(*full chapter title ...)

Maybe He Just Doesn't Mind Being Different

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That time when the only weapon Mycroft needed to defeat an enemy was the willingness to expose his heart …

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Mrs. Collingwood let herself into the house early Monday morning and stopped short when she entered the kitchen, surprised to find her employer, still in his dressing gown and pajamas, feeding bread into the toaster.

"Good morning, Mr. Mycroft," she said, a question in her voice. "Early start at the office then?"

Mycroft flipped the toaster on, then turned to her with a smile. "Good morning." He waved a hand dismissively. "No, that's not for me. Molly's been feeling a bit queasy the last few mornings, and dry toast seems to help."

Mrs. Collingwood studied him carefully, thinking she must be wrong, but her first impression held – that he was not only happy, but feeling a bit … shy? "Mr. Mycroft?"

He dropped his chin and slid his hands into his pockets. "Molly is pregnant, Mrs. C, almost ten weeks." He looked up at her squeal, then grunted when she suddenly hugged him, pinning his arms to his sides until he gently freed one of them and gingerly patted her shoulder. "Yes, well … you can talk to Molly about it later, but for now I need to get the toast to her."

Mrs. Collingwood loosened her hold, then kissed Mycroft's cheek before releasing him. "I am so happy for you both."

When the expectant parents entered the kitchen an hour or so later, dressed for work, Mrs. Collingwood was waiting with a hug and kisses for Molly - and questions, lots of questions, which Molly did her best to answer after Mycroft excused himself. She was highly suspicious of the perfectly timed call he'd received and assumed he'd used some sort of self-dial app so he could beat a strategic retreat to his study. The git.

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Molly stowed her things and Sherlock's duffle bag in her locker, then headed for Mike Stamford's office, where she dropped into the chair in front of his desk and huffed in annoyance. "I've already been congratulated twice since I got here! So much for keeping the news quiet for a while."

Mike raised his palms, shaking his head. "It wasn't me, and I don't believe it was Kathy. Probably someone in Records who completely forgot about patient confidentiality." He dropped his hands to his desk. "Do you want me to investigate?"

Molly rested her head on the back of the chair and sighed. "Not on my behalf, but I suppose we can't let such a breach go entirely unnoticed. Perhaps a few words to the department heads without my name coming into it?"

"I'll take care of it." Mike slumped back in his chair and studied Molly for a moment. "Is all well otherwise? You look a bit tired."

"Gee, thanks." Molly waved a hand dismissively when he started to apologize. "It's all right, but I'm suddenly having morning sickness – no, not bad – and getting tired more than usual."

"Are you all right with the work?"

"Fine – in fact, I better get on with it." Molly turned back at the door. "Thanks, Mike."

By 11 a.m., two more staff members had stopped by the lab to congratulate Molly. When the door swung shut behind the second visitor, Molly pulled out her phone and called Anthea.

"Hey, Molly. What's up?"

That didn't sound like Anthea knew, but - "So, has Mycroft shared the news?"

"Was he supposed to tell me something?"

"Mmm – at least I told him he could."

Anthea was silent for several moments, then, "Are you pregnant?"

Molly laughed at the delighted tone of her voice. "Yes! About ten weeks."

"I can't believe it! The Ice Man's going to be a dad."

"And I'm going to be a mum. Believe me, I find that almost as difficult to get my head around," Molly said, chuckling.

"We simply have to go to lunch soon so you can tell me all about it," Anthea demanded. "How about – just a sec." She'd obviously covered the receiver since all Molly could hear were unintelligible mumblings from Anthea and deeper rumblings from Mycroft. "Your husband says I should get back to work unless you actually need something. Do you need anything?"

Molly could hear the laughter in Anthea's voice. "Nope, but call me soon so we can decide about that lunch."

Anthea rung off and swiveled her chair to face Mycroft, who was still standing at the door between their offices, wearing his long-suffering expression. "Tea, sir?" He inclined his head and turned away.

Anthea set a cup by Mycroft's hand a few minutes later, then sat in her usual chair and stared as her boss studied a file as if a bloody bombshell hadn't just been dropped. By the time he'd turned several more pages, her patience gave out. "Congratulations, sir!" She winced internally at how loud and chirpy her voice sounded, then continued in her more usual tone. "Molly told me your news."

