When Molly woke on their first Saturday morning together, she turned her head toward Mycroft's side of the bed and was surprised to find him still beside her. Even though he hadn't returned from the office until almost 4:30 a.m., she'd have expected him to be up and about by … [squinting at her phone] 8:30.

Mycroft was on his back, covers at his waist, his far arm bent over his head, his near arm lying between them. His forehead was smooth, his lips full and slightly open, the tender skin of his eyelids so delicate. As she studied his sleeping features, Molly began to feel guilty for invading his privacy, so she slowly edged out of bed, grabbed her phone and stooped to pick up her dressing gown, putting it on as she tiptoed to the door. After a quick glance to make sure Mycroft was still asleep, she left quietly and went to the bedroom she'd used on arrival.

After stripping, she stood at the bathroom mirror, turning from side to side, then looking over her shoulder at her back. Mycroft had been very gentle considering their mutual level of … enthusiasm, but he'd left some evidence of the night's activities on her body – love bites at the base of her throat and the underside of her left breast, finger marks on both sides of her hips and [dear lord] two just above her knee on the inside of her right thigh. The muscles in her legs felt wobbly, her breasts felt tender, and overall felt she'd been well- and thoroughly shagged. Who'd have thought? Well, actually, she wasn't at all surprised by Mycroft's, um, prowess. She wondered what marks she'd put on his body … and promptly blushed.

Showering brought the night back in even sharper focus. Running the soapy flannel over and in all her curves, angles and nooks found more tender areas, the most tender of which made Molly remember the look on Mycroft's face when he'd peered up at her from his position down there. Flustered, and thinking about facing him for the first time "the morning after," she quickly finished bathing, brushed her teeth, and put her hair up in a smooth ponytail. She went back to the bedroom and pulled on a pink, cap-sleeved top and skinny jeans, then bright, multi-color socks and her most comfortable trainers.

Molly stood listening at the door for several seconds, then peeked out. Seeing no one, she hurried down the stairs, then stopped again to listen before making her way to the kitchen. Mrs. Collingwood had just dumped some dough onto a floured board on the island worktop, but stopped to greet her. Molly returned her good morning, then climbed on a stool across from her. "What kind of scones?"

"Cheese-bacon and old-fashioned buttermilk.

"Oh, yum." Molly glanced around, examining the shiny appliances, banks of cupboards, loads of worktop space, and obviously well-designed workflow. "What a wonderful kitchen! It must be a pleasure to use."

"Do you cook, Dr. Hooper?" Mrs. Collingwood turned back to work on the scones, but looked up waiting for Molly's reply.

"I'm more of a baker. I occasionally make some of my favorite dishes but tend to eat out a lot." Molly grimaced. "It's become a bad habit, but ordering out is so easy." Grinning, "Plus, there are fewer dishes to wash!"

The housekeeper laughed. "I know what you mean." She came to sit across from Molly. "Do you get a chance to bake very often?"

"Not as much as I'd like, though that's probably a good thing since I enjoy eating the results far too much!" They were both laughing, when Mycroft walked in. Molly broke off mid-laugh and tried, but failed, to keep from blushing. A flicker of amusement passed over his face and ended up in his eyes.

"Good morning, my dear," he said smoothly, as he came to a stop beside Molly's stool. He was standing at least a foot away, but she felt as if he were touching her. "Good morning, Mrs. C."

"Good morning, Mr. Mycroft," she returned, smiling broadly. "Dr. Hooper and I have been having a nice chat."

"About cooking and baking," Molly added quickly, though surely he wouldn't think she'd been indiscreet.

"That's nice," he said lightly, though she saw his lips twitch. He was most definitely amused. She gave him a withering look, and his lips quirked before his eyes slid away toward the housekeeper.

Molly's breath caught as he rounded the island and went to lean against the worktop behind Mrs. Collingwood, feet and arms casually crossed. He was wearing khaki trousers and a finely woven, light-weight jumper in a pale olive green, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Molly tried not to stare, but was transfixed by the sight of his bare forearms and the heavy gold watch on his left wrist. A wristwatch! It was the first time Molly had ever seen Mycroft dressed in anything other than a suit.

Molly looked back at Mycroft and saw he was studying her. Something about her caused his face to fall into its usual neutral expression and a crease to appear between his brows. He straightened. "How much time until breakfast?"

