The Advantages of Caring

by akamww3

Mycroft Holmes and Molly Hooper have gone from being strangers to becoming allies in the care of Sherlock Holmes and then to acknowledging a friendship of sorts between them. Now, more unexpectedly, they're taking steps toward a personal, intimate relationship. Will Mycroft learn to believe in and ultimately embrace the advantages of caring?

20. Perhaps There Was Something (title cont)

(*full chapter title ...)

*Perhaps There Was Something In The Punch

#####

"Mycroft," Molly whispered gently by his ear and lightly touched the back of his hand, trying not to startle him awake. Then again, "Mycroft …"

Mycroft had been in crisis mode for three days. He hadn't come home at all Tuesday night. She only knew he'd been home Wednesday night because he woke her when he was leaving again at half past five the next morning. And now he'd fallen asleep at his desk, head on his folded arms. She didn't know what time he'd arrived but it had obviously been after she went to bed around midnight. She was having trouble sleeping without him and had come down to make herself a milky drink, then saw the light in the study.

Mycroft needed to be in bed. Molly ran her hand over his head, cupped his neck and whispered his name just a bit louder. She had to jerk back to avoid his head hitting her chin when he abruptly sat up, blinked a few times and licked his lips. His face was paler than usual and the skin under his eyes was dark.

"Molly –" Mycroft had to stop to clear his throat. "You shouldn't be up so late. You have to go to work in the morning."

"I was making some hot cocoa." Her fingers caressed his neck. "Would you like a cup?"

He seemed to be considering it, but then glanced down at himself. "I really need a wash," he said, thumbing his pocket watch open, "and I have to leave again in a few hours."

Molly backed up when he moved to stand, then walked with him to the bottom of the stairs. "Would you drink some cocoa if I bring it up to you?"

"Since you're already making it, I'll take a cup. Thank you, my dear." Molly rested her palms on Mycroft's chest and lifted toward him, but he pulled his head back. "I don't think you'd enjoy kissing me. My mouth tastes foul."

"Don't be silly." She slid her hands around his neck and he gave in. After several moments, she pulled back and pushed against his chest. "Go on – take your shower. I'll be up in a few minutes." She watched until he reached the landing, seeing the weariness he was unable to hide. When she returned to the bedroom, he was still in the shower so she dealt with the clothes he'd left in a pile on the bench in his dressing room – a sure sign of just how tired he was.

They drank their cocoa in the sitting area, then Molly urged him to get into bed on his stomach. His forehead creased, but he did as she asked. After she'd turned off all the lights other than her bedside lamp, she folded the covers to the foot of the bed, then climbed up and straddled his hips. He lifted his head off the pillow to look over his shoulder. "Molly – it's after three. You need to sleep."

Molly slid her hands up his back and pressed gently against his shoulders. "Let me … please." He sighed, but dropped his head onto the pillow, and she put all her weight into massaging his shoulders and shoulder blades. She pressed her thumbs into his neck muscles, slowly shifting further down his body along his spine and lower back, and he groaned as the tension left his muscles. She continued with less pressure down his left thigh, calf and foot, deliberately keeping her touch as clinical as possible, then moved to his right leg. She slowly worked her way back up to his shoulder blades, dug into his shoulder muscles again, then gave some attention to each upper arm. She finally lowered her head by his ear and whispered, "Have I missed any tense spots?" She suppressed a chuckle when he just grunted what sounded like a negative. She crawled off of him, pulled the covers up and settled them over his shoulders. The only response to her whispered "good night" was soft, even breathing. Mission accomplished.

Molly carefully turned off her lamp, then settled beside Mycroft without touching him. She knew he'd been dealing with international crises for many years, but this was the first time since they'd been together that she'd witnessed the effects on him. She didn't know if he was coming home simply to touch base with her, and, if so, whether doing that put an extra level of stress on him. He hadn't told her any details about the current crisis, but as the days of August passed, news reports and newspaper headlines had focused more and more on sensational stories about a new threat of a nuclear arms buildup in the so-called "Far East."

Molly almost slept through Mycroft leaving, but she somehow heard the soft click of the bedroom door. She hurried down the hall, shoving her hair out of her face, and ran down the stairs. He was already in the foyer, about to take his umbrella in hand, when he heard Molly's bare feet slap the hardwood floor as she jumped off the last step and came to a stop right in front of him. Mycroft's lips quirked as he tucked some hair she'd missed behind her ears. "I didn't mean to wake you, my dear."

"Won't you let me make you some breakfast?"

"I'll have something at the office. You have plenty of time to go back to bed for a while." Molly felt at a loss to help him in any meaningful manner, and Mycroft could read that frustration on her face. He cupped her neck and bent to kiss her. "I hope to be home at a reasonable hour tonight." He studied her expression for a moment, then lowered his head for a second kiss that deepened until Molly moaned and he had to force himself to pull back. "I'm sorry, darling, but I have to go." He shifted to grab his umbrella, gave her another brief kiss, then turned to the door.

Molly followed and called after him just as he reached for the car door. "You take good care of my husband today - you hear me?"

Mycroft gave her a quick smile and was gone.

#####

"So … a result - not exactly the optimal one we'd likely have had if they'd pushed through all of your recommendations, but a position that allowed the PM to declare it a diplomatic victory."

"The result isn't completely unsatisfactory," Mycroft paused, lips pursed, "but we'll be back here again in, I believe, about eight months."

