Obviously Anthea figured it out on her own …

"He has a new spring in his step these days."

Molly turned from the window, glancing at Anthea, who continued to type on her phone, head down. Molly looked away without replying.

Mycroft had insisted on sending his driver to pick Molly up on her return from a pathology conference in Oxford. She'd walked out of Paddington Station and found Anthea leaning against the gleaming black car and Walter waiting at the boot to take her suitcase. Walter returned Molly's greeting, but Anthea had simply opened the passenger door with a flourish and waved her in.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

"And he's looking extremely fit," Anthea paused as Molly turned and their eyes met, then continued, "… as a number of well-connected, but unfortunately indiscreet, individuals have told me. Being a busybody is apparently a prerequisite for being a politician or government official."

Molly again didn't reply, turning to watch the traffic competing for position along Edgware Road. Silence reigned as Walter deftly maneuvered the car around slower moving vehicles, taking backstreets where possible to avoid the worst traffic snarls, and eventually came to a smooth stop at the curb outside Molly's block of flats. Molly pushed the door open and scooted to the edge of the seat.

As Molly exited the car, Anthea tried again, in a deadpan voice. "That was a thank you, by the way."

Once on the pavement, Molly bent down and finally replied. "Oh, don't thank me … it's been my absolute pleasure." She drawled, then closed the door with a snap.

Inside the car, Anthea smirked as she watched Molly stroll away … with a new spring in her step.

#####

Later that day, Anthea was at her desk, fingers flying nimbly across the computer keys, when her boss strolled in, swinging his umbrella jauntily and greeting her without pausing. She called "good morning, sir" just as his door clicked shut.

Fifteen minutes later, Anthea lightly tapped on his door before entering, then set a cup of tea by Mycroft's right hand. He was studying a file, brows knitted in a frown, as she settled herself in a chair across from him. Anthea continued to work on her phone until Mycroft sighed, sat back and steepled his fingers under his chin. "Anything else?"

For the next hour, Anthea updated Mycroft on overnight field reports, sent texts per his instructions, and answered her emails until he at last turned his attention to his laptop, giving her a brief wave of dismissal. Anthea uncrossed her legs and started to stand, but paused. "Dr. Hooper's conference talk was apparently a success." Mycroft looked up from the file he was studying, face impassive. Anthea cleared her throat. "Just thought you'd like to know she looked well today."

His gaze returned to the file and he again dismissed her with a flick of fingers. Anthea left, closing the door quietly. A few minutes later, Mycroft pulled his phone from his jacket, pressed a number, and leaned back in his chair. "So … Friday?" He listened for a while, smiled, and then slid the phone back in his pocket and focused on work.

#####

While Greg got some unintentional assistance ...

The following Wednesday, Molly was sitting in the lab, going over notes for her lecture, but glanced up when the doors swooshed open. She shot to her feet, eyes wide, and a delighted smile spread across her face. "Mycroft!"

He stopped just inside the doors, swinging his umbrella in a full circle before hanging it on a coat hook by the door. His expression warmed as he watched her hurrying toward him. "Good morning, my dear," he said, running his eyes down her charcoal-gray jacket and skirt, to low black heels, and then back up to the lace-edged collar of a cream-colored blouse. The suit was professional, the blouse added a more feminine touch, but the look lacked Molly's personal touch. It needs some more color.

When Molly noticed the lab assistant was still sitting at a microscope across the room, she stopped a step away from Mycroft, twisting her hands together at her waist to keep herself from reaching for him. "When did you get back?" she asked quietly. Their plans for the previous weekend had been cancelled when Mycroft suddenly had to fly to Geneva on the Thursday, so they hadn't seen each other since the Sunday before that – a total of ten days.

Mycroft rocked on his heels, clasping his hands behind his back. "I'm actually on the way to the office from the airport now," he replied, then cleared his throat. "It wasn't much of a detour to come by here for a few minutes."

Molly unconsciously leant toward him, then abruptly straightened, blushing. "Um, would you like a quick coffee? In my office?"

"Thank you, my dear."

Mycroft waited while Molly retrieved her notes, then followed her down the hallway and into her office. Their eyes met as he closed the door behind him, then they were in each other's arms. When they finally separated to suck in needed breaths, Molly gasped against his throat, mumbling, "Oh god … I missed you." Mycroft pulled her mouth back to his, both of them moaning.

