Notes: Thank you, thank you, thank you for your support guys! School's been hectic these days (ugh, exams are coming up), so unfortunately slow updates. But I really appreciate it all your love. :)

Remember: Present day is 2015. Molly began working for Sherlock in 2011.

September 2015

Sherlock, while tolerating of Toby's presence along his work floor, had never quite gotten along with his secretary's cat. At least, not initially. If Sherlock had to choose, though would never act upon to avoid Molly's vehement lectures, he would rather have a guard dog stationed on his floor. But as it turned out, Toby wasn't a fan of Mycroft either, which resultantly won him points for displays of intelligence.

Needless to say, a hiss coming from the grey feline was more than enough to warn him of Mycroft's presence, arriving just before Molly said, "Mr. Holmes, your brother is here" through her intercom.

"Tell him to go away," Sherlock responded. He hadn't bothered to look up.

Her lack of response accumulated the bile crawling up his throat, and he reluctantly glanced up from his work. There, on the other side of the floor, stood Mycroft Holmes, chatting amicably with his assistant. Without a second thought, he pulled himself from his chair, long strides taking him to Molly's desk within a few seconds.

"—oh I wouldn't lie to you, Ms. Hooper. She quite enjoyed your company."

"Who did?" Sherlock interrupted; neither Molly nor Mycroft seemed surprised by his presence quickly interfering with their small bubble of space.

"Why the Countess of Wessex, of course. She had taken quite a liking to dear Ms. Hooper during our visit in Shanghai some months ago," Mycroft said. "And of course, Molly enjoyed herself just as much, didn't you?"

"You mean Ms. Hooper." No one called her Molly aside from Sherlock.

"Slip of the tongue," Mycroft retorted, a slight sneer to his voice directed only towards the younger sibling. "I do apologize, Ms. Hooper, it seems our previous trip has me forgetting our proper cues."

"I-It's alright, Mr. Holmes. I don't mind," Molly insisted though ducked her head before she could receive the backlash of Sherlock onto her.

"Why are you here, Mycroft? Surely you're not here to gloat the five pounds you've gained since vacationing on the other side of the world while others did your dirty work for you. We're not scheduled to meet on any business related terms else I would have had Ms. Hooper take you out of my schedule. Why are you in my space?"

Mycroft clicked his tongue in response. "I sometimes forget you're the slow one, dear brother."

"Hm, worked on me when I was four. Thirty years and not a single new joke? You must be getting dull in your old age."

The older man refrained from rolling his eyes. Rather, he once again focused his attention towards the secretary. Molly had remained seated behind the desk that shielded her from the Holmes brothers. All too aware of offending Sherlock by this move, Mycroft spoke, "As I had been explaining to Ms. Hooper before you ceremoniously disturbed us, many officials were rightfully charmed by her during our previous meeting with the Duke of Somerset, especially one Countess of Wessex, who requested Ms. Hooper's presence at her up and coming birthday party."

"No," came from Sherlock's mouth, despite Molly opening her own.

"Now Sherly, Ms. Hooper is a grown woman. She's fit to decide for herself, don't you think?"

"I said no."

Mycroft sighed, though not in defeat, much to Sherlock's dismay. "You really do need to stop hogging all your toys. It will only be for twelve days—no more. In the time being, Anthea will be assisting you."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Anthea? Why would I want Anthea?"

Said woman looked up from her phone with a subtle but menacing glare; no doubt Sherlock would have to pay for that one way or another—she and Molly had ways of torture that neither he nor Mycroft could explain.

Both Mycroft and Sherlock felt weary of her expression, and with a clear of his throat, Sherlock mumbled, "Apologies, Anthea."

The woman behind Mycroft barely batted an eyelash before diverting her attention back to her phone.

"Clever," Mycroft chided with pursed lips. No doubt he would hear from Anthea later. "The countess does insist, Sherlock, and you don't want to upset her yet again."

"I said—"

"I-I'm sure if it's only for twelve days…" Molly squeaked, interrupting the Holmes men.

Sherlock's brows automatically pinched together as he looked at her in disbelief. Mycroft seemed absolutely gleeful.

"It's settled then."

