Mycroft and Molly arrived at his house just before six p.m. after first stopping at her flat to pick up Toby from Mrs. Harrison and repack her bag with fresh clothes for the weekend. Mrs. Collingwood heard the chime signal the opening of the front gate so was already on the doorstep to greet them when the car pulled up. Once they'd released Toby, given Mrs. Collingwood the empty carrier, and settled on the timing for dinner, Mycroft and Molly headed upstairs, hand in hand.

Molly paused outside her bedroom, but Mycroft pulled her down the hall and through the door of his room, dropped their bags and took her into his arms. When Molly finally broke away to catch her breath, he dragged his mouth down her neck, whispering, "You should move your things in here." She shivered as his words feathered over her skin, then tilted her head to give him better access, which he used to nibble a path along the base of her throat and start up the other side.

"Mmmmm," she moaned. "You're driving me mad."

He briefly raised his head, "I should hope so," then returned his attention to her neck, continuing an upward path before deliberately breathing in her ear and sending a quiver through her body. Moaning again, she clutched his back with one hand and grabbed the waistband of his jeans with the other, tugging him toward the bed.

Half an hour later, Molly loosened her hold and let Mycroft roll onto his back to lie beside her as their breathing continued to slow. She reached her arms overhead and pointed her toes in a full body stretch, sighing with a happy hum. After a few minutes of contented silence, Molly drew a deep breath and finally responded to Mycroft's earlier comment. "I think it would be better to keep our separate bedrooms." He turned his head until their eyes met. "This is not a rejection, Mycroft. I just think having separate spaces for practical reasons has been good. I've slept here on all the nights we've spent together and will do so every night if you want. But if you ever would like to spend a night alone, that will be fine, too." She gave him a tentative smile. "All right?"

Mycroft studied her awhile longer, blinked slowly twice, then raised his chin. Molly knew that meant he didn't really get it. "Why does my wanting to keep the other bedroom bother you?"

He frowned. "Shouldn't you want to move into mine?"

She rolled onto her elbow and propped her head on her hand. "I want to share your bed, but I don't have to move my things into your bedroom and your dressing room and your bathroom to do that. Your house being so large allows the option of using a separate bedroom for my clothes and odds and ends and having a separate bathroom." She wrinkled her nose, then leaned over to kiss him. "I'm quite happy not to floss my teeth and shave my legs in front of you. A bit of mystery in some areas isn't a bad thing." She pursed her lips, looking at him expectantly until he lifted his head off the pillow and kissed her.

"All right." He ran a finger down her cheek and stopped at her chin. "I need a shower." He sat up and shifted to the side of the bed, then looked at her over his shoulder. "Would you like to join me?"

"OK, but no funny business," she warned. "Mrs. C said dinner would be ready at 7:30, and I'm hungry."

#####

The next morning, Molly smiled, eyes still closed, when Mycroft smoothed the hair off her face and kissed her cheek. "Mmmmm." Snuggling deeper into her pillow, she stretched her hand out, but felt nothing but empty sheets. She turned her head and found herself face-to-face with Mycroft, who was leaning over her, already fully dressed. "What time is it?" She asked, stifling a yawn.

"Half past five."

Looking alarmed, Molly rolled onto her back and slid a hand around his neck, tracing her fingertips along his hairline. "Trouble then?"

Mycroft's lips twisted. "Just some politicians being politicians." He leaned in for a kiss. "I'll see you later."

#####

Anthea was already at her desk when Mycroft walked through her office with a brief greeting and continued into his. She followed him soon after with a cup of tea, then sat to provide an update on ongoing operations. He sat calmly throughout her report, seemingly relaxed in his chair, his expression neutral, hands at ease on the desktop, but out of the corner of her eye Anthea noticed his thumb start brushing back and forth over the polished surface. She heard herself speaking faster as tension settled in the pit of her stomach, but couldn't seem to slow down until she came to an abrupt finish.

His voice had been soft and even with every comment or question and was softer still when he asked, "And Adams?"

Even as familiar with her boss as she was, Anthea had to suppress a shiver, knowing the absolute fury hidden within that gentle inquiry. The calmer Mycroft seemed, the likelier heads would roll.