They jerked apart at a sharp rap against the door. When the second knock came, Mycroft was standing casually at the window, hands in his trouser pockets, and Molly was sitting behind her desk. "Come in."

The door slowly opened, and Greg Lestrade leant his head in, quickly glanced around the office, then pushed the door fully open. "Molly?"

Molly stood and went round the desk to greet him. "Hi, Greg. What's up?"

"Mike Stamford told me you were here, preparing to instill a bit of needed wisdom into some medical students." He grinned. "I was upstairs visiting one of our detectives who had surgery yesterday and just thought I'd say hi." He looked over her shoulder. "Good morning, Mycroft."

Mycroft turned, tilting his head back. "Detective Inspector."

Greg studied him for a few moments, then turned back to Molly, a gleam in his eyes. "Well, as I said, this was just meant to be a quick hello. I better get back to the station." A sideways glance, "Mycroft." Mycroft nodded at him. A squeeze of Molly's shoulder, "Take care, Molly." Greg glanced at Mycroft again, then left, shutting the door behind him.

Molly exhaled loudly, rubbing her temple, then looking at Mycroft in some sort of distress.

He frowned. "What is it?"

"Red lips."

"What?"

"My lipstick."

Mycroft paused, a furrow between his brows. "And it's on me?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't think. I hardly ever wear it and—"

"Don't worry, my dear," he walked to her. "If Lestrade noticed, I'm sure he'll be discreet."

"Oh, he noticed all right."

"Yes, well." Mycroft smiled down at her and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear. "Duty calls, and you need to get ready to meet the little horrors." He raised her chin with a finger and gave her a firm kiss. "In for a penny …." But he did pull some tissues from her dispenser and wiped the traces of lipstick from his mouth.

Molly laughed. "I'll walk you out."

#####

A text alert sounded as she walked back to her office.

So, how long has THAT been going on? GL

Molly rolled her eyes.

Have no idea what you're talking about! (But don't tell SH) MH

Have you gone mad? Him - really? GL

It's good, really good. MH

OK, Molls, but he better treat you right. GL

He does. MH

Ten minutes later:

SH doesn't know? GL

Nope. MH

Once he does, can I tell him I beat him to it? GL

Prat …! OK - fine. MH

#####

And once the boys and Mrs. H found out …

Two weeks later, Molly stepped through the door to Baker Street and pushed it shut with her bum. She smiled on hearing the rumble of male voices coming down the stairwell, then skipped lightly up the stairs, ponytail bobbing. She came through the open door of 221B, glanced around quickly, and paused at seeing Mycroft, who was standing in front of the fireplace, pinching the bridge of his nose, mouth set in a tense line. John was at the desk, face buried in a newspaper. On the other side of the desk, Sherlock was smirking at his brother over the screen of his laptop.

"Hi, everyone!" She chirped happily. "Sherlock, I have the fingers you wanted –"

"Shut up, Molly," Mycroft snapped, caustically.

Molly flinched, then straightened. "I-I-I'm sorry for interrupting." She stepped sideways toward the kitchen. "I'll just put these in the fridge."

At her first hesitant stammer, Mycroft dropped his hand, threw Sherlock a narrow-eyed glare, then took a step toward Molly. She didn't look at him, but he saw her lips tremble before she sucked them between her teeth. Mycroft again looked daggers at Sherlock, who was staring back at him with an arrested expression. John simply looked thunderstruck by Mycroft's rudeness to Molly.

Molly returned to the sitting room but continued toward the door without stopping. "I've got to get back to Bart's – "

"Molly, wait." Mycroft moved quickly to catch her arm. She froze in place, but didn't look at him. "Molly …," he said, softly. "I'm sorry." He ignored the choking noise from one of the idiots behind him and kept his focus on Molly. She slowly raised her gaze to his, and he felt a brief stabbing twinge somewhere in his core at the expression in her eyes – no tears, no anger, just what looked like understanding. "Forgive me?"

"Of course," she said, smiling, before turning toward Sherlock and John. "But I still have to … Sherlock?" She walked toward him, a reluctant Mycroft following her. "Sherlock? Are you all right?"

