Molly's mobile rang late Thursday afternoon as she sat in her office, finishing a report before leaving for home. She smiled, delighted, when she saw the name. "Good afternoon, Mycroft!"
"Good afternoon, my dear. I hope your week is going well."
"Nothing unusual so far, and I'm actually going to get out of here on time tonight, barring any last minute crisis." Her fingers tensed on the phone when Mycroft didn't reply immediately.
"I thought we should finalize our plans," he finally said, casually. "Would you like to come to my home tomorrow evening and stay for the weekend?"
Molly gasped before she could stop it, then covered the phone while she took a deep breath. "I-I-I'd like that, Mycroft. My shift ends at 6:30, so I could probably be at mine by 7:30."
"Or I could send a car to Bart's so you could come straight to the house," he offered. "Of course, you'd need to take your bag to the office, which may not suit –"
"That would be fine." Molly interrupted. "Do I need to bring anything special? I mean, would we be going …?"
"I thought we'd just have a quiet weekend at home, unless you'd like to –"
"No! Um, no … that sounds goo- fine."
"Well, then …," he paused. "I will see you tomorrow evening."
"I'm looking forward to it," Molly replied, then blushed. Oh my god. "Good night, Mycroft!" And promptly rang off before he had a chance to reply.
#####
DI Greg Lestrade pushed through the laboratory doors, calling out Molly's name, and froze on hearing the sharp clatter and deep thuds of unknown objects crashing to the floor. He stepped farther into the lab, calling Molly's name again, and spotted the top of her head between two of the long tables. She popped up with a "Hi, Greg," put her clipboard and a book on top of a table, then stooped down again. Greg saw she was picking up more books so grabbed a couple that had slid on the floor toward him. They finished re-stacking everything, then he apologized for startling her.
"It's OK," Molly said, laughing. "I'm just a bit jumpy today." She straightened her lab coat and smoothed some hair behind her ears. "So, what can I do for you?"
"Mr. Richards?"
"Oh, yes - I was just about to get started. A shooting, right?"
"Yeah, but there's some question about whether it was self-inflicted."
Greg followed Molly to the morgue, where a black body bag was already waiting for her on the table. He watched as she unzipped the bag and thought she looked paler than usual. "You all right, Molly?"
She looked up. "I'm fine, Greg. As I said, just kind of on edge today."
"Oh, have you had a visit from our favorite consulting detective?"
She laughed again, shaking her head. "I haven't been so blessed today." She pulled a pair of gloves out of a dispenser and snapped them on. "Let's see what we have here."
#####
Molly checked the time as she fastened her watch. 6:30. She quickly gathered her hair dryer and various toiletries to stow in her locker, grabbed her handbag and weekender, and left the locker room, turning down the long corridor toward the exit. She pushed through the last set of doors just as Sherlock and John were about to reach for them.
"Ahhhh, Molly." She froze, face falling, as Sherlock grinned at her with enthusiasm. "Just the person I need."
"Sorry, Sherlock, I'm just leaving –"
"This will take only a few minutes," wheedling.
"I can't stay … I have plans and –"
"Oh, please," he interrupted, jovially. "Not another attempt at romance!" He put an arm around her shoulders and turned her back toward the lab.
Molly jerked away, glaring at him. "Sorry, Sherlock, but I am not available. Dr. Denis is on duty and I'm sure he'll be happy to assist you." She ignored Sherlock's look of astonishment, nodded to John, and stalked off. Just before stepping outside, she heard Sherlock call her name, but again ignored him. Once on the pavement, she pushed the strap of her handbag higher on her shoulder, tightened her grip on the other bag, and took off at a sprint to the end of the block. She turned the corner and found the black car idling at the curb as Mycroft had promised. She slowed to a walk, looking over her shoulder to check for any sign of followers, then headed for the car, trying to regain whatever dignity she possessed.
The back door opened and Molly was surprised to see Mycroft peering back at her, narrow-eyed, from the shadowed interior. His driver opened the boot and came to take the larger bag. "You look a bit flustered, my dear," Mycroft said as he moved over to make room.
She stepped in, dropped her handbag to the floor, then settled onto the seat with a tired sigh. She turned her face toward him, rolling her eyes. "Sherlock," she answered gloomily.
Mycroft slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and turned toward her. "What did he do?" he asked, resignedly, a crease between his brows.