#####

Molly didn't wake again until half past seven. She quickly dressed and went to the kitchen, greeting Mrs. Collingwood with a bright smile. While her breakfast was being prepared, Molly watched Toby playing in the morning sunlight, chasing shadows on the floor from fluttering leaves outside the window. She laughed when he leapt and fell over on his back, then started licking a paw like it never happened. Molly turned back when Mrs. Collingwood set a plate before her, poured them both a cup of tea, and took a stool on the other side of the table. "Thank you, Mrs. C," she said before biting the point off a piece of toast.

"Did you have a good time in Edinburgh?"

"The weather was beautiful and I got in a lot of hiking," she said, smiling. "Mycroft even went on a hike."

The housekeeper raised her brows. "And how did that go?"

"Very well actually." Molly dropped the rest of the toast onto her plate and pulled her phone out of a pocket. "Don't tell him I showed you, but …" she said, scrolling through her photos then holding the phone out.

Mrs. Collingwood studied the screen for several moments, then raised her brows again, smiling. "How lovely … and unexpected."

Molly returned the phone to her pocket, ate some of her eggs, then took a sip of tea. "Mrs. C …" she hesitated.

"Is there a problem, Miss Molly?"

"Not a problem, no." Molly took another sip of tea, then set her cup down, twiddling with the handle. "Mycroft has asked me to move in."

Mrs. Collingwood inhaled sharply, then reached to cover Molly's hand. "That's wonderful, my dear." She shook her head, eyes wide. "I never thought to see the day that -," she broke off, leaning back. "Do you know when you'll be moving in?"

"My lease is up at the end of June, but he's asked me to come as soon as I want." Molly picked up her cup, but set it down again and looked at Mrs. Collingwood. "Do you really think it's a good idea? He's never lived with anyone, and I'm not sure he'll like having me here all the time once the reality sets in."

"Mr. Mycroft never makes decisions without considering all the potential outcomes."

"I don't think his usual decision-making skills were completely up to the task this time," Molly said, frowning. "He's been influenced by … sentiment."

Mrs. Collingwood took Molly's hand in both of hers and leaned closer, looking at her sternly. "I may be speaking out of turn, but I truly believe Mr. Mycroft loves you, whether he'll admit it or not, and you love him."

Molly covered their joined hands with her free one, then raised her eyes to Mrs. Collingwood's. "He did tell me, Mrs. C." Molly felt her eyes well with tears and quickly pulled both hands free to cover her face. After a few moments, she reached for her serviette and wiped her eyes. "Sorry."

Mrs. Collingwood rounded the island to put an arm around Molly's shoulders and give her a squeeze. "Have confidence, Miss Molly. You'll both be fine." She straightened and continued more briskly, "Now, what can I do to help you get moved?"

Molly bit her lip as she met the older woman's gaze, but slowly smiled at seeing the other's cheerful expression. "Maybe we should start a list."

#####

Anthea set a plate of sandwiches and a fresh cup of tea by Mycroft's right hand and quickly left his office at his murmured thank you. He hadn't moved from the position he'd been in an hour before – elbows on his desk, chin on his clasped hands, eyes focused on the interrogation he was watching on his laptop.

She hurried back to her desk and her own view of the proceedings, picking up her turkey wrap. She dropped the sandwich back on her plate and pushed it aside when the first bite might as well have been sawdust. Any appetite she'd had disappeared as she watched one of their own being questioned about traitorous activities.

At half past two, Anthea sent a text to Molly, advising her not to expect Mycroft home until the evening.

At 2:55, Mycroft's door opened and he strode across the room and out the door without a word or glance. Anthea turned back to her laptop and watched Adams sitting in the interview room, his expression cool as he maintained his usual air of condescension, still perfectly immaculate in Armani, the shirt collar crisp, the tie carefully centered between the lapels. He raised a manicured hand and shot his cuff as he checked his watch. A look of boredom passed over his face.