Mycroft didn't say anything for several moments, but finally set the file down and leaned back in his chair. "Thank you, my dear." Anthea waited, still staring at him. His expression was pleasantly neutral, or neutrally pleasant, she supposed – not exactly the usual blank mask, but surely such news warranted a more enthusiastic reply, even from the Ice Man. When she continued to stare, he raised his brows. "Was there anything else?" She finally looked away, then got up with a silent sigh. Poor Molly. Just as she reached the doorway, Mycroft said, "We're both very happy about it."

Anthea swiftly turned and he gave her a quick grin before opening his laptop. She closed the door behind her, then slowly smiled as she thought of the spark of humor that had briefly warmed Mycroft's gaze. Lucky Molly.

A few miles away, Molly was about to put her phone away, but paused a moment, thinking, and then made another call. "Whatcha doing for lunch today? Uh-huh. That's fine – see you there."

An hour later, she was reaching for Elizabeth. "Gimme, gimme!"

Mary laughed as she passed the baby to Molly and settled in her chair. Looking around the packed café, she said, "Your timing was great. John's gone off somewhere with Sherlock, Lizzie's probably bored of my company, and I needed some adult girl talk." She turned back in time to see the funny faces Molly was making at the baby and grinned. "So. What's up?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "Why does something have to be up?"

"You don't normally call about lunch at such short notice."

Molly continued to play with Lizzie for a few moments, then settled the baby on her lap. "Well, assuming Sherlock has actually kept his promise not to tell John, I thought you might enjoy being the bearer of some Holmes news this time."

Mary studied Molly for a few seconds, then started grinning. "You're not."

"Oh, god – why did I think I could surprise you!" Molly lifted the baby in the air again. "Yes I am." She smiled when Mary jumped up to give her a hug. "About ten weeks."

"When did you find out?"

"Wednesday – and, no … we didn't plan to spill the beans for a few weeks but the news leaked at the hospital, and I decided to be the one telling my nearest and dearest."

"Aww, Molls." Mary leaned over to give the younger woman another squeeze, then abruptly sat back, wide-eyed. "Oh. My. God. Mycroft Holmes as a daddy. It boggles my mind."

Molly laughed. "I know."

"How'd he take the news?"

"He's happy, Mary – not that it would be obvious to anyone else. I mean, he hasn't gone all gooey. He's still the Mycroft I know and love, thank god!"

"And Sherlock?"

"Surprisingly not rude. Not giddy either, of course, but no bombarding me with unwelcome facts and figures about the early stages of pregnancy, et cetera, et cetera. He wasn't even rude to Mycroft – about other things, yes, but not about the baby."

Molly leaned back and kept hold of Lizzie's hands when the server arrived with their soup and sandwiches. She then opened a packet of cream crackers and, at Mary's nod, handed one to the baby. "Why don't you give John a quick call in case Sherlock can't hold out much longer. I'd like you to beat him to it." Molly shifted the baby to her left arm and started on her soup as Mary pulled out her phone.

"Oh, Jo-o-o-hn," she sing-songed. "Guess what!"

When the boys pushed through the morgue doors later than afternoon, Sherlock made a beeline for Molly and stopped across from her, frowning. "I thought we weren't telling people."

Molly paused in the Y-incision she was making and lifted the scalpel as she looked up. "We weren't until someone here told someone who told someone else and yada yada. If the news is out there anyway, then I'm going to be the one to tell those I care about most."

John had rounded the PM table and gingerly leaned over Molly's back to kiss her cheek. "Congratulations, Molls."

"Thanks, John," she said smiling, then continued more briskly, "Now both of you go elsewhere so I can get on with this."

"Nope. Mr. Whitmore is why we're here."

Molly looked from Sherlock to the body. "So not a run-of-the-mill shooting?"

"Obviously not." Sherlock scowled when the morgue doors opened again and Sally Donovan followed Greg Lestrade in. "Oh great."

"Hello to you too, freak."

"None of that in my morgue, Sergeant. All of you – stand back if you're staying and let me finish the post mortem." Sherlock didn't budge but the others moved back enough not to be crowding Molly. She carefully completed the incision under her brother-in-law's watchful eye.

"Hey, Molls …," John said, wheedling. "Okay if I tell Greg?"

"Nope," she quipped, then looked up at the Detective Inspector. "I'm pregnant, Greg."

"Oh my god – the freak's going to be an uncle!"

"Shut up, Donovan," Greg said mildly, then gave Molly a warm smile. "That's great news! When?"

"May fourteenth, supposedly."