"About thirty minutes," Mrs. Collingwood said, giving him a quick smile. "Do you want it in the dining room?"

"Yes, thank you." Then rounding the island, he stopped again by Molly. "We'll be in the sitting room." Once they were out of view, Mycroft pulled her into a light embrace. "Good morning," he told her again, quietly. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and glanced up with a brief smile.

Mycroft stepped away, but took hold of her hand as they walked on to the sitting room, then tugged her after him to one of the big wing chairs. Molly squeaked when he pulled her onto his lap and then waited until she looked at him. "What is it, Molly?" Rather than showing the impatience he must surely feel, he sounded kind. Her breath hitched as he ran his hand over the side of her head and gently tugged on her ponytail. "You'll have to give me a hint." His head tilted as he studied her. "I really don't know what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong!" She flushed when he arched his brows, then dropped her forehead to his chest. "Oh my god, Mycroft … you simply have no idea, do you."

"About?"

She sat back up and exhaled noisily. "About you! That you are gorgeous and an absolutely perfect Friend with Benefits!" She had the extremely rare privilege of seeing Mycroft Holmes' jaw drop open, before he shut his mouth with a click of teeth. "And I feel a complete fool, but – oh god … I'm embarrassed."

"Embarrassed about …?"

She looked at him incredulously. "About what? About last night!"

"You're embarrassed about having sex? Good lord, Molly, it's not like it was the first time you –" He broke off, apparently realizing that wasn't the most tactful response. "Are you always embarrassed in the cold light of day?"

"Of course not," she said, then gulped. "But you're the great Mycroft Holmes and I'm - I'm mousy Molly."

He looked at her soberly for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. He stopped after a few seconds, biting his lip, but his eyes were bright with it when they met hers. "Molly Hooper … you are about the least 'mousy' person I've ever met." He bumped foreheads with her. "Tell me, why are you embarrassed?"

"Well, you did do that … thing."

He leant back and quirked an eyebrow. "That thing? Which one?"

"Oh my god." Molly clapped her hands over her face, then muttered. "The last bit."

"Oh. That."

She quickly dropped her hands at an odd tone to his voice and was astonished to see that his cheeks were a bit pink. Her smile started small, then widened into a delighted grin. "Mycroft Holmes, you're a bit embarrassed, too!"

"I'm really not," he said evenly, but glanced away.

Molly twisted enough to get both arms around his neck and pulled his lips to hers, and they kept kissing until a need for oxygen caused them to pull away. She gave him another quick peck, then moved to get up. "Come on, breakfast must be about ready, and I'd hate to be caught putting on a show for Mrs. C."

"God forbid," he agreed, whole-heartedly.

#####

They had about finished breakfast when Mycroft turned to look out the window and a beam of sunlight perfectly lit the base of his throat.

"Mycroft!

"What?"

"Your –" [pointing at his neck].

He raised his brows, but lifted a hand and pressed his fingers around searchingly. "What is it?"

"You have a hickey!"

He dropped his hand. "Indeed, and it's not the only one." He looked at her accusingly under his brows, but his eyes were amused. "You have one as well."

Molly clapped her hand against her throat. "I forgot! Do you think Mrs. C noticed them?

"Most likely." Rolling his eyes, he continued, "And I wouldn't be surprised if she knows we had sex."

"Well, we don't have to give her proof!"

Mycroft stroked his cheek, lips twitching. "I hope you don't expect me to wash the sheets."

He laughed when Molly dropped her head to the table, moaning.

#####

After breakfast, Mycroft took Molly on a tour of the ground floor. She was most taken with the music room. When he opened the door, she went straight to the piano, a Steinway grand, and ran her fingers lightly over the keys, actually forgetting he was there for a moment. He came to stand beside her as she sighed and turned to him, bright-eyed. "What a beautiful instrument!" She turned back and ran her hand over the glossy black surface.

"I didn't know you played, my dear."

"I haven't for some time – not since I moved to London." She caressed the keys again.

"I hope you'll spend as much time on it as you want. The piano bench and …," he nodded toward a corner, "that cupboard are filled with sheet music."

"Thank you," she whispered, then slid her arms around his waist and squeezed.

Less exciting but more surprising to Molly was the gym area. She circled the treadmill, then stood looking at it, a knuckle caught between her teeth. Turning to Mycroft, she arched her eyebrows. "Do you actually use this?"