At three o'clock precisely, Anthea watched the door open and Mycroft step into the interview room. He closed the door behind him with a quiet click. Anthea's gaze quickly returned to Adams. The HD camera clearly picked up several beads of sweat that suddenly appeared along his hairline, although his expression remained unchanged. Mycroft crossed the short distance to the table with his usual elegance, smoothly pulled out a chair, slowly sat and crossed his legs, then settled against the back of the chair, wrists resting lightly on the table's edge, fingers relaxed and unmoving. Only then did he raise his eyes to stare at the man he'd known for twenty years. His expression remained calm, pleasant even, but his eyes looked dead.

Mycroft was ruthless in his deliberation, his silence, and the beads of sweat on the other man's forehead multiplied. Anthea realized she was holding her breath and exhaled shakily. At that moment, Mycroft's lips parted.

#####

Molly was upstairs when she heard the front door close just after 7:30. She quickly finished brushing her hair and hurried down the stairs, pausing to listen for a moment before turning toward Mycroft's study. She stopped at the door when she saw he was slumped behind the desk, eyes closed and face looking pale and strained. She waited silently, and he eventually straightened and opened his eyes, immediately meeting hers, so she knew he'd been aware she was there. Molly slowly crossed the room, still holding his gaze, and rounded the desk to stand beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Mycroft?"

He lowered his eyes to his hands, which were clasped together at the edge of his desk. "You should know that I am not a good man, my dear."

Molly moved her hand to cover his as she leaned her backside against the desk. "What happened today?" When he didn't answer or look at her, she bent until their faces were level and cupped his cheek with her free hand. "Mycroft …" He raised his lids and met her eyes with a blank stare, face impassive, jaw tight. "Mycroft," she said again, insistently. "If there is anything you can and want to tell me, I'll listen. But understand this … I don't care what you've done. I don't know any specifics of what your work entails, but I know whatever decisions you've made and actions you've taken were for the ultimate good of 'Queen and Country.' You've given your entire adult life to your work - and have been willing to give it literally if the scars on your back are anything to go by." He glanced away, seeming to focus on something over Molly's shoulder, but she thought his expression had softened and his color looked better. "No one could convince me you aren't a good man." His gaze shifted back to hers and she rubbed a thumb over his cheek, then smiled teasingly. "Perhaps a bit cold sometimes, but appearing to have ice water in your veins must be an asset when dealing with what and whom you face daily." Molly straightened. "The Ice Man may strike fear in everyone else, but not me. I see through you, like it or not." Mycroft leaned further back in the chair, draped his hands over the chair arms, then arched his brows over eyes that had warmed considerably. She lifted her own brows and they looked at each other in silence for several moments. Finally, sighing, Molly shifted to drop onto his lap, then looked up at him. "Well?"

Molly stifled a gasp when he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and stared intently at her, a gleam lighting his eyes. "I was waiting for you to stop talking."

Their mouths collided in sudden urgency. Molly slid her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts tightly against him, as Mycroft cupped her head with one hand and curved the other around her bottom, pulling her closer. Their lips separated briefly and came back together at a different angle, which Mycroft took advantage of by taking Molly's bottom lip between his teeth. She gasped and he ran his tongue soothingly over her lip, then pressed deep, engaging her in a delicious duel of advance and retreat, thrust and parry … sliding and coiling, flicking and sucking … until Molly pulled back. They stared at each other, trying to catch their breath, as her fingers went to his tie and began frantically loosening it, then dropped lower to work the top buttons of his shirt through their holes. Once she'd bared the base of his throat, she burrowed her face against his neck, pressing open lips to his pounding pulse, trying to satisfy a raw craving to taste his skin. "Oh god, Mycroft – I want you."

He straightened abruptly and caught her more securely against him, then stood, setting her on the edge of the desk. His hands slowly pressed her knees apart, then he stepped between them, urging her onto her back. As Molly reached between them to release the button on his trousers, Mycroft noticed the open study door and caught Molly's hand. He took a quick breath, then, "Where's Mrs. C?"

"What?"

"Where's Mrs. C, Molly?"

The sensual fog suddenly cleared. "She's in her flat."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes … I think so." The break in their headlong rush toward a swift climax had reined Mycroft in as well, and he straightened, pulling Molly into a sitting position. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest, feeling the quick rhythm of his heart against her ear. His flesh was still willing and eager, but Mycroft was back in control.

He kissed the crown of her head. "Let's go to bed."