"How's the British Government taking it?"

"Fine," Sherlock broke in, then huffed in annoyance. "Could we possibly focus on the case now?"

Molly turned back to Mr. Whitmore, suppressing an inappropriate grin. Thirty minutes later, her phone rang as she was cleaning up, so she hurriedly dried her hands before pulling it out of her pocket. Mycroft. "Before you say anything, yes, I told Anthea, but the news had leaked here and I didn't want our friends to hear it from someone else." Molly took a breath as her flurry of words came to a halt and walked farther away from the others. "Hello, by the way."

"I didn't call to complain, my dear," Mycroft said lightly.

"I also told Mary at lunch so for once she could beat Sherlock in telling John something Holmes-related. Then Greg came to the morgue with the boys so I told him, too. Actually, they're still here. And so is Sergeant Donovan … oh dear."

"You better go then," he said. "I really called to tell you I'll be working late tonight so don't wait on me for dinner."

"All right. See you when I see you then." She lowered her voice and whispered "love you" before ringing off.

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November started cold and rainy and continued that way as the passing days turned to weeks. Mycroft and Molly spent more time in the gym on the weekends since their usual walks didn't appeal to either of them. On the afternoon of the third Sunday, Molly had finished her workout on the stair stepper and was watching Mycroft run on the treadmill.

"I've seen you move much faster than that when you wanted to," she observed.

"This is fast enough," he replied easily.

"You're not even breathing unsteadily," she said. "That speed has become too easy for you." Mycroft glanced at her, then adjusted the speed upward a bit. "That wasn't a criticism, Mycroft. You're just more fit than you think."

He ran for another ten minutes at the faster speed, then hopped off in a light-hearted move than always charmed Molly. His breathing was a little faster than usual, but had returned to normal by the time he'd wiped a towel over his face and neck and taken a long swallow from his water bottle.

After lowering the bottle, Mycroft looked at Molly where she was sitting sideways in one of the wing chairs with her heels propped on the side table. "That must be how Goldilocks looked when she was sitting in Papa Bear's chair."

"You know about Goldilocks?"

"I actually was a child once, Molly," he replied dryly, then walked over to her.

"Yesss … but I figured you were already reading The Art of War or Mummy was reading to you about physics, not fairytales."

Mycroft stooped to slide one arm under her knees and the other around her back as she wrapped her arms around his neck. When he straightened, she rested her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. "You know your carrying me around like this makes me feel all girly and ready to swoon, right?"

"Of course." He said, hitching her higher as they left the gym and went down the hall to the staircase. "I better do it as often as possible over the next couple of months before you get too heavy for me to lift."

Molly frowned. "That was rather rude."

"Sorry," Mycroft said, lips twitching as he carried her into the bedroom and pushed the door shut with his shoulder. He lowered Molly to her feet, then carefully brushed her hair back with his fingers before pressing his lips to her throat. Molly hummed when he kissed his way up her neck and nibbled on her earlobe for a moment before pulling back and reaching for the hem of her sweatshirt.

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Two days later, Mycroft met Molly at her office and they went upstairs for her "official" ultrasound. Mycroft stood aside as the sonographer – Molly's friend Kathy again – helped her get settled properly on the table and applied gel to her abdomen, but he moved forward to take Molly's hand once the scan started. For more than ten minutes, they watched the baby roll from side to side, turning this way and that, upside down, facing away, in profile, feet forward, continually changing position. Kathy frequently paused when the probe captured a clearer image of his face, hands, feet, spine, legs, arms, fingers – and several times a penis, confirming Mycroft's and Sherlock's deduction - and the entire time they could see and hear the rapid drumming of his tiny heart. Mycroft's hand squeezed Molly's from time to time, mostly unconsciously, she believed. When the scan was complete and Molly was using wipes to remove the gel, Kathy told them the May fourteenth due date seemed to be correct and all looked well, pending the result of Molly's blood test.

Mycroft walked Molly back to her office and followed her in, then gathered her into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. "Just so you know, I haven't warmed to the idea of 'Michael.' He'd end up being Mike or Mikey – and, dear lord, Mummy would probably start calling us Big Mikey and Little Mikey."

"No need to worry … I've crossed 'Michael' off my list." Molly pulled back to look up at him. "Don't you need to get to work?"

Mycroft sighed, then gave Molly a firm kiss before waving a hand toward her chair. "We need to have a talk about that."