"I wish you were wrong," Lady Smallwood took a sip of whisky, then gave Mycroft a level look. "We'll face that when the time comes. Now – onto another matter entirely … your recent marriage."

Mycroft sipped his drink and looked at her without expression, waiting.

"You've kept it all very close, even for you, Mycroft." She paused, then tilted her head to study him more intently, but could read nothing on his face. "I would like to meet Mrs. Holmes."

"I'm sure you've read her file."

"Mycroft, I'm not talking about confirming her bona fides. I'd like to meet the woman who caused you to get a private life." She clicked her tongue when she met his eyes. "I'm aware that 'private' is the operative word there, but we've known each other for twenty years and you must permit me to be a little curious." She arched a brow. "Bring her to dinner?"

"Of course, Lady Smallwood," he said evenly. "I'm sure my wife would be delighted to meet you."

"I can see how pleased you are at the prospect." She smiled wryly. "Shall I make it a dinner party? This will be your wife's 'coming out' so to speak." Her smile faded at the cool look in Mycroft's eyes. "I didn't mean that unkindly, Mycroft, but the PM made a comment the other day about your mystery lady. Dinner at my home would be a relatively relaxed environment for Mrs. Holmes to be presented to him." She arched a brow and smiled. "I do think it's time, don't you?"

The muscle in Mycroft's jaw tightened before he forced his mouth to relax. "As you wish."

#####

Anthea was at her desk answering emails when Mycroft came through the office, greeted her rather abruptly she thought, then shut his door with a definite snap. Oh, dear. He should have been in a better mood seeing as how an all-out arms race had just been avoided.

Ten minutes later, Anthea tapped on Mycroft's door before entering, then placed a cup of tea by his hand. She was surprised that he appeared to be at ease, leaning back in his chair, hands draped over its arms, eyes closed. She hesitated to disturb him, but needed to confirm what response he wanted on certain emails. "Sir?" Mycroft slowly opened his eyes and fixed them on Anthea. Like chips of ice. "Was there a problem with completing the agreement?"

"Other than knowing we'll be back here, handling the same crisis - though potentially further escalated - in less than a year, no." Mycroft sat up, ran a hand over his face, then stared at Anthea again with what she could only describe as a brooding look. Anthea took a seat, crossed her legs and waited. Mycroft sighed and picked up his pen, fingers turning it in circles. Anthea wondered if he realized the pen was a tell – that his fiddling with it generally meant he felt edgy about something and was trying not to show it. "Lady Smallwood wants to meet Molly," he said, casually, "and she wants to do so at a dinner party at her home with the PM in attendance."

Oh. "Is that a problem?"

Mycroft's eyes met Anthea's and he raised his brows. "You've come to know Molly pretty well, I believe. How do you think she'll react to the thought of being paraded before those people simply to satisfy their curiosity about our relationship?" He let out a long breath and tossed the pen on his desk. A decision. "I'm not concerned about their reaction to Molly. Not only can she handle herself, but what they think means bugger all to me. I just don't want Molly to believe she's been used somehow – and likely against me." He gave Anthea an incredulous look. "Molly actually believes she needs to protect me."

Anthea looked thoughtful. "What I think Molly will worry most about is what to wear."

"That doesn't matter –"

"Yes it does," she interrupted, then quickly added. "Sir. You would care if Molly thought she was dressed inappropriately. She'd feel she'd let you down." She hesitated, then continued, "I could offer to go shopping with Molly. I think she'd be relieved by that once you tell her about the dinner."

Mycroft studied Anthea's anxious expression for several moments, then gave her a brief smile. "All right, but try not to change her style too much. It may be a bit … quirky at times, but that's part of what makes Molly Molly."

Anthea grinned at him. "Understood, sir."

#####

Molly had reacted calmly when he asked her about going to Lady Smallwood's dinner party. "So, other than your mother's party, the first time we will have appeared in public as a couple in more than a year together will be to dine with the Prime Minister?"

Mycroft studied her face for a few moments, then his lips quirked. "Not good?"

"Oh, no – I've always dreamed of dining with the PM." Molly rolled her eyes. "So where and when?" Before he could answer, her eyes widened with a touch of panic. "And what do I wear?"

"About that …"

So Molly found herself after lunch Saturday in the dressing room of yet another dress shop, while Anthea called instructions from outside the door. "Try the silver one first!" Molly rolled her eyes, but did as she was told.

"No … no, no. I'm not liking this."

"Let me see."

"There's no point – I'm not wearing it."

Anthea sighed loudly. "Then try the midnight blue." A minute or so of rustling was followed by silence. "Molly?" The only response was a light humming noise. "What is it? May I see?"

Molly opened the door and Anthea drew a deep breath. "Oooooh, Molly. You look fantastic!" Anthea took her arm and pulled her out of the dressing room and across the shop to stand before an extremely large floor mirror. Molly stared at herself, looking uncertain. Anthea had her walk away, turn and come back. By that time, the shop manager and a sales girl had joined them and all agreed she had to take the dress.

Molly started to smile, then laughed in delight.

