AN: Mycroft finally leverages the asset known as Molly Hooper. Set five months before Mycroft retrieves Sherlock from Serbia. Chapter 4 is being posted in a few minutes.
Molly Hooper was not an action hero by any stretch of the imagination, but she could hold her own in a fight if necessary. Which is a truth just discovered by the burly man currently writing on the pavement at her feet. Molly took a hasty step back and prepared to land another kick to the man's face, when she heard a familiar voice call from the car parked just a few steps away.
"I'll thank you not to permanently damage my agent, Miss Hooper. He may be completely incompetent, but he was just doing his job." Mycroft Holmes glared at the prone agent as he exited the sleek sedan, "Although I will admit, he was doing his job very badly and it's unlikely he will have that job much longer. Duncan, do stop whining and get back in the car."
"Mr. Holmes?" Molly, her fight-or-flight adrenaline rush fading, suddenly felt light headed. She didn't normally walk home after an overnight shift, but it was dawn by the time she was able to leave the hospital and she wanted to enjoy the rising sun. Only three blocks from home, she had the life scared out of her when a car suddenly screeched to a halt by the curb. "Duncan" leapt out and grabbed at her and, well, the rest was not hard to guess given the man's condition.
Mycroft stepped up and smiled a cold, yet oddly charming, little smile. "Would you do me the honour of joining me for tea, Miss Hooper?"
Molly nodded, though she was perfectly aware that the question had been a formality. Mycroft handed her into the luxurious interior of the not-quite-standard-issue government vehicle and slid in beside the young woman. He gave orders for the driver to drop them off at the Diogenes Club before shooting a disgusted glare towards Duncan. He ordered that man to be taken to someplace called "The Creche." For some reason, that made Molly feel very sorry for Duncan.
It wasn't long before Molly found herself seated in the now familiar confines of Mycroft Holme's office, sipping an exotic coffee blend (really, Mycroft had totally ruined her for canteen coffee) and nibbling on delicate little biscuits. The room smelled pleasantly of wood and lavender, two scents that always reminded her of father.
The two chatted pleasantly while they finished the refreshments. Molly of course wanted to get straight to the reason for her visit, but she had learned very quickly that Mycroft Holmes, unlike his brother, had patience in spades. He was quite content to wait for the proper moment; the longer the wait (and the nicer the biscuits) the more serious the issue. By the time she had finished her coffee, Molly was certain this visit was about Sherlock.
After the wait staff cleared their tea things, Mycroft spoke. "You are no doubt wondering why I would pluck you from the streets of London at such an ungodly hour."
"No doubt," Molly agreed with a wry smile.
"You, Miss Hooper, have remained stubbornly single for the past year," Mycroft began. There, Molly thought, was the Holmes bluntness. "Over the past seven weeks, your friends have -at various times- attempted to introduce you to a man named Tom West."
Molly stiffened in anger. She kept her mouth shut with effort and only because she had known for some time that she was under surveillance. Had, in fact, been under surveillance since Sherlock started visiting Bart's on a regular basis. It had creeped her out at first, but she was a fundamentally honest person with nothing to hide, so she had gotten used to the invasion of privacy. Knowing that the great and powerful Mycroft had been keeping up with her love life, however, was a bit much.
"Tom West is a 32 year old banker with great prospects and ownership of both his three bedroom flat and a smallish country home in Devonshire."
Molly rolled her eyes and finally interrupted, "Yes, so everyone has told me. Repeatedly. Working on a side career as a matchmaker, Mr. Holmes? Or maybe you're volunteering as duenna?"
The smile Mycroft bestowed upon the woman could almost, if one tilted one's head just so, be described as affectionate. "Hmm, not precisely, Miss Hooper. Tom West is one of my agents. His current assignment requires an appropriate cover, which, as I'm sure you've surmised by now, was supposed to be you."
"Wha-? I don't...," Molly's cheeks puffed out a little, something that happened when she was completely taken aback.
"Miss Hooper, the next time your friend Ellen wants to introduce you to a Tom West, for pity's sake say yes!"
"Why should I?" Molly demanded, but with more confusion than genuine anger.