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Mycroft was gone for two weeks – fifteen days to be exact – and, despite their frequent phone conversations and an increase in Mycroft's usual tolerance level for texting, Molly had missed him more than she'd ever tell him. Work and Christmas preparations helped make the time go by, as did a visit from Violet and Siger that at Molly's urging was extended past the originally planned weekend. It also helped that she went to the Watsons' flat for dinner, and they came to lunch at the house. Sherlock showed up several evenings with his violin and played solos for her, as well as joining her in duets. He mostly refrained from criticizing her skills on the piano, but did strongly criticize her taste when she wheedled him into playing some of her favorite Christmas carols.

Mycroft's return flight was due to land mid-afternoon on the second Saturday of December, and Walter had agreed to Molly's request to accompany him to City Airport, where they pulled up near a number of similar dark saloon cars lined up outside the hangar Mycroft used.

The plane arrived on schedule and eventually taxied to a stop about fifteen meters from where Walter was parked. A few minutes later, the plane door slowly opened and the first person who eventually came down the stairs was one of Mycroft's agents, Andrew Davis, dressed in a pilot's uniform. Five other men in suits and coats followed Andrew, and they all turned to watch when Mycroft appeared at the door. He paused as he spoke to someone over his shoulder, and Molly felt her heart rate quicken. He was wearing a dark suit and overcoat and carrying his briefcase and umbrella … and she thought, yet again, that he was the hottest thing she'd ever seen.

The other men were standing as if at attention and stepped back almost in unison as Mycroft started down the stairs. His back was so straight and his movements so smooth, so elegant, and Molly felt her usual amazed disbelief that he was hers – or, more accurately, she thought, that she was his. Her eyes were riveted on him, but movement at the top of the stairs caught her attention as Anthea exited the plane and came to a stop near Mycroft, who appeared to be giving instructions to the other men. Anthea said something when Mycroft paused, and he glanced at her briefly before turning back to the six men. Another man came down the stairs, and Molly recognized him as Thomas McLean, the pilot/agent she'd met in Edinburgh when she met Andrew.

One of the cars had pulled closer to the plane and two men got out and moved to the luggage compartment and started transferring bags to the boot.

Walter had got out of the car when the plane landed, but Molly was still sitting in the front passenger seat, which she'd chosen to sit in - despite Walter's brief protest - so she could chat with him more easily while they waited. Molly finally pushed the door open and stood, resting her hands on the frame of the door, and continued to watch Mycroft. Her breath caught the next moment when she knew he'd noticed her. To Molly's great surprise, a warm smile immediately cracked Mycroft's neutral mask … actually shattered it to the point that the others followed his gaze and looked Molly's way as well. Mycroft broke eye contact with her after a few moments and his face smoothed into cool impassivity as he turned away, causing the others to come to attention once again.

Mycroft finally gave a brief nod to the men who were standing in a half circle in front of him, then said something to Anthea. She, Andrew and Thomas headed toward one car, and the rest of the men moved toward several others. Molly's gaze returned to Mycroft as he started walking her way. She thought his usual elegant stride had a touch of predator to it as he bore down on her, and she felt a jolt when their gazes met and held. She shivered, imagining a jaguar on the prowl, eyes fixed on its prey, slowly, stealthily moving through a dark forest before its muscles suddenly tense and it leaps for the kill. Walter had walked away from the car and stopped at a distance far enough to give them some privacy, but surely Mycroft would stop, surely he wouldn't touch her in front of anyone, surely.

Mycroft did stop before touching Molly, but he was so close that she had to tilt her head and step back to keep from breaking eye contact. They studied each other in silence for several moments, then the wind blew some strands of hair across her face and he raised a hand to tuck them behind her ear. "I didn't expect you to meet me," he said, smiling slowly.

Molly reached up to cover his hand by her ear. "I wanted to surprise you," she said, then shook her head, smiling wryly. "Actually, I didn't want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary to see you."

"So you've missed me?"

"Don't joke about it unless you want me to jump you in public."

"God forbid." His lips quirked, then he dropped his hand and did a half-turn toward the other cars. Molly saw him frown and flick his hand at them before opening the back door for her. By the time Mycroft settled beside her, Walter had returned to the car and within a few moments they had joined the queue behind Andrew's car.

"You look well, my dear," Mycroft said as he took her hand.

"I am well," she said, smiling when he threaded their fingers together. "You, on the other hand, look tired."

