(*full chapter title)

*It's The End Of An Era, Isn't It - Part I

#####

Mid-January

"Have I ever tried to persuade you to do something you truly didn't want to do?"

Molly huffed a laugh against Mycroft's throat and lifted herself high enough off of him to meet his eyes. Hers were still bright with amusement when she folded her arms on his chest and propped her chin on them. "Hmmm … considering where your hands and your, um, person are, I'm not sure whether to be alarmed or excited by the question."

Mycroft gave her The Look. "I'm serious, Molly."

"Sorry," she said, straightening her face with an effort. "No, not that I recall."

"I'm asking now," he said, sliding his hands from her bare bum to her shoulder blades. "Would you please move your things in here."

Molly frowned and lifted onto her elbows. "I sleep here every night. Does it really matter to you where I bathe and dress?"

Mycroft didn't answer directly. "One reason you had for keeping a separate room was to make it easy for me if I wanted a night on my own. We can disregard that since I could simply sleep in another bedroom in such an unlikely event." He raised his brows, waiting for any argument from Molly, then continued. "As for your other issue, I have a solution."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll need to get up for that," he said, curving his hands around her shoulders and urging her to sit. Once she did, he ran his gaze down her torso and followed it with his hands, stopping when they covered her expanding belly. "Besides, now that one appetite has been temporarily sated, you must be about ready for your supper." He yelped when Molly took some skin on his side between her thumb and forefinger and gave it a quick twist.

"Prat," she said, rolling her eyes as she crawled off of him and scooted to the side of the bed. She pulled her pajamas from under her pillow, then gave him a slow smile over her shoulder. "Come on then. Show me."

#####

Molly loved the long Sunday afternoons and evenings when they were on their own, especially the rare ones when Mycroft's phone (mostly) remained silent. He'd gradually become more likely to dress down on the weekends unless he had to go to the office, and more often than not they pitched in together in the kitchen when Mrs. Collingwood wasn't there. That Sunday evening, when Mycroft had again suggested making sandwiches from leftover roast, Molly agreed but sighed wistfully, which was too obvious a cue for him to ignore. Molly knew she couldn't play the cravings card very often, but occasionally … well. So Mycroft ended up arranging for someone with sufficient security clearance to pick up two generous orders of fish and chips - and then slipped him a sufficiently large bill to enjoy a much nicer meal than Mycroft would be having. Less than an hour after Mycroft made the call, he and Molly were eating at the kitchen island, still in the pajamas and dressing gowns they'd donned for his show and tell.

Molly swallowed a mouthful of flaky halibut, then pointed her fork at Mycroft. "You make it sound so easy, but household building projects can be a nightmare. Or so I've heard."

"Not if we have the right project manager – and we will, or I'll have him shot and replaced." Mycroft speared several chips with his fork and smirked before popping them into his mouth. Molly rolled her eyes at this teasing, boyish version of her husband, who could make light of a threat that might potentially be real in different circumstances, under his usual work conditions.

Mycroft's proposal that they break through the wall to the smaller bedroom next door, update and enlarge its existing ensuite, and create another dressing room similar to his seemed at first to be an outrageously unnecessary luxury. Molly initially considered saying she'd simply share his bathroom (however much she'd prefer to keep her own) since his already had two sinks and was certainly plenty large enough for two people … but then there was the matter of his dressing room.

Mycroft's dressing room.

That holy of holies.

His dressing room was Mycroft's personal stage, no matter how unwitting the role he played on it might be. Mycroft still didn't comprehend his effect on Molly - watching him go through his routine, selecting his suit, talking idly to her about the minutiae of their daily lives while proceeding so deliberately with each step of dressing … slowly taking on the trappings of his public persona. Since the beginning of their relationship, she'd hidden her reaction – first from embarrassment, then from fear of making him self-conscious. The fact that he was so unaware of his impact only served to increase its effect.

No, Mycroft's dressing room absolutely could not be touched to make room for her things, no matter what he might say. Thus, Molly had agreed to the project. Besides, its cost wasn't a consideration for Mycroft and he wouldn't understand any misgivings Molly had about spending so much money. So, an unnecessary luxury, yes … outrageous in their situation, no.