A week later, Molly slipped her pearl earrings on, tucked a stray hair into her neat chignon, then backed up to look at herself in the mirror. The midnight blue cocktail dress had vintage style - a flattering sweetheart bodice with spaghetti straps, closely fitted midriff, and full-circle skirt falling to the center of her knees, its volume emphasized by a light-weight crinoline, giving her a classic A-line silhouette. The satin's sheen was muted by a sheer over layer, its dotted mesh continuing over the bodice and bare skin of her upper chest and back and ending in thin satin bands around the base of her throat and top of each shoulder. The dress was delicate and dreamy and it made her feel sexy, but in a classy way – well, if "classy" included her wanting to rip Mycroft's suit off him and wrestle him to the floor, she thought with a smirk. She stepped into matching heels, grabbed her clutch, then headed toward the stairs.

Mycroft was already in the hall outside his study when Molly arrived at the landing and started down the stairs. He turned to watch her, and she smiled when that certain gleam came into his eyes, proving he did indeed notice what she was wearing and occasionally reacted to it. He walked over to take her hand, then made a twirling motion with his free hand. Molly did a full turn, then stopped in front of him with raised brows.

"Perfect," he said, kissing the back of her hand in dramatic fashion, surprising a laugh out of her. He took her cream-satin wrap, swung it around her shoulders and fastened the jeweled clip at her throat, then offered her his arm.

Molly smoothed her fingers along the finely woven wool of his jacket and took his hand. "You look very handsome, Mr. Holmes."

When Walter pulled to a stop under the impressive portico of Lady Smallwood's home – estate, more like – Molly drew a long breath and let it out slowly, then took the hand Mycroft offered as she stepped out of the car. A butler let them in, but their hostess crossed the foyer to greet them. Mycroft made the introduction and Lady Smallwood took Molly's hand before ushering them into a large drawing room that at first seemed full of people, although Molly knew the dinner party was only for twelve.

Lady Smallwood took them around, introducing Molly as Mycroft's wife without further explanation. Mycroft had briefed her on who the others were, and on meeting them Molly formed quick opinions that were subsequently proved to be true.

Prime Minister Charles Hadley and Mrs. Margaret Hadley – he looked like a toothy politician soliciting votes; she looked a bit snooty

The Home Secretary The Right Honorable Janice Phillips and her husband, Randall Phillips - he looked the snooty one; she looked serious and had a kind smile

The Secretary of State for Transport, The Right Honorable Sir Laurence Cleeves, and Lady Tiffany Cleeves – "Tiffany?" … twenty years his junior, obviously loved diamonds; he looked puffed up with his assumed importance

The Right Honorable Michael Broughton, MP for the Cities of London and Westminster, and Lady Elizabeth Broughton – both looked a bit wet and their smiles lacked feeling

And to even up the numbers, a good friend of Lady Smallwood's, the actor William Haverton … a 90s TV star/heartthrob, now graying handsomely and inspiring a new generation of fans with his starring role in a television fantasy drama that currently enjoyed world-wide success – yummy …oh, yes, very yummy indeed

When Lady Smallwood introduced William – call me "Bill" - Molly's heart sped up just a bit when he kissed her hand even more dramatically than Mycroft had done earlier that evening. Molly glanced at Mycroft, who arched his brows over amused eyes. Yes, definitely amused.

Molly noticed all the politicians seemed to brace themselves at Mycroft's approach and kept looking at him out of the corner of their eyes. Mycroft, the self-proclaimed holder of a minor position in the British government – yeah, right, a bloody civil servant, she thought, suppressing an eye roll – caused what looked like a classic flight or fight response and "flight" definitely seemed to be their preferred choice, but one they couldn't put into action. Molly realized her back had automatically straightened in an attempt to mirror Mycroft's elegant posture and she deliberately brought her shoulders back a tad and kept her chin level to stand as tall as possible. The politicians' spouses all looked a touch sour-faced to Molly, but if one's spouse was obviously outclassed and overpowered by Mycroft Holmes, perhaps they were right to resent it a bit.

They were offered drinks, and Mycroft took a glass of white wine, while Molly had a non-alcoholic fizzy lime. As the guests mingled, chatting about nothing in particular, Mycroft stayed at Molly's side, but she eventually allowed herself to be drawn away by Mrs. Hadley. She glanced back at Mycroft after several minutes and was riveted by the look of him – his expression impassive, eyes cool, standing with that slight backward lean, weight on his heels, shoulders back, hands in his trouser pockets, head tilted as he listened to something Lady Smallwood was saying. The Ice Man ... and she would get to thaw him out later. Dear god.

#####

"She's lovely, Mycroft."

"And intelligent and accomplished and trustworthy and dependable and loyal and independent and kind and funny and occasionally a bit macabre," Mycroft replied, mildly. "That she also happens to be lovely is simply the cherry on top, as some people would put it."

They both were watching Molly talk to the PM's wife across the room, but Lady Smallwood had turned to Mycroft in disbelief during that smooth response. "Good lord, Mycroft … you actually care for her."

Mycroft turned a hard look on her. "Indeed. I suggest that fact be kept in mind by you and any others who might consider taking a special interest in Molly."

Lady Smallwood felt chilled as Mycroft stared at her a moment longer, then broke eye contact and strolled in his usual elegant manner across the room to hover at his wife's shoulder. Molly gave him a quick upward glance, looking curious, but turned back without pausing in what she was saying.

#####

They eventually went into dinner and Molly found that she was seated across from Mycroft, with Randall Phillips to her left and Sir Laurence to her right. Not much chance of talking to her husband then.

