"Look up the definition of a fool and you'll see me," Molly muttered bitterly.

According to John, who had called her about the whole situation, Jim from IT was really James Moriarty; he was a psychotic criminal mastermind intent on making Sherlock jump through deadly hoops.

Molly shivered. The thought of that madman in her home, so close to Archie's room. If Molly were the type to bring men around her child...

Her hands hurt, and she looked down to see the edge of the kitchen counter digging painfully into her hands from her tight grip. Breathing out slowly, Molly let go of the counter and turned to her sitting room where Archie was building a city out of Legos. She quelled the urge to run in and just hold him to her. After all, Archie was perceptive and would know something was wrong.

If Molly ever came across Moriarty again, she would kill him. She was a pathologist, so she knew exactly how to get away with a murder. If Molly were a less rational person, she would blame herself for the whole affair. But she knew that was ridiculous. The man had been after Sherlock, and she had only been a convenient means to observe the detective unawares. She would blame Sherlock, but she knew that wasn't rational either. There was no sense in blaming the victim for the crimes perpetuated against them, even if that victim was Sherlock Holmes and seemed to attract all manner of danger.

Molly watched Archie turn a stack of random Lego pieces into part of the Millineum Falcon. If anything ever happened to him... She cut out that line of thought right away. Molly would just have to make sure that nothing and nobody ever hurt her baby.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with mummy sweetheart?"

Molly was steaming out the wrinkles from the black dress Archie had helped her pick out for the Christmas party. He said he liked it best because it was sparkly on top, but not too sparkly. Of course, he then went on to pick out a pair of huge sparkly earrings to go with it, and Molly had to reconsider her decision to let her six year old son pick out her clothing.

"You need grown-up time," Archie chirped from the floor as he played with the box of Christmas bows he had brought into the bathroom. "And Mrs. Carlton is so lonely at Christmas. I saw you all day mummy."

Molly smiled sadly. It was only a few months ago that Archie was clinging to her desperately as she dropped him off at school. Now here was her big boy learning to be independent. She hated it. She blamed his friends at school for the independence, and she blamed Mrs. Carlton for introducing the concept of grown-up time after Archie accidentally walked in on her changing while she babysat. Lord knows why that woman needed to change her clothes. Molly conveniently disregarded the fact that her son had spilled juice all over the poor woman.

"But it's Christmas and I will miss you, and you've never met my friends from work." Molly finally finished steaming her dress and proceeded to fix her hair and makeup.

"All of your friends are boring," Archie moaned.

Molly smiled at her son as he proceeded to color coordinate Christmas bows on the bathroom floor. "Not my friends from work. They help solve crimes."

Archie scowled at her from the bathroom floor. "I don't care."

"Don't be rude," Molly said sharply.

"Sorry mummy," Archie mumbled.

"Besides, I thought you wanted to be a detective." Molly finished putting on her lipstick. It was a beautiful shade of red that she would never normally wear.

"That was last year," Archie said, even though Molly knew he had wanted to be a detective just the day before, but his childlike disregard for the passage of time didn't deter him. "I want to be a pirate now."

"Well baby, I will make sure to be on the lookout for pirates at my job then." Molly looked down at her son to find a mildly disturbed look on his face. She quickly bent down to place a soothing hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong baby?"

"Do you cut up pirates mummy?" Archie whispered fearfully.

"Oh no, no baby!" Molly quickly leaned forward and enveloped him in a tight hug. She sometimes forgot that Archie was bright enough to understand what she actually did at work. "I meant if they visit me for cases."

Archie let out a breath of relief and leaned into the hug. "Okay. Tell me when a pirate visits mummy. I want to meet one."

It wasn't until she was attempting to cajol Archie to attend the party with her that Molly realized she had never actually told her new friends about him. Molly was a very private person and very protective of Archie, so she didn't bring up having a child unless it was relevant.

Molly also just hated when other parents tried to commiserate with her about the strains of parenting; frankly she adored her son and all his peculiarities, so she had nothing to complain about. Molly also hated being forced to look at pictures of other people's children, so she assumed others (especially non-parents) felt the same way. So Molly refrained from whipping out her phone and showing the latest pictures of Archie.

Speaking of people she should inform about her status as a mother, there was her new friendship with Greg Lestrade. They had one day just started talking about things other than cases since he came into her morgue quite often. He was very easy going and didn't give her shit about having dated a psychopath. Another lovely addition to her pool of friends was Mrs. Hudson. Having delivered and picked up body parts from 221B Baker Street recently, Molly had formed a tentative friendship with the older lady.