She pulled back to look up at him. "Don't you want something to eat? Aren't you hungry?"

"No," he answered, then continued in a lower tone, "… and yes."

When Mycroft pushed his chair back to give Molly room, she flushed, hopped off the desk, and led the way out of the study and up the stairs.

An hour later, Molly woke from a light doze and turned on the lamp when Mycroft shifted to his side of the bed to get up. Tying the sash of his dressing gown, he said, "We left everything on downstairs. I'll be back in a few minutes."

After he left, Molly got up and walked around the room, picking up their hastily discarded clothes. She shook his out and laid them over a chair, then grabbed hers and hurried down the hall to her bedroom. Toby was curled up asleep on the bed but raised his head as Molly came in, so she gave him a good scratch behind the ears before continuing to the bathroom. She quickly freshened up, brushed her teeth, and pulled on an oversized T-shirt, then hurried back to Mycroft's room and crawled under the covers to wait for him.

On his return, Mycroft noticed Molly had put on one of his old vests and rounded the foot of the bed to sit beside her. He lingered awhile over what was intended to be a brief kiss, but pulled back resolutely. "I'm going to take a shower. Go back to sleep if you can."

Molly was still awake when Mycroft came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing more than a pair of loose pajama bottoms. He paused when he saw her studying him intently – or with intent, more likely – then continued across the room and got into bed. Swaggered was more accurate, she thought, hiding a smirk.

When he slid toward her, Molly turned to lie alongside him, her head resting on his upper arm and her hand on his chest. She ran her fingers through his chest hair, repeatedly, until Mycroft asked, sounding a bit gruff. "Are you trying to start something?"

"Of course not - it's much too soon to start something."

Silence. Molly slid her fingers through his chest hair again.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Of course not!"

"I accept," he drawled and swiftly rolled over, eliciting a delighted squeal from Molly.

#####

They dawdled in bed Sunday morning, talking from time to time about nothing too important, but mostly just cuddling in all but name, since the term apparently made Mycroft queasy. They'd been quiet for a while when Molly cleared her throat. "I don't want to push for more than you're ready for, but do you think you might be willing to consider -," she hesitated, then finished quickly, "… getting a dog?"

He opened his eyes, surprised. That wasn't what he'd expected. "A dog?"

She raised her head to look up at him. "I've wanted a dog for a long time, but haven't had any outdoor space since I moved to London. With the park being so close and with your big back garden, it would be easy for me to exercise him. You know I like walking in the park, and he'd be company." She bit her lip and dropped her cheek back against his chest. "Even if you agreed to get a dog, I wouldn't pursue it unless Mrs. C was all right with having one as well. She might not want to have a dog about all day while I'm at work."

"And how do you think Toby would take to having a rival for your affections?"

She sighed. "I know a dog would need a lot more attention than Toby does. Maybe I could talk to the people at Battersea about fostering one to see how that went." She looked up at him again.

"A dog …," he frowned.

"It's all right, Mycroft," she said quickly. "I don't really need a dog."

He glanced down at her. "I'm not saying no, Molly, but having a dog isn't something I've considered. The only dog I've ever had much to do with was Sherlock's when he was a child and that experience didn't end well." He sighed, running his fingers down her arm. "Redbeard became ill and had to be put down. Sherlock was inconsolable."

Molly turned over and wrapped her arm around Mycroft's waist. They didn't say anything further about it, but she wondered whether Mycroft had felt the dog's loss as well.

#####

After having skipped dinner the evening before, Mycroft made no protest when Molly hovered, encouraging him to take something off every serving dish on the dining table … a lot of choices indeed since Mrs. Collingwood had prepared a Full English. They lingered over the meal, finally splitting a third scone, which Molly slathered with raspberry jam and a generous dollop of cream. Mycroft sipped his tea, then set the cup in its saucer. "You realize I'm too stuffed now for our planned activities."

"Come on … a walk would do us both good."

"No, really. We need to wait awhile."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Oh, all right, old man." Mycroft frowned at her. "Sorry."

He finished his tea, then came around to pull Molly's chair out. As they left the dining room, he turned her toward the dark end of the hall. She glanced up questioningly, but let him urge her along with a hand on her back. They stopped outside a closed door. Molly wondered why he was hesitating, but forgot that when he finally opened it and waved a hand for her to enter.

