I wasn't going to continue this, but the reviews made me so happy, and I love the thought of Molly and Anthea being buddies, gossiping about their men. I hope you enjoy!

Molly Hooper slouched in the corner of the back seat of the car, staring sightlessly out the window, gnawing her bottom lip. The bravado that had sustained her as she did the walk of shame out of 221B before every single one of Sherlock's friends and family left her abruptly when the sleek, black car pulled alongside her, and Mycroft's assistant Anthea smiled at her blandly from the open window, "I believe we are heading in the same direction, Miss Hooper."

"Of course we are," muttered Molly, rolling her eyes skyward before sliding through the open door. Now she sat, watching London slip by outside the window, wondering if she had any spare knickers in her locker at work or whether she should ask to be dropped off at home and just call in late. And if she was going to call in late anyway, why the hell didn't she just hide under Sherlock's duvet until everyone left? She was an idiot.

"How did the intervention go?" Anthea asked mildly, not looking up from her phone, fingers moving rapidly across the keys. Molly glanced over at the woman. Not a hair out of place. Suit crisp and perfect. And here she was, uncombed, smelling like a cross between a locker-room and a chemistry lab (oh, yes, that HAD been fun—if dangerous—though how clever he thought her to know the warming properties of that particular combination of chemicals).

"Fine," she squeaked (ah, yes, all bravado gone, she thought. Here comes the mouse). "Luckily, Sherlock was NOT using cocaine again. We are all quite relieved." Simple, quiet dignity. Yes, she'd managed that. Perhaps.

"But he was on something, yes?" Anthea squinted up at Molly, a mischievous smile beginning to form on her lips. Stunned, Molly opened and closed her mouth for a moment before she remembered she was being quietly dignified.

"I don't quite get your implication," she said airily.

"It would seem that Mr. Holmes the younger has developed quite an addiction to you," Anthea focused her full bright-eyed attention on the pathologist, her fingers still. "Don't be alarmed! I don't mean to pry, but well, I may be able to lend you an ear or offer some advice as a voice of experience as it were."

Molly felt the blood drain from her face, "You and Sherlock? Togeth—"

"Oh, dear God, no." Anthea cut in quickly, "No, Sherlock is not…no."

Molly's wide brown eyes got wider. "Mycroft?" she hissed in a horrified whisper. It made sense when she thought about it, though she quickly realized that she didn't want to think about it. But now she was thinking about it, and she was never going to be able to look Mycroft Holmes in the face again without thinking about it. Not that she would have been able to look him in the face after this morning's events anyway, but this just made it worse.

Anthea smirked, "He's not so bad. Actually, he's rather good…very, very good."

"Oh," gasped Molly, "Please don't…I don't want to know. Really, I don't."

"Well, if Sherlock is anything like his brother, and he is whether he wants to admit it or not, you are a very lucky woman in many respects," smirked Anthea, "but you are also in for a world of hell."

Molly waited for her to finish. Like she didn't know that life could be hellish with Sherlock. She only put up with his crap nearly every day of her life, accidentally dating criminal psychopaths who wanted to be near him, risking her entire career helping him fake his death, watching him destroy her great-grandmother's china platter with a blowtorch when he was using it for…what was he using it for? She couldn't remember. When she'd started in on him, he'd placed a fine fingered hand on either side of her head and kissed her until she was breathless. He'd murmured in her ear, "It's for science, Molly. And now it's time for Biology" and that was the end of the argument and Granny Esther's platter. She rolled her eyes again at falling for that hokey line. But what was Anthea saying?

"The Holmes men are fiercely possessive, arrogant, dismissive and often downright cruel. They will, sometimes unintentionally, crush you mercilessly in pursuit of their own whims and desires. But they are also loyal, protective, and they are hurt far more easily than it would appear." The lovely PA, stared abstracted into nothing for a moment, seeing into her mind's eye. Molly nodded, again, this wasn't particularly new insight on Sherlock. She had him figured out pretty well.

Anthea focused on Molly again, "Yes. I see you do know. Sherlock is very lucky to have you. I'll do my best to make sure he is reminded of that fact." Anthea paused before continuing, reaching out to lay a slim, cool hand on Molly's. "If you ever need a shoulder, someone to commiserate with, someone who understands quite well, feel free to call on me."

Molly grasped the offered hand, and smiled gratefully, "Thank you. I think you may be the only other person who could understand."

Anthea laughed brightly, "Oh, no! There is one other person that might have an idea what it's like, and I expect you'll be meeting her soon enough." Anthea glanced back down at her Blackberry, fingers once again tapping away. "Are you free on Thursday? Mycroft seems to have already set up a lunch date for you and Mummy at 1 p.m."

A ball of ice dropped into the pit of Molly's belly. She looked up at the smooth, unruffled Anthea in a panic. "Wha-, no I don't…" she began to stammer. It was only 7:30 a.m. and she was already so emotionally overwrought, sexually spent, mortified beyond belief that she wasn't sure she could function much longer.

"Oh, don't worry, " Anthea smiled as her eyes dropped back down to her phone. "It can't be any worse than the first time I met her."

Molly stared in fascinated horror as she whispered, "What happened?"

"Well, Mummy dropped by quite unexpectedly one evening while Mycroft was having dessert by the fire, " began Anthea.

"Yes?" Molly pressed, knowing well how Sherlock loved to tease his brother for his love of sweets.

"I was dessert," Anthea twinkled at Molly.

Molly nodded slowly. Sherlock's snide remarks to Mycroft about cake suddenly took on a new dimension. She'd found someone who understood, indeed.