Molly's first boyfriend was Jeremy Fisher, a fifteen year old boy with out of control carrot colored locks and an explosion of freckles across his face. She had been thirteen at the time and had been swept away in the romanticism of it all.

He was that bloke, the one who threw pebbles at a girl's window, and serenaded her with cheesy love songs in the school hallway. And when they had grown apart, Molly had thought she'd never feel something like that again...

And she was right.

Being with (she wasn't fool enough to think they were dating) Sherlock Holmes wasn't anything like being with Jeremy Fisher.

But it might have been a little bit better.

Well, sure they didn't go on dates. Sure they didn't ever do anything but shag. Sure Sherlock never gave any indication of ever caring one iota about her.

None of that mattered, Molly knew (or she thought she knew) that Sherlock cared about her. Because actions spoke louder than words, right? And after the whole Valentine's Day incident, Sherlock had gotten a hell of a lot more attentive. He would look to her needs before his own. There was even this one time, when she was on the night shift working on paperwork. And he had snuck up behind her and whispered filthy suggestions in her ear. His hand had drifted downward...

And, well...

You get the picture.

Sherlock had obviously done some research, because Molly was very surprised (and delighted) by the things he could do with that tongue.

And not just on her, he had taken up the habit of, right as she was orgasming, telling her that she was beautiful. That her eyes shone and her skin glowed.

It was really rather sweet now that she thought about it. Molly had stopped wearing her "confident" clothes, because she really didn't need them to be confident anymore.

So yes, Molly believed that Sherlock cared for her, even if he wasn't ready to admit it yet. That is, until she met his brother.

She had just gotten out of the hospital, and was making her way to the local chip shop, as a sleek black car pulled up right in front of her. A beautiful woman in a pant suit, eyes glued to her mobile stepped out.

"Please step inside Miss Hooper." She said, almost bored.

Molly automatically stepped back in caution.

"H-how do you know m-m-my name?" She stuttered out.

The glamorous woman let out a gusty sigh and rolled her pretty eyes, glancing up from her texting. "Does it really matter?" She gave a small smile that was in no way reassuring.

"Yes, and unless you tell me I'm not getting in." Molly said in a momentary burst of courage. Then she added, "Also, its Dr. Hooper to you."

The woman smiled a little wider at that. "Really, its in your best interest to get in the car."

Molly visibly gulped and considered her options. It wasn't like she could outrun a car, and she felt like the woman (however pretty) could overpower the pathologist in a second if it came to a fight.

So Molly smoothed down her jumper (wrinkled, but her favorite one with the cherries) and stepped into the car.

It was a bit larger that she had imagined and there were sets of seats: the one she was sitting on, and the one facing her. And sitting on the seat directly opposite of her was a starched man that looked to be in his mid forties, sitting in a suit with an umbrella next to him.

"Good afternoon Miss Hooper." He said, and his voice reminded her a little bit of something, but she couldn't figure out what.

"What do you want with me?" Molly demanded, surprising herself with her boldness.

The man across from her raised an eyebrow as the car began to move, but he ignored her question. "That was quite a show out there Miss Hooper-"

"Doctor." She corrected. "Dr. Hooper."

One side of the man's mouth lifted up a fraction. "As you wish. And I suppose I should introduce myself as well. I am Mycroft Holmes."

Recognition dawned in Molly's eyes. "Sherlock's brother."

"You've heard about me." It wasn't a question.

"In passing."

He smoothed down the lapels of his suit jacket and smirked. "That's actually what I brought you here to talk about Miss... Sorry, Dr. Hooper." His eyes twinkled as Molly's narrowed. "My baby brother, he's been spending quite a lot of time with you lately, hasn't he."

Molly shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I suppose."

"Don't play dumb Dr. Hooper. I see all."

Without meaning too, Molly snorted. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Sorry." She said, biting her lip to keep from smiling. "But that was a bit melodramatic don't you think?" She twirled the end of her ponytail. "I mean, all you need is a fluffy white cat and a mustache to twirl and you've got the stereotypical movie villain thing down pat."

Mycroft's lips twitched in what seemed like genuine amusement this time. "It seems us Holmes' have a propensity to do that."

"You're telling me!" Molly grinned.

Mycroft smiled softly then sobered. "Yes, indeed, but I wanted to discuss a very serious matter with you."

"What?" She asked suspiciously.

"I need you to stop seeing my brother." Mycroft said calmly, and Molly's small mouth dropped open rather inelegantly. "Now, I've taken the liberty of securing a higher paying job for you in Scotland. Now, there's a few details that I'd like to-"

"What do you mean move to Scotland?!" Molly exclaimed. "I'm not going bloody anywhere! Take me home." She demanded. "Now."

"Calm down Dr. Hooper." Mycroft said, bringing his hands up to shoulder level with sympathy in his eyes. "Its best for everyone involved if you leave town. Its my duty as the eldest sibling to clean up my brothers messes." And this one had gotten rather messy, he thought with a sigh. "Dr. Hooper, my brother doesn't feel emotions like normal people. And he will never love you as you wish him too, it best if you get yourself out of this situation in the quickest and cleanest way possible."

Molly's lips formed a thin line and tears glistened in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Her hands clenched with the effort, but she spoke. "I think you're wrong." She whispered, then wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat. "But it doesn't matter, I'm staying where I am." She said firmly.

Mycroft sighed and looked at her with pity. "As you wish."

The car came to a smooth stop in front of the chip shop Molly had been about to eat at. She stepped out and walked quickly back to the hospital forgetting about food as the tears started to fall.

Mycroft looked at the young pathologists departing form sadly as Anthea slipped into the seat next to him.

"How did it go sir?" She asked.

"Not very well Anthea, not very well at all."

Molly brushed past her coworkers as she swiftly made her way to her office.

Mycroft had been right, she had been a fool to believe that Sherlock cared for he in any way. If he cared for her, he would have made his intentions clear. If he cared for her, he would talk to her. If he cared for her, he would have told her.

The fact that Molly couldn't imagine Sherlock Holmes doing any of those things, least of all to her, didn't make her feel any better.

She wiped her tears away brusquely. She needed something to occupy her time, and it was just then that she noticed someone had posted a new comment on her blog.

I'm sorry.

There we go, out of the way. I would give you a bunch of excuses for the fact that I've been gone for so long, but honestly, there really not all that great. I lost my muse, my fictennis buddy did too, I was working on my original works, I was too busy reading other people's fanfiction, school sucks.

Hmmm. Yup, that's about it.

Anyway, another thanks to my partner binaryshenanigans, even though she didn't write any of this chapter. I still love her.

...

I'm sorry, I don't have anything interesting to say here.

Rori :D