Ever wonder why Mycroft is never seen outside his office without his brolly? Molly has and she's determined to get to the bottom of that mystery. In honour of International Umbrella Day, I give you more conversations with Mycroft Holmes. This time with presents! Cameo appearance by Molly Hooper's dimples.
This is complete crack and not meant to be taken the least bit seriously. Oh and, IT REALLY IS UMBRELLA DAY! Take your brolly to supper and show your appreciation.
Last note: written partially on my phone, not beta'd as I wanted to post while it was still actually Umbrella Day and before I get caught writing a fic at work, so expect mistakes. I may re-edit later so it will read better.
"Sir, Molly Hooper called to request a meeting," Mycroft's personal assistant informed him over his mobile.
"Is it urgent?" Mycroft asked, checking his watch. "I have a little time right now if it's something pressing."
"No, sir. Miss Hooper was adamant that she didn't want to be a bother. She wishes to give you something and wanted to know a convenient time."
"Well, if it's not urgent, I hesitate to have her come to the Diogenes Club again. Old Sir Harold is beginning to make a fuss. I'd rather avoid his huffing and puffing at the moment." Mycroft looked up, checking the sky to find it clear and bright. "I'm not far away and I have my umbrella. I'll just pop over on my way back to the office."
"Very good sir."
Within ten minutes, Mycroft Holmes was striding purposefully through the doors of St. Bart's primary laboratory. The woman he had come there to meet was currently hunched over a large computer keyboard, typing swiftly. He waited politely for a pause (unlike his brother, Mycroft had patience to spare), before making his presence know with a discreet cough.
Molly looked up from her work and a smile spread over her face, "Oh, hello! I just called to talk to you."
"Yes, so I was informed. As I was in the neighborhood, I thought I might pop in for a visit."
"Lovely! I've been looking forward to this all week. Well, you may think it's silly, but," Molly reached under the counter, producing a small flat box which she held out to the older man, "here! I hope you like it."
Mycroft tilted his head and slowly took the box. His sharp gaze took in the distinctive green ribbon, the pristine box... ah, handkerchiefs. But...why?
"I thank you, Miss Hooper, but must admit you have me at an advantage. Is there some special occasion I've overlooked? Oh Lord, don't tell me it's Christmas again already?" Mycroft checked the date on his phone to be sure even as Molly answered.
"No, of course not. It's not really a special occasion at all," Molly said, still smiling so widely that her dimples were threatening to take over her entire fact, "Like I said, it's silly, but when I found out what today was, I couldn't resist doing something."
He regarded the young woman as she practically vibrated with suppressed excitement. Clearly she was having a tremendous amount of fun, not something he gathered she had had much of in the last 10 months. Whatever it she was doing, Mycroft had not doubt it was, in fact, silly, but he felt obligated towards Molly Hooper. If he were to be completely honest, which he tried not to be very often, Mycroft would admit to having developed a small fondness for her. Well, he had some time and indulging a whim here and there would make it much easier to ask Miss Hooper's cooperation in other matters.
"Why don't we have a cup of tea while I open my gift?"
"Sounds lovely! Canteen?" Molly asked, slipping out of her lab coat and going to wash her hands. He did so appreciate her meticulous lab habits.
"Ah, not the canteen," Mycroft responded, horror struck at the thought of sitting among the masses to have a dubiously produced cup of tea, "You brew a surprisingly fine cup of tea in your common room."
Mycroft held the door for Molly to exit the lab ahead of him and followed her to the small area set aside for use by senior staff. Molly walked across and plucked a tin marked "coffee ante 20p" off a high shelf.
"That's because I know how to hide the good stuff," Molly said, opening the tin to reveal, not spare change contributed to the purchase of tea things, but actual tea. Mycroft couldn't help the small smile at her cleverness.
It didn't take long to brew their tea and for Molly to pull out a plate of delectable little pastries which Mycroft didn't even try to refuse. There was apparently an occasion to celebrate, after all.
"All right. I suppose you want to know what the occasion is and why I got you a present?"
"If you'd be so kind," Mycroft agreed wryly.
"Well, I have a desk diary with all sorts of obscure holidays listed and today is Umbrella Day!"
Mycroft promptly choked on his tea. After a glass of water and few back slaps from Molly, he was fine and gestured for her to go on.
Molly shrugged, but her face was still wreathed in smiles as she said, "I have yet to see you without your brolly, even that time we had tea at the Diogenes Club, so when I saw the date, I just had to do something." She gestured to the gift, "open it."
Mycroft eyed her suspiciously. In his line of work, anyone that pleased with themselves could be classified as being either off their trolley or a dangerous threat. He was learning, though, that Molly Hooper was her own class of person. After a moment, he smiled (and if it was with some fondness, well, there was no one to see but Miss Hooper) and opened the package.