"I do, maybe not as often as I should, but I do use it."

"Hmmm." She walked on, inspecting the rower, stationary bike, and stair climber. She looked at him again, running her eyes over him from head to foot and back. "Soooo … what do you wear when you work out?"

He huffed in annoyance. "Appropriate clothing, I assure you."

"Do you mean appropriate-if-the-Queen-happened-by … or appropriate by real world standards -"

He rolled his eyes. "Appropriate."

"I'd like to see that!" She squealed just a bit when Mycroft grasped her arm firmly and pulled her out of the room.

They wandered through the rest of the downstairs, then moved upstairs. Mycroft briefly opened and shut the doors to several guest rooms without giving Molly a chance even to poke her head in. She protested the third time he did it, but stopped when she glanced around and realized where they were.

Before Molly could say anything, Mycroft grabbed her hand and tugged her around the corner and through the double doors to his bedroom. He finally stopped beside the bed and gave a surprised yelp when she shoved him backwards, making him lose his balance and land in a sprawl. He immediately planted his hands on the bed to sit up, only to fall back again when Molly crawled on top of his lap, knees straddling his hips. He drew a breath, then Molly clamped her mouth on his, her tongue prodding for entry, and a quick battle of tongues ensued, slipping and sliding around each other, interspersed with slow thrusts. She pulled back, staring at him, wide-eyed, as they both tried to catch their breath, then leaned forward again to suck his bottom lip between her teeth and gently nibble on it.

Mycroft reached around and unfastened her bra, then slid his hands under the lacy cups and over her breasts, rubbing her nipples against his palms. Molly arched back, moaning, then gasped open-mouthed when his hands released her breasts and slid all the way down her back, slipped between her bum and his thighs, and pulled her firmly against his erection. He licked a path from the base of her throat and up over her chin, dragging his open mouth along her jawline and down the side of her neck, stopping with his forehead pressed under her ear, his heavy breaths causing goose pimples to spread across her chest.

Molly leant back, breasts heaving. As she worked her hands between them to unbutton his trousers, Mycroft inhaled sharply and sucked in his stomach to make room for her fingers to grasp his zipper. She began lowering it … very slowly.

"Molly," he said desperately. And again. Then, groaning: "For god's sake, Molly - just do it!" The zipper finally down, she used both hands to spread the fly open, then carefully reached in, wrapped her right hand around him and lifted him free. She stroked him, root to tip, and back again, until he grabbed her hand. "Wait … take off your clothes."

Molly grabbed his shoulders and backed off his lap, kicking her shoes off and frantically shoving her jeans and knickers down, while Mycroft did the same to his trousers and pants. As soon as they were off, he cupped her bum and lifted her as she straddled him again. Reaching between them, Molly held him in position before slowly sinking down his length. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face into the hollow of his throat, breathing heavily, as he gripped her cheeks and began to work her over him. Their breathing got faster and louder before Mycroft finally slipped a hand between them, edging his fingers lower. Molly gave a loud gasping moan and arched her head so far back her hair brushed against Mycroft's knees. A few more strokes and he came, groaning Molly's name against her breast.

They sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily, arms wrapped around each other, until Mycroft fell back, taking her with him, and rolled them onto their sides, facing each other. Unfortunately, that left their lower legs still hanging over the edge of the bed. After a few seconds of that, Molly muttered, "Not only is this uncomfortable, but it must look ridiculous."

Mycroft let go of her and they rolled onto their backs, still trying to catch their breath.

More muttering from Molly. "What time is it?" Then, "I need tissues."

He glanced at her sideways and rubbed a hand roughly over his face to keep from laughing. Her ponytail had come down and her hair was all over the place, a good bit of it stuck to sweaty areas of her face and neck. He raised up on his elbow and smoothed it off her face and then carefully combed his fingers through the strands, until her hair stretched in a long unbound "tail" across the bed.

"Thank you," she said gratefully. "But I still need tissues."

He huffed but sat up, reached into a drawer of the bedside table, and gave her a handful. He took several more for himself, then fell back onto the bed. Several minutes passed before he sat up again after checking his watch. "Mrs. C will have lunch ready soon." He stood, then held a hand out to Molly, who groaned but struggled to her feet.