When the main course had been served, Molly carefully toed off her right heel and pushed it to rest against her other foot. Mycroft was talking with Mrs. Hadley who was sitting on his right. Molly slowly slid her foot across the rug until she touched his shoe, then slid her toes up its side and under the edge of his trouser leg. She was watching him out of the corner of her eye as she talked with Mr. Phillips on her left so she noticed when Mycroft's head turned a fraction toward her before turning back to his dining partner. Molly continued to chat about, of all things, the Proms that had been broadcast the evening before, while her toes smoothed over Mycroft's shin. She suddenly realized she'd slid her hips almost too far forward on her chair and she was in danger of causing an embarrassing incident if she didn't retreat. She had to hold on to the edge of the table to gain enough balance to shift back in her chair. She carefully found her shoe and slipped it on, relieved she hadn't got caught … and also hoping Mycroft hadn't found her maneuver too silly for words.

She was about to turn to Sir Laurence when Lady Tiffany spoke to her from where she sat at Mycroft's left. "Mrs. Holmes, I understand you're a … mortician." The last word was said with an undertone of distaste – at least to Molly's ears.

"Oh no, Lady Tiffany," Molly replied cheerfully. "I'm a pathologist at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Granted, part of my job does require me to work in the morgue." Molly bit into a juicy strawberry and smiled in appreciation.

Lady Tiffany persisted. "The morgue? So you deal with dead people like a mortician?"

Molly tilted her head, thoughtfully. "Well, no. I don't pretty up dead bodies for public viewing. A mortician gets the body from Bart's after I've cut it up – or one of the other pathologists has." She took a sip of wine, ignoring several horrified gasps from around the table. Her eyes met Mycroft's and then slid away when he gave her a stern glance.

"Molly means that her position requires her to perform post-mortems."

Molly glanced around the table with an innocent expression. "I beg your pardon. I assumed you knew what a pathologist does." She turned to Lady Smallwood, wide-eyed, and grimaced playfully. "What an unappetizing topic to be discussed at your dinner table, Lady Smallwood. I do apologize."

Mycroft looked at their hostess and saw a flicker of amusement cross her features. "Not at all, Mrs. Holmes. You simply answered another guest's questions and with a decided lack of any unappetizing details." She gave Molly a small grin, eyes twinkling.

Conversation returned to muted talk between dining partners, then Mr. Broughton spoke up in a quiet moment. "Mrs. Holmes, is it true that you've often worked with Mr. Holmes' brother on some of his more sensational cases?"

Molly glanced across the table, and Mycroft braced himself. "Oh, indeed," she said, nonchalantly. "Sherlock is often in the lab or morgue during the investigations he works on with Scotland Yard, as are a couple of their detective inspectors. At other times, Sherlock is working in the lab on various experiments that anyone interested in medicine or science would surely find absorbing." Molly paused, grinning mischievously. "At least, I certainly do, so I'm happy to assist him when called upon." She glanced around the table and continued casually, "Then there are the body parts I occasionally arrange for Sherlock to have." She met Mycroft's eyes when gasps again ran around the table. Mycroft took a sip of wine to hide an amused grin. Molly again looked around the table, picked up her wine glass and swirled the contents. "For example, there was the head I got him so he could study the rate of coagulation of saliva after death."

"Oh my god" came faintly from the PM's wife.

"I know … it's amazing, isn't it? Obviously, some of your positions allow you to observe Mycroft in action so you must be used to being awed by his vast intellect and the great benefits he provides in service to our country and beyond, while in my position I get to witness Sherlock's unique experiments and their great benefits to medical and scientific studies." Molly took a sip of wine and looked around the table again. "Don't you find genetics fascinating? I mean, think about it. Two such brilliant, analytical minds, such immense brain power, and they're brothers." Molly shook her head, sighing. "And both gorgeous to boot … although I believe that, as he does with brain power, Mycroft edges Sherlock out in looks," she paused, then grinned around the table, "but perhaps that's a wife's prejudice."

Lady Smallwood and Bill Haverton laughed unrestrainedly and a few others joined in politely while Molly looked across the table at Mycroft, who had a pained expression on his face. "Definitely wifely prejudice," he said, with a brief smile around the table.

The Prime Minister spoke up. "Obviously, Mrs. Holmes, you are a proud wife and sister-in-law."

"Oh, yes, Prime Minister," Molly replied, without amusement. "I'm certainly proud to be part of the Holmes family."

Mycroft cleared his throat and touched the serviette to his mouth, but before he could speak, Lady Smallwood remarked smoothly. "Well, Mrs. Holmes – Molly, if you'll permit me …" She returned Molly's smile and nod. "Mycroft obviously has a champion in you."

Lady Tiffany tried once more to catch Molly out. "Yes, some force of nature certainly brought two rare birds together," she said, looking around the table, chuckling.

Molly gave her a delighted smile, completely unruffled by the attempted insult. "Oh, that's so kind of you. Most days I wonder how I could have been so fortunate as to catch the attention of Mycroft Holmes. 'A force of nature' … I like that."

When Molly returned from the loo later in the evening, her path across the drawing room took her right behind the sofa on which Mycroft was sitting at the opposite end from the Prime Minister. She trailed her fingers along the sofa back and paused behind Mycroft to wait for a break in their conversation. Mycroft finally tilted his head around and raised his brows questioningly, and Molly gave the PM an apologetic smile then bent to whisper oh-so-sweetly in Mycroft's ear. "I want to fuck you till the cows come home." Her eyes met his for an electric moment that sent a jolt to her core, then she smiled again at the PM and casually strolled across the room to take a seat by Lady Smallwood.