"I am tired, but it's nothing that a good night's sleep won't cure." Mycroft twisted to reach Molly's stomach with his free hand. "Hmmm, I thought I saw a bump. How did this happen in just two weeks?"

"I grew … or he grew." She wrinkled her nose. "Or it could be all the chocolate ice cream I've been eating."

"Cravings?"

"More like sublimation, but ice cream is no substitute for you." Molly flushed at the heated expression that briefly widened his eyes and passed over his face, leaving a muscle twitching in his jaw. She again thought of that jaguar.

When they got to the house and hung their coats in the hall, Molly followed Mycroft to the study to drop off his briefcase, then to the kitchen to greet Mrs. Collingwood and arrange for dinner to be served at half past seven, and finally upstairs to their bedroom.

When Mycroft took off his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed, Molly moved to stand between his spread knees. "Now, let's see what's been going on here." He carefully unfastened her trousers and pushed her jumper and shirt up, then spread his hands over her bare stomach. He slowly traced his fingers over her smooth skin and raised his eyes to hers. "That's definitely a bump. Small, but a bump."

Molly cupped her hands over the backs of his. "Another few weeks and we should be able to feel him moving around." When Mycroft leaned forward to kiss her stomach, Molly rubbed his neck and shoulders. "I'm so glad you're home. I – we – missed you."

Mycroft slid his hands around her hips to pull her closer and pressed his cheek to her breasts. "Come to bed?"

"Oh yes … please."

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The following Tuesday afternoon, Mycroft sighed when his phone rang. "What do you want, Sherlock. I'm busy."

"What's wrong with Molly?"

Mycroft tensed in his chair. "What do you mean? She was fine this morning."

"She stammered, her shoulders were hunched under her labcoat, and she gave me everything I asked for without any argument."

Mycroft considered that for a moment, then, "I'll see to Molly, but do try to refrain from taking advantage, little brother." He returned his phone to his pocket and leaned back in his chair, picking up his pen and turning it between his fingers for several moments before tossing it on his desk and buzzing Anthea. Once she was settled in the chair across from him, he silently studied her expression and then straightened his back and rested his hands on his desk. "You and Molly went to lunch today."

Mycroft's voice was soft and his tone matter-of-fact, but Anthea felt a twinge in her gut at what she knew was stirring beneath it. She broke eye contact and lowered her gaze to watch the slow tap of Mycroft's index finger … once, twice, three times. She raised her eyes and felt her temper return when she met his narrow-eyed stare. "It was Lady Tiffany, sir. She's a first-class bitch."

"Not first-class, my dear – not in any sense." Mycroft leaned back again, draped his hands over the chair arms and raised his brows.

"She and several of the pack she runs with were coming out of a boutique on Marylebone just as Molly and I left the restaurant a few doors down. Lady Tiffany spotted Molly and waited on the pavement so that her group blocked our way." Anthea looked at her hands, which were twisting together in her lap. "There they were in haute couture and diamonds and spiky Louboutins and there I was dressed like …" [she flicked a hand at her elegant suit and heels] "… and there Molly was in her hot pink coat and too-big khakis and old-lady loafers and that wild Tom Baker scarf – which she looks very sweet in, sir, but it did make her look the very antithesis of Lady Tiffany – and the bitch looked Molly over and introduced her as the morgue lady. They all did their horsey laughs and then she told the others that Molly had it made, being married to a rich, powerful man, though how in the world she'd ever caught him – and, oh, look, she's got him trapped for good now." Anthea audibly ground her teeth. "I wanted to kill her, sir – quite literally at that moment – but Molly just held her head up and laughed at the morgue comment and acted like the rest of it was a light-hearted joke. She said she had to get back to work and that it had been a pleasure to meet them and blah, blah, BLAH!" She took a deep breath. "Sorry, sir, but sometimes Molly is just too kind-hearted for this world."

Mycroft gave Anthea a few moments to calm down. "And then?"

"Walter picked us up and we dropped Molly at Bart's." Anthea sighed, then raised her eyes. "I could tell she was upset, but trying not to show it." She opened her lips to continue, then pressed them tightly together.

Mycroft sighed. "Out with it. You and Molly may attempt to be discreet, but I'm sure you know more about our private life than you let on."