"I hope you're good at making design choices because the idea of choosing all the fixtures and finishes involved makes my head ache," she said, scooping up some mushy peas after pushing aside the preliminary floor plans Mycroft had secretly commissioned. "Just thinking of all the types of bathtubs available –"

Mycroft looked up at the sudden clatter from Molly's fork landing on her plate and shot to his feet when he saw she was holding her stomach and staring at him wide-eyed. He quickly rounded the table and bent over her. "What is it, Molly? Are you in pain?"

She turned her head, eyes still wide and mouth forming an O. "He moved." Tears sprang to Molly's eyes and she raised a hand to his cheek. "He's moving, Mycroft." His eyes dropped to where her other hand was caressing her bump. "Give me your hand." Molly pressed Mycroft's fingers against her for several moments, holding her breath, then finally leaned her forehead against his arm and released the breath. "I don't think you'll be able to feel anything yet." She lifted his hand and kissed the palm before resting her cheek against it. "I'm sorry."

"No need, my dear," Mycroft said, rubbing his thumb over her skin. He lowered himself the rest of the way to his knees and slid his arms around her before pressing the side of his face to her stomach. "I'll feel him soon enough."

Molly curled herself over and around Mycroft, and they forgot about supper and everything else for quite a while.

#####

Two weeks later and Molly considered going to work a welcome escape since the project manager and architect/designer - and their seemingly endless questions – had started to arrive at the house by eight o'clock. They were apparently scared of doing anything not to Molly's satisfaction and she blamed Mycroft for instilling that fear. When they'd tried to corner her that Friday morning to discuss the proper spacing of shelves and her choice of cabinet hinges, she'd had trouble suppressing a scream. She'd finally arranged to meet with them Saturday morning, as she calmly explained to Mycroft on the drive to work …

"… and any excuse you might offer for not being there had better involve a nuclear threat, mister, since the bloody project was your idea!" Molly slammed the car door and stomped inelegantly across the pavement, suspecting Mycroft and Walter – who'd been an unintentional witness to her tirade - were relieved to see the back of her for a while. Their ears were probably ringing, she thought guiltily. She'd warned Mycroft about the nightmare aspects of home retrofitting and refurbishment, but she hadn't expected to end up as chief frightener.

Mycroft watched until Molly reached the door to Barts and was about to wave Walter on when he saw her turn and slump against the wall of the building. Mycroft quickly shoved the car door open and strode toward Molly, who looked up when she heard his hurried footsteps. Her face crumpled at his concerned expression.

"I'm so sorry, Mycroft … I didn't mean to yell at you," Molly said, lips trembling as he came to a stop in front of her. She stared up at him, surprised that he'd followed her and even more so when he took her bags and put his free hand on her back.

"Come to the car," he said, urging her across the pavement.

"I'll be late," she protested, looking over her shoulder at the hospital.

"A few minutes won't matter," he said, then closed the car door behind her and went around the boot to get in on the other side. "Walter, drive around for a few minutes, please." He turned to Molly, giving her his full attention. "Now, my dear, tell me again about the meeting - perhaps a bit more calmly this time," he said, smiling as he tucked some hair behind her ear.

So Molly told him what had been going on, indeed more calmly, then released a long breath as she felt the tension leaving her. "I'm sorry for losing my temper."

"No, I'm sorry, my dear," Mycroft said, kissing her forehead despite Walter's presence a few feet away. "Mr. McGregor and Ms. Martin obviously misinterpreted my instructions. Don't worry – we'll get them straightened out." He cupped his hand behind her neck and leaned closer. "And I promise to be there, barring that nuclear threat." He glanced up when Walter pulled to the curb outside Barts and stepped out of the car to give them some privacy. He turned back to Molly and slowly arched a brow. "Are we all right now?"

"Yes … I'm sor-"

"Shhh," he interrupted, then gave her a quick kiss and reached across her to shove the door open. "You better get going."

