(*full chapter title ...)

*He Doesn't Necessarily Have To Be Isolated

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Molly woke with a snort, her nose pressed too closely against Mycroft's side, and turned her head toward cooler air, drawing a deep breath and blinking in confusion. The room was dim with shadows but early evening sunlight coming through the window made a crisscross pattern on the far wall. She felt like she'd been drugged, not sure what day or time it was.

She deliberately relaxed, not wanting to wake Mycroft, but almost jolted when her brain finally caught up with the rest of her. She turned her head as slowly as possible until she could peek over his rib cage. His face was completely relaxed, lips slightly parted, breathing even, and she was suddenly flooded with emotions … with all the love she'd wanted to show him for so many months, but also with tenderness for him in his unguarded state and a great desire to protect him – and wouldn't he laugh at that.

This Mycroft was hers.

And he loved her.

Molly carefully eased to her previous position. She thought back to that last meeting in a tea shop all those months ago, when her first glimpse of Mycroft looking so perfectly at ease with his power, isolation and sophistication had almost caused her to run away. And then her shocked disbelief two weeks later when he'd left her flat … realizing they'd be having sex and exposing themselves to each other in more ways than being naked.

How could he love her? Had she somehow forced him to say it? She knew he got pleasure from their physical relationship – she was in fact still amazed at how enthusiastically he pursued that – and she also thought he actually enjoyed how she teased him, perhaps as an antidote to all those who treated him as the Ice Man. When she thought –

"You're giving me a headache," Mycroft said, rubbing his fingers over the crown of her head. "I can hear the mental wheels turning." She looked up to meet his eyes. "What are you thinking about?" Molly tried not to blush, but failed. "Ah," he said, reaching for his phone to check the time. "We probably need to get up." He looked down at her again. "Don't you want to move to the bigger room tonight?"

"Whatever you want," she said, kissing his side. "I like it here, too."

"The other room has an ensuite."

Molly sat up. "Well, that settles it." She noticed the duffle bag and looked at him over her shoulder, brows raised. "Where did you get that bag and what in the world did you bring in it? No suits obviously."

"I'll have you know that bag has been around the world a number of times." When she kept her brows raised, he added. "Legwork."

"And what did you bring?"

"What I thought would suit your preferred activities."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "So just hiking stuff and no pajamas?"

"That would be about it."

She crawled over him and rested her folded arms on his chest. "Who are you and what have you done with the real Mycroft Holmes?"

He frowned. "I can adapt."

Molly snorted. "I'm sure you can." Frowning, she continued, "But I never wanted to make you miserable."

Mycroft looked surprised. "Do I appear to be miserable?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "You never look miserable when we're in bed."

"Ah." He pursed his lips. "There is that." He slid his hands down her back and cupped her backside, then gave her a pat. "We need to get up." She stared at him without moving. "What is it, my dear?"

She flushed, resting her forehead on her arms. "Would you tell me again?"

He ran his hands up her sides, curved them under her arms and pulled her higher until they were face to face. He waited until she opened her eyes, then ran a finger down her cheek. "I love you, Molly."

Molly felt like her smile was going to split her face. "And I love you." She kissed him briskly, then pushed herself into a sitting position and climbed off of him. While he yawned noisily and stretched his arms overhead, she shrugged into her dressing gown, shaking her head as she crossed the hall and closed the bathroom door.

Mycroft Holmes. In a single bed, in a no-star B&B with the facilities across the hall, and he wasn't complaining. Who'd have thought?

#####

Mrs. McDonald was on the phone when they reached the reception desk. Molly wandered off to look at the sunset out the front window, letting Mycroft deal with the room change and giving her a chance to avoid the landlady's eyes. An hour after the fact, she'd vaguely recalled hearing the headboard noises and was indeed mortified.

When Mrs. McDonald came around the desk with the key, they followed her up the stairs and down the hall toward the back of the house. Their new room was a good bit larger and did have a double bed and a bathroom with a small shower. After the landlady left, Mycroft led the way back to the other room and waited while Molly stuffed her toiletries and odds and ends in her bag. She stripped the bed, rolling the sheets into a tight ball, and then glanced at Mycroft, who was watching her, hands on his hips. "What?"