Anthea looked away and was embarrassed to hear herself stutter. "N-n-not really, sir. We don't talk about you – well, not about anything really personal, but …" She met his eyes again and cleared her throat when he arched a brow. "Molly has occasionally made a comment about not understanding why you would be with someone ordinary like her, how she could possibly be the one who finally …" She broke off. "Well, along those lines. I'm sorry, sir, this is none of my business, but I believe it's relatively easy for an outsider to play on that uncertainty. I don't believe Molly has a low opinion of herself in general, but I also don't think she truly understands how special she is." She paused, then continued in a hard tone. "I think Lady Tiffany resents how you make her husband look weak and unimportant when the two of you are in the same room - that she'd really like to hurt you without her or her husband getting into trouble over it and she thought hurting Molly's feelings would be an indirect way to do that."

Anthea sat back and took a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. "I'm sorry for rambling, sir. That was not an efficient report, but I consider Molly a dear friend and … I find it difficult to be objective."

"I can't fault you for that, my dear." Mycroft picked up his pen and rolled it between his fingers several times before slowly placing it on his desk. "Thank you for the report, however rambling it may have been." He gave her a brief smile, then turned and opened his laptop.

Anthea hesitated a moment before silently leaving his office. When the door clicked shut behind her, Mycroft leaned back in his chair and sighed, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, then briskly rubbed his face and dropped his hands to his thighs. He knew what he needed to do.

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Mycroft arrived home at about half past six and Molly came to greet him as she usually did if she arrived first, except this time she had Toby in her arms and kept holding him against her chest even when she kissed Mycroft. She didn't follow him upstairs, but instead returned to the kitchen and sat at the island after putting Toby down.

Mrs. Collingwood looked at Molly for a few moments, then set her knife on the cutting board. "Are you feeling all right, Miss Molly?"

She looked up and gave the housekeeper a brief smile. "Just a bit tired. I'll be fine after getting some sleep."

Mycroft came into the kitchen a little while later and asked if Molly would rather eat in the kitchen instead of moving to the dining room. She gave him a grateful smile, before lowering her head and lifting a shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mycroft. I had a big lunch and I'm just not very hungry tonight."

Mycroft's eyes met Mrs. Collingwood's over Molly's head. "It's all right, my dear. I'm not that hungry either." He leaned down until she looked at him. "I have to do some work after dinner, so why don't you have a long soak in the tub and then an early night. Does that appeal?"

Her lips turned up and her eyes brightened. "It does, but I didn't mean to abandon you - "

"You're not. I'm just sorry I have to work." He straightened and gave the housekeeper a significant look. "Why don't we go ahead and eat, if that suits Mrs. C."

"Of course, Mr. Mycroft. Everything's ready, except for reheating the soup, and that won't take any time at all."

#####

Molly had been in bed for an hour by the time Mycroft came upstairs, took his shower, and stretched out behind her. She was close to being asleep, rather than a pretense of it, when he broke the silence.

"You asked me if I was all right." Molly opened her eyes, frowning in the darkness, confused by his matter-of-fact statement. "You got in the car and said I looked tired. When I ignored the comment and started to update you on Sherlock, you interrupted to ask if I was all right." Molly slowly rolled onto her back but didn't say anything. "For our next meeting, I asked you to tea for the first time."

"At the Connaught."

"You came running in almost ten minutes late and had already started apologizing from halfway across the room."

"You told me to shut up."

"I certainly did not."

Molly turned her head toward him. "You said, 'Doctor Hooper, would you kindly refrain from further apologies.' In other words, shut up."

"Mmm." Mycroft was silent for a few moments, then, "You made me hazelnut eclairs and butterfly fairy cakes."

"Six months later!" Molly huffed in remembered annoyance. "You declined the first four or five invitations to tea at my flat."

"Four," he remarked, then continued, "You gave me a birthday card that played the 'Mission Impossible' theme."

Molly chuckled, recalling his expression when he opened it. "Well, we'd been meeting for eighteen months by then and I knew you had a good sense of humor, however you might try to hide it."

"You kissed my cheek when we left Sherlock's flat the day after his return."

"And you looked horrified," Molly's smile was reflected in her tone. "But you'd defended me when Sherlock went off on a tangent about my slowness to start getting him body parts again."

Mycroft snorted, then continued, "The next time I called, you sounded pleased to hear from me."

Molly didn't know why Mycroft was bringing up so many disconnected events from their past, but rolled onto her side to face him and folded her arm under her head. "We hadn't spoken for two months and I thought you were through with me since Sherlock was back. I was happy when our shared tea times started up again."

"You invited me for a picnic in Hyde Park."