Molly could only hope Mycroft experienced the same sort of guilty thrill that she had when he'd dropped the F-bomb the first time they had sex.

While Molly didn't want to do anything to embarrass Mycroft, she knew most of these people had wanted to inspect her and had probably hoped to find fault with her as a way to come out ahead of Mycroft, since they couldn't achieve that otherwise. She therefore had no problem with trying to enjoy herself just a bit and to give Mycroft cause to look back on the evening with something more than the bored irritation he'd probably expected.

She looked his way and shivered when she met his eyes. Even from that distance, they appeared to be focused on her like a laser. The other guests had no idea how incredibly hot it was to be the focus of Mycroft's attention. Holding his eyes, Molly deliberately ran her forefinger from the corner of her right eye to the corner of her mouth and drew the tip of it between her lips. His gaze narrowed and Molly flushed and glanced away, unintentionally meeting Lady Smallwood's eyes. The older woman raised her brows and grinned discreetly, and Molly smiled back a bit sheepishly.

#####

The Prime Minister and his wife were the first to leave. Lady Smallwood had given Mycroft a look, and he and Molly delayed their departure until everyone other than Bill Haverton had left.

"Molly, I want to thank you for coming tonight," Lady Smallwood said, taking the younger woman's hand in both of hers. "I will admit to asking you out of curiosity, but it's truly been a pleasure to meet you." She released Molly's hand and turned to Mycroft. "She's a delight, Mycroft. How the two of you got together, I'll never know, but I hope you'll always endeavor to deserve her."

"Thank you for an interesting evening, Lady Smallwood," Mycroft said, taking Molly's hand and threading their fingers together. He glanced down at her with a dry smile. "Unexpectedly interesting."

Bill Haverton stepped forward to shake Mycroft's hand, then bent to kiss Molly's cheek. "A delightful evening indeed, Molly."

Molly took hold of Mycroft's forearm and fanned her face with her free hand, fluttering her lashes at the famous actor. "Oooh, Bill ... take pity on your adoring public." The others were still chuckling when Molly and Mycroft said good night and stepped out into the cool night air. As they walked to the car, she glanced up at him. "Are the two of them …?"

"Yes, for almost six months, but they've been very discreet."

On their way home, under cover of darkness, Mycroft slid his hand across the small gap between their bodies and under the hem of her dress to curve around her knee. He didn't look at her and Molly stifled a gasp as he slid his hand higher up her leg, continued past the edge of her thigh-high stocking and came to rest on her bare upper thigh. The skirt of her dress was full enough that his move wouldn't have been too noticeable even in daylight, but in the dark there was no way Walter would be able to see what was going on in the backseat. Mycroft did no more than lightly rub his fingers over her skin, but their length meant the tips brushed just where the most sensitive skin of her inner thigh started. After a couple of minutes of that sweet torture, Molly wanted to grab his hand and force it higher, to straddle his thigh, to fall back on the seat and pull him over her ... to do something to relieve the ache. She did nothing, other than to concentrate on keeping her breathing even and inaudible.

Finally, though, she'd had enough of slowly going out of her mind and reached blindly to run her hand up his thigh to his fly and mold her fingers around his hardened flesh. Mycroft turned a groan into a cough, slowly slid his hand out from under her dress, and carefully removed hers from his body. He then threaded their fingers together and dropped their clasped hands on the car seat between them. Molly leaned her head against his upper arm, and they rode in a charged silence the rest of the way home.

They didn't immediately go into the house when Walter dropped them off, and those silent seconds on the front step caused the little hairs on Molly's neck to rise. She felt skittish, nervously on edge, as a tense silence continued between them. This Mycroft with a hard hand against the small of her back didn't feel like the Mycroft she knew so intimately. She flinched when he reached past her to unlock the door, then urged her through the door before him.

Molly started to turn to face him, but Mycroft had already swung her around, pushed her wrap off her shoulders to the floor, and backed her against the wall, both hands grasping her waist and lifting her toward him. "Mycro-" He covered her mouth, swallowing the rest of his name, letting the desire that had been building all evening overwhelm them, exploring each other's mouth as if it was new territory to be discovered, sharing each other's breaths rather than separating. Molly slid her arms up his back, clutching at his shoulders, wanting to get closer, to be absorbed by him, then abruptly pulling her mouth away. "Please, Mycroft, please …" He suddenly realized what she wanted and drew back, giving Molly room to wrap a leg around him. He slid his hands to her thighs and lifted until she wrapped the other leg around his hips, then pressed her back against the wall, grinding their centers together as he claimed her lips again. Molly began to tremble and rub herself against him, moaning against his lips until Mycroft straightened and slid them along the wall and through the opening to the music room. He broke away, breathing raggedly, pushed the door closed and carried her to the sofa, stretching her out, then quickly shrugged out of his jacket and waistcoat and toed his shoes off, eyes glued to hers. Molly simply stared back, feeling too drugged to think what to do until she suddenly thought to kick off her heels. Mycroft stepped closer and, still meeting her gaze, held his right wrist out to her. Molly's eyes lowered to it, then she carefully reached up to remove the cuff link and place it on the coffee table. He held out his left wrist and she repeated the action. Mycroft had pulled off his tie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt when Molly suddenly couldn't take any more and held her arms out, whispering a slurred "ohgodmycroftplease." He took her hands and tugged her to her feet, bracing her against him as he reached around to unzip her dress and pull it over her head. Her trembling worsened and her hands clutched weakly at his sides. "It's too much, too much …"

Mycroft paused, looking more closely at Molly, then picked her up and reached with one hand to gather several pillows at one corner of the sofa, before setting her down with her head raised against them. "Hold on for just a minute, darling … I'll be right back." He was back in less time than that and helped her sit up again, then dropped to his knees and held a glass against her lips. She took a sip, and another, then grimaced. She didn't particularly like brandy, but she could feel its warmth spreading and bringing her thoughts back into focus. She took a couple more sips, then handed the snifter to Mycroft. "I'm all right."