September 2015

Sherlock, stop it. It's only been four days. This is not a three patch situation. –MH

How do you know? –SH

Never mind. Stop using Anthea to spy on me. –SH

Why else would she be there for? –MH

Have you eaten breakfast yet, Sherlock? You know how nicotine affects you on an empty stomach. –MH

You're not my mother. –SH

Of course not. Your mother is on her way up the elevator right now. –MH

What? –SH

I had repeated your schedule to you three times before I left, at least. No doubt Anthea has mentioned it last night when you left your office, and this morning when you entered it as well. Mrs. Holmes is your 9 o'clock. –MH

Send her my regards. –MH

You're fired. –SH

Don't come back. –SH

Anthea is dull. Come back. –SH

Don't tell her I said that. –SH

Goddammit, woman. –SH

Swear jar. –MH

Done. –SH

My mother says hello. –SH

September 2015

"I can't keep coming here, you know. I have a hospital to run."

"They can run it themselves."

"Sherlock, you told me it was a medical emergency!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's statement. Whether it be his graduation, wedding, or something as 'daft' as the grand opening to a hospital, John always came when Sherlock called for him. Their friendship was a thing of beauty, according to Mary.

"My brain is lacking sufficient levels of dopamine," Sherlock stated, earning a dramatic exhale from the poorly dressed doctor, sitting across from Sherlock's desk with his hands folded on his lab.

"Smoking again, are we?" John, obviously picking up this posture from his old therapist, waited for the CEO to continue as if he was a patient in one of his clinics.

Sherlock gave a pout."Molly blackmailed every corner store within a two kilometer radius not to sell me any nicotine even if I throw buckets of pounds in their faces! Hiring that woman was a big mistake—she knows far too much and is resorting to the same methods as Anthea and all of Mycroft's favourite bakeries."

John cleared his throat, straightening himself up from his seat. "Right, then. Sherlock, I'm not encouraging you to smoke—as your doctor and your friend, I'm forbidding you actually, but when have you ever listened to my advice, hm?" He grinned at the nostalgia, earning an inkling of a smirk from Sherlock. "But if Molly's only blocked all store owners within a two kilometer radius, you could, quite easily, go beyond that. You are capable of walking, last I checked."

Sherlock let out a breathy, short laugh at John's suggestion. He earned a raised brow in question. "You have no idea what that woman is capable of if she hears that I've attempted beyond two kilometers."

Along with Sherlock, John laughed. "Dear God, you're not even married and you're whipped. You Holmes's have a knack for choosing your assistants."

Both Sherlock and John glanced up to stare at Anthea who, at Molly's desk, remained tight lip, though exuded a triumphant presence.

John turned back on his chair, a little head shake following him. Laughter quickly dying, he looked back at his friend who clearly had a lot of work ahead of him though refused to do any of it. His smile fell.

"You miss her."

Sherlock sighed. "Of course I miss her. I even miss the damn cat!"

John nodded along to the jar, to which Sherlock added his bills.

"Even if it got hairs all over my office," he added as an afterthought.

Eyes wide, John's mouth fell open easily. What comes out was a simple: "Wow."

Sherlock looked at him with a quizzical expression.

"Just thought I'd have to work a little harder to get that admission from you," John responded, his face smug.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Molly's extended her trip with Mycroft." Then dropped more bills into the jar while muttering, "Twelve days my arse."

"For how much longer?"

"Two more weeks. Apparently Princess Anne was present at the Countess of Wessex's birthday party and insisted my brother, and in extension, Molly, stay and confirm further business affairs."

John let out an exhale. "You're never going to tell me the extent to which your company rules the country, will you?"

Sherlock groaned, completely ignoring John. He leaned back on his chair and tossed his legs up onto his desk with ease, foregoing the look of disdain coming from Anthea through glass dividers. "Bored!" He called. "Molly's off frolicking across Great Britain, you've got your hospital—"

John shook his head, about to partially drone out Sherlock's up and coming rant.

"Mary's got her portion of the pharmaceutical company and the baby—"

The doctor did a double take. "Wait, what's that now?"

"—Mycroft's…ugh."

"Did you just say baby?"

"—and Scotland Yard's getting duller by the day. They rehired Philip. Anderson. Idiots."

"Sherlock! I'm having a baby?!"