"Thank you for staying," she said, leaning in for another quick kiss. "I'll see you later." She backed out of the car, then pushed the door shut and turned to the driver. "I'm sorry you had to hear all that earlier, Walter. It was bad enough to lose my cool with Mycroft, but to yell at him in front of you was rude and completely unacceptable."

"Thank you, Mrs. Holmes, but there's no need to apologize." Walter glanced in Mycroft's direction, then leaned toward her. "I was actually impressed." Molly laughed when he winked at her before getting in the car. She waved as they drove off, then went to start her work day.

#####

The next morning, Molly reluctantly opened her eyes, frowning when her searching hand found nothing but empty sheets. She rolled onto her back and stared silently at the ceiling before finally moving to sit on the side of the bed. Despite having had the pleasure of Mycroft's attentions during the night, she'd hoped for another cuddle before starting their day. Molly sighed and reached for her phone, swore under her breath when she saw the time, and grabbed her dressing gown, pushing her arms through its sleeves as she hurried toward the door.

Mycroft had just reached the top of the stairs when Molly stopped outside her bedroom door. "Sorry - I'm running late," she said. "It won't take me long to get dressed."

Mycroft followed her into the room and waited while she took fresh clothes from the chest of drawers and laid them on the bed. "There's no hurry, my dear. They aren't due to arrive for an hour." He stepped closer and bent to kiss her. "Mmmm, I wasn't ready to get up this morning." He nuzzled his face against her throat and breathed deeply. "I'd much rather be in bed."

Molly moaned when he dragged his open mouth up her neck, then pressed her palms against his chest. "Don't tempt me," she protested. "I know I've been a bad influence on you, but you're catching up with me." She twisted away, then laughed when he caught her to him and nuzzled her throat again. "Mycroft! I have to get ready!"

He raised his head, then lowered his eyes to her belly. "How's our boy this morning?" He slipped his hands between the sides of her dressing gown and traced his fingers over her smooth skin, stopping at what felt like a kick, then another harder one against his palm. "He's definitely active."

Molly covered his hands with hers. "Probably protesting having to wake up."

Mycroft slid his hands around her hips, then met her eyes. "Why not take your time with bathing and getting dressed and let me meet with them first. I need to clear up some misconceptions."

Molly started to resist letting him take over, but nodded. "All right." She lifted onto her toes to give him another kiss, waited until he left, and then headed for the shower.

#####

In the sitting room, the two people facing Mycroft from the opposite sofa watched his every move as he slowly crossed his legs and settled further into his seat. "I'm trying to figure out what part you didn't understand of don't bother my wife – my busy, pregnant wife – with unnecessary details," Mycroft said casually, tilting his head to examine the fingernails of his left hand before draping it over the sofa's arm. He raised his brows, then lifted his gaze and held the project manager's eyes for several moments before continuing, "I'm certain I clearly explained the situation, Mr. McGregor."

Ralph McGregor's face paled. "Mrs. Holmes has been avoiding –" He broke off at the expression that briefly darkened the other man's face before it again settled into the impassive mask that Ralph found so unnerving. "I mean, I haven't been able to catch Mrs. Holmes at a convenient time for her."

Mycroft effectively dismissed that response when he lowered his gaze to focus intently on the toe of his shoe before shifting his gaze to the architect. "Have you put together detailed designs for the entire project?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," Sylvia Martin said, her eyes sliding away from his and back again, "but I needed to ask Mrs. Holmes about the dressing room shelves –" She stopped and stared when Mycroft closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, deliberately laced his fingers together at his waist, then fixed his eyes on her and opened his mouth to speak.

When Molly entered the sitting room twenty minutes later, she was alarmed to see the tight set of Mycroft's jaw in sharp contrast to his deceptively relaxed posture, knowing he could pounce both figuratively and literally in the blink of an eye, but then he stood to greet her and the Ice Man fell away. Their visitors, who looked somewhat shell-shocked, glanced sideways at Mycroft, then stood and smiled uncertainly at Molly.