It was, as he suspected, a set of delicately hemstitched linen handkerchiefs. Quite nice in and of themselves, but Molly had gone to the trouble of having them monogrammed as well. He picked one up out of the box. Upon closer inspection, he saw the finely wrought snow white monogram was enclosed inside an open umbrella. Mycroft heard a giggle and looked up in time to see Molly hide a grin behind her teacup.
"Very charming, Miss Hooper."
"I told you it was silly," Molly laughed, a completely charming sound to Mycroft's ears. He spent so much of his time among serious people like himself, and he preferred it that way, but if he must interact with the public, he much preferred Molly's company to anyone else's.
"Where ever did you find a shop that carries such high-quality linen who would be willing to embroider an umbrella in the corner?"
"My dad carried handkerchiefs, so I went to the shop he always used. I just made a special request. They were quite nice about it." Molly smiled and Mycroft knew exactly what made the shopkeep acquiesce to her demand. It was just a good thing for the free world that Molly Hooper used her dimples for good instead of evil.
"Now, it's your turn," Molly insisted, setting aside her teacup.
"What could I possibly give you that competes with this?"
"Tell me about your umbrella."
"My umbrella?"
"Yep. The brolly. Talk."
"My 'brolly' doesn't have a 'story,' I assure you."
"Oh, don't give me that! It's a perfectly lovely day outside and you come in her with it hanging off your elbow like you're off to the Ministry of Silly Walks." Molly leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, "you can tell me."
Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her, trying to make out what, if anything, she knew. Sherlock had warned him before leaving that Molly Hooper was much more perceptive than was quite safe. He was beginning to see what his brother meant.
"I'm a creature of habits, Miss Hooper, I'm sure my brother has even intimated to you that I'm obsessive compulsive -which, truthfully, I can't rule out."
"Nonsense. Straightening my name badge every time you say good bye to me is obsessive. Carrying an umbrella when it's not needed is something else," Molly leaned over the table and whispered, "does it have a poison dart gun in it? Like that assassin back in the seventies?"
Mycroft relaxed a little. If she thought the umbrella was a weapon, that was a relief. It led her away from the true nature of his trusty umbrella.
"No, Miss Hooper," Mycroft said with an even mixture of exasperation and amusement, "I assure you there is not any sort of projectile weapon taking up the inside of my umbrella-"
"A sword! Those little thin bladed ones that Victorian men used to pull out of their canes!"
"Wrong again, although you've touched on an idea that is much more plausible. Canes are not in fashion these days for those who are not in genuine need of the assistance. If I were to carry a cane around with me, people would notice." Mycroft tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, "But who notices a man with an umbrella in London?"
Molly deflated a bit, but still regarded him suspiciously. It was only his decades of experience in the special services that kept Mycroft from fidgeting nervously. That one had a stare that could make Bambi look like a cynic. Honestly, the longer Mycroft knew Molly Hooper, the more certain he became that he was going to have to recruit her at some point or England would fall.
"Are you sure there's nothing else?" Molly said with a bit of a pout.
"My umbrella is my defense against the elements, Miss Hooper. It gets me safely around London, nothing more," Mycroft said with absolute truthfulness, knowing that what he said would be misinterpreted. "Now," he said, standing up in one graceful motion, "I've enjoyed our tea and I thank you for the truly lovely gift, but I must be off now."
Molly nodded and walked him to the lifts, "Thanks for coming, Mr. Holmes. You're a good sport."
"Good sport, nothing. I got two hand-hemmed linen handkerchiefs and a delicious cream tea out of this little excursion. You spoil me, Miss Hooper."
They bid farewell and Molly turned back towards the labs. Since she was walking away from the lifts, she didn't notice that the lift went up instead of down. A few minutes later, Mycroft Holmes was standing on the roof of Bart's Hospital, not on the exact spot where his brother and Moriarty met their respective ends, but close. If he were a sentimental person, it might have affected him more, but he wasn't (and his brother was only theoretically dead), so he set about making a phone call as he intended.
"Yes. I'm on my way back to the office now. Sky's clear so, oh, about fifteen minutes I expect. Yes. Good." He rang off and carefully placed his phone in the inside pocket of his jacket. He buttoned his overcoat and unfurled his umbrella.
Once open, the umbrella handle revealed a sophisticated computer panel into which Mycroft entered coordinates (careful to account for the strong headwind around the Gherkin) and raised it over his head. He was careful to hold on to the handle with both hands as the umbrella lifted him into the air. Landings were always smooth, but the take offs were generally a bit bumpy.
After slowly rising to cruising height, Mycroft thumbed the navigational controls of his umbrella and headed for home.