"No, it's all right." She rubbed her nose. "Sherlock arrived just as I was leaving and tried a few of his usual tactics to get me to stay." She paused, then smiled at Mycroft. "It didn't work." He continued to look at her, frowning. "Don't worry. John was with him and Dr. Denis is on duty. He can handle Sherlock and will give him what he wants as long as it's not too outrageous – or illegal." She snorted. "Not that that's assured." She grinned at him, and he slowly smiled back. "I told Dr. Denis to text me if things get worse than I expect."
Mycroft straightened, facing forward again, so his and Molly's shoulders were almost touching, then put his right hand on the seat between them, palm up. She looked at him sideways and then placed her hand over his. He threaded their fingers together. They watched the passing street scenes in silence until Mycroft's phone buzzed. He reached a bit awkwardly into his pocket, left-handed, keeping hold of Molly.
"Yes?" Mycroft listened a moment, then gave her a brief smile before freeing his hand to retrieve a small notebook. Molly watched out of the corner of her eye as he flipped through its pages.
"I gave you my views on that this morning." [pause] "Need I repeat myself?" Molly suppressed a shudder at his clipped, icy tone. "Twenty minutes." He lowered the phone, looked at it a moment, then slipped both it and the notebook back in his pocket. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before glancing at her. "Sorry about that."
"Don't apologize to me for doing your job, Mycroft. I may not know what you do, but I understand that it's important." She drew a breath. "Do you want to take me home? We can make plans for another time."
Mycroft reached for her hand again. "No … as long as you don't mind that I need to work awhile when we reach the house." He looked at her, brows creased. "Perhaps you could read or take a nap or …" [a quirk of his lips, one brow lifting] "have a long soak in the tub?"
Molly wrinkled her nose, but looked interested. "Actually, that last one sounds blissful. I had a shower at Bart's, but the luxury of a good soak … yes, bliss." She grinned at him. "And maybe a glass of wine?"
"Done."
They smiled at each other and traveled in a companionable silence. Molly looked out the window, eyes widening as they drove through St. John's Wood. The car slowed at a large corner residence situated behind a stone wall, then waited for the heavy gate to open before turning up the paved drive. Trailing vines softened the top edges of the wall's rough surface. Molly twisted around to look as they passed through the gate and located several cameras angled at different directions along the length of the wall.
"The house belonged to my mother's parents," Mycroft explained. "I've lived here for about fifteen years."
It was a double-fronted, detached Georgian home, set in lovely landscaped gardens, fully enclosed by the wall. Mycroft leaned across her to open the car door, and Molly stepped out, looking around curiously. Mycroft stood just as the front door opened and a pleasant looking, white-haired woman came out. He urged Molly forward with a hand on the small of her back. "Dr. Hooper, this is Mrs. Collingwood, my housekeeper."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Hooper." Up close, Mrs. Collingwood wasn't as old as her white hair and rather cuddly appearance indicated.
"And you," Molly replied, offering her hand. She flinched as a shadow loomed on her right side, then felt foolish when she saw it was the driver – Walter – handing her bag to Mrs. Collingwood.
Mycroft guided Molly into a beautifully decorated entrance hall. She glanced back and, through the leaded glass panel in the front door, saw the flash of tail lights as the car pulled away.
"Would you please show Dr. Hooper upstairs," Mycroft said to Mrs. Collingwood. "I have to work awhile, but we'll be ready for dinner in – "he paused, looking at Molly, "does an hour suit you?"
"That would be fine, M—" She stopped, flushing over the use of his first name in front of Mrs. Collingwood. Mycroft lifted his brows. She gave him a cross look before turning to follow the housekeeper up the stairs.
Mycroft watched until they turned out of sight before heading toward his study.
#####
Molly was relieved when Mrs. Collingwood showed her into what was obviously a guest suite, placing her bag on the bed, then continuing to an open doorway, waving a hand inside. "Towels, toiletries and hair dryer are in the cupboard." Molly followed her and peeked in, then stood back. "If you need anything else, you can ring me on the phone – extension 121" [pointing at the bedside table]. She smiled, then left, shutting the door behind her.
Molly immediately went to start the bath, then returned to the bedroom to open her bag and consider what to wear. She hadn't expected the opportunity to bathe again and change before … well, before. She'd brought several clothing options for the weekend and decided to dress up a bit for their first night. She placed her choices on the bed and went back to check on the bath. She added some expensive smelling salts, then quickly stripped, wrapped her hair in a towel, and sank into the enfolding warmth with a happy sigh.
She was alarmed at hearing a knock then the door opening, but relaxed when Mrs. Collingwood called, "Dr. Hooper?" She tapped knocked on the bathroom door, and Molly called for her to come in after checking that the bubbles covered her important bits.