"But then those few sunny days that gave me the crazy idea to invite you changed to weeks of rain," she wrinkled her nose, "and I took it as a sign that Mycroft Holmes didn't do picnics."

"Once your engagement was over, you eventually became lonely enough that even I was an acceptable stopgap."

"No." Molly lifted her arm and rested her palm on Mycroft's chest. "No. I wanted you for you." She abruptly sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, sitting rigidly until he traced his fingers from her neck down her spine and she shivered before twisting to look at him over her shoulder. "I never considered you to be a substitute for anyone. I know I was surprised … okay, shocked … when you offered yourself as an answer to my proposition, but that was because I never thought being with you was even a remote possibility. I had convinced myself to think of you as a friend and nothing more."

He released a long breath through his nose, then urged her to lie down again. Once she'd settled against his side, he brushed his fingers back and forth over her arm several times, then took a deep breath and looked at her. "Lying in your arms that first time felt like coming home."

"Mycroft." His name was a choked sob. Molly slid her arm around his ribs and pressed her cheek to his chest, then froze when she felt how hard and fast his heart was beating under her ear. After a few moments, she pushed herself up and moved to lie on top of him, forearms crossed on his chest, but Mycroft took hold of her upper arms and pulled her higher until they were face-to-face.

"You've become home to me, Molly." He shook his head, frowning. "How can you doubt my feelings for you?"

"How did you –" Molly's eyes dropped at the stern look he gave her. "You never wanted a relationship. You got caught by propinquity."

"I'd been around other women more frequently than with you without feeling any urge to spend personal time with them." Mycroft sounded annoyed. "Being exposed to your charms on a semi-regular basis certainly played a part in our getting together but exposure alone wasn't the cause and effect for our relationship."

Molly plucked at his T-shirt with her fingers. "You'd never have spent time with me if Sherlock hadn't needed to appear to die."

"You're right, my dear," he answered evenly, "but I didn't willingly spend time with anyone. I preferred my isolation. It was all I'd ever known or wanted. When an insistent itch happened to coincide with a convenient social opportunity, I did occasionally take advantage of a warm body rather than five minutes in the shower." He cupped Molly's cheek and gave her a wry smile. "I'm sorry for the crudeness, my dear, but that's all those rare sexual encounters were. They meant nothing to me."

"How could you have been satisfied with that?"

"Easily. Sex rarely crossed my mind."

"I find that difficult to believe. You're so, um, so …"

"I was never 'so, um, so' before." Mycroft huffed a laugh. "That's the Molly effect."

Molly scoffed. "Oh please. I'm all right, but you were around a lot more attractive people than I on a regular basis."

Mycroft sighed. "Do you not recall asking me if I could 'do this' - if I could allow you to touch me?" Molly flushed. "I would have said no before the unexpected turn our conversation took at the tea shop. I spent an inordinate amount of time over those next two weeks considering how such an arrangement might work between us and whether we could stay friends without things getting messy." He cupped her chin and waited until she met his eyes. "Never doubt that our relationship started because I wanted you for you, Molly, although it took some days for me to admit it to myself."

"Really?" Molly's looked incredulous and hopeful – and utterly adorable, Mycroft thought.

"That first time we kissed, I wanted to pin you to the wall in your front hall." His lips quirked at her delighted smile. "When we arrived here that Friday night, I wanted to forget about work and carry you straight to bed." Molly blushed and burrowed her head in the hollow between Mycroft's neck and shoulder. "I didn't know what intimacy meant until we were together. Or aching desire." He carefully worked his hand under her chin and tilted her head until their eyes met. "Or tenderness or caring or love."

"Mycroft." Tears welled in Molly's eyes as he held her gaze.

"I love you, my darling Molly, for always." Mycroft cupped the sides of her head and drew her lips to his. When the kiss intensified, he pulled away and took a deep breath. "Just promise me one thing, my dear."

"What."

"That I'll never have to talk about feelings like this again."

Molly huffed a watery laugh at his martyred tone before giving him a lingering kiss. "I refuse to say 'never' but you're definitely off the hook for a very long time." She studied his expression for a moment, then pursed her lips. "Just don't start a war or something equally drastic as an antidote to all this sentiment."

A long while later, as their breathing slowly returned to normal, Mycroft tried to shift most of his weight off of Molly, but she moved with him, enfolding him more closely within her arms and legs, then whispered, "Welcome home, Mycroft."