Sherlock was staring in their direction, expression fixed, blank eyes slowly blinking. John leaned over the desk and spoke right by his ear. "Sherlock?" Then more forcefully, "Sherlock!"

Sherlock blinked twice more, then his eyes shifted toward John before quickly snapping sideways to Molly and Mycroft. "You – you …" He broke off. "The two of you are …." He started blinking again, rapidly.

"Wait – what?" John looked at them, then at Sherlock, then back at them. "What? No. You aren't …?" His jaw dropped in astonishment, then a look of horror passed over his face before he dropped it into his palm, moaning.

Mycroft moved a step closer, bent over the desk between them, and in the most snarky, smug voice Molly had ever heard, said smoothly, "Oh, yes indeed ... and quite a lot actually."

John simply groaned and dropped his head the rest of the way to the desk. Sherlock's blinking became a flutter. Mycroft straightened, put a hand on Molly's back, and started toward the door, grabbing his umbrella with his free hand. "Good day, gentlemen."

Molly's lips were quivering as they started down the stairs. She bit them, trying to hold in the laughter that was threatening to burst from her.

"Damn it, Mycroft! I think you've finally broken Sherlock!"

Mycroft ignored John's exasperated yell as they reached the bottom of the stairs, then moved to the front door. He stopped and turned Molly toward him. "Molly ..."

"It's all right … truly. I know I wasn't the target." She looked around, then lifted up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss. "Believe me, I understand completely. Sherlock was winding you up." She frowned. "I'm sorry, though, for causing you to let the cat out of the bag after we'd done such an amazing job of keeping Sherlock unaware of –" [waved a hand between them].

"Don't worry about it, my dear." Then, smirking: "Besides, I quite enjoyed their reaction."

"Ahhh, yes." Molly smirked back at him. "Sherlock will be stewing over this news for weeks."

"Precisely." He stepped closer, lowering his head -

"Molly? Mycroft?!"

They quickly turned toward Mrs. Hudson, who was standing outside her door, looking astonished.

"Oh - hi, Mrs. H," Molly said, blushing. "Um, I think John may need your help upstairs."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft said, with a nod, then opened the door and ushered Molly toward the waiting car.

#####

Could Mummy and Dad be far behind?

One Saturday morning in early September, Molly had just finished her shower and was towel-drying her hair when she heard three quick raps on the bathroom door. Before she could answer, another six raps rang out sharply. She reached over and opened the door, smiling. Mycroft quickly ran his eyes down and back up her towel-wrapped body before settling on her face. If it wasn't so ridiculous, she'd have said his expression looked a bit … frantic?

"Molly."

"Yes?"

"Molly." A couple of slow blinks.

"What's wrong?"

"My parents –"

"Oh my god … are they OK?" He just stared blankly. She grabbed his arm and shook it. "Are they OK, Mycroft?"

He focused on her again. "What? Yes, they're fine –" [swallowing, audibly] "… and on their way."

"On their way where?"

"Here!" He actually shouted. "In ten minutes!"

"Out …" [shoving him toward the bedroom door]. "Downstairs now! Check the sitting room. Get my briefcase from your study and put it in the hallway. What about the kitchen? Oh my god – I can't remember what's where. They won't be coming into your bedroom, will they?"

He flinched, but shook his head. "No, they don't come in here. OK, right – I'm going downstairs and you're -"

"Getting dressed and will be right behind you. Now go!"

She turned toward the bathroom, paused, then went back to lean her head out the bedroom door. "Mycroft, you do realize between the two of us we're more than seventy-five years old?" He just turned and glared. "Right-e-o. Go on" [waving him toward the stairs].

She did a snort-chuckle combination, shaking her head at Mycroft freaking out at the idea of his parents catching them in flagrante delicto – or, looking down at herself, certainly close to it. Wincing at the sight of her bare legs, she rushed back to the bathroom, whipped the towels off head and body, grabbed her clothes and dressed frantically, getting her bra twisted in the process. After spending a frustrating thirty seconds getting it untwisted, she shoved her feet into shoes, then rubbed her hair with a dry towel until it looked like a bird's nest. Tears came to her eyes when she tried to comb through the resulting tangles, but at least her hair looked relatively dry. She quickly braided it, tossed the brush on the counter, and fled the room, grabbing her handbag as she went. She ran down the stairs double-time and called to Mycroft.