"I'm going to the other bedroom. Meet you at the stairs?"

"Fine."

#####

When they showed up in the kitchen just before Mrs. Collingwood was about to call them for lunch, she did indeed know they'd had sex … again. Their heightened color, swollen lips and loose-limbed appearance were enough to tell the tale, but she kept the knowledge off her face. It was obvious Molly was still feeling unsure of the situation and was easily embarrassed. Mycroft, of course, was brilliant at hiding his thoughts – and feelings, not that he admitted to having any – but she could read him well enough after fifteen years to tell he liked Molly and was enjoying being with her. She vowed to herself to do anything she could to help keep their relationship - whatever it was - going.

#####

After lunch, Mycroft got a call concerning a situation that couldn't be handled from home. Thirty minutes later, Walter picked up a suited Mycroft, who told Molly he'd see her when he saw her.

Molly went to the kitchen and visited with Mrs. Collingwood for a while, then wandered to the music room, where she found a Hanon book of piano exercises and spent the next couple of hours getting her piano fingers working properly again.

Mycroft gave Molly a brief call mid-afternoon to tell her he wouldn't be back until the wee hours, if then. She told Mrs. Collingwood, who then asked if Molly would like to try out the kitchen. She agreed and they spent several hours together, first making a Victoria Sponge for tea, and then talking about Mycroft's favorite recipes. Afterwards, she checked out the shelves of books in Mycroft's library and took several selections with her to the sitting room. She stretched out on a sofa and read for a while, but fell asleep. Mrs. Collingwood woke her when dinner was ready, and, at Molly's insistence, shared the meal with her. By the time they were through eating, she was officially "Mrs. C" to Molly, and Molly was "Miss Molly." Molly asked her to leave off the "Miss" but she wasn't comfortable doing that.

"Well, good golly … OK then," Molly replied, grinning, and Mrs. C laughed.

Molly went to bed about 11 p.m. and didn't rouse when Mycroft returned several hours later. Around dawn on Sunday, however, she roused with a gasp when he curved a warm hand around her sleep-cooled backside and gave her a gentle squeeze.

#####

Mid-morning found them in the sitting room, sharing a sofa after having tea. Mycroft was at one end, shoes off, socked feet propped on the coffee table, while Molly was propped on a pillow in the opposite corner, stretched out, with her feet tucked under his thigh. They were going through the Sunday papers, although Mycroft didn't seem interested in anything but the opinion pages. His own opinion was apparent by the occasional snort and scoffing laugh. At one point, the exhaled loudly, with an "Oh, bugger." Molly sat up, and he dropped the edge of his paper, "It's nothing – just an idiot."

Molly figured he was already aware of all the important news. Awhile later, she realized no pages had been turned for some time, so glanced up, only to find him studying her – probably horrified at her attention to the lifestyle sections. "What?"

He turned to face her, lifting her feet onto his lap and stretching an arm along the back of sofa. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to do today?"

"What are my options?"

"You tell me."

"Well … what I'd really like …"

"Yes?"

"Is to see you in your workout gear."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, grimacing. "What is the fascination with what I wear for the gym?" She looked at him curiously. He just stared at her, frowning.

"Never mind," she said, suppressing an eye roll. "So, are you game?" He wrinkled his nose. "I'll make it worth your while."

"What do you mean –"

"Worth. Your. While." Molly arched a brow.

Mycroft continued to stare at her, a crease between his brows, then dropped his feet to the floor. "All right."

#####

"So was it?"

Mycroft caught his breath, glancing sideways at Molly, who was sprawled across the floor by his treadmill. Naked. "It was indeed."

She laughed, delighted, eyeing his discarded gym wear that dangled off the raised arm of an armored knight … on a horse.

Someday, she'd have to ask him about those "statues."

#####

The next few weekends were similarly spent. Mycroft was gone a lot of the time, but Molly found she had no problem entertaining herself. She thought their arrangement quite a success so far and believed Mycroft viewed it the same way.

And the sex was amazing.

#####

After four weekends, three aspects of Mycroft and Molly's time together were taken for granted: (i) Molly arrived at his home on Friday evening and stayed through Sunday afternoon; (ii) Molly's landlady had very happily become Toby's weekend sitter (the extra money Molly gave her for doing so simply being an additional perk); and (iii) Mycroft would have to spend some – if not a good bit - of the weekend working at the office or in his study.