"Good morning, Mr. McGregor, Ms. Martin," Molly said, smiling brightly. "Has Mycroft offered you tea?"

By the time the two of them left an hour later, they'd agreed to meet again early the following week and bring detailed plans and a consolidated list of any outstanding questions they needed Molly to answer. They'd also been offered, and agreed to take on, another smaller project - redecorating the bedroom and ensuite across the hall from Mycroft's room to make it more child-friendly.

Mycroft and Molly saw their visitors off, then stood on the front step for a few minutes, enjoying the crisp air and unexpected sunshine. Molly finally looked up at Mycroft with a crease between her brows. "You know the baby will be sleeping in our room for the first couple of weeks, right?"

"I had assumed so since you'll be nursing him so often." Mycroft said, resting a hand on her back as they turned to go into the house, then paused to look at her. "We haven't talked about that. I don't mean to assume you're going to keep breastfeeding –"

"Oh no, I want to - at least for the recommended six months. After that, we'll have to see how it goes." Molly slipped her arm through his and on around his waist as they headed for the stairs. "I'm not sure you know what you're in for." She glanced up, smiling. "I've heard breastfeeding can be a messy business."

Mycroft snorted. "As are certain other activities we enjoy. I think I can cope."

#####

February Sixth

Mycroft woke abruptly, staring in the darkness for a moment, wondering what had disturbed him. The next moment, a jolt shot straight to his groin when he felt Molly's lips feather over his left thigh, and he stretched out his arm to turn on the lamp. "What are you doing," he asked huskily. He cleared his throat, then threaded his fingers through her hair when she licked a stripe on his leg without answering. "Molly …"

"A year," she said, wrapping her warm hands around his thigh and pressing kisses to what he now realized was the scar from the previous year's explosion. "It's been a year since you were injured."

He lifted his head off the pillow to look down at her and suppressed another groan when he saw her position. "Molly –"

"Just lie back, darling, and let me see to you."

"But -"

"Please."

Mycroft let go of Molly's head, then fell back with a groan and closed his eyes. She continued her careful ministrations, moving on from his scar to the crease between thigh and hip, which she traced with her tongue, then skipping to the other leg and doing the same. When she worked her hands between his thighs and pressed them open, Mycroft drew a deep breath and braced himself, feeling a bit wary of what she'd do next. He heard himself grunt like an animal and tensed further when she cupped his scrotum, lightly massaged his testicles, then stroked a circle around each of them, before gently rubbing the loose skin between her fingers and running her thumb up the middle seam. When she paused there, softly stroking that dividing line, the almost unbearable pleasure of it sent a quiver up his spine and made the top of his head feel as if it would come off. Mycroft couldn't hold back a guttural groan when Molly bent lower and slowly repeated that stroking motion with her tongue before carefully taking him into her mouth. She held still for several moments, then began exploring his contours very gently, which caused another quiver to run up his spine. When she finally released him with a last flick of her tongue, she again took his scrotum between her fingers and thumb, lightly tugged to stretch the skin, and then brushed her thumb back and forth while wrapping her other hand around his penis. "God, Molly," he ground out, slipping his fingers through her hair again. When she tugged at him again, he let go of her and fell back onto his pillow, cursing under his breath. "Fucking hell."

Hearing that, Molly lifted her head and shifted on her knees, then crawled up his body on all fours until their eyes met. She lowered her head and tentatively licked his lips, before pulling back to look at him. Mycroft clasped her head between both hands and brought their lips together, and they kissed playfully, nibbling and licking, then delving deep, and again, until Molly gently caught his lower lip between her teeth and sucked on it. She released it with a smack and moved down his body, stopping to run her tongue over each nipple and give it a light nip with her teeth before shifting back onto her knees between his legs. She stretched her arms toward the ceiling to work out some kinks, then braced one hand on his hip and firmly gripped his erection with the other. She drew a slow breath, then lowered her head and took him into her mouth, intent on ridding his mind of any thought but what she was doing to him as she switched seamlessly between the firm tug of her fist and the warm suction of her mouth, in between rubbing her tongue over the moist tip with each changeover, hoping he felt the love behind each stroke of her hand, each pull of her mouth, each sweep of her tongue. Mycroft's breathing became rougher and louder, the muscles in his thighs and groin tightened, and that moment arrived, as it had every time she went down on him, when he grunted in warning, in a kind of distress, as if his innate manners required him to protect Molly from his baser instincts, until he could no longer resist giving in to the pleasure, to the release from tension - and finally, sliding his fingers through her hair and arching his lower back, Mycroft groaned raggedly and … just … let … go.