Molly glanced around, wide-eyed. "What a lovely room!" She turned in a circle, looking at everything, then wandered around, running her hand over the polished surface of a Queen Anne desk and along the back of a Queen Anne wingchair, draped with a lacy antimacassar. The bookcases were filled with all sorts of treasures – not only books but framed photographs and small objets d'art and miscellaneous items. She walked closer to pick up a shiny black rock and rubbed her thumb over it, before placing it back on the shelf. She studied the pale yellow walls, corner windows with an L-shaped window seat … the faded floral rug in soft pastels … the deep-cushioned sofa behind a generous coffee table … the beautiful wood floor reflecting sunlight from the windows … and turned to look at Mycroft, who was still at the threshold, watching her.

Molly returned to stand beside him. "What is this room, Mycroft?"

She saw him swallow before he looked down at her. "It was my grandmother's retreat." He took her hand, then continued. "She used to spend hours in here every day while my grandfather worked in the study."

Molly threaded their fingers together. "Did you spend time with her here?"

"I always stayed at least a week with them during summer holidays." Mycroft looked toward the windows, and Molly saw the muscles flex on either side of his jaw as he clenched his teeth. She knew some deep emotion had gripped him and let the silence go on awhile. She finally stepped back as if to leave, but he didn't move. "I thought you might like to use this room as your office." He turned back to her. "You could make any changes you'd like."

Molly lowered her eyes, blinking to force back unexpected tears, and then smiled up at him, shaking her head. "I can't do that, Mycroft, although your offer means more to me than you could imagine."

A deep crease appeared between his brows. "Why not?" He looked around the room before meeting her eyes again. "Is there something wrong with it?"

She squeezed his hand. "Maybe the fact that you don't seem able to enter the room?" He flinched and looked away. "I'm not going to invade space that obviously holds sad memories for you."

"They're not sad memories," he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. "We had happy times together in here."

"But recalling them doesn't make you happy."

He sighed. "Maybe not, but maybe that's wrong. I missed my grandmother when she died, but my grandfather was never the same. I know he never came in here again. When I inherited the house, I avoided this room and put it out of my mind. Put her out of my mind." He glanced around again. "My study is different. By the time my grandfather died, we'd been using it as an office to discuss family business for years and he often left me to work at the desk. Continuing to use it as my study was never an issue."

He took a few slow steps into the room and stopped by the sofa. "We used to sit here for afternoon tea," he glanced down at Molly, "and my grandfather would usually join us." He drew a long breath, then moved further into the room to stand in front of the sofa. Molly sat and tugged him down beside her. He was quiet for a while, then, "She was a lovely woman, Molly – kind and happy and funny and smart." He let go of Molly's hand and instead slipped his arm around her. "She loved us so much, and I – I adored her." He bit his lip.

Molly leaned her head against his arm. "Oh, Mycroft, I know you did."

Again, silence for a while. "She would have loved you, Molly, and I know she'd have wanted you to use her room." Molly couldn't stop several tears from falling, and Mycroft heard her. "Don't cry, darling." The volume of tears doubled at that. "Please don't cry."

Molly sat up, wiping her eyes with her fingers until Mycroft handed her his handkerchief. She turned back to him and raised a hand to cup his cheek. "You are so sweet." When he rolled his eyes and made a scoffing noise, she slid her hand around his head and pulled him down until their faces were level. "I won't tell anyone." She tugged harder until their lips met … very sweetly. She sat back and looked around the room again. "I would only use it if you could be comfortable coming in here." She tilted her head to study his expression.

"I can do that." He gave her another kiss. "Seeing you in here has actually helped."

"Good. And the only changes I would make are to add my laptop and maybe to rearrange the bookcases a bit to allow room for a few of my things."

"Are you sure you don't want to redecorate?"

"Of course not. It's perfect as is."

#####

They'd spent an hour in the front sitting room, reading the Sunday papers, when Molly folded hers very deliberately and placed it on the coffee table. "All right, time to go."

Mycroft lowered an edge of his paper, frowning. "Go where?"