The housekeeper came in, carrying a bottle of white wine and wine glass on a tray. "Mr. Holmes asked me to bring this to you." She smiled at Molly's blush, then pushed a stool toward the bath with her foot and set the tray down. "I hope you enjoy it," she said, with twinkling eyes. Flustered, Molly wanted to slide her head under the water, but returned the smile.
Twenty minutes later, Molly rose from the tub, then moved to the shower for a quick rinse, being careful not to get her hair wet. The bubbles may have smelled delicious, but a curious lick of her forearm had proved they didn't taste that way. She smiled to herself as she stepped onto the shower mat and dried herself more roughly than necessary. Wrapped in another towel, she let her hair down, carefully combed out the tangles, then twisted the long lengths into a braided bun at the crown of her head.
She looked in the mirror, smoothed her brows with a damp finger, then carefully darkened her lashes, deciding against further makeup since she didn't normally wear much anyway. She unwrapped the towel and considered herself in the mirror, watching in bemusement as the blush on her face spread south toward her breasts. She'd never seen that before and flushed even redder thinking about who else might witness it later.
Molly walked naked into the bedroom, feeling self-conscious at doing so in Mycroft's home. She donned a silky peach-colored bra and matching knickers, then pulled a fine cotton knit dress in a similar pastel color over her head and tugged it over her hips. It had a simple design – oval scooped neck, elbow-length sleeves, closely fitted at the waist, then a swirly skirt ending just above her knees. She felt good in it and welcomed the boost to her confidence. She stepped into a pair of low heels, slipped plain gold hoops through her ear lobes and fastened a fine, twisted gold necklace at her nape. Running a finger along the scooped neckline of her dress, she wondered what Mycroft would think, or if he'd have any particular reaction at all. He'd never seen her dressed like this. The few times she'd been wearing a skirt in his presence, she'd also had on a coat or a jacket or her labcoat, so a dress that actually exposed much skin at all was certainly a departure. Molly hoped Mycroft would like the way she looked, but, at the same time, knew it didn't matter. She didn't think he was one to be seduced by appearances (or seduced, full stop). For god's sake, we agreed on this while I was in my kitten pajamas!
She checked her watch, then headed out the door and down the corridor. She peeked over the railing and saw Mycroft standing at the bottom of the staircase, leaning against the wall, feet crossed, phone at his ear. The steady flicker of arousal she'd been experiencing all afternoon flared hotter at the effortless elegance he exuded. He looked up, smiling as he slid the phone into his pocket.
Molly suppressed a moan, wondering if it were medically possible for her ovaries to explode before any real action got underway, and started down the stairs. As she reached the bottom stair, Mycroft took her hand and – dear lord – brought the back of it to his lips, while looking up at her through his lashes. She felt like some sort of Victorian heroine, in need of a fainting couch. "Who are you and what have you done with Mycroft?"
"He's in his cryogenic chamber in the garage."
Molly snorted, as he straightened and drew her arm through his, patting her hand where it rested on his wrist. She finally noticed that he'd changed as well … into another finely tailored suit, this one being an olive green linen. (Is that what he considers informal wear?)
"You look lovely, Molly." His lips twitched as he glanced down at her. "Not that I don't appreciate your cherry-covered jumper or kitten pajamas."
Molly wrinkled her nose at him, then let him usher her to the dining room.
#####
Less than an hour later, they were back at the base of the staircase. Molly chuckled when he waved her up them with a flourish, which relieved some of the tension that had built up during dinner. Neither of them had done justice to Mrs. Collingwood's cooking – Molly's appetite for food having fled when Mycroft kissed her hand. She'd been relieved when he'd pushed away from the table and come around to rest his hands on the back of her chair, with a quiet, "Finished?"
#####
As Mycroft followed Molly up the stairs, he had to force himself to keep to her slow pace and not hurry her along with a hand on her back. He was fighting a loss of control as the cloak of icy indifference he wore so easily seemed to be unravelling thread by thread. When Molly had so unexpectedly voiced her unfulfilled desire, he'd told himself it was an opportunity to give her something she wanted – not so much to settle the debt he felt owed to her on behalf of Sherlock and his family, but because she'd never asked him for anything more than the assurance that his brother was alive. This was something he could do for her, even though it would take him far out of his comfort zone.
All of which reasoning he'd known was complete bollocks the moment she'd accepted his offer.
Since that night, rather than girding himself to work up the necessary enthusiasm, he'd had to stifle his anticipation, the eagerness for this moment. Mycroft Holmes was, beyond all expectations, in the grip of desire. Desire for Molly Hooper … a professional, discreet, attractive woman – all qualities he'd normally appreciate - but also a kind, cheerful, warm-hearted optimist, with an almost childlike innocence, a dark sense of humor, and an inexplicable obsession with internet kitten videos. Dear lord. Mycroft was alarmed to realize that last thought had come with something like affection instead of distaste.
