Paris, when one thinks about it, is not known for any particular restorative properties. It has no innate opiate for melancholy, no tonic for soul-soothing, no panacea for a downtrodden frame.

Yet Mycroft, upon his return to London, was decidedly more upbeat. No, he wasn't a different person altogether, no…he hadn't altered his makeup such that he was unrecognizable, but he was refreshed, and it revealed itself in his step and the tenor of his voice.

He had texted, not called, his brother when he arrived back at his flat (much to Sherlock's surprise and Mycroft's delight that he had caught his brother unawares with his text as opposed to an actual call), and sat on his posh sofa in his posh flat and downed a posh libation.

How delightful Paris was! It almost made up for the hateful French inhabitants, who were, Mycroft noted, most pleasant and accommodating during his stay. Yes, he might alter his opinion somewhat of the French. And their pastries were delightful. That in and of itself deserved a reconsideration.

That night, he dreamed…and Mycroft Holmes never recalled his dreams…but there it was, a dream of his childhood home, of his office at work, and of him drinking a latte, which he never had tried.

"Are quite certain that this is a proper latte?" Mycroft asked the barista with a hint of doubt.

"Yes sir. I make about 75 of them daily," was his cheeky retort.

Mycroft raised his chin and looked down his nose at the boy. Boy, yes. No more than 24. "One never knows, young man. I have it on good authority that the baristas in this establishment muck up coffee drinks with startling regularity."

The man rolled his eyes and smiled. "That, I assure you sir, is a latte."

Mycroft nodded and turned away, and with a look of doubt painted on his countenance, he held up the drink and looked at it with a discerning and mistrustful eye.

"It won't bite you, Mycroft, even if it isn't a proper drink," said Molly, watching him from the line with a positively amused look.

His face softened a touch, and he smiled, going over to her. "Have you had success with these since that unfortunate one made its way into your hands last week?"

Molly looked at him crookedly as the line moved forward. "Yeah…but it's just coffee, you know. Maybe, if you're not used to them, you should try just a regular coffee with milk and sugar."

"No, it must be a latte."

"Why?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. Such silly business, following some silly suggestion in a dream, and he wouldn't suffer the ridicule from the admission. "No reason in particular, merely following the advice of an acquaintance."

"You're doing that a lot lately," and Molly reached the counter, placing her order.

"Indeed, I suppose that I am."

"Well, are you in an awful rush? I'd love to hear about your holiday."

He indicated that he wasn't, and sending a text to Anthea, sat at their (as he now thought of it) table.

Molly came over and sat down. "So…how was it, then?"

"It was…lovely," he began. "I have never, in my life Molly, been more at ease than I was there. The air, so succulent. The food, sweet and fresh. There were blooms to be found everywhere…and the rain is so fleeting, that the place is almost constantly wet from it."

"Wow."

"Indeed. But the rain is nearly always light, and offers merely a fresh cleanse, a quick baptism. The museums, so extensive…" and he continued thus for a full 20 minutes.

And Molly was held rapt. "And you'd never been to Paris before?"

"Only on business."

"So, I suppose that didn't afford much time for recreation," she observed.

"No…hardly. I had never been to the Louvre in the countless times I visited."

Molly nodded and smiled. "That's really great, Mycroft. I'm so happy for you."

He looked at her steadily. "Tell me, has Sherlock been around? How has he been?"

Molly played a bit with her cup. "He has…he's been fine," and Molly couldn't ascertain whether he was asking because he had some unnamed concern, or something else.

He nodded. "And has he a case on?"

"No, oddly enough, he had popped by twice during your trip, and he brought me coffee one of those times."

"Indeed? That was uncharacteristically generous of him."

"He can be generous, when he thinks of it," Molly said softly.

"Can he?" he looked at her with doubt.

"I suppose that you know him better, Mycroft, but yes. I have known some kindness from him, and it felt genuine enough," she was slightly curt in her reply.

"Apologies, Molly. I meant no offense."

"No need to apologize. I understand that the two of you have a…difficult…? Is that fair? …relationship."

Mycroft sniggered. "Yes, that's fair. More than fair, actually. We have always been at one another. But I do love him, and I know that he reciprocates, despite his protests."

"He does. He has an odd way about him."

"That, Miss Hooper, is an understatement in the extreme," and he smiled widely.

Molly laughed. "You aren't what I'd call normal, either, you know…not that that's bad, mind you," she added, in fear of offense.

"You are very kind," but his reply was warm. "Well, I should be off. It was, as always, a pleasure, Molly," and he stood, taking his leave.

Molly nodded, said goodbye, and looked at her mobile. She had a few more minutes before she needed to leave.