He drained the rest of it, then placed the glass on the table, and sat on the edge of the sofa beside her. "Do you want to go –" He huffed a laugh when Molly slid her hand around his neck and tugged him to her. "Mmm, guess not," he mumbled against her mouth, then wrapped his hands around her head and poured all the desire he was feeling into his kiss, running his tongue along the seam of her lips, then pushing deep when she opened to him. She ran her hands down his chest to his waistband, slid the button free and carefully lowered his zipper. He leaned back to give her room and she reached to spread the opening wide, but the angle was difficult for her to reach. Mycroft stopped her and quickly stood to strip off the rest of his clothes.

Molly ran her eyes down him and started trembling again. "Mycroft … just fuck me, please." His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and that quickly the danger was back. She looked up, wide-eyed, as he loomed over her, then took hold of her knees and swung her legs off the sofa. He sat beside her and lifted her onto his lap, running his hand up her leg and between her thighs at the same time that he began kissing her again. Molly slid her arms around his neck and opened her legs, moaning as he pushed her knickers aside and slid two fingers into her slick center, probing gently, then more firmly. Molly lifted into his caress, wanting more, then broke from their kiss, panting. "Stop fooling around … just fuc-" He took her lips again and kept hold of her as he shifted until she was stretched out under him. He raised up on his knees and slid his hands under her hips to slide her knickers down and then lifted her legs together in front of him and drew the knickers up and over her feet. He lowered her legs on either side of his thighs again, slid his hands under her, pulling her toward him until he could lift her backside to rest on his knees, then took hold of himself and aligned their bodies before pressing forward until he was fully seated in her. Molly wiggled until she got her right leg free and slung her foot over the sofa back, then planted her other foot on the coffee table and tried to lift him.

He raised his head and took a deep breath. "Patience, darling."

"No!" Molly hissed, gritting her teeth in frustration. "Mycroft, move now - please."

He slowly withdrew, then pressed into her again and held, at the same time that he ran his hands up Molly's sides and flattened them over her breasts, catching her lace-covered nipples between his first two fingers of either hand and then gently pinching them between thumbs and forefingers. Molly moaned and tried to buck again.

Mycroft released her nipples, braced his hands against the seat of the sofa, slowly withdrew, then with the next thrust he drove into her to the hilt, pulled almost all the way out, then drove into her again, their flesh slapping together forcefully as Molly braced her foot against the coffee table to raise herself into his thrusts, again and again, over and over, until she dropped her leg from the sofa back and pressed the sole of her foot against his lower ribs to change the angle, but it still wasn't enough. Mycroft quickly shifted his weight onto one arm, breaking their rhythm long enough to slide his hand between them, using his fingers to give her the extra friction she needed. He added more force to his thrusts, lifting higher into her, and then Molly gasped sharply and arched upward against him, clutching at his hips, her head pressing hard against the sofa pillows. Mycroft drove into her and held deep, dropping his head into the crook of her neck, breathing heavily as she pulsed around him, then he raised up again and thrust once, twice, and then on the third groaned from his depths when he erupted and poured himself into her, then quivered when an aftershock drained him further still.

He tried to hold most of his weight off of her, but she wrapped her arms and legs tighter around him until he collapsed onto her, sighing heavily against her neck. Molly's breath hitched and she took several deep breaths, regaining control, then ran the bottoms of her feet down the backs of his legs and hooked her ankles over his calves. A quiver went through him as her feet passed over the backs of his knees, which were just a bit ticklish. She felt stuck to him, like her flesh had melted into his and they were literally now inseparable. They were still joined, and Molly slid her feet up to press her soles against his backside and hold him in her. She wasn't ready to let him go, and he seemed fine with that.

They drifted to sleep with no intention of doing so. Molly woke when Mycroft groaned in her ear – not a groan of pleasure, but one with some pain behind it. She tried to move and groaned back at him when she started to straighten her legs.

"I'm too old for this," he muttered against her ear.

"It's not your age," she said, sleepily kissing his cheek. "A twenty year old would probably be stiff after falling asleep on a sofa in this position." She slid her hands from his back to the sides of his waist. "Do you need help getting up?"

He planted his hands on either side of her and lifted himself away with a light sucking sound as their flesh separated. He looked from his chest to her breasts. "We desperately need a shower."

"Mmmm, and that's just the sweat."

Mycroft's eyes met hers and Molly flushed. His lips quirked and he gave her a quick kiss before pushing back onto his knees, grimacing. "It may take two showers." Molly flushed again, then giggled. He glanced down at her thighs and ran his eyes up her body until their eyes met again. "We should have removed your garter belt. The clips have caused some rather odd looking bruises."