The first thing that really changed their sort-of routine occurred on the Tuesday before their fifth weekend together. Molly knew Mycroft preferred talking to texting, but didn't want to call him at a bad time, so therefore:

Hi, M! Schedule change. Am on duty Saturday (staffing issues). Talk later? MH

Molly was in the middle of a post-mortem when the first text alert sounded. She didn't expect one from Mycroft since she assumed he would call when he had time. When she could finally check her messages, she was surprised that three of them were from Mycroft:

Good morning, my dear. Sorry to hear that. Would you like to come over Wednesday night? MH

Then 10 minutes later:

If Wednesday doesn't suit, Thursday also looks good at this time. MH

10 minutes later than that:

I could come to your flat either night if that works better. MH

Molly's reply 30 minutes later:

Sorry! Was doing PM. Happy to come over either night. You're ALWAYS welcome at mine! J MH

Molly's phone rang less than a minute after she sent the text.

"Good morning, Molly. I hope the staffing issues aren't making your day worse than usual."

"Good morning, Mycroft!" Molly answered, cheerfully. (Had Mycroft been impatient for her to reply? Was he actually going to miss her company this weekend?!) "No, nothing's affected so far other than the weekend schedule."

"So," he said, in what Molly now recognized as his I'm-deliberately-sounding-casual tone, "would you like to come over tomorrow night?"

"That works for me. My shift is over at 5:00, but I'll need to go home first. Don't send Walter – I'll take a taxi."

Mycroft didn't answer immediately, then, "All right, my dear. I'll see you tomorrow evening."

So Molly ended up spending her first Wednesday night with Mycroft – and, as an added bonus, he wasn't pulled away for work, other than taking one brief call after dinner. They were in bed by 10 p.m. and took full advantage of an uninterrupted night. They were also able to enjoy a leisurely breakfast together before heading for work.

Mycroft didn't tell Molly, but he delayed his normal departure time by thirty minutes in order to give her a lift to Bart's.

#####

Molly occasionally came up with ways to shock Mycroft ... such as the Sunday morning when she decided she'd suffered in silence for long enough. He'd received a call as they were finishing breakfast and immediately went upstairs. Molly followed him into the bedroom, sitting on the bed while he headed for the bathroom. When she heard him open the door to the dressing room, she went to her usual spectator's position at the doorway. Mycroft seemed to take it for granted now that she'd follow him, but apparently had no real understanding of why she did so.

She watched as he dropped his towel, and bent to pull pants, then trousers, up his long, lean legs. Molly's breath caught audibly, so she quickly widened her eyes, trying to look innocent when he glanced her way. Trousers still unzipped, he turned to the closet and pulled a shirt off a hanger. While Molly watched every flex of muscle, he pushed one arm through the shirt sleeve, then the other, and stood there, shirt hanging open, while asking her what she planned to do while he was gone. Eyes riveted to that strip of bare chest, Molly ran through her usual list of pursuits without even having to think about what she was saying. How can he be so oblivious? He then mentioned some sheet music he thought she might like to try out … hmmm, sure … as he methodically pushed each shirt button through its hole, working his way from the shirt tail to collar. She pressed her lips tightly together to hold back a moan as he reached around and started tucking the shirt into his trousers. Tuck, pause … tuck, pause … she was going to go mad. He glanced down as he ran the zipper up its track and Molly had to turn a whimper into a cough. He looked at her, concerned. "Are you all right, my dear?" She smiled weakly, "Just a tickle in my throat.

He finished fastening his trousers, then his belt, and turned toward the rack with his shoes.

"Mycroft …."

"Hmmm?"

"Do you realize you get dressed the exact same way every day? Each item in the same order?"

He blinked slowly at her, looking confused. "Well, yes, I suppose I do." He looked around the room, from the rows of suits and shirts to racks of shoes to dressers and built-ins. "Is there something wrong with that, my dear?"

"Not at all, but … just for fun, I wondered if you could shake things up … do something out of order."

She looked at him, wide-eyed, a hopeful look on her face. He looked at his shoe rack again, then turned back to her. "What next, then?"

"Hmmm … anything you want, but how about you leave your shoes and socks until last," she suggested, innocently.