He came to help her smooth the duvet over the bed. "Nothing."

They looked around for any missed items, then Mycroft picked up his duffle and her bag, leaving Molly to carry the backpack. After dropping everything in the other room, they headed downstairs. Mrs. McDonald told them supper would be ready in about fifteen minutes, so they wandered into the back garden and sat on a bench, looking at the fading sunset.

"The weather has been incredible," Molly said, turning to him. "If it's clear tomorrow, would you be interested in walking up Arthur's Seat? I went last week and the climb wasn't difficult, and the view is definitely worth it." He looked at her, and she continued, "Well, if you like that sort of thing."

"If that's what you'd like to do, it's fine with me." Molly raised her brows. "It's the last day of your holiday, Molly. I don't mind falling in with your plans."

Molly sighed. "Mycroft, don't go overboard trying to make me happy, if that's what you're doing." She wrinkled her nose, then grinned. "I'm happy with the Mycroft I've known all this time … and love. You don't have to change."

"You ask too little."

"That's not true."

He looked at his watch. "We better go in."

"Mycroft …" He turned back to her. "Do you know how incredibly sexy you look wearing a wristwatch?"

"What?" The tips of his ears turned pink.

"Yep … almost as sexy as you look with your pocket watch." She grabbed his hand, pulling him behind her until he caught up and slung his arm around her shoulders. She glanced up at him and mirrored his smile.

#####

The double bed was definitely roomier and, thankfully, quieter.

#####

"There. Wasn't that worth the climb?"

Mycroft lowered his water bottle. "If one wanted to see Edinburgh in its entirety," he met her eyes, then continued, "which I did, of course."

She grinned. "How are your ribs doing?"

"Fine." [Sternly]

"OK." Molly spun in a circle, arms held out, ponytail whipping around her face.

"What are you doing?"

She kept turning. "Appreciating the day." She came to a stop in front of him and slid her arms around his waist. "Appreciating being with you." She pulled back. "May I temporarily take back my wish that you won't try too hard to make me happy?"

Mycroft took another swallow of water above her head, then capped his bottle. "What do you want?"

"No need to sound so suspicious." She pulled out her phone. "A photo of us."

"Molly –"

"C'mon. You can hide your face. I'll know it's you and Sherlock will know it's you, which is the point. Let's send him a photo that will make him gag."

"Molly –"

"Come on." She moved in close to him. "Bend your knees." She held her phone up, put her head on the center of his chest and tilted her face to the side. "Now you act like you're kissing my ear and all that will show is your forehead." He did suddenly kiss her ear and pulled back to grin at her. She laughed up at him just as a gust of wind tossed her ponytail in the air. She quickly snapped the shot.

Mycroft frowned at the click, but after they studied the result, he admitted only those who knew him best – and that he was with Molly - would recognize him, plus her flying hair was partially blocking his face. What was visible of a grinning Mycroft in profile looked very little like the Ice Man in profile. It was also a bit blurred. Molly liked it so he didn't protest any further.

They sat on the grassy slope while Molly sent the text to Sherlock.

Glad you aren't here! See you soon! Big Bro + MH xxx

She also sent one to Anthea.

Thank you A … but glad you aren't here! (Himself doesn't know I'm sending this.) MH

Molly figured she owed it to the PA.

They then headed down the trail, Mycroft in the lead in case Molly got going too fast. She enjoyed the view of his rear end. The Ice Man … in well-fitting jeans. Yowza. He turned once, caught her obviously checking him out, and frowned. What she didn't see was his grin when he turned back around.

Mycroft was finding the hike unexpectedly … agreeable, if only because Molly was getting so much enjoyment from it. He was also pleasantly surprised by how easy the climb had been. He'd known he was getting a bit soft the last couple of years since the general decrease in his activity level. Although his physical exertion had increased significantly with the advent of Molly into his life, it was gratifying to have proof of his improved stamina and fitness. Not bad for a middle-aged man who'd given up legwork … for the most part.

