Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the sight that no one wants to come home to. The door ajar, obviously having been forced open. The place ransacked, belongings taken or destroyed. She had known something like this could happen; ever since Sherlock had been vilified in the press Mrs. Hudson had said that there were people leaving crass messages at Baker Street and harassing her. John had been lucky Greg had been able to keep him out of jail for roughing up a few of the people who’d tried to cause trouble. She knew one bloke had a dislocated shoulder and a broken nose, so it wasn’t as though there wasn’t violence involved.

But she hadn’t thought they’d come after her. After all, Sherlock had told her, before he had left for his mission, that snipers were only set on John, Mrs. Hudson and Greg. They were the ones that mattered. Not her.

Apparently, though, she’d underestimated the general public, or at least the sort who did things as vile as this.

She was sitting on her floor, looking forlornly over ruined photo albums of photos she had no hope of replacing when she heard someone enter. “They got everything of value and destroyed the rest,” she said sadly. “You’re too late.”

“My apologies,” she heard a still unfamiliar voice say. She turned and saw Mycroft standing near her, looking unsure of himself. “We had your home under surveillance. But the people who did this were not the same people giving Baker Street grief. We believe someone in Moriarty’s network has sussed out Sherlock may be alive, and was looking for clues here. There was a ver--”

Molly shook her head, curling up inside herself more and clutching one of the albums to her chest. “This was more than just looking for clues,” she said. “This was something else.”

“I agree,” he said with a nod. “This was personal.” He was quiet for a stretch, not moving but observing the room carefully. Oh, she had loved her flat, loved how warm and cozy it was, how safe she felt. Now it seemed as though it wasn’t that safe a place after all, and it felt cold as a result. “I have...safe accommodations for you.”

She looked up at him. “Where?”

“My fortress, as my brother refers to it. He insisted when he received word of what had happened. He also told me to replace what I could out of funds available to him. There will be no need for that, though. He may have need of them in the future and as this was due in part to my surveillance team’s failure, I’ll fix it.”

She uncurled slightly and held up the photo album she was holding. “You can’t fix this, Mycroft. My parents are dead, I don’t know if there are copies of these photographs...”

He came over and knelt down, taking the album from her. He inspected a few pages, then gently closed it. “You would be surprised at what I am capable of doing, Miss Hooper,” he said.

“They destroyed all of my clothes,” she said as he straightened up and she got to her feet. “I mean, I have a few things, some undergarments and shoes...”

Mycroft shook his head. “As I am having my home prepared for you, my assistant is to take you to wherever you prefer to go to replenish your wardrobe. No expense spared. If you wish to buy much the same as you had before that is your choice, but Anthea had suggestions you might want to take into consideration. Nothing that will be detrimental to your profession when it comes to attire, but just a bit more...” He paused. “Or rather less…”

“Like I’m a wee teen?” she said wryly.

“Not how I would have phrased it but I suppose that will suffice,” he said. “Was there anything at all that was salvageable that you wish to take?”

“They weren’t able to get into the hope chest my mother gave to me, and that’s where most of the things I cherish are,” she said. “The things I would have given to my daughter if I’d been lucky enough to have one.”

“You’ve already given up hope?” Mycroft asked, surprised.

“My taste in men is awful. I know you’ve had me under surveillance for years. You’ve probably run checks on every man who’s come near me.” Mycroft turned his head away and she smiled slightly. “And they’re all arseholes, aren’t they? That’s why they never lasted more than a few dates.”

“You’d do my brother no good if you were being mistreated,” he said. “I am only sorry Moriarty slipped through my grasp.”

She shrugged at that. “Sherlock was right. He’s gay,” she said. Mycroft turned to look at her, surprised she was so blunt about it. “Or at the very least he wasn’t romantically attracted to me. Kissing me must have been like kissing a dread auntie or something. I actually feel sorry for him that he had to go through three dates before I realized it.”

“But perhaps it was for the best, as you were safe when he made his play,” Mycroft said.

“But I’m not safe now, am I?” she asked, gesturing around her home.

“Point taken.” He nodded towards her bedroom. “Your hope chest is in your bedroom, I take it?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ll see if there’s anything else to take and toss it in...something. I don’t even think they left me my carry-on bag in one piece.”

“I thought of that, on the off chance,” he replied. He went back to the door and then returned, wheeling two pieces of luggage with him. “For anything you wish to bring with you. And...include the albums, please. And any other pictures that might have been damaged.”

She nodded and then went to take one of the pieces of luggage from him before wheeling it into her bedroom with Mycroft behind her. There were some small silver linings to this, she supposed, but this was not a situation she would have wished to find herself in. She just hoped when it was all set aright, she could feel safe here again.

Chapter Text

She had never really dealt with Mycroft’s PA, but under the circumstances she didn’t seem to be the same aloof woman she was used to dealing with. If circumstances had been different, it would have been enjoyable shopping with her with price being no limit. But there was the overhanging feeling of sadness coming from knowing all her things had been vandalized.