He stepped out of the study, Molly's briefcase in hand, gave her the once over, then nodded, taking a deep breath. Molly tried to slow her own breathing. "Did you hide everything?"

"There wasn't much. Calm down."

"Calm down? Me? Have you looked in a mirror?" She pointed at him. "Your hair is sticking up, your tie is crooked, and, and – where is your waistcoat?"

At that moment, they heard a chime from the hallway security panel, indicating the front gate was opening. They looked at each other, then darted off in opposite directions, with Mycroft heading to his study and Molly to the front hall.

Mycroft grabbed his jacket and waistcoat from a chair, then hurried to the ensuite, where he checked his tie in the mirror, straightened his hair and donned the rest of his suit. He took another deep breath, let it out, then strolled casually toward the front door with his customary elegance.

Molly was already in her coat, briefcase and handbag in one hand, the other hand rubbing her temple. She looked at him with a frown. "Right … I've just picked up - what? Why am I here?"

Mycroft hummed a second, then: "You were going to be in the area so offered to bring me the post-mortem report on one of my agents."

"But how did I know where you live?"

"Molly! Stop panicking." He snorted, then gave her a wry smile. "You were right earlier. This is ridiculous. I don't do this –" [waving his hand around] "… this type of farcical scene, straight out of some idiotic comedy. For god's sake, I'm not only forty-five years old, but deservedly known for keeping my cool in the most stressful situations – which, by the way, this certainly isn't." Now Mycroft was the one rubbing his forehead.

She patted his arm. "Yes, but it's your parents – and I'm your bit of stuff." She ignored his scowl. "Everyone acts weird when it comes to their parents … and sex."

Mycroft looked affronted. "I've never considered myself as 'everyone'."

Molly rolled her eyes, then sobered when a car door slammed and Mycroft stepped past her toward the door. "Remember that I've actually met your parents before." He glanced back at her, brows raised. "At Sherlock's? After his return?"

Mycroft grimaced at the mention of his brother, then straightened his jacket and opened the door with a flourish, just as his mother reached the front step. "Mummy." He flinched when Violet – in full view of Walter – wrapped her arms around him and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. She pulled back and looked more closely at his face, before dropping her gaze down to his feet and slowly back up.

"Mycroft, you look very well." Her eyes widened. "Have you actually taken a holiday for a change?"

Mycroft just gave her a weak smile and looked over her shoulder. "Morning, Dad."

"Good to see you, son," Siger replied, before following the two of them through the door.

His mother stopped abruptly on seeing Molly standing by the hall table, a bright smile on her face. Mycroft could see she was fidgeting nervously, but trying to hide it.

"Mrs. Holmes, Mr. Holmes … hi!"

"Dr. Hooper?" Violet said in a wondering tone, glancing sideways at Mycroft, but he didn't look at her. "How nice – but unexpected – to see you again … and here." Both his parents went to Molly and shook her hand warmly.

"I'm happy to see you both again." Still using that overly bright voice. "Have you come to town to see some shows?"

"Yes, we have tickets for – you weren't leaving, were you, dear? Can't you stay for a while?"

"I'd like to, but I need to get back to Bart's. I just came to bring Mr. Holmes a report on one of his employees."

Mycroft broke in. "Yes, er, Dr. Hooper was just leaving when you called." He saw his mother's glance move from him to Molly before she looked at his father and raised her brows. He knew he was in for an interrogation and suddenly decided he wasn't going to face it alone. "But I'm sure Dr. Hooper could stay long enough for some tea," he continued smoothly. Molly gave him an incredulous look and he stared back at her, blandly.

"Why are we all standing out here?" Mycroft waved his hand toward the sitting room, just as his housekeeper came into the hall from the kitchen. "Ah, Mrs. Collingwood. As you see, my parents have arrived for a visit. Would you please ask Walter to take their bags up and then bring us some tea."

"Certainly, sir." Mrs. Collingwood smiled at his parents as they shed their outerwear and followed Mycroft and Molly to the sitting room.