After a few moments, Molly lifted her cheek from where it had been resting on his lower stomach and crawled over his thigh and onto her knees beside him. Mycroft rolled his head toward her, still panting, but looking, she thought, blissed out … or maybe wiped out was more accurate. She watched the rise and fall of his chest for a moment, tilted her head to study his relaxed sprawl, and slowly smiled at what she'd done to him. Blissfully wiped out. She sighed happily, then shifted around to settle on her side.

Several minutes passed, then Mycroft blew a long breath through his nose, rolled onto his side and slid his arm around her, spreading his fingers over her bump. "How did you know to –"

"I googled it."

He brushed some hair off her shoulder with his chin, nuzzled his face against her throat, then gruffly mumbled, "Thank you, Molly."

Molly huffed a laugh and covered his hand with hers. "You're welcome, Mr. Holmes."

#####

Valentine's Day

They may have agreed not to get caught up in the overblown sentimentality and commercial aspects associated with the annual "day of love," but that didn't stop Molly from waking Mycroft early so they could start the day with a bit of rumpy-pumpy.

Or from leaving a card and (non-anatomical) chocolate heart on his dressing room bench while he was in the shower.

Or from crying a few sentimental tears on finding a bouquet of white roses, orchids and freesias on the vanity when she went to her bedroom to get ready for work.

#####

Anthea looked up when Mycroft entered the office, jauntily swinging his umbrella, and giving every impression of being a well-satisfied man. Not that it would be obvious to someone who didn't know his expressions – or lack thereof – so well, but Anthea thought he looked … pleased, and his stride had a definite touch of loose-limbed swagger. He and Molly had obviously started the day off right, Anthea thought, rather wistfully. Maybe she should give David-from-the-New-Year's-Eve-party a call.

A few minutes later, Anthea followed Mycroft into his office, set a cup of tea by his hand, and took her usual chair. She continued going through emails while he read the first overnight reports.

"You'll need to lose that smile before we leave for No. 10."

Anthea looked up, eyes widening innocently at his dry tone. "Sorry?"

Mycroft stared at her for a moment, then one side of his mouth quirked as he returned his gaze to the earlier reports. When he finally placed that folder on the desk, Anthea handed him the latest internal updates on the current situation. After several minutes, he set those aside, turned to his laptop and quickly scrolled through breaking news reports, then leaned back in his chair and met his assistant's eyes. "So there's no putting a lid on the story."

"No, that would have required a much earlier reaction," Anthea said, solemnly. "If only we'd had a hint before it broke."

"Yes. If only." Mycroft stood, checking his pocket watch as he came around the desk and paused by her chair. "Ready?"

"Ready, willing and able, sir." Anthea grinned, before straightening her face and handing him his umbrella. "Shall we?"

#####

Molly was at her desk later that morning, finishing a post mortem report, when Anthea called. "Good morning, Molly. How are you today?"

"Very well, Anthea," Molly replied, tentatively. "What's up? Is … is Mycroft all right?"

"Yes! Sorry, I just had a few minutes and wanted to check in." Anthea paused. "So, have you been busy this morning? Did I catch you at a bad moment?"

"It actually has been busy. I've already completed a couple of PMs so I was taking a break from standing by writing the reports." Molly sighed. "Come on, Anthea, what's going on? You don't usually call for a chat during work hours unless there's a reason."

"We haven't talked for a couple of weeks and I was thinking about you, so …" Anthea was quiet for a moment, then abruptly continued. "Well, I better get back to work, but let's have a good long chat soon, all right? And, um, you might want to check the news," she quickly added in a lowered voice, just before ringing off.