Molly raised onto her elbows and looked down her body to the mark on his thigh. Her eyes wandered farther and she flushed yet again at her sprawled position. "Um, could we get up, please?"

Mycroft shifted to give her room to sit up, and Molly stretched to retrieve her knickers from the floor, slipped her feet into them and pulled them on, grimacing. A shower, definitely. She looked at the clock on the mantel, then turned to Mycroft, wide-eyed. "Good lord, it's after half past four. No wonder we're stiff." She got up and went to pick up his clothes. "Do you want any of this for the trip upstairs?"

"I don't think we have to worry about Mrs. C coming in unexpectedly, do you?" He stood and took his clothes from her, stooped to pick up his shoes, then gathered his pocket watch and cuff links from the table and dropped them into a shoe.

Molly picked up her dress and shoes and went out in the hall for her wrap and clutch, then headed for their bedroom. She felt self-conscious walking up the stairs in front of him in nothing more than her underwear – and pearls - then felt silly about that, considering … well, everything.

They hurried through their shower, washing each other's backs, then quickly drying off and putting on pajamas before crawling into bed and settling into their usual spooning position. Molly woke a few hours later when Mycroft nuzzled her neck and asked if the cows had come home yet. Molly laughed and turned to him.

Lazy Sunday morning sex was indeed slow, but satisfying nonetheless, and they both drifted back to sleep afterwards.

#####

The weeks passed and for both of them work was its usual mix of routine and stress-filled days, although what constituted "routine" for Mycroft was not that in any sense of the word for anyone who didn't have the constant weight of trying to keep the country safe from attack on his shoulders.

September changed to October with little notice, and the days continued to be cool and rainy more often than not. Molly hoped for clear weather for their upcoming weekend at The Cottage.

The Wednesday before their weekend getaway, Molly walked out of her office and went upstairs to meet her friend Kathy. An hour later, she'd left for an early lunch and stopped outside the tube station entrance to call Anthea. "No, I don't want to talk to Mycroft – I want to see him. Is he available for an early lunch? Right. I'm on my way. Don't tell him I'm coming, okay? No, I'm taking the tube. No, it's fine! Anthea …. All right, see you shortly."

Anthea left word with the security guards so Molly gained easy access to Mycroft's building and Anthea was waiting by the elevator to escort her downstairs. It was Molly's first visit to Mycroft's "bunker" office and she wasn't too impressed with its aesthetics. As for bomb resistance, she figured it rated top scores. Once in the office, Anthea pointed to his door and sat at her desk, leaving Molly to announce herself. She heard her boss say Molly's name before the door shut and she'd have described his tone as alarmed. Anthea suspected that tone was unwarranted.

#####

Mycroft didn't immediately look up when Molly tapped on the door and slowly opened it. He was studying a file, but stilled after a couple of moments, and glanced up with a crease between his brows. That crease smoothed out and his eyes widened when he saw her. "Molly!" He was around the desk and had already gripped her hands before she could respond. Molly cocked her head to the side, studying him, because Mycroft didn't move that fast on the treadmill. She'd have to talk to him about increasing his workout effort.

"Molly," he said again, squeezing her hands. "Are you all right? Is something wrong?"

Molly pulled her hands free and instead slid them around his waist, tilting her head back to look up at him. "Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to take you to lunch. Anthea said you're free."

He frowned, looking a bit suspicious. "Did I miss a special date?"

"No, I'm doing something different. Let's be wild and crazy and actually have lunch together in the middle of a work week."

"Molly, you know I don't like to –"

"You choose the place. I don't care where it is – abandoned building, safe house, underground bunker …," she paused, looking around, "though not this one."

He studied her expression, then tucked some stray hairs behind her left ear. "How about my club?"

"Your club? On the same day that I first invade your bunker? Can your system handle that much stress?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I've dealt with worse." He checked his pocket watch, then pulled out his phone. "Let me call Walter, then we'll be on our way."

As they passed through the outer office, Mycroft paused, "Anthea –"

"I've got it covered, sir. Enjoy your lunch."

They left through a side door, which was manned by an armed guard who came to attention as Mycroft swiped his access card. The door opened onto a walled courtyard, and Walter was already there with the car. They drove slowly through solid iron gates, again manned by an armed guard, then pulled onto the street. Molly twisted to look out the back window, then glanced at Mycroft, before turning forward without commenting.

Mycroft took her hand and threaded their fingers. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"Is it so unusual that a wife wants to have lunch with her husband?"

"Meeting for lunch during the week is certainly unprecedented for us."

"We used to meet for tea."

"When that was the only way we'd meet."

"Well, I felt like having lunch with you. It's finally a beautiful autumn day, we have a weekend away ahead of us, and I must have gone a bit crazy."

He just hummed in response and said no more as they neared their target. The Diogenes. Molly had heard Sherlock and John mention it, but not with any fondness. Apparently, the members were considered a bit odd in their habits. She wasn't sure what that entailed, but she didn't believe Mycroft would be involved with anything that was truly … strange.

Walter pulled to the curb and Mycroft helped Molly out of the car. "One thing, my dear – they don't allow talking in public areas of the club. You have to stay quiet until we reach my room."

Okay … that was a bit strange, but not in a really weird way.

"Also, don't be surprised if some of the members stare at you. They generally ignore each other, but a female visitor is still somewhat unusual – and for me to be accompanied by any woman other than Anthea may be a shock for some of the old-timers."