She stood and grabbed his hand. "Come on, it's time for a walk."

"Molly –"

"We need to get moving, and there's time for a long walk before dinner."

"I should check my phone –"

"It's right here." She handed it to him, tapping her foot. "Come on."

Mycroft briefly considered activating the function he used to cut meetings short, but figured a fake summons would mean he'd actually have to leave for the office. And he would have to lie to Molly, which he'd promised not to do.

They went upstairs to change shoes and then to the kitchen to inform Mrs. Collingwood of their plans. She waved them out the back door, smiling cheerfully.

#####

Mrs. Collingwood heard the front door slam and frowned. It took some effort to slam the door that loudly. She hurried toward the foyer, surprised not to hear any voices, and came to an abrupt halt as she turned into the hall. Ah. Mycroft and Molly weren't talking but the air was thick with unspoken words. Mrs. Collingwood wasn't sure exactly what they might be saying, but figured the air was at least partially blue.

Molly tossed her ponytail and stomped down the hall, flinging a quick hello at the housekeeper, then stomped up the stairs.

Mycroft's eyes met Mrs. Collingwood's and she raised her brows. "Don't ask." He followed her into the kitchen and took a stool. He nodded when she raised the teapot, then watched her pour him a cup. "Thanks."

Mrs. Collingwood returned to the sink, finished washing the potatoes and set them on the draining board. She heard Mycroft huff, but didn't turn around. She crossed to the refrigerator and returned with a pint of cream. He huffed again, so she set the carton down, refilled her cup, and went to sit across from him. She took a sip of tea, glancing at him over the cup's rim, then placed the cup back in its saucer, waiting patiently. It didn't take long.

"Molly can be completely irrational," he said, irritably, focusing on his teacup.

"Oh?"

"All I did was to inquire quite reasonably whether she thought it proper to snog her former fiancé in front of her current lover."

"Hmm?"

"Then Tom got in my face and I politely suggested he move unless he wanted to disappear permanently –"

"Mr. Mycroft … you didn't!"

"What?" He glanced up, frowning.

"Did you actually use those words?"

"More or less." He paused, thinking. "More than less."

"You actually accused Molly of snogging Tom and then threatened to kill him?"

"I didn't say 'kill' …," he said, slowly, "but they might have had cause to think it."

Mrs. Collingwood dropped her forehead onto her hand, then glanced over at him. "What did Miss Molly do?"

"Not much," he said grumpily. "She sent Tom on his way with an uncalled for hug and then took off for home."

"So she hasn't actually said anything to you?"

"She told me to shut up a couple of times when I tried to talk to her," he said, glowering at his cup. He turned his scowl on Mrs. Collingwood a few moments later when he heard a distinct chuckle.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mycroft, but –" She broke off, pressing her fingers against her lips, eyes bright with laughter. "I'm sorry, it's not funny when you have your first argument. It is your first, right?"

He just scowled again and took a sip of tea.

"Mr. Mycroft, do you think you might have over-reacted a bit?"

"Over-reacted? She was kissing him!"

"Really? On the lips and everything?"

His started to speak, then took another sip instead.

"So …maybe not on the lips?"

He ran a finger around the rim of his cup, then around it again. "Maybe not."

"I suggest you use your total recall ability to replay the scene in your head and see how it looks on second viewing." Mrs. Collingwood got up and took a cold mixing bowl from the freezer. When she'd finished whipping the cream, she looked back at Mycroft, who was again staring at his cup. She put the bowl back in the refrigerator and returned to sit across from him. "What's your conclusion then?"

"I've apparently been an arse." He said dryly, then raised his eyes to hers. "I would have sworn … I don't know what happened to me."

"You really don't?"

He looked confused.

"Mr. Mycroft, you were jealous."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, please."

"Jealous," she repeated, relishing it.

His gaze narrowed. "I can assure you I have never been jealous in my life."

Mrs. Collingwood reached across to pat his hand. "Mr. Mycroft, you've never been in love before." She got up and returned to her work. Without looking at him, she said, "You know what you have to do now, don't you?" When the silence stretched out, she turned back to find him looking martyred.

"I have to apologize."

"And?"

"Grovel."