#####

Violet and Siger settled themselves on one of the sofas. Molly hesitated, then sat across from them on the other since the nearest chair was too far away to be sociable. Mycroft had no choice but to do the same. He sat on the opposite end from Molly, an empty cushion between them, then leaned back, crossing his legs. Molly slowly ran her eyes down his form, admiring the elegant stretch of his long body – from the top of his head to the foot that he was casually swirling in a slow circle. Feeling mesmerized, she watched the shiny toe of that shoe make another rotation, then forced her gaze up and away – only to be caught by his father's twinkling eyes.

Mr. Holmes smiled at her, crow's feet wrinkling, and Molly awkwardly smiled back, feeling her face flush. He took pity on her and turned to Mycroft. "Sorry, son, for not giving you notice of our visit, but your mother –"

"Decided to surprise you and not allow you time to come up with any excuses." She leaned toward him, a stern look on her face. "Sherlock assured us you were in town, so we bought an extra ticket to several shows over the next three days. I hope you'll be able to go to at least one of them with us, Mycroft."

"My schedule is rather packed, Mummy –"

"Well, see what you can do. I'm sure Anthea can free up some time for you." Violet leant back and turned toward Molly. "What about you, Dr. Hooper – do you ever get out to shows?"

"Call me Molly, please. No, it's pretty rare that I go to any plays. I think about it, but never seem to finalize plans."

"Mycroft," Violets said, archly, "why haven't you taken Molly …" [paused to smile at her] "to a show?"

"Wh-what? No! We're not dating, Mrs. Holmes." Molly looked at Mr. Holmes, then back at Mrs. Holmes, but avoided looking at Mycroft. "We're, um … well, I believe we're friends – or, you know, I'm a friend of Sherlock's and any friend of Sherlock's is a friend of …." She trailed off uncertainly, then flushed.

Mycroft mentally rolled his eyes and waited for the next lob. He caught his dad's eyes and braced for a new player to enter the game. Siger took a breath and opened his lips –

"Mycroft …?" His attention snapped back to his mother on hearing the delight in her voice. "When did you get a cat?"

Molly gasped as they all turned to watch Toby stroll in, leap gracefully onto Mycroft's knees, do a complete turn, then butt his head against Mycroft's arm. Without thinking, Mycroft started scratching Toby's ear, then winced and dropped his hand.

"He's not mine - he belongs to Mrs. Collingwood," he said, at the same time Molly said, "Toby's mine." They looked at each other, Mycroft accusingly and Molly apologetically.

Violet grabbed Siger's arm and asked excitedly, "So you're living together?"

Mycroft exhaled noisily. "No, we are not." He sighed again. "Dr. Hooper –" [Molly and his mother both snorted.] "Molly … visits occasionally."

"And brings her cat?"

Molly looked with interest at Mycroft, twisting to sit sideways in order to have a better view. She caught Siger's gaze again and this time grinned at him mischievously.

"Molly's landlady wasn't able to keep him –"

"So her landlady usually keeps Toby while Molly 'visits'?"

With difficulty, Mycroft kept his face in its usual neutral mask and stared impassively at his mother for several moments. He'd faced down dictators, double agents and terrorists without blinking, but found himself outplayed this time. As a certain dominatrix once said, know when you are beaten. "All right, Mummy." He glanced at Molly, then scowled on seeing the amusement she was making no attempt to hide. He raised his right hand, palm outward, fingers spread wide, and started ticking off.

Forefinger down: "We started having tea together very occasionally while Sherlock was away so I could assure Molly he was alive."

Middle finger down: "We continued to have tea occasionally after Sherlock returned because –" [glanced at Molly] "… we unexpectedly came to find our little chats -" [glanced at Molly again, eyebrows raised] "… pleasant – if only as an opportunity to complain about said brother."

Ring finger down: "We started occasionally spending time together here about two months ago -" [pinky down] "… and shared the news with Sherlock two weeks ago. My enjoyment since then over his strong reaction to the news has gone a long way toward paying him back for some of his recent antics."

Thumb down: "That's it, that's where we are, that's all you're getting out of me – and it's more than I ever intended to share with anyone!" Mycroft had leant further and further over the coffee table toward his mother and the last words were hissed between gritted teeth. He pulled back when Toby hissed at being rather flattened by Mycroft's chest.