She sighed. She should go away, too. Mycroft seemed so refreshed and relaxed and just lovely. She could do with a bit of loveliness in her life.

She thought about where she would go off to. Where would be a lovely retreat?

Cornwall?

Bath?

Edinburgh?

She couldn't afford someplace as nice as Paris…but then, she didn't need to go to that extreme to obtain refreshment. She had simple taste.

Yes, Molly thought. She would research those places and come up with a plan for a long weekend.

Molly was in the canteen scrolling through her mobile.

Bath seemed kind of boring.

Edinburgh was far…but appeared to be lovely. Bit expensive.

Cornwall was by the coast…she had been there before. She had enjoyed it.

Maybe someplace new. Edinburgh had much to recommend it.

"Molly…I need you to see to that ear. Recall? I asked you last week about it…?"

"Hi Sherlock," Molly said, without looking up. "I'm on break right now. If you like, you can get it out of storage yourself, or you'll need to wait until I'm finished."

"Wait?" he sounded dumbfounded.

"Yes," and Molly looked up and smiled. "I'm on break."

Sherlock sat opposite her. "But…this is important, Molly."

"So is my break."

He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. "Honestly, what is so important that you can't take five…"

"My break, Sherlock, is very important, especially to me. And since I am the one doing you a favor, I rather think that you can wait the 15 minutes for my break to be over, and then I'll get you your bloody ear," she finished heatedly.

His lips pursed in frustration. "Very well, Molly."

She smiled and nodded. "Ever been to Edinburgh, Sherlock?" and she went back to her phone.

"Why?"

"I'm thinking of going."

"Pardon?"

"Edinburgh."

He sighed. "I heard you…but you mean to relocate, or merely take a trip?"

"I'm not looking to move. Just a short holiday."

"Why is everyone so eager to take holidays all of a sudden? Is there something in London's water that all of its inhabitants are making an exodus for long weekends? What has happened to our work ethic?"

Molly looked up at him during his diatribe. When he was through, she laughed. "Oh, Sherlock. Come on. Everyone needs a break."

"What for? Besides, you are on a break currently. Why do you require more?"

Molly's mouth hung agape. "Are you serious."

"I'm always serious, Molly."

She shook her head. "I dunno, Sherlock. Because I'm human. Because my work is sad. Because I'd like to see more than the basement of a hospital for a bit. Because…because there is more to see and do than what I see and do day in and day out."

He shrugged. "Maybe it's your job, then. Perhaps it isn't as rewarding as it once was."

"I love my job! But it, just like everything, gets monotonous. I know that you understand boredom, Sherlock Holmes."

He looked at her. Yes, if there was one human emotion, or state, or whatever, that he understood, it was boredom. Yes…he could ignore hunger, thirst, fatigue, even nicotine fits, but boredom, no. No he couldn't. "Ah, yes. That I can, Molly."

"Yes."

He considered her. "Run into Mycroft today?"

"I did," and her eyes fell. "Though I don't see what that has to do with…"

"The two of you are working in tandem to assure the other obtain rest and recreation."

"You're a strange person," and Molly got up. Her break was over.

"I am. But not because of that observation," and he followed her.

"Why does it concern you, Sherlock?"

"Because he is my brother, and you are my pathologist."

Molly shook her head and left the canteen for the lab.

"What's more, Mycroft doesn't take holidays, nor does he frequent cafes, nor does he speak with pathologists," he was saying, keeping up with her quick pace.

"But he speaks with scientists of other sorts, pathologists are somehow exempt from his company?"

Sherlock laughed, but resumed his manner quickly, and they entered the lab. "He dosen't engage in friendly conversation with anyone, Molly. He isn't friendly."

"Family trait?" and she opened the drawer containing his ear.

"I am offended. Did I or did I not bring you coffee just the other day?"

Molly stood erect and handed him the bag. "You did. Bravo, Sherlock. How long have we known one another? Seven years? Six? And you brought me coffee one time. That is quite an accomplishment."

"Your sarcasm isn't lost on me, Molly Hooper," and he smirked at her.

"I should hope not. Was that all?"

"I think so," and he turned and left with his usual pomp.

What an asshole.

Mycroft was able to concentrate that day at work with relative ease.

He felt as though he was seeing his work with new vision and purpose.

But there was a tug at him that he couldn't account for.

Perhaps it was that dream…he never recalled his dreams, and it was irksome that he happened to remember this one, especially since it seemed wildly insignificant.

Wildly insignificant.

He laughed.

He thought of the latte.

It wasn't half bad.

And he felt as though he just betrayed his entire country with that admission.