"My brother is very close to finishing his work," Mycroft answered immediately, "At the same time, there is a situation developing here in London, one that could potentially become very dangerous. Mr. West's assignment is to be covert protection for Sherlock should the need arise."
"Sherlock is coming home?" Molly's voice was only a touch more breathless than it had been, but the joy was palpable.
"Soon," Mycroft said gently, "but not before I'm prepared to see to his safety. That means having Tom West well established as your paramour long before Sherlock returns."
Molly stared at the man across from her typical shrewdness. "Why me?"
"I need someone who's sole focus is Sherlock's safety."
"John-" Molly started, but Mycroft interjected quickly.
"Doctor Watson will no doubt help my brother, but only after he's gotten over the shock of Sherlock being alive. Then there's the possibility that he will be too angry to forgive him straight way and there simply isn't time for the good doctor to process his emotions. You don't have that liability, Miss Hooper." Mycroft's gaze turned steely as he continued. Molly could clearly see the powerful man behind the charming reserve. "As I've said, we have a situation developing and I can't afford to wait for human nature to play out in this case. You are capable of completely subverting your emotions in order to get something done, given that the task is important enough. It's a natural requirement of your job. It's also a quality I've had the privilege to observe personally on two occasions."
Molly understood the logic of what Mycroft was suggesting, but couldn't get past the fear. Not for her own safety, but the fear that she would somehow fail and Sherlock would end up hurt anyway. "I'm not an agent, Mr. Holmes. I don't know how to... to play this kind of game. The stakes are too high."
"You didn't fail my brother in his death. You won't fail him in his second life," Mycroft insisted, "You underestimate yourself almost as much as everyone else does Miss Hooper. You have both a keen understanding of human emotion and the ability to appear quite harmless. Combined, that makes you a valuable asset."
"You seem sure of that."
"I am. Sherlock would be the first to say, however grudgingly, that I'm never wrong about these things."
"What makes you think Sherlock won't figure out this scheme? I understand that he won't pay much attention to me, he never has, but you said yourself that he spots all of your agents."
"I think you underestimate your importance to my brother, Miss Hooper. He will pay attention to you and that is why this will work."
It took Molly several moments to catch on to Mycroft's implication, "You think he won't try to deduce my supposed boyfriend because he doesn't want to hurt my feelings?" She snorted, "You haven't been paying much attention yourself, have you? Shredding my dates is an old hobby of his."
"Apparently my brother does friends now. He's fond of you, Miss Hooper, and grateful for your assistance. He's perfectly aware that his predilection towards analyzing you has caused pain in the past. He will, by way of repaying your loyalty to him, resist the urge to dissect your fiancé. That is as close to a grand gesture as he's capable, yes, I did say fiancé. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say."
Molly hadn't seen Sherlock in one year, seven months, ten days and some few hours. She hadn't heard his voice in one year and six days. Oh how Molly wanted to believe Sherlock had missed her even a fraction of the amount that she missed him, but in spite of her hopelessly romantic soul, Molly was a realist. She didn't argue with the elder Holmes, but she doubted this plan would work. She may not like what she was going to do over the next few months, but Sherlock was finally coming home and that was all that really mattered.
Molly finally agreed, then asked, "So, what's he like? My future fiancé?"
"Ah, that would be spoiling the surprise, Miss Hooper."
Surprise indeed. When Molly finally met her "intended," Tom West, she felt like ringing up Mycroft Bloody Holmes and... and... something... something really bad. She kept her face as neutral as possible, which wasn't very considering the smirk forming on the young man's face.
"So, didn't tell you then?" said Tom West, flaunting his high cheekbones and curly hair and bespoke suit.
"That obvious, was it?" Molly said through a fake smile and a parody of cheerfulness.
"A bit," he chuckled, which made Molly fume more. "You really are steaming, aren't you?"
"Incandescent," Molly said in a voice so pleasant, even Mycroft Holmes would shudder. It was a testament to the young man's fortitude that he didn't seem the least bit phased.
"Come on," Tom said, leaning closer, "you have to look like you're interested, remember?"
"Oh, I'm interested," Molly said breezily, "in kicking you both in the-"
He suddenly swooped down and kissed her. Molly bit his lip. The rest of the night went about as well.