Molly immediately opened her mobile's browser and gasped at the headlines.

"Secretary of State for Transport in Sex Scandal"

"Transports of Delight for Sir Laurence"

"WARNING GRAPHIC CONTENT: (Very) Personal Training for Transport Minister and Tiffany"

As the hours passed, new headlines vied for attention.

"Personal Trainer Tom: Sir Laurence Likes to Watch"

"Tiffany and Tom's Trysts for Two and Transport Head Makes Three … What a Crowd!"

"Loose Lips and Pillow Talk: What Cabinet Secrets Did Laurence Reveal to Taleteller Tom"

"WARNING GRAPHIC CONTENT: Lady Tiffany Goes for the Burn"

Several text alerts had sounded while Molly was performing her last PM. By the time she'd returned the body to cold storage and washed up, she'd received four messages – one from Anthea.

I forgot to say Happy Valentine's Day! A

Molly sent a quick reply, ignoring the subtext. They'd definitely be discussing that later.

#

"You didn't try to stop this," Lady Smallwood said late that afternoon as the truth dawned on her. "You allowed it to happen." Her eyes widened. "Does the PM know?"

"He may suspect," Mycroft replied, not trying to deny her statement. He took another sip of tea, then his eyes met hers over the cup before he set it down. "Laurence actually does have trouble keeping his mouth shut. There've been a few hints in the press, but so far the titillating bits have kept the focus off the more damaging story."

"He talks because he enjoys showing off," she said, distastefully.

Mycroft grimaced in agreement, but didn't reply. "We're bringing the personal trainer in," he said, after several moments. "It's one thing for Laurence to talk to his wife, who doesn't have enough sense to understand what she's heard most of the time – and certainly not the context - but for him to talk to an outsider about an ongoing operation and in a manner that surely encouraged that man to make free with the information … well, Laurence had to go."

"I suppose I should feel sorry for him," she said, "but he's so damned self-righteous that it's impossible."

Mycroft placed his folded serviette beside his plate and rose to his feet. "I'm due back at No. 10 this evening."

"How much worse is it going to get before he resigns?"

"Quite a bit, I'd say. He won't go easily," Mycroft paused, lips pursed, "but he'll go." He gave her a barely there smile, then picked up his briefcase. "Thank you for tea, Elizabeth."

#####

Molly didn't mention the scandal to Mycroft that evening since he was home only briefly to freshen up and change suits before heading back to the office. She was asleep when he returned and barely awake enough to respond to his goodbye kiss early the next morning. Over the next twenty-four hours, the Cleeves scandal grew.

"Fling with Tiffany Cost Laurence First Marriage, Lots of Bling"

"A Titillating Threesome: Tiffany, Tom and Transport Sec"

And then a new story line went viral:

"EXCLUSIVE PRE-SURGERY PHOTOS: The Lady and Her Original Parts / We'd Hardly Know You, Tiffany!"

#####

Mycroft woke Molly before he left for the office early on Saturday and suggested she meet him for lunch. She mumbled her agreement, sleepily accepted his kiss, then turned over and was asleep again by the time he'd slipped his jacket on, picked up his phone and shut the bedroom door behind him. It wasn't until Molly was getting a shower that she recalled his invitation. I must have been dreaming, she thought, frowning. If not, something's going on.

Molly waited until half past eleven to text Anthea.

Has Mycroft mentioned anything about lunch with me today? MH

It took twenty minutes for Anthea to respond, which was unusual.

Yes. Walter will be there at 12:45, if that suits you. A

That's fine. See you later. MH

Molly had no idea of where Mycroft planned to take her – although unlikely, he could even be having food delivered to his office – but decided to dress appropriately for a finer restaurant. They were enjoying another cold but clear day, so she went with a long-sleeved, above-the knee, empire-waist dress in a fine, cinnamon-colored wool, with black tights and knee boots. It was another vintage look for her, but echoing the Mod Sixties style this time, so she left her hair down and added a black, twisted headband and gold hoop earrings. At half past twelve, she checked herself in the mirror, then grabbed her clutch and headed downstairs. There was no disguising her six-month bump – not that she wanted to – but the dress softly skimmed the curve, rather than outlining it.

