solemnity and permanence of legal marriage to this strange little creature. He felt a swell of the possession that erupted after they'd had sex, of claiming her and wanting to be claimed only by her.
"How would you feel about going to the registry office? Just us and anyone you'd require to witness?"
She seemed surprised for a moment that he'd gone the marriage direction at all, but smiled. Her eyes were sparking now, fully on him.
"All I want is you, no one else."
He found himself returning her smile.
"When?" She asked simply.
"Whenever we like," he shrugged. "I don't see any benefit to stretching it out. We can work out details as needed. I'd be fine with this week, unless you'd like to go on some sort of holiday right after, then I imagine we'd both need time to arrange for work."
She shook her head quickly.
"No, not that I object to a holiday with you, I don't think we need to plan any sort of grand wedding journey. Are you free this weekend?"
"Entirely," he offered.
"Care to marry me Friday after work, then do a weekend in Dover, like we'd planned?"
"That sounds... idyllic. Rings? Should I plan for you to be wearing it in the lab, if you'd like to wear one at all? Tungsten so it won't react chemically? Bezel setting so it won't tear your gloves?"
Molly laughed, pushing up from her seat and crossing to him. Hiding his astonishment, she climbed into his lap, straddling him. The sturdy wingback chair accommodated both of them comfortably.
"You really are so thoughtful," she said lightly, plucking the newspaper from his hands. She took a moment to admire the latest shirtless photo of the Canadian prime minister on the front of the world news section, and then tossed it into to the table.
Strangely, once she was so close that he could whisper, he felt free to speak more intimately.
"So you'd be alright with my stodgy, old-fashioned acquaintances calling you Mrs Mycroft Holmes? Waking up next to a rapidly aging and spreading old bureaucrat every morning?"
"Mmhm," she agreed, teasing a spot under his ear with her lips. "I'd look after your future gout and kidney stones and everything that comes along with your posh government job. And you'd have the pleasure of occasionally meeting with my silly friends, having crap telly on now and then, sharing a closet with my cheap clothes, and living full time with Toby."
"Wretched beast," he managed to breathe out before finding her mouth.
He slid his hands up the sides of her cherry cardigan, and then down the buttons of the shirt underneath, deftly popping each one. She shrugged them off her arms and onto the floor. He was equally efficient with her bra, and sat back in the chair to admire the patterns of the firelight on her bare skin.
"My god, you're beautiful," he murmured. Her hair shimmered copper and bronze where it fell about her shoulders, her brown eyes all pupil.
"I hope you know, Dr Hooper," he said, letting his fingertips trail gently across her skin, "you are truly magnificent."
Carried away by the furious kiss that followed, he left her gasping, blindly trying to unfasten his tie pin, cufflinks, watch chain before she could even start on his clothes. She unravelled his tie, her focus in and out while he attended to her breasts. He could feel the heat of her through his trousers and hers. Overwhelmed by need, she let out a noise of frustration.
She shimmied out of her trousers and pants, and opened his zipper, easily finding and releasing his erection. Taking full advantage of him, she climbed back into his lap and he let her have her way with him. Her pace as she rode him was relentless, naked and bare but clearly the one in the dominant role. He felt the trembling that meant she was getting close, and pulled her more firmly into him. She took his hands and trapped them over his head.
"You're all mine, Mycroft Holmes," she ground out, eyes closed as she fell over that precipice, her knuckles white as she braced herself on the top of the chair with their joined fingers. Her words filled him with a rush of fire. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the chair. Positioning her over the arm of it, he slid back into her easily from behind.
"And you're all mine, Molly Hooper," he growled. She adjusted herself into a comfortable position, and looked back over her shoulder at him.
"Then fuck me," she challenged, a wicked look in her eyes. He kept the same relentless pace she had set, while massaging her breasts and bringing her tight against him with her hips. She was soaked with her own release, and while he fucked her he watched her drag her fingers through the slickness and play. Every time he slid home he felt the brush of her hand while she circled her clitoris. Feeling his own orgasm crashing down on him, he dove inside her, listening to her cry out in pleasure while she came again.
They collapsed onto the hearth rug. Mycroft remembered that he was fully dressed, and pulled off his jacket, waistcoat and toe. He opened his shirt to cool down, then gathered Molly to him.
"How are you doing, love?" He asked, kissing her gently.
"Sorry about the creepy possession bit," she said with a light laugh.
"It seemed appropriate under the circumstances," Mycroft admitted, "and it was reassuring to know that you weren't picturing Justin Trudeau." He found the paper that had fallen to the ground and held up the page with the offending photo. "You'll have to come to Ottawa when I'm there sometime. Spouses are encouraged to join on some visits abroad."
She made a noise of interest, scraping bits of her tangled hair off of her sweat-sticky neck and face.
"Do you really think I'll get gout?" Mycroft asked, sticking his mousey nose in Molly's ear and snuffling it playfully. She giggled, coming out of her reverie.
"Oh yes," she teased. "It comes with the job, don't you know. Posh position, posh lifestyle, posh diet, too much meat and alcohol. Gout's probably written right into your retirement benefits."
"Well, I look forward to your tender and compassionate care, my dear."
"You'll have to treat me well," she cautioned him, grinning. "Regular oral."
He had a witty retort on the tip of his tongue when his phone buzzed loudly nearby. They both searched his discarded pockets, and finding it first, Molly handed him his mobile. Glancing at the screen for only a moment, she noticed that the caller's name was a series of letters and numbers.
Mycroft recognized the particular agent's code and answered immediately. He listened carefully a moment, face set and eyes focused.
"You are cleared, code Romeo-Quebec-Zulu-794. Do it," he said firmly. "Then initiate Operation Koschei." He listened another few seconds, and then hung up.
"I assume I'll see the result of that phone call on news at six tomorrow?" Molly asked softly, analyzing his cool expression. She didn't wait for an answer, for which he was grateful. "Come on, how about we go wash up and tuck in?"
She stood up, still distractingly and gloriously naked, and bundled up their discarded clothes. He noticed that she was more careful with his suit pieces than any of her own garments.
"Molly," he began seriously, "are you sure that you're going to be alright with... my work?"
"You duly warned me on our first, well I guess date, so I've had a great deal of time to get used to the idea of you finishing up a great shag with a tidy little assassination or something. You be what you need to be, Mycroft, I'm not going to love you any less for it."
He raised his eyebrows, doubting slightly.
"I'm grateful that I don't have to make the decisions that you do, and I'm grateful for my safety. I realize it's comes with a price that most of us don't want to know about. I just wish you had more than a couple of days back before something so serious came up."
She waited for him to peel his creaking body off the hearth rug, and they shambled up the stairs together.
"I'm going to marry you," she said out loud for the sake of saying it. "I'm going to marry Mycroft Holmes."
"It's funny how if someone had told us even a few months that those words would utterly thrill me, I would think they're absolutely mad."