Mycroft hesitated [all his little obsessiveness cells must be bouncing off each other in alarm, she thought], then slowly pulled his waistcoat off the hanger and shrugged into it. Molly suddenly felt guilty, because he honestly looked a bit … stressed? But then he leveled his shoulders, selected a tie from his dresser, and moved in front of the mirror. Molly watched as the knot formed and he smoothed the tie against his shirt front. She then braced herself for what was coming next . His head lowered as he clipped his watch chain to the waistcoat, then picked up his cufflinks and slid the first one through its hole, then the other, his dexterous fingers moving oh so slowly and deliberately. When finished, he shot his cuffs, and Molly had to grit her teeth to hold back a moan.

He started toward the row of suits, and Molly said, "It would probably be better to get the shoes and socks out of the way before putting your jacket on." He changed course and settled on the padded bench. As he reached for his socks, Molly asked, "How soon do you have to leave?"

He paused, then checked his pocket watch. "Twenty minutes." He flinched when Molly suddenly sat beside him, resting her hand on his knee, before sliding to the floor in front of him. "What are you doing?"

She put her other hand on his other knee, then moved between them. "Would you mind closing your eyes?

He just stared at her, blankly … but then his eyes focused. "Yes."

"Then why haven't you – ahh, I get it. Would you please close your eyes?"

"Why do I need to close them?"

"Close your eyes, Mycroft!" She waited until he did so, then dragged her hands up his thighs, ignoring his muffled grunt. Her fingers slid around his legs to grab the back of his thighs and she pulled. "Scoot forward a bit –" [he did] "… now lie back and think of England." Molly gasped. "Ooh, that certainly got a response." She glanced up as she unbuttoned his trousers and saw a gleam of color between his lids. "Close your eyes and keep them closed."

A few seconds later, he hissed as she slowly lowered his zipper, then tugged the two layers of clothing down, tucking them carefully out of the way. He groaned as she ran her thumb over him, then lightly grasped him. She checked to make sure his eyes were closed, then shimmied closer, and gave him a tentative lick. Mycroft tensed, and his thighs tightened against her. She drew her hand up his length, tightening her grip as she went along, then back down again. Up and down once more, then she hesitated at his strangled, "Molly, you're killing me."

She lowered her head, flattened her tongue, and drew it slowly from root to tip, then took him into her mouth. He groaned, loudly. She released him with a swirl of her tongue, then smacked her lips. "How soon do you have to leave?"

"I can be late."

And he was.

#####

The second change to their usual routine affected their sixth weekend together and was caused, indirectly, by Molly's landlady's sister's brother-in-law. Mycroft had been incredulous that a minor medical event concerning such a distant by-marriage-if-even-that relation necessitated Mrs. Harrison's attendance at the patient's bedside. Molly figured Mycroft's reaction was due less to a lack of understanding of normal extended-family dynamics and more to his coming to grips with the realization that he'd need to welcome Toby to St. John's Wood for the weekend or likely have to do without Molly's company. (Even Mycroft hesitated to ask Anthea to act as substitute cat-sitter.)

So Toby in his carrier, along with his litter box and the other minimum accoutrements required for his weekend stay, arrived in style that Friday evening. Walter had shown no surprise at having a feline passenger, but Molly figured it was certainly a first. She'd also dealt with another first for Mycroft's household by pre-arranging a location for Toby's litter box with Mrs. Collingwood.

Toby had proved to be a well-behaved guest during the first twenty-four hours of his visit. By the end of Hour Twenty-Five (a/k/a 8 p.m., Saturday), Mycroft had proved to be susceptible to Toby's wiles. Molly went looking for the cat and eventually found him in the study, curled on his new human's lap, enjoying an absent-minded scratching provided by a work-distracted Mycroft. On being caught at it, a scowling Mycroft grumbled that the cat was a persistent pest. Molly apologized and took Toby away, scolding him for bothering Mycroft when he was so busy. (She just hoped Mycroft couldn't tell how firmly her tongue was stuck in her cheek.)

By the time Molly and Toby left Sunday evening, Mycroft considered the new arrangement would be the norm, and Mrs. Collingwood had added a litter box and litter to her shopping list.

#####

Six weeks along, no one knew about Mycroft and Molly … or so they thought. Anthea had figured it out, but was too discreet to let that fact slip – even to Mycroft.

The proverbial cat, however, was about to be let out of the bag.