#####

"Mycroft! The shower's too small for this." Molly's back was mashed to his front as his hands massaged her breasts and he nibbled down the side of her neck to her shoulder. "There's no room for me to bend over." One of his hands slid down her stomach and curved between her legs. "Oooh," she moaned, panting. "If we run out of hot water, I'll scream and it won't be from pleasure," she warned, before moaning again as his middle finger probed more firmly. She reached backwards to wiggle her hand between their bodies and instead hit her elbow against the tap. "Oh god, this shower was not intended for two."

Molly twisted around to face him and raised her knee as Mycroft slid a hand down the back of her thigh. When he cupped her backside and lifted her, she grabbed the top of the metal shower frame and pulled her other knee up. They paused and she let out a long breath. "This is ridiculous. One or both of us will end up straining something important." Her lips quirked. "I know you hate to admit defeat." He snorted, but let her slide down and turned off the water before stepping out of the shower. She followed him and they briskly dried off. As Molly turned to leave, Mycroft slid an arm around her middle and pulled her back against him, cupping her breast with his other hand and rubbing his thumb over her nipple. She inhaled with a gasp, twisting to face him, then backed up until the wall stopped her and pulled his mouth down to hers. When he lifted her, Molly wrapped one arm around his neck, clamped her knees on either side of his waist, and reached between them with her other hand to hold him in position as he bent his knees and pushed up into her.

Mycroft pulled her thighs higher along his sides as he began to move, causing their point of joining to serve as a partial support for the weight of her body … so each dragging push and pull caused maximum friction for both of them in just the right places. Molly grasped his shoulders more firmly with both hands, fingertips digging into his back, as Mycroft's thrusts intensified. Moments later, Molly called out, her body tightening around him, squeezing and releasing, and he followed her over the edge with a sharp lunge upwards. They stayed wrapped around each other, with Mycroft leaning against her, chest heaving, thigh muscles trembling.

Once some strength returned to his legs, Mycroft straightened, hiked Molly higher and carried her into the bedroom, where they collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

#####

After breakfast Friday, they returned to their room and Molly crawled onto the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard. "I haven't asked about our travel plans, but how and when are we leaving?"

Mycroft was sitting in the chair, legs crossed, as he checked his phone. "By plane - and more or less whenever you want."

"Mycroft," she said, mildly, "would you please explain that."

He looked up. "Private plane."

"Oh … of course." She rolled her eyes, teasingly, but her stomach clenched. From the time they started meeting for tea until the present day, Molly had done her best to disregard the difference in their financial status, and Mycroft never knowingly did anything to call attention to it. "So we just show up …?"

"No, I should let the crew know at least an hour before we want to leave." Mycroft put his phone away. "What would you like to do this morning?"

"If it's up to me, I'd like to head for home."

"All right, if that's what you want."

Molly stared at him, her eyes narrowed. "Once we're back in London, I really don't want you to keep acting like this." Her eyes widened in alarm. "What if this easy-going version of you starts rubbing off on 'work Mycroft'?"

"Molly, I told you this is your holiday, and I've simply tried to adapt to that."

She wasn't listening. "You've worn jeans for three days. You hiked up a hill. You ate at a dining table with strange people in a no-star hotel. You used a communal bathroom." She was getting worked up. "For god's sake, you let me take a selfie!"

Mycroft sat on the bed and put his arm around her. "I can assure you that those who had cause, or thought they had cause, to fear me before will continue to do so. My cold-hearted reputation will remain intact."

#####

As she turned from thanking Mrs. McDonald, Molly was unsurprised to see a duplicate of Mycroft's London car pull to a stop in front of the B&B. The driver greeted Mycroft by name as he came around to open the boot and take their bags.