#####

By the time Molly finished her shower, she was actually glad she hadn't locked her bedroom door against Mycroft. She was even starting to feel some amusement at the whole thing, but wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. Meeting up with Tom while he was doing some shopping was unfortunate, but she'd been handling it well until Mycroft had turned distinctly un-Mycroft and lost his cool.

The three taps came when she was pulling a jumper over her head. "Come in!" She returned to the bathroom without saying anything and stood at the mirror, brushing her hair. She saw Mycroft's hand first as he reached in to knock on the open door. "You can come in," she said, arms raised as she pulled her hair into a ponytail.

He came in, but only far enough to lean against the door jamb, and then just stood there studying her. She raised her brows, determined that he would be the one to start the conversation. He took a breath and crossed his arms over his chest. He dropped his hands back by his sides. He slid a hand in his pocket, then removed it after a moment. He crossed his arms again. Molly was surprised that Mycroft was showing signs of being nervous. Just when she was about to relent, he exhaled noisily. "I'm sorry, Molly." He took a deeper breath, then moved alongside her and met her eyes in the mirror. "I'm sorry for behaving like an arse."

Molly bit her lip so she wouldn't smile. "Why did you?"

He turned and paced to the shower and back, then to the tub and back again. "Apparently I was jealous."

"You were?"

He scowled at her. "Yes!"

"You know you had absolutely no cause to be jealous," she said evenly, turning to face him and resting her palm on his chest, "and never will."

"I know."

"All right."

Mycroft waited for her to say something else, but she just stepped around him and went into the bedroom. He followed and watched her sit on the bed to pull on socks and shoes. "'All right'? Is that it?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

"But you were so angry!"

"Well, I'm not anymore." She stood and walked over to stand in front of him. "I wouldn't protest if you wanted to snog me now."

He stared at her for a few moments, then took her up on her offer.

#####

Molly felt well and truly kissed by the time Mycroft left to take a shower. After checking her appearance in the mirror and straightening her jumper, she went to the kitchen and sat on a stool at the island. "Sorry for earlier."

Mrs. Collingwood arched a brow, smiling. "Everything OK now?"

Molly flushed, but returned the smile. "It's all sorted. Do you want me to set the dining table?"

"That's sorted, too," she said, with another quick smile, "but you could bring me the blue bowl from the refrigerator if you don't mind." She was in the process of moving the roast from roasting tray to serving dish. "Will Mr. Mycroft be down soon?"

"About ten minutes, I'd say," Molly said, placing the bowl on the worktop.

"Thanks." She slid the tray of drippings back in the oven. "I'll wait a few minutes then before starting the Yorkshire pudding."

Molly went to the sitting room to tidy up the newspapers they'd left tossed about, then sat on the sofa, listening for Mycroft. He came down a few minutes later and they stopped by the kitchen before heading to the dining room.

#####

Their Sunday differed from usual in more ways than their unexpected spat.

It was unusual that, rather than returning home Sunday evening, Molly was staying over until Monday morning at Mycroft's request. They would leave Toby at Molly's flat on the way to Bart's.

It wasn't unusual that Mycroft received a call mid-afternoon and had to work in the study for an hour or so. His wanting to take Molly on a tour of the house afterwards was.

Molly expected Mycroft to turn right at the top of the stairs so she could check out the guest suites that she'd only glimpsed briefly from the hall during their first tour all those months ago, Instead he turned left and stopped at the base of the second flight of stairs. "Have you ever looked around upstairs?"

"No, I didn't think you used the space." Molly frowned. "And I didn't want to be nosy."

"I've never really used the upper floor, but my grandparents often had guests staying up here," he said as he proceeded Molly up the stairs. "The attic is useful occasionally." He glanced back at her. "You've always been welcome to look at whatever you wanted, Molly." She waved a hand dismissively in reply.

When they reached the top landing, Mycroft turned right, then waited as Molly wandered through the bedrooms. One side of the hall had a bedroom without an ensuite, a large family-style bathroom, and closest to the stairs a large bedroom with ensuite. On the other side were three bedrooms – one without an ensuite and the other two sharing a walk-through bathroom with a separate lavatory on each side.