She still didn't know John Watson too well, but whenever Sherlock was in the lab or morgue without him, the detective would complain about why he was absent. Speaking of Sherlock... What they were exactly was up for debate. They technically weren't colleagues since he didn't actually work for the hospital or for NSY like Greg, but they didn't spend time together outside her job. In fact, the Christmas party would be her first glimpse of Sherlock outside the artificial lighting of the hospital. Whenever she had to drop off or pick up the body parts he experimented on, either Mrs. Hudson or John were there to intercept on his behalf. Molly was starting to feel like he was purposely avoiding her.

Of course, after Moriarty, maybe he was.

This all culminated into several startling facts: the first fact being that besides Dr. Stamford and the team that hired her, no one at her job actually knew she had a child, including two women she was quite friendly with. If she included Sherlock and John in her group of new friends outside the hospital, three out of four of her friends were detectives in some capacity and had yet to deduce that she had a son. And to emphasize again, the object of her affection who was supposed to be the best detective in the world, had yet to figure out her secret. Hell, it wasn't even a secret if you discounted the fact that Molly simply failed to mention her son's existence and had not purposely hidden it. One thing was for sure, Molly's life was strange.

As Molly made her way toward Baker Street, she thought that maybe it was time to let the cat out of the bag. She wasn't ashamed, but she did hope they would all use some common sense and not question the whereabouts of the father. Of course, knowing Sherlock the way she did, Molly wasn't too optimistic of his not making a prat of himself. On the upside of telling Sherlock about her son: he would know her life did not in fact revolve around his need for body parts, and access to the lab and morgue. Maybe he would even begin to see her as a real person (a woman) and not however he saw her currently.

Molly was confused. She sat on her bed still dressed in her fancy black dress, which apparently was compensating for the size of her breasts. Molly stared off at her wardrobe, not really seeing it or anything else. She didn't know how to feel about anything that occurred at Baker Street. On the one hand, Sherlock was a complete and utter git. It made her hand itch just thinking about slapping that look off his face. On the other hand, he had apologized. Furthermore, it seemed like he really meant it.

Molly may not have known everything about Sherlock, but she knew him well enough to say that he did not apologize... to anyone ever. As far as she could tell, not even John had received the common courtesy of an apology for some of Sherlock's shitty behavior. Of course, she was getting this mostly secondhand from Mrs. Hudson and Greg.

And really, Molly should have known better. Sherlock, as beautiful and brilliant as he was, was also an arrogant prat with no social skills to speak of who also thought he was always right. On the bright side, Molly now knew that the great Sherlock Holmes wasn't always right. He didn't even realize the gift was for him until he read her note. She certainly wasn't telling him about her son after that disaster of a party. Let the arrogant berk deduce it from the lint on her sleeves. Refusing to think on Sherlock anymore, Molly stood up from her bed and began changing to go pick up her son from Mrs. Carlton's.

As Molly was driving back home with a passed out Archie in the backseat securely fastened in his booster, her mobile started ringing. Molly pressed the button on her Bluetooth headset. "Hello?"

"Ah, Molly, Mike Stamford here."

"Yes, Mike, what can I do for you?"

"It seems Sherlock Holmes has to identify a body, and it's very important that he do so tonight."

Molly glanced at Archie in her rear view mirror. "Let me guess, you're out of town and Marcus is busy with family stuff and I'm the only one who can come in?"

"Well, Marcus is willing to come in for a quick ident, but you know how Sherlock gets."

Molly smiled ruefully at that statement. "Yeah, I know how he is."

"I know you have the little one, but-"

"Don't worry about it Mike. He's asleep and he'll be fine down in the office for that time." Molly began making her way toward St. Bart's.

"Thanks so much Molly. And you know if you ever need time off, Marcus or I will cover you."

"I know Mike. It's fine. I'll see you after the holidays."

"Bye Molls." Molly cringed at the shortening of what was already a nickname, and turned off the headset.

She would have to go in for the body id, but thankfully those took less than an hour, half an hour really. She wasn't looking forward to bringing Archie with her though. The one time before she did bring him was when she had forgotten something. In the three seconds it took her to open the lab doors, she lost him. In a panic, she searched everywhere (including the canteen) until she thought logically about the type of boy Archie was, which was when she found him struggling to open one of the drawers in the morgue. Needless to say, Molly avoided bringing him to work.

She carefully placed a sleeping Archie onto the couch inside the office, which also doubled as a viewing room inside the morgue. He was out like a light and Molly knew he would be okay, but she switched on the two-way intercom in the room so that she could hear him if he needed her.

The body that needed identifying was already laid out with paperwork in tow. Molly had checked to make sure everything was in order and had been surprised by the level of brutality directed at the face. It almost seemed like someone was trying to erase the facial structure of the woman so as not to be indentified, yet they had failed to get rid of the fingertips. It must have been psychological reasons then, she mused, but Molly couldn't really identify any other violence directed at the victim during her casual perusal. She wished she could take a further look at the body, but she had Archie with her and this one was destined for a government facility. It was probably why she had been called in despite the day and time. It was also probably why Sherlock was involved.