At one o'clock, Walter not only escorted Molly into Mycroft's building, but all the way to his office. When Molly came in, Anthea gave her a quick hug, took her coat, and ushered her into Mycroft's office with a flourish. Molly was still frowning at the closed door when Mycroft slipped his arms around her and leaned down for a kiss. She returned the kiss absent-mindedly, then pulled back and frowned at him instead. "Yes, hello, Mycroft – what's going on?"

"You look lovely, my dear," he said, then sighed when her frown stayed in place. "Can't a husband ask his wife to lunch without causing suspicion?"

Molly's frown deepened. "I seem to recall saying something similar the day I came to take you to lunch – and your suspicions were well-founded on that occasion."

"I've missed having dinner with you for several days and we're about finished here, so I thought of taking you to lunch before going home," he said, mildly. "Oh - we won't be alone. I thought you might like Anthea to join us."

Molly stopped frowning, but still looked suspicious. "Yes, I actually would like that." She studied his calm expression and decided to trust that whatever was going on, it wouldn't be bad. "Are you ready to leave now?"

Mycroft checked his pocket watch, then urged her to sit in his chair. "I need to have a few words with Anthea before we go."

While Molly waited, she looked around the office, then studied the top of his desk. Besides his lamp, laptop, phones, a small glass globe, and a neat stack of folders, the large desk was all shiny surfaces. She swiveled the chair to study the portrait of a young Queen Elizabeth, then swiveled back around when the door opened behind her.

"Ready?"

Mycroft kept a hand on Molly's back when the three of them started across the front lobby, then took hold of her arm and slowed to a stop. Molly glanced up, saw his focus was on the security checkpoint at the front door, and turned to see what had caught his attention. She drew a sharp breath when she recognized Sir Laurence and Lady Tiffany just as they cleared security and started walking their way. Molly quickly looked at Anthea, who met her eyes and arched a brow questioningly. When Molly turned back to Mycroft, his eyes had hardened and his expression had smoothed into a blank nothing.

"Laurence? Lady Tiffany?" He said evenly, with a lift of his chin, then tilted his head toward his companions. "You remember my wife, Molly? And of course you know Anthea."

"Mrs. Holmes … Anthea," Sir Laurence said, smiling ingratiatingly at each of them, then increased the wattage of the smile when he turned it on Mycroft. "I must say this timing is excellent, Mycroft." He jerked his head to the side. "Do you have a moment ...?"

When Lady Tiffany was left alone near the other two women, she gave them a weak smile, then turned to watch her husband. Anthea moved closer, pulling a reluctant Molly with her.

"How are you holding up, Lady Tiffany?" Anthea's tone was all sweet sincerity, which caused Molly to look at her askance. Tiffany, however, must have imagined some fellow feeling that certainly didn't exist because she actually answered Anthea's impertinent question.

"The press won't leave us alone. It's been a nightmare." She opened her clutch to remove a handkerchief, which she delicately pressed against her eyes and nose although Molly could see no sign of any tears.

"That's what can happen with packs," Molly said, rather surprised to hear herself speaking. "Someone with an axe to grind joins with others who are dissatisfied with their miserable lives, their group mentality makes them bold, and then their resentment turns into bullying." Molly studied the other woman for a few moments before continuing. "Add the power and reach of the press and that mob mentality can get out of control. There's no stopping it once social media join the mix. The anonymity and immediacy they offer allow people to say the vilest things to the largest audience with just a click of a button, and those people usually get away with it."

Tiffany gave Molly a sick look before turning toward her husband. Molly glanced at Anthea and got a discreet thumbs up from her friend. She quickly looked toward Mycroft and met his eyes, which seemed to be focused intently on her … and just like that she understood. He'd arranged this, he'd known they were coming. She lowered her gaze, not sure how she felt about that. Molly despised Lady Tiffany but couldn't bring herself to enjoy the other woman's misery … and she supposed that made her a simpleton – just like so many people thought her, including the now-infamous woman standing two feet away. Molly went along when Anthea took her arm and started toward the front door, but they stopped when a voice called from behind them.