Once they settled in the back seat, Mycroft took Molly's hand. "All right?" She nodded, smiling, then turned to look at the passing scenery. She told herself not to focus on unimportant things. If wearing jeans to travel to London bothered Mycroft, he wasn't showing it. She was sure, though, that only a handful of people, at most, would have ever seen him out of a suit. If anyone who thought of him as the Ice Man saw him dressed so informally, it might somehow weaken his position. Maybe Mycroft did need to avoid relationships to function most effectively in his work -

"What are you worrying about now?" When she said she wasn't, he hummed, unconvinced, but changed the subject. "Good, because there's something I actually would like you to worry about for me if you think you'll have time." Molly immediately perked up. "My mother's seventy-fifth birthday is in June, and I'd like you to think about what we should do to mark the occasion." Molly's expression changed to a mix of excitement and trepidation. "If you want to do this, I suggest you get with Dad to see if he has any ideas. You could also check with Sherlock, but he always does his best to avoid such family events."

"Do you mean a dinner? A party? An evening at musical theatre?" Mycroft shuddered, and Molly chuckled, patting his arm. "I'll try to think of something that won't be too painful for you and your brother."

Molly looked out the window as they neared the airport. She sat up straighter as the driver followed signs to the business aviation area. She didn't recognize makes of planes, but they pulled to a stop near a sleek white jet with swooping red lines painted on its sides. The driver came around and opened the door for her, so Molly made herself step out with a confident smile. She stood aside though until Mycroft got out, then slid her hand around his arm, hoping her grip didn't seem too desperate. Molly didn't pay much attention to his conversation with the driver, her attention being focused on what looked like two pilots who'd come down the short flight of stairs leading into the plane and stopped, looking toward Mycroft.

Molly smiled at the driver as Mycroft led her toward the plane, then turned to look at the other two men. She slid her hand off Mycroft's arm, but he took hold of it, threading their fingers together. She saw the older man glance at their clasped hands before he met her eyes, and she gave him a brief smile, then looked beyond him at the plane. The driver walked past with their bags and took them up the stairs and then came right back down, empty-handed.

"Dr. Hooper …" Molly's attention abruptly returned to the other three men, "These are our pilots today, Andrew Davis and Thomas McLean." It seemed appropriate to shake their hands, so Molly stuck hers out to one of them, then the other.

Mycroft led her to the stairs and urged her up them with a hand on her back. She avoided gasping at the plane's interior, but it was like something from a film about international spies. She glanced around, expecting to see a sexy flight attendant just waiting to welcome Mycroft into her Mile High Club. Mycroft stepped around Molly and moved to an adjoining pair of seats. He glanced back, brows raised, so she followed and took the left-side seat while he dropped into the other one.

Several minutes later, Molly watched as the pilots boarded, the outside stairs retracted, and Mycroft got up to talk to them too quietly for her to hear. The others eventually went into the cockpit and closed the door, and Mycroft returned to his seat. He and Molly buckled their seatbelts as the jet's engines started, and they were taxiing away from the hangar within ten minutes.

Molly had lots of questions, but asking them would mean talking about issues she wanted to avoid. Money matters, for example. For another, how was she being allowed to take a flight without anyone official having asked her for identification? She knew Mycroft would have handled whatever was required, but she didn't like not knowing. If their relationship ever became more "official," she would ask all those sensitive questions. For now, though …

"How long will the flight take?"

"About ninety minutes."

Molly had never flown in such a small plane and was surprised at how smooth the takeoff was. She watched Edinburgh fall away from them and kept staring at the landscape far below until it was obscured by clouds. She sighed and turned to Mycroft, smiling when she met his glance.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"I'm fine for now." Molly bit her lip, then asked hesitantly. "Is one of those men an agent?"

Mycroft's gaze narrowed and a crease appeared between his brows. "Why do you think that?"

"Are there usually two pilots on a plane this size for such a relatively short trip?" He looked away. "Can you really not tell me if one of them actually is an agent?"

Mycroft sighed. "Molly –"

Molly straightened abruptly. "Is that how you knew what my 'preferred activities' were? Did you have someone watching me?"

He looked at her and let out a long breath. "Not all the time, but Andrew did keep a distant eye on you when you were out and about on your own." He took her hand and threaded their fingers together. "The reality is that you could become a target because of our relationship, so I will do whatever I can to ensure your safety." He held her gaze for several moments, then arched a brow. "All right?"