Violet stared at Mycroft in astonishment. He glanced at his father, found him looking highly entertained, then slumped back in the corner of the sofa, covering his eyes with the back of his hand. "Dear god, I'm in agony."

Violet and Siger rolled their eyes at the sudden reappearance of their elder drama queen, then both of them arched their brows, turned toward Molly and smirked. Siger gave her a discreet thumb's up, and Molly lost it. She fell forward, grabbed her calves, face against her knees, and started giggling. She could feel the weight of six eyes – eight counting Toby's – staring at her head, but she kept her face down and laughed until she hiccupped. She sat back abruptly, tucked her hair behind her ears, then straightened her face.

"Sorry." Molly held her sober expression for several seconds, then covered her mouth, but still couldn't prevent more giggles from escaping.

Siger started to laugh, and Violet joined in. Molly glanced at Mycroft, who was still slumped in the corner of the sofa, staring at the ceiling, head tilted against the back cushion, one hand resting on the sofa arm, the other scratching Toby behind the ear.

With a slight rattle of china, Mrs. Collingwood came through the open door, tea tray in hand. "Well, it's good to see you all having such a nice visit," she said, placing the tray on the coffee table."

At that, Mycroft gave in and laughed with the rest of the loons.

Molly sobered enough to thank Mrs. Collingwood, who looked at them curiously before leaving.

#####

After finishing their tea, Violet and Siger went upstairs to freshen up, leaving Mycroft and Molly in the sitting room.

"So," Molly drawled, "am I staying or going?" She'd bent one leg under her after kicking off her shoes. Mycroft was still slumped back, eyes contemplating the ceiling. "Are you looking for cracks?"

He turned his face toward Molly, giving her a withering look. "Very funny." Mycroft sat up, lowered Toby to the floor, and stood, straightening his jacket as he headed for the door. He paused there without turning. "Stay if you like," then walked out – only to lean back in and add, deadpan, "but we're not having sex. You make far too much noise."

He smirked at Molly's blush, then vanished down the hall.

#####

Much later that night, Molly was roused by warm hands cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing back and forth over her nipples. Mycroft was spooned behind her, one knee pressed between hers, as his hand pushed her nightshirt aside, then trailed his fingers slowly down her stomach to curve between her legs. Molly moaned, arching as his fingers probed gently, then she abruptly gasped and tried to move away. "I thought you said no sex!"

Mycroft rubbed his lips over the skin of her nape, murmuring, "Haven't I mentioned that this room is sound-proofed?" Molly huffed, then moaned again as he ran his hand down the inside of her upper leg to her knee, lifted it to allow room for him to position himself more fully between her thighs, then lowered her leg to rest along the top of his. Molly's breath caught as his thigh pressed more firmly upwards, then she tilted her hips back to rub herself against him. "Oh god, Mycroft." He used his weight to roll her further onto her stomach, at the same time using his thigh to separate her legs, then slowly pushed into her. Once in place, he began a gentle rocking motion, which Molly matched, grinding slowly and steadily for some minutes, until she reached back to clutch at Mycroft's hip. "Oh god, oh god, harder!" He grabbed a pillow and rolled back just enough to push it under Molly's stomach, then pressed forward, rolling her over it, before gripping the side of her hip to pull her upwards as he pushed himself onto his knees with the other hand. Molly pulled another pillow under her face and screamed into it when Mycroft thrust forcefully, and again, keeping up a hard, fast pace. Molly's breath caught when he held deep, slipped his hand between them, then returned to a fast steady pace, his fingers stroking in tandem. One stroke, two, then she convulsed, body shaking, turning her head from the pillow to take deep shuddery breaths, and then gasping as another orgasm ripped through her when Mycroft thrust deep, gripped her hips hard, and came with a choked-off shout. He rolled off her to lie flat on his back, chest heaving.

When his breathing slowed, Mycroft rolled onto his side, arm bent under his head, and stroked a hand down Molly's back. She tugged the pillow out from under her and stretched flat on her stomach, turning her face toward him. She sighed, then reached behind her to take his hand and thread their fingers together. "I don't even have enough energy to kiss you good night."

Mycroft raised up on an elbow and leaned toward her. "That's all right … I do," kissing her gently, then rolling onto his back. "Good night, Molly."

"Mmmm … g'night."