"Mrs. Holmes? Molly?" The younger women turned and saw Lady Smallwood coming their way, hands outstretched toward Molly, who stepped forward to take them. "You're looking lovely, dear girl, positively blooming," she said, smiling.

"Thank you, Lady Smallwood –" [the older woman's brows arched] "... Elizabeth. I'm certainly feeling well." Molly turned toward her friend. "Of course you know Anthea."

The older woman nodded at Mycroft's assistant. "Certainly. How are you, my dear?"

"Doing well, Lady Smallwood," Anthea said, smiling. "And you?"

"Very well indeed." She dropped Molly's hands, but moved to stand alongside her. "Where are you two off to?"

Molly nodded toward Mycroft at the back of the lobby. "We're being taken to lunch."

Lady Smallwood's expression cooled at seeing Sir Laurence obviously seeking counsel from Mycroft and became positively frosty when she noticed his wife standing near him. "It won't do him any good," she said under her breath before turning back to the younger women. "I'm glad to have seen you both, but I better get going before … well, before." She gave Molly a quick kiss on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, my dear." She nodded at Anthea and disappeared down a side hallway, trailed by her security detail.

Anthea urged Molly forward and out of the building. Mycroft's car was already at the curb and Walter got out to open the back door as the women crossed the pavement. "Ladies," he said jauntily, with a tip of an imaginary hat.

"Walter," they replied in unison, then grinned. Once settled in the car, they caught up on each other's news while waiting for Mycroft, but avoided the main topic on their minds. Mycroft emerged from the building, and they silently watched him walk toward them … until Anthea laughed at Molly's muttered oh god. Molly was still flushed when the car door opened and she quickly scooted to the middle of the seat to make room for her husband.

Mycroft quirked a brow at finding them both sitting in the back. "Sorry for the delay." Once settled, he met Walter's eyes in the rearview mirror, and the car smoothly pulled away. He then studied Molly's profile for a few moments before reaching for her hand. "I thought the Winter Garden. All right?"

When both women smiled in response, he settled further into his corner and sighed tiredly. Anthea leaned forward as if to speak to Mycroft, but glanced at Molly and settled back in her corner, sighing silently. Molly sat quietly between them, wondering whether to bring up what had happened, then sighed softly. Mycroft rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, but said nothing.

On arrival at the restaurant, they were quickly shown to a discreet alcove. Molly waited until the others picked up their menus before commenting. "I suppose you're ordering a cold dish?" Mycroft looked up with brows raised. "Oh, no ... you've already served that yourself."

Mycroft's expression stilled and he carefully placed the menu on the table. "I'm not sure what you mean, my dear."

Molly snorted, then glanced at Anthea. "You two. Don't tell me you aren't pleased with yourselves." She quickly looked over both shoulders to see if anyone was nearby, then continued. "Just how much did you have to do with the story breaking?"

"My dear, I can assure you –"

"Never mind, Mycroft," Molly interrupted. "You've promised not to lie to me, so I'll make it easy for you. If you and Anthea are responsible for all that getting out and if it was in any way related to my recent conversation with Tiffany, well … don't. Don't bring me and my petty conflicts into your work."

"It was Sherlock who found –"

"Anthea."

Molly looked from one of them to the other and sighed. "You know, I really don't enjoy other people's misery, even when the people involved are right bastards." She picked up her menu, then dropped the subject and smiled cheerfully. "So, what are you having?"

#####

After a week during which the story expanded and continued to dominate media outlets and social networks, a statement from the Prime Minister's office was published without further official comment:

"The Prime Minister has today announced the resignation of the Secretary of State for Transport, The Right Honorable Sir Laurence Cleeves, effective immediately. The Prime Minister accepted the resignation with regret and stated his appreciation for the many years of dedicated service Sir Laurence has provided to Her Majesty's Government."