They returned to the landing then continued down the shorter hall on the other side. Mycroft opened the first door, which was to another good-sized bedroom with an ensuite. He waited while she looked around, then led her to the door at which the short hall stopped. He looked at her over his shoulder. "The attic."

Mycroft opened the door with a flourish, and well he might. The attic must have taken up a quarter of the top floor and looked like something from a period drama. From the threshold, she could see lots of interestingly shaped furniture covered by dust sheets, trunks of various shapes and sizes, hat boxes, several glass cases with swords, glass-fronted bookcases, a large (empty) aquarium, a couple of globes – all sorts of treasures that called for further exploration.

Molly followed Mycroft into the room and over to what must be a large wardrobe, based on its size and general shape. It and several other generously proportioned objects blocked any view of the back half of the room. He looked down at her with an odd expression that Molly couldn't interpret, then took her hand and threaded their fingers together. "There's some furniture I thought you might be interested in using when you move in, but it's up to you."

A crease appeared between Molly's brows. "I like what's in my bedroom now, and I told you I don't want to change anything in your grandmother's room."

"Come see." He led her around the wardrobe and stopped at several sheet-covered shapes. He pulled the sheet off the first, then moved to the next, ignoring Molly's gasp. He stooped at the next one to lift the sheet off slowly, glancing at Molly out of the corner of his eye. He ran a hand over the last item and gave it a little push. "I know this is old-fashioned, but it was my grandmother's and then my mother's before they used it for me and then Sherlock." Molly bit her lip as she watched the cradle swing from side to side. "The rocking chair was used by my grandmother first for my mother and later by my grandmother and mother for me and Sherlock. They bought the baby bed for Mummy and Dad to use on visits after I was born." He bent to look at the side rails. "I know it doesn't have all the safety features of modern versions, but perhaps we could modify it if you wanted to use –" Mycroft grunted when Molly leaned over his back, wrapping her arms around his middle. He straightened carefully, then twisted around.

Molly kept her face pressed firmly to his chest. "It can't be this easy, Mycroft. You can't have changed your feelings about children that easily."

"You're basing that on erroneous information." He tugged on her ponytail until she tilted her head back, then brushed his thumbs over matching tear tracks. "Your position on the matter came from a desire to bring forth a mini version of me – and, good god, clearly included a hope that Sherlock might also find some way to reproduce himself. If my opinion on the matter was based solely on the case you presented, my choice would be a clear no." His lip quirked when Molly just looked confused. "Once the real issue occurred to me, the choice was indeed easy."

"What do you mean?"

"I simply had to consider a world without the possibility of a mini-Molly Hooper. Now that's another thing entirely." Mycroft had to suppress a groan when her eyes welled up again. He couldn't handle much more of that and looked around for inspiration. He swung her into his arms, then stepped over to the rocking chair, pushed it into the open space with his knee, then carefully lowered them onto it. He repositioned Molly so her head was between his neck and shoulder and her legs were draped on his arm over the chair arm, then rocked a few times to satisfy himself as to the chair's solid construction.

Mycroft continued rocking slowly a few minutes longer before angling his head to check Molly's face, then stopped and rubbed his chin over her head. "You know, my dear, if this is what I'd have to expect for nine months, I may need to reconsider." He smiled at hearing her muffled snort. "I can't handle this level of lachrymosity."

Molly snorted even more inelegantly and sat up. He'd come prepared and shifted to pull a handkerchief from a pocket in his trousers. Molly wiped her face and then rolled her eyes at him. "Who says lachrymosity?"

His lips pursed thoughtfully. "Apparently I do, although it's not a word I've previously had cause to use."

She tucked her head back against his neck. "I'll try not to give you cause to use it again."

"Then you might want to avoid watching kitten videos. They seem to encourage a tendency toward it."

Molly swatted him on the arm, but grinned to herself. She sat up again and slid her arms around his neck. He just watched her, a barely there smile lifting the corners of his lips. His lips leveled out as they continued to stare at each other, faces inches apart, then Molly slowly smiled. "I love you, Mycroft Holmes."

Mycroft leaned closer and into the lightest of kisses, then pulled back just a fraction until their lips no longer touched. "And I love you, Molly Hooper."