"Thank you so much for joining me, Miss Hooper. I hope I haven't kept you waiting for long?"

Molly Hooper remained seated in the leather chair as she watched Mycroft Holmes walk around to sit at his desk. The room had darkened as she had waited, the sunset blazing briefly through the room's one window.

"Tea?" he offered.

"No, thank you."

Mycroft smiled thinly and said, "You must be wondering why I've brought you here."

Molly smiled nervously back. "There really aren't many options, are there?"

"Good, good. Then I'll be direct. Have you had many interactions with John Watson recently?"

"No. I see him occasionally at Bart's when one of his patients gets lab tests there. Otherwise, not often."

"But you are checking up on him."

"Of course. I text him every now and then, and I've visited Mrs. Hudson for tea a few times. She seems lonely."

Mycroft agreed. "Yes, she is." His voice was more gentle than Molly had ever heard it.

"Oh, and I see Mike Stamford at work all the time. He and John have been hanging out quite a bit. I think Mike's doing his best to take care of John."

"Why aren't you?"

"Not my place, Mr. Holmes. John and I weren't close before this, and it would be awkward for me to hover around him now."

Mycroft nodded as if he was satisfied with that answer and continued. "I noticed that Detective Inspector Lestrade has been at Bart's several times over the past few weeks. Are you working with him on a case?"

"A few cases, yes. He isn't sure yet, but there might be a new serial killer in London." Molly paused, then added. "He keeps mentioning how much he misses Sherlock at times like this."

"I'm sure he does."

Molly leaned forward. "I won't tell him. Sherlock asked me to keep his secret, and I promised I would."

"Surely it must be difficult to keep this from Lestrade."

"You have no idea." For the first time, a bit of an edge came into her voice.

Mycroft lifted a mocking eyebrow. "I didn't realize that you and the Detective Inspector had become so close."

Angrily, Molly responded, "That isn't what I meant, and if you're so clever, you should already know that."

Leaning back in his chair, the elder Holmes brother said, "Enlighten me." He steepled his hands under his chin, and Molly wondered if both Holmes brothers picked up the gesture from the same person.

"I know people think my job is morbid, being around the dead all day long. But my work is important. I help find out the truth. Why do you think I liked helping your brother so much?"

"Because of an unrequited crush?"

Molly did not flinch at the cruel comment. "Because he helped bring closure to the ones left behind."

"I sincerely doubt that my brother had such noble motivation."

"Well, I do. Whether it be telling them that the cancer was too far advanced or it was murder or suicide, I help people begin the process of healing by giving them the truth of their loved one's death."

Molly paused, looking down at her clasped hands in her lap. She continued softly, "I'm glad that I don't see John very often. Sherlock said that John is the strongest person he's ever known and that he'll be fine. I know it'll be true in the long run, but right now he's so sad. He's mourning, so hurt and alone, even with friends around him. And what he's gone through in the press." Molly hissed through clenched teeth. "They've been relentless. The name-calling, prying questions, following him around… That poor man."

Mycroft said, "I think Doctor Watson has handled himself admirably. Quite the tragic figure."

There was a hint of smugness in Mycroft's tone. Molly's mouth twisted with realization. "Oh, my god. Whose idea was it to use John's grief as a cover story?"

"Now, Miss Hooper…" but Mycroft was cut off.

"You bastards."

Mycroft fixed Molly with a stern look. "Doctor Watson is alive. That is what matters."

She shook her head. "John will never forgive him."

"Of course, he will. Doctor Watson knows that my brother has never had anyone he wanted to protect before."

Molly braced her feet on the front of Mycroft's oversized desk. "It's always been about John, hasn't it? Sherlock could have justified Greg's death as being in the line of duty. He would have been saddened by Mrs. Hudson's death, but could console himself that she'd lived a long, full life. But John…"

"Where others said 'Freak', John said 'Friend'," interrupted Mycroft, his voice soft and sad.

Molly glanced at Mycroft and for the first time saw a brother, not a strategist. "How are you doing?"