Molly stood before the sheet covered body in her ironically cheerful Christmas jumper. Her Christmas was turning out to be sort of shitty that year, but at least Archie had had a good day. He had received lots of gifts from her and a few of her friends in the know, plus he apparently had a lovely time helping Mrs. Carlton make Boxing Day gifts for her flower shop employees. Just when she was thinking about what she would be buying at the shops during the Boxing Day sales, Sherlock strolled into her morgue followed closely by a man she didn't recognize.

"The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here – your home from home," said the strange man. Considering the nature of the case, and where the body was going next, Molly assumed the man must be a government employee. A higher up of some sort judging by the way he dressed.

Sherlock's eyes were solely on her as he stood before the covered body. "You didn't need to come in, Molly," he said in what Molly thought was an apologetic tone.

At this, Molly gave a slight smile. "That's okay. Everyone else was busy with... Christmas." Molly awkwardly gestured to the body between them. "The face is a bit sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult." And she proceeded to pull the sheet down revealing the face of the nameless woman Sherlock was there to identify.

"That's her, isn't it?" The well-dressed man questioned.

Molly quickly glanced at Sherlock for his reaction, but his face had set into a look that didn't portray anything he may have felt. "Show me the rest of her."

Molly grimaced then smiled awkwardly at the men in front of her as she pulled the sheet down further until the entire body was revealed. Sherlock quickly surveyed the body before abruptly saying, "That's her." He immediately turned and strode away quickly before pushing through the morgue doors.

The other man was left standing alone before Molly. "Thank you, Miss Hooper," he politely intoned.

Even though Molly knew better than to ask, curiosity burned through her. "Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from," Molly paused, unsure of how to phrase what she wanted to ask, "not her face?"

The man simply smiled politely at her before he too turned and left the morgue.

Molly covered the woman back up and proceeded to put her in a drawer with paperwork attached. Just as she was washing her hands, she heard a cry of "mummy" through the intercom. Molly quickly moved to the office and picked up a crying Archie. He calmed down as she rocked his body back and forth.

"Sh sh, mummy's here baby," Molly gently murmured. "I know it's scary waking up in a strange place, but we'll be home soon."

Molly gathered her coat and purse with one hand while she firmly held onto Archie with her other. She was backing out of the morgue making sure that everything was closed up tight with a final glance around, when the weight of the morgue door was lifted away from her. She looked up and into the face of the mysterious man who had accompanied Sherlock into the morgue. She noticed he was staring intently at Archie, and she moved away uneasily.

"My son was asleep in the office," she nervously said while glancing around for signs of Sherlock. "I don't normally bring him to work, but it's Christmas..." she trailed off as the man continued to stare at her son.

With a quick shake of his head, the man looked Molly in the eyes. "I'm Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock's brother."

Molly felt some surprise at that bit of news. Mycroft didn't exactly look like Sherlock, or she supposed it was the other way around since this man was clearly older. But given his stoic facade and dress sense, Molly could easily see how he would be related to the consulting detective. He certainly gave off the same sense of disdain that Sherlock carried around with him.

"Well I can't say I'm not surprised. I didn't really think of Sherlock as having a brother," Molly genially replied.

"Yes, well, Sherlock is full of surprises." At this Mycroft Holmes pointedly looked at the sleeping boy in her arms.

Molly felt confused at whatever he was trying to imply with that look, and she tightened her hold on her son. "What do you mean Mr. Holmes?"

"Only that, Sherlock didn't mention you have a son Miss Hooper."

"He doesn't know I have a son. And at any rate, why would he mention something like that to you?" Molly felt even more confused by the direction of the conversation, and she mentally willed the man before her to leave her be so that she could go home.

"I suspected as much. I presume that your parents are both deceased and that you are an only child," Mycroft asked, though it came out as more of a statement rather than a question. Molly stiffly nodded. She could tell then and there that this man was related to Sherlock Holmes. She shuddered to think what the parents were like. "I also see that you've had no contact with the father beyond the," Mycroft paused as if to find the most delicate way of proceeding, "initial meeting."

Molly narrowed her eyes at the man before her. She had had enough, and after getting the wind knocked out of her sails from the little brother, she was not going to allow the big brother to imply whatever he was implying with his statement. "Mr. Holmes, I'm sorry, but I refuse to discuss this personal matter with you. I may be friendly with your brother, but you and I are not friends, and I need to get my son home." Molly turned and began to walk away from the infuriating man.

"Oh Miss Hooper," he called out, and Molly cringed at the superior tone in his voice that reminded her so viscerally of his brother. She stopped walking but refused to turn around. "Would you be interested to know the identity of your son's father?"