Molly was starting to feel amused, but figured the reality certainly couldn't live up to what she was now imagining.

It did. Even her wildest imaginings wouldn't have thought of including paper shoe covers on the morning-suited staff.

They first went to what Mycroft said was his own room, a large office, then to a much larger room that others could use but that Mycroft had apparently reserved. Filled book cases lined one wall, and more were interspersed around the paneled room, which was brightly lit by sun coming through high windows. It was set up more like drawing room with leather chairs, lots of lamps and side tables.

Mycroft waved her to a chair, then sat across from her, crossed his legs and did his steepled-fingers thing, which Molly found adorable since he was looking at her with warm eyes and wasn't in his Ice Man persona. "They'll be bringing our lunch shortly. In the meantime, I think you should tell me why you really wanted to meet me today."

"I don't know why you insist that it was more than wanting to have lunch with you." He just raised his brows, and Molly huffed in annoyance. "You know, Mycroft Holmes, you can be aggravatingly persistent." She stood to take off her jacket, sat back down, then rolled her eyes. "So what about Dad's birthday this weekend? I know it's seventy-seven and not an official milestone like Mummy's, but we still ought to do something special for him."

Mycroft looked at her for several moments, then sighed, but he was only delaying further questions. "There will be a family dinner at the house. That's all he wanted."

"That's all he said he wanted. I think he'd secretly enjoy having a bit more of a fuss made. Can't you think of anything we might do?"

Before he could answer, there was a knock on the door and a staff member pushed a large wheeled cart into the room. Mycroft waved him over. "We'll serve ourselves. Thank you, Patrick." When the door closed, Mycroft crossed the room and picked up a low table that he carried back and placed on the floor in front of Molly's chair, then pulled his chair closer on the other side. He then moved the cart closer to them and removed a folded tablecloth, spread it over the table, then set the table with plates, cups, saucers, and cutlery. He handed Molly a serviette, then dropped one by his plate.

Molly watched him wide-eyed. "You've obviously done this before."

"Not with a guest. I usually use one of the side tables – not that I eat here very often."

Lunch was a tender Beef Wellington with a flaky pastry, roasted potatoes, and fresh green beans. There was also a lemon tart to follow. Mycroft served both their plates, then poured the tea and finally sat back down. Molly studied her plate for a moment, before taking a bite of the beef. "Mmmm, this is delicious. To think I thought we might get a quick sandwich." She grinned at him, then dug in. "I'm absolutely starving."

"You must have been busy this morning to use up so much energy," Mycroft said, looking at her under his brows. "You did have a good breakfast today."

"Well, you know, eating for two," Molly quipped, before poking a piece of potato into her mouth. She watched Mycroft's hand as he paused with his fork midway to his mouth, then lowered it to his plate. She kept her eyes on his hands for a moment before lifting her gaze to meet his.

"Molly." He took a quick breath. "Really?"

"Oh yes," she said, putting her fork down and reaching for her handbag. "I have photographic evidence." She looked up when Mycroft dropped to a knee in front of her. "Nine weeks, they say. Or rather she says, since my friend Kathy, the sonographer, did the test as a special favor, with Mike's approval." She looked down as she located the sonogram and drew it out, offering it to Mycroft. Instead of taking it, he leaned forward and cupped the sides of her head, then gently kissed her before pulling away. "I won't break, you know." He kissed her again, more lingeringly. When their lips separated, she waved the image. "Look at him – or her." When Mycroft took the sonogram, she leaned forward to point out where the eyes, ears, fingers and toes were. "Only an inch long, the size of a grape, and about an ounce in weight."

Mycroft rubbed his thumb over the image then looked up at Molly. "When did you decide to have this done? I didn't realize you had any signs of being pregnant."

"Well, I did and I didn't. I had that early second period but my system was still erratic and every symptom could easily have been related to coming off the pill. Missing a period in September didn't seem too unusual, but not having one so far this month did. Plus, my breasts have been more tender than usual."

"You should have told me so I wasn't too rough."

Molly leaned into a kiss. "You're never too rough, and they were only a little bit tender. Anyway, I called Kathy first thing this morning." She sat back in her chair and grinned at him. "You know what this means, don't you."

He arched a brow. "Besides the fact that we're having a baby?"

"It means I very likely got pregnant after Lady Smallwood's dinner party." That gleam came into his eyes and she backtracked a bit. "It might not have been that night, but the timing is right, according to Kathy." Studying his expression, she continued, "And, no … I didn't discuss our sex life with Kathy. She gave me approximate dates based on the size of the baby, and they fell right on that weekend."

Mycroft smiled slowly. "I like that."

"So do I." Molly watched as he got up, then stood at his urging and sat in his lap when he returned to his chair. "The other good news is we can give a copy of the sonogram to Dad and make his birthday extra special as well." She tilted her head to look up at him. "I don't want to tell anyone other than family for another month … well, you can tell Anthea if you want and we have to tell Mrs. C - but not until after your parents." She sighed happily and settled more comfortably on Mycroft's lap. "Can we just do this for the next –" [she paused to check her watch] "… twenty-five minutes? I'm really not hungry anymore."

"All right, but if we get caught by the staff, my reputation will be ruined." He smothered Molly's laugh with his lips. Snogging with one's wife at the Diogenes. Mycroft wondered if that was a first, then thought about nothing but Molly for the next twenty-four minutes. And thirty-six seconds.