"I suppose." Molly sighed when he raised the other brow. "All right." She turned to look out the window but just saw clouds so leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes.

Mycroft cleared his throat, and she turned her head to look at him. His eyes were lowered to their clasped hands, which he suddenly lifted to tuck against his stomach. Well, that was new.

"Molly," he started, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, "your lease is up for renewal at the end of June." Molly's hand jerked in his, and their eyes met as he turned his head. "Would you like to move in with me instead?"

Molly stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open, before she snapped it shut with a click of teeth. "Are you serious?" He just looked at her. "Sorry, of course you're serious or you wouldn't have asked."

She turned away from him, thinking swiftly, while Mycroft waited, continuing to stroke her hand. "How thoroughly have you thought this through?" She turned back to him. "I mean it – have you thought of all the practical day-to-day matters?"

"I've certainly given it considerable thought, but what you consider practical matters may not have crossed my mind."

She looked at him, suspiciously, trying to decide if that was some sort of a dig at her sometimes convoluted thought process, but decided to let it pass. She tried to put her thoughts in some sort of order. "I can't think of everything at such short notice, but the biggest issue to me is that over all these months we've basically spent only two days a week together. Going from that to having me around all the time would be a big change for you."

"You'd have me around all the time as well."

Molly rolled her eyes. "I certainly would not since you'd be at work all day and possibly at night and probably part of the weekends. You, however, would be coming home, whenever you came home, to someone in your space."

"That wouldn't be a problem."

"How do you know? You've never lived with anyone … right?" He lifted his chin, acknowledging that. "I'm afraid you'd start to feel invaded - that you need those days alone to recover from our weekends."

"I don't have to 'recover' from our weekends."

"Mycroft," she said, chidingly. "I've been around Sherlock a lot and while you are quite different from him, I can't believe you don't need some sort of 'depressurizing' after having had me in your personal space all weekend."

Mycroft closed his eyes and kept hold of her hand, but stopped rubbing it. Molly watched him, wondering what he was thinking. She let time elapse without trying to break the silence. Finally, he sighed and opened his eyes, turning to her. "I really thought you had a better understanding of our relationship from my point of view."

"What do you mean?"

He unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted until he was angled toward her. "Molly, what you describe may have been the case if I'd ever been tempted to try having a relationship with someone else, but you are more … comfortable to be around than anyone I've ever met. Well -," he paused, tilting his head, giving her a chiding look, "… you were once you got past being so nervous around me." He smiled briefly, then continued, "You've been absorbed into my life with very few adjustments on my part – at least few unwelcome adjustments." He considered Toby for a moment, but decided the cat had really behaved quite well over all. "You've made it surprisingly easy for me. You don't complain about my frequent absences during our weekends or disturb me when I have to work at home. You always seem content with your own company and able to find things to do. The only so-called sacrifice I've made is to accept your 'invasion' of my home." A crease appeared between his brows. "And to put up with your excessive demands on my body." He smiled when Molly laughed.

"I may not walk around the house sighing like some lovesick school boy, but I am aware of you being gone during the week. I notice how quiet the house is in the evenings and how big my bed is. I miss hearing you talking to Mrs. C in the kitchen or playing the piano or singing along with that awful pop music on your iPod. I miss sharing meals with you and holding you in my arms. I miss the smell of your skin and hair so I sometimes wander into your bathroom where those scents linger the most. I even miss your drawing me into what are occasionally, quite frankly, pretty silly conversations. So you see, Molly, I don't have to recover from your visits - I have to adjust to your absences." As he was talking, he raised the seat separator from between them, reached over to unbuckle Molly's seatbelt, then lifted his arm. "Now come here and stop crying."

When she scooted over to nestle against his side, he slid his arm around her and angled his head to look down at her face. "I think you ought to move in with me, don't you?" When Molly sniffed and nodded, Mycroft leaned his head against the seat back and closed his eyes. "Then that's what we'll do."