He almost bumped into her as she paused on the landing and turned to look at him, being unsure of where they were going. Mycroft guided her down the corridor and stopped outside the room she'd used earlier. "Do you need anything from -" tilting his head toward the door.
"Oh, um, yes – give me a few minutes."
Mycroft opened the door, then pointed toward the double doors at the end of the hallway. "Take whatever time you need." He waited until she hurried through the door then pulled it to behind her.
Molly quickly freshened up, changed into a pale blue chemise-style slip dotted with tiny white flowers, a silky white dressing gown and satin slippers, removed her jewelry, then brushed her hair until it lay smoothly down her back. She glanced in the mirror and grimaced at her bright eyes and the heightened color in her face. She wondered if Mycroft would realize it was anticipation and not her usual embarrassment. Then again, maybe it was both.
Within fifteen minutes of Mycroft leaving her, Molly was at his open door, tapping her nails on it. She stepped through, closed the door behind her, then stopped a few feet inside, looking around. His bedroom was enormous. Along the wall to her right, there was a sitting area around a fireplace then two closed doors farther along. Floor to ceiling drapes covered what must be large windows on the wall directly opposite the entrance, and the section to her left was dominated by the largest sleigh-style bed Molly had ever seen. The bedding looked like silk. It was a bed to sink into, dedicated to comfort … and, Molly thought, to pleasure? She flushed upon seeing the covers turned down on both sides and wondered if Mycroft had ever brought anyone here.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening. She watched as Mycroft crossed the room and stopped at the foot of the bed. He was wearing dark blue pajama bottoms and a matching dressing gown … and – oh god – she could see the base of his throat and, between the lapels, a strip of bare chest, lightly sprinkled with hair. She swallowed audibly. I've never even seen him without a tie!
"My dear?" He stretched a hand out, and Molly realized she was still standing near the door. She walked to him and he took her hand, tilting his head, eyebrows raised, toward the sitting area. She then noticed the tray of drinks on a small table between the two wing chairs.
Molly didn't want a drink – it would simply prolong the undercurrent of tension she'd felt flowing between them since she came down for dinner. She stepped closer to him and placed her right palm on his chest. She stared at her hand, startled at feeling both his warm skin and how hard his heart was beating, then looked up at him, flushing. "I don't want a drink," she whispered. "I just want you."
His face was impassive, but his eyes – dear god, she'd swear she could actually feel the heat of his regard. Molly's legs actually buckled – like that damned Victorian heroine, she thought dazedly as Mycroft caught her around the waist, shifted his arm higher on her back and slid the other under her knees and carried her to the bed. Honest to god, I'm going to faint.
Mycroft placed her gently on the covers, then sat on the bed's edge, his right arm bracing him over her. "Are you all right, my dear?"
Molly had shut her eyes when the room swam out of focus, then kept them closed in embarrassment as she muttered between her lips. "Mycroft Holmes … you know exactly what you're doing to me." She slowly raised her lids and met his eyes with an indignant glare. He straightened when she sat up, raising her knees and circling her arms around them. "You are deliberately seducing me."
"Seduction? I know nothing of romance, Molly." He said mildly, but his eyes were amused. He stood, looking down at her. "Are you sure you don't want that drink?"
"You're a man who can learn a new language in a couple of hours. You've had several days – if not the two weeks since the 'benefits' chat – to pick up some seduction techniques." She tilted her head sideways, examining him. "Unless you're always like this for those few and far between 'encounters' – The Ice Man a/k/a Mr. Sex God."
Mycroft's brows lifted, but he didn't try to hide his amusement. "I will admit to making an extra effort tonight, but it was in an attempt to please you – not to make you uncomfortable."
"Maybe you could tone it down a notch." Molly dropped her face to her knees. "You have me feeling like some sort of Victorian virgin about to be ravished by her suitor … willing but all atremble."
Mycroft snorted and sat back down. "I think I can do that." When Molly lifted her face, he lightly rubbed his thumb over her hot cheek. "Are you ready for this?"
"Oh, yes," covering his hand with hers.
#####
Mycroft went around flicking off lights, leaving only the fire and a bedside lamp to illuminate the room. Standing by the bed, he started to untie the sash on his dressing gown, then hesitated when Molly raised a hand toward him. She scrambled up, jerking her own dressing gown off as she knee-walked across the bed.