Anthea asked if there were specific pieces she wanted to replace, if she would be willing to go back to her flat and gather them up for her. She said she had contacts among most retailers in the United Kingdom, because who knew when you would need some hard to find clothing item at a moment’s notice, and she could see about replacing what she was able at Mycroft’s cost. That had cheered her up a bit that maybe she’d be able to replace some of her favourite things, and the new clothing was rather nice as well. Of course she bought the basics for her post, but Anthea had encouraged her to splurge and so she did.

When they returned to her flat she felt a pang in her heart but she bore it well, gathering up the things that had mattered most. She saw her hope chest had been taken, as had the two pieces of luggage Mycroft had given her, and a quick inspection of the kitchen showed that some of the cookware had been taken as well. That was surprising, but Anthea explained Mycroft had the bare minimum to get by, as food was a bit of an issue for him, and her things that survived were probably going to be the better things she’d be able to cook with, unless Mycroft got more. It was something that intrigued Molly, and she wondered if Mycroft would ever talk to her about why he took the pots and pans and the good stuff.

It took longer to get to his home because of the detour, but “fortress” was not a misnomer, she’d found. It was definitely well-protected; she could see security measures all over. It wasn’t in London proper, more on the outskirts of the city, and there was definitely space for more than one person to be there. They wouldn’t be crowded on top of each other, which would be nice.

Anthea got out of the car first and she followed, leaving the damaged clothing to hopefully be replaced in the boot. The door was opened for them before Anthea got to the top step and Molly continued to follow her inside, taking it all in. She was taken to a room that appeared to be a study, and saw Mycroft sitting behind a desk. “Have you gotten enough clothing?” he asked, looking up. Molly realized Anthea did not stay long in the room, shutting the door behind her when she left.

Molly nodded. “Oh yes. I probably have more than I did before, to be honest.”

Mycroft gave her a small smile. “Anthea does enjoy spending my money when she can, even if it’s not on herself.”

“You buy her clothing?” Molly asked.

“Sometimes. She is a...fashionista is the term I believe? When she does a particularly good job at something, I will allow her to use her connections and purchase something she craves that I take the cost of.”

Molly nodded. That didn’t seem at all like the Mycroft Sherlock had described to her, the few times they’d talked about him. The Ice Man was his nickname, and he had no friendships. No “goldfish,” Molly thought Sherlock had said. So this was a pleasant surprise.

Mycroft must have caught the look on her face. “My brother’s opinion of me is...tarnished, I suppose,” he said, moving aside the file he’d been working on and clasping his hands on top of the desk. “We have not had the best of relationships since we were young. It used to be different, but...things happened.”

“Ah,” she said. “But you do care, still.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow slightly before nodding. “I do. And for those who helped him, I try and help them in return.” He nodded towards one of the chairs facing the desk and Molly moved to sit in it. “I am not used to sharing my home for long periods of time. Anthea will stay for short durations, but usually I am alone. This will take some getting used to. But my home is open to you, every room except the master bedroom, and this room when I’m working. But I will make sure you know where the library is, and the kitchen.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “You have a library?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “And you are welcome to borrow anything you would like. There is more in there than histories and nonfiction.” He looked down at another file on his desk. “I’m having the shelves in your bedroom filled with replacement volumes of the books in your flat as well, so you will have familiar books to choose from too.”

“You really don’t need to,” Molly said.

He shook his head. “I do. It was my gaffe that allowed the destruction of your home. I want to make this place a close substitute while we reside together.”

“Thank you, Mycroft,” she said.

“Let Anthea know what foods you would prefer to have on hand. I doubt I will join you for meals, but the kitchen is yours to use.”

“I saw you brought over the cookware which wasn’t destroyed,” she said.

“And the rest will be replaced and available for you to take back home with you when you are able to leave,” Mycroft said. “In the meantime, I believe your favourite Thai order is in the kitchen. That is your comfort food, correct?”

“Yes,” she said, not sure how Mycroft knew that.

“Then Anthea will show you to the dining room and you may enjoy your meal in peace.” She gathered this was a dismissal, especially as Mycroft pulled a different file in front of him, and so she stood and made her way to the door. This was going to be a quite interesting time, she realized. Quite interesting indeed.

Chapter Text

She found that traveling to her post at Barts again in the morning had some differences to it. She didn’t just leave her home and hop on the Tube and then walk to the hospital, oh no. She was driven there in a rather nice black sedan with a driver all her own, Anthea had told her, and a man who would stay in her office unobtrusively as she worked. The incident must have been more concerning than she realized, if she was to have an armed guard at work that she could actually see.