Mycroft lost his perfect posture and slumped back in his chair. "My brother has gone out into the world to take down a criminal syndicate that even I do not know the full extent of. Sherlock can solve mysteries, but he can't wage a war on his own." His eyes lost their sharpness. "I wish he had his soldier with him."

Molly never quite saw John as a soldier, with his gentle mannerisms and nurturing instincts. She sat back in her chair and prompted, "I always thought of John as a doctor, more than a soldier."

A twinkle made a brief appearance in Mycroft's eyes. "That's because you haven't seen his military record. They didn't call him "Three Continents Watson" for nothing."

Despite herself, Molly giggled. "I'm pretty sure Sherlock thought there was another reason for that nickname."

"Maybe that's how his old comrades-in-arms use it now, but John earned that nickname for his prowess with weapons, not women."

"I'm surprised Sherlock did not figure that out when he read John's record."

"Would you believe that Sherlock refused to read it?"

Molly was confused. "What?"

Mycroft nodded at her. "Sherlock told me that he would rather hear his new flatmate's secrets straight from him or deduce them for himself."

A wondering look crossed Molly's face. "John was different from the very beginning, made Sherlock different."

Mycroft sighed in agreement. "John Watson, a paradox. A danger hidden in plain sight. Healer and killer. Certainty and chaos. Everything that people think he sought out from Sherlock he returned to my brother in spades."

"If you told John, he'd help…" Molly was cut off.

"If it was my decision, I'd have done it immediately after the fall. Sherlock has expressly forbidden it." He glared at her. "Don't."

Molly refused to be intimidated. She looked Mycroft directly in the eye. "I could tell John the truth. He would choose to help. At the very least, it would give him closure. "

Mycroft looked up at the ceiling. "Miss Hooper, Molly, you can't. You know the reasons why John cannot know that Sherlock is alive. It is to save both of them."

Molly noted that Mycroft did not seem comfortable with the hint of desperation that crept into this voice.

"It's taking longer than Sherlock thought it would, to tie up all the loose ends." It was a statement.

Mycroft threaded his fingers together on the table. "Yes." Mycroft closed his eyes. "I'm scared for my little brother, alone in the world again after having found such a partner."

"I won't tell. I've already given my word. I just don't know how long I can go without slipping up in front of Greg or John."

"If you like, I could arrange a sabbatical for you. Remove you from the temptation."

Molly sighed. "No, thanks. You'll just have to accept the risk of leaving me alive."

This surprised Mycroft, and he looked at Molly curiously. "Did my brother make me out to be that much of a monster?"

"He emphasized how ruthless you could be."

Mycroft smiled. "In that, my dear brother is correct. I am ruthless about protecting him, and I will do what it necessary to ensure his safety. For the moment, however, that just means periodic meetings between you and me."

An unexpected sense of relief flooded through Molly. She had not realized she had been so wary of Mycroft Holmes. "All right, I can do that. Will it always involve being kidnapped by men in expensive suits?"

"Perhaps we can arrange a more pleasant way of meeting."

"What is our cover story?"

"I'm upset with how long it is taking for some of the toxicology reports to be returned."

Molly sniffed. "If that's our story, it's an insult to my professional abilities."

Mycroft hummed his pleasure at Molly's comment, his voice was warm with approval. "We'll keep this story just for a few more weeks, then come up with a new one. That is, if Sherlock hasn't returned by then."

Molly nodded her consent.

Mycroft got up and looked out the window. "Thank you again for coming here tonight, Miss Hooper. The same car that brought you here will take you to whatever destination you choose."

Molly rose from her chair, resisting the urge to stretch the tense muscles of her shoulders. Mycroft's voice stopped her as she turned to leave. "Do you ever hear from him?"

Molly walked to the door, then paused with her hand on the doorknob. Her back was to Mycroft as she softly responded, "A few times, I've received a text. It's always from a different number, but I know it's from him because the message is always the same."

She looked over her shoulder at Mycroft. "Is he alright?"

Mycroft cast his eyes down.

"Then I type the one word that I know he needs to see, and that makes me a liar to them both."