Molly blushed when she saw Mycroft's eyes run down her scantily clad torso and quickly reached for his sash. "Let me." After slowly undoing the knot, she took the open sides of the dressing gown between her fingers, then paused, eyes lowered to the front of his pajama bottoms. "Is that a box of condoms or are you just happy to see me?"
"It's a box of condoms" [removing the box from his dressing gown pocket and tossing it onto the bed] "and I'm happy to see you." Mycroft quickly shrugged off the dressing gown as Molly fell back, laughing. He followed her onto the bed, crawling until he was above her on all fours, then carefully stretched out and lowered himself onto his forearms until every part of her seemed to be covered by part of him.
"Oh, hmmm –" He covered her mouth, tongue pushing deep and hers parrying his thrust. Her arms were caught between his but she wiggled free, carding the fingers of one hand through the hair at his nape and grasping his back with the other. He gently pushed a thigh between her knees, which Molly spread wide before wrapping her legs around his hips. She was suddenly trembling all over, desperate for him, shoving at his shoulders to make space for her hands to slip back between their bodies. "ohgodohgodohgodohgod …"
Mycroft rolled to the side and Molly slid one hand under his waistband, wrapping it around his straining erection, while with the other she tried to push his pajamas down. Her actions were unintentionally thwarted by Mycroft, who was trying to remove her slip in the opposite direction. Their eyes met in amusement, then they quickly separated, arms and legs shoving and kicking at material until all that remained between them was bare skin. Mycroft reached for a condom, swiftly tearing it open. Molly clutched at him as he rolled back onto her, a hot hand sliding up her trembling thigh and between her legs, cupping gently, then more firmly probing her wet slickness with a single long finger, then two. "ohpleaseohpleaseohplease …"
Mycroft withdrew his hand, positioned himself carefully, slid slowly into her, then deeper to the hilt, and dropped his head into the crook of her neck, breathing heavily while Molly's hot gasps tickled his ear. She hitched a leg higher up his back, tilted her hips, then gently scraped her fingernails across his shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine. He raised up on straightened arms, slowly withdrawing, followed by a deliberately slow thrust, another slow withdrawal, over and over, until his steady pace broke at a choked murmur from Molly, and he quickened to a pounding rhythm, their sweat-slicked flesh slapping together, Molly assisting by using strong thigh muscles to pull him deep with each thrust. She suddenly tightened around him, arching her head back as she came with a gasp. A few more thrusts, then Mycroft groaned his release and collapsed, dropping his head beside hers on her pillow, breath rasping against her throat.
After a few seconds and a muttered apology, he rolled them over so Molly was resting on his chest, a leg thrown over his hips. She needed more air, so rolled back off him, lying sprawled on her back, staring at the ceiling - panting and sweaty, feeling boneless, mind-blown, wrung out and … absolutely bloody marvelous. She found just enough energy to turn her head toward him, blow some hair out of her face, and ask hoarsely, "What just happened?"
Mycroft released a deep breath, pursed his lips, then turned his head toward her, a thoughtful look on his face. "I believe, my dear Molly, that in the lowest common vernacular," he said evenly, lips quirking, "we just fucked each other's brains out."
Molly rolled her head back to gaze at the ceiling again. "That's what I thought." Inwardly, she felt obliged to chastise herself for the thrill that rocketed through her at hearing Mycroft Holmes let an f-bomb rip.
A brief silence, then they both laughed. Molly turned to look as Mycroft sat up and scooted to his side of the bed, her eyes wandering over the muscled contours of his bare back, taking in a few small patches of freckles and pausing longer at the signs of violence that broke up the pale smoothness of his skin. Those scattered scars bore proof to the fact that he hadn't always avoided legwork. She heard a light snap as he removed and tied off the condom and tried not to blush.
Mycroft glanced at Molly over his shoulder as he stood, then shrugged into his dressing gown. Tying the sash, he again asked if she wanted a nightcap. "Or some water?"
"No, I'm good."
He slowly smiled at that, his eyes hooded – but the expression in them caused a renewed stirring in Molly's core. She drew a slow breath and suddenly felt a fierce wanting – a desire to drag him onto the bed and make a feast of him. The glint in his eyes flared brighter before he abruptly turned away.
Molly's watched him until the door shut, then groaned and turned onto her side, pressing her thighs tightly together and grabbing Mycroft's pillow to clutch against her breasts. She breathed in his scent and felt her heart madly thumping. Mycroft Bloody Holmes … The Ice Man … Mr. Sex God. She smiled wickedly to herself and closed her eyes.