"You are a doctor, aren't you?" Sherlock sneered. "Anyone with half a brain could tell. Oh, I believe it's common protocol to offer one congratulations, so congratulations—though I don't see why the impending arrival of a non-stop, volatile screaming infant prone to projectile vomiting is anything to be commended on…"

"Thanks, mate," inputted John sarcastically. He could almost see the flames rushing vehemently from his friend's nostrils, though it seemed the rush of distress had dissipated long enough for John to continue speaking. "Anyway, do you only miss Molly because she brought entertainment to your otherwise dull life? Isn't there…I dunno, anything else?" If it were anyone else in that room with him, John would be crossing his fingers.

Sherlock squinted at John in confusion. "Why else would I miss her? She's my secretary—it's her job. What point was it to go through that extensive hiring process if I don't get what I want?"

"Right. Well. I'm going to go have a chat with Mar', and you….try not to shoot anything this time, hmm? Unlike your old one, this office is made of glass."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the comment; nostalgia must be hitting him the way those patches stuck along his forearm weren't. "Design flaw—knew I shouldn't have let Mycroft be in charge of the reconstruction…"

John smiled, but knew it was time for their daily conversations to end. Without invitation, he pulled himself from his seat, grabbing his coat hung on the back of the chair in the process. He flipped it over himself and stuck his arms in, circling his body to head towards the doors.

"Talk to you later, Sherlock," John said.

"John, wait."

"Yes?" John looked over his shoulder, where Sherlock's legs have finally found themselves flat on the floor and his friend was looking a little too unsure—too concerning if John had anything to say about it.

"I really do mean it," Sherlock said slowly and carefully. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down before he managed his next train of thought. "Congratulations."

The word alone brought a contagious grin on John's face, even if Sherlock was doing everything in his power not to do the same. Of course, the prat wouldn't succumb to such expressions, but the heavy stare Sherlock had set onto John accompanied by pursed lips had been enough.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John said for the second time that meeting, though without the sarcasm hinted earlier.

And with that, he left the room, leaving Sherlock in his office, alone.

October 2015

Sherlock had to get a new Swear Jar.

He placed the old (full) one on the shelf in his office, along with Molly's other forgotten belongings, like the comb she left on top of her desk the morning Anthea came in instead of her, and her emergency trainers, which she left by the elevator doors, for when heels couldn't take her to where she needed to be.

He remembered the first day Molly had taken a vacation from work, some years ago, how when she came back to see that the jar had been a little fuller. A slight twist at the end of her lips had formed.

"You added money to the jar," she had said.

"I did promise you I would when my language did not seem appropriate to others," he had replied, and looked up momentarily from his work to her face. A year into work, and yet she had been still slightly doubtful of him. But it had changed then; her perception of him had changed at that moment on where she knew how honest the man could be.

It wasn't the same compared to now when Anthea graced him with her hidden smirks, so similar to Mycroft's whenever the older sibling had something disastrously distasteful planned. Sherlock could see her being entertained by his torture whenever he groaned at the world's stupidity.

Molly would have chastised him for not working through her intercom that was always on, even during client meetings, and would after make a failed attempt at a joke in order to cheer him up. Now gone with Mycroft, she had texted him scoldings instead, twice now actually, followed by a series of reminders to eat and or actually go to work.

She sent him meaningless photos too, of tourist attractions, funny hats on top of passing strangers. Once, she sent him a photo of a duckling and he threatened not to check his messages again if she continued to send him meaningless photos.

"Mr. Holmes." Anthea's voice snapped him out of his pondering.

With a depreciative look he always sent to Anthea whether she deserved it or not whenever she stood at the front of his office, he snapped at her. "What is it?"

"Your brother would like to inform you that my duties here end this Sunday," Anthea said monotonously, another feature he never quite adapted to as it was far from the emotions that stitched to everyone of Molly's words. At the thought, he heard his phone vibrate on the edge of his desk, but refrained from reaching it when his substitute assistant was still in the room.

"I'm aware," replied Sherlock.

"He would also like to inform you that he and Ms. Hooper are to extend their stay—"

"What?"

"—for an additional eight days and will not be arriving until the sixteenth." As if calculating her thoughts, Anthea added, "That is in fourteen days, Mr. Holmes."

And then she left with just as much grace that brought her into his office, leaving Sherlock to seethe at the thought of his brother ruining his life.

With an impending headache, his fingers left the spot on his temple in favour of his phone and checked his recent message. Molly had sent him a photo of two sparrows perched on her hotel balcony railing. He messaged her back.

October 2015

Eight days later, Sherlock's stomach growled at one in the evening.

Leaning back on his office chair, he realized Molly never reminded him to eat his dinner.