Oh, she knew she’d had a detail on her as long as she’d known Sherlock. It didn’t take much to suss the agents who watched over her out from normal everyday people, and she’d appreciated it, especially after Jim had started blowing people up. He had done such a good job pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes, it seemed, because she had never noticed any difference in her detail or any security heightened around her until after Sherlock had put two and two together at the pool and then come round her flat and told her afterward.

He had actually told her with some care, which was surprising. Perhaps he’d assumed at the time that if Jim could fool him than she, being of lesser intelligence, had been an even easier target for being fooled and deserved pity, at least. Now she wasn’t so sure.

She really wasn’t sure of much of Sherlock’s motives. Or...well, the motives of his brother, too. Mycroft was going above and beyond keeping her safe. Was that Sherlock’s insistence, or something else?

That was a good question to ponder.

She didn’t let it interfere with her work, though, and when her shift was over the armed guard whisked her back into the sedan and then off to the fortress again, where she found the refrigerator and cupboards filled with many of her favorite comfort foods and some of her indulgences as well. But, as she had suspected, no sign of Mycroft. She had the feeling it would be rather like the Beauty and the Beast cartoon she had loved so much as a child, where she would have free run of his home and all her needs catered to, but rarely would she see her host.

It didn’t make it all that much different than her normal living situation, though, being alone. She doubted she would feel too different even in this situation.

She set about making a curry, using a recipe Meena had taught her, and she had just added the chicken when her mobile text alert went off. She went to check and saw a message from an unknown number was waiting. Frowning, she opened it up.

Enjoying the Iceman’s hospitality?

Her frown deepened as she started to reply. Who is this? she typed in.

The Virgin, according to him. Make sure he treats you well. She stared at the message and then decided to ask Mycroft about it as soon as she was done with making her supper. Perhaps she could even entice him to join her.

She finished making the food as quickly as the recipe allowed, then served up two plates worth and went off in search of her host. Her first stop was his study, and luckily, when she knocked there was an answer. “Come in,” Mycroft said.

She opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it behind her. “I made chicken curry,” she said. “With coconut milk. Would you like to join me? There’s more than enough for two.”

A look of what could only be described as longing passed across his face before he shook his head. “Too much work,” he said.

“Oh,” she replied. “Well, I can refrigerate your plate for when you have a moment.”

“You already served me a plate?” he asked, surprise quickly settling on his features.

“It’s your food,” she said.

“No, Dr. Hooper, it’s for you,” he said. “But...I suppose I could have a few bites.”

She gave him a wide smile. “It’s in the kitchen.”

“Then I’ll meet you there.”

She moved closer. “Who is ‘The Virgin’?”

“That would be my brother, though I doubt that is still the case,” Mycroft said, his tone wry. “I was informed of a rescue performed by him of a woman who would do anything to have her way with him.”

Her brow furrowed. “I never...I mean...”

“Not you, Dr. Hooper.” He folded his hands on top of his desk. “Irene Adler. The woman you were surprised he could identify by ‘not her face.’” He tilted his head. “Your autopsy of her was of a Jane Doe, only I did not know that until quite recently.”

“How did you find out?” she asked, dropping into the seat across from him, stunned.

“He’s asked her assistance in the matters pertaining to taking down Moriarty’s web,” he said. “Even with red hair, Miss Adler is unmistakable. That made me look into the facts surrounding her supposed demise and I saw Sherlock’s handiwork.”

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“Do not think he does not care about you, Dr. Hooper,” he said in a strangely gentle tone. “She is a fascinating woman, but I do not think he cares for her as much as he cares for you.”

“Just not in that way,” she said with a sigh.

Mycroft was silent for a few moments. “You appreciate good wine,” he said. “Perhaps we could open a bottle of something from my cellar to enjoy with the food you took the time to cook.”

She gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Mycroft. That sounds like a wonderful idea.” She stood u then. “Just...one thing.”

“Yes?” he asked, standing up as well.

“Please call me Molly. If we’re to be under the same roof for a while, I’d prefer that to Dr. Hooper.”

“Of course,” he said, inclining his head. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” she replied, and the two of them left his study. Perhaps this wouldn’t be such a depressing evening after all...

Chapter Text

She had to admit, it didn’t take long to settle into a routine at Mycroft’s home. Just under a fortnight, really. It helped he was willing to be sociable for at least one meal every evening. She had tried to be sneaky and nose around and figure out the kind of food he ate but he had caught on quickly and simply told her he was usually on a diet and therefore ate very healthily. This was something that surprised her as he seemed quite fit, but when he showed her the area off to his study where his exercise equipment was and said, if she chose, she could use it as well, she realized it was something that was very important to him.

It was a good thing she preferred healthy food for the most part herself.

Tonight, though, was a surprise. She’d been caught off guard when there was a suspicious pair of deaths just at the end of her shift of some rather high-class people and she’d been asked to stay and do the post-mortem on one body while Dr. Throckmorten did the autopsy on the other. She arrived back at Mycroft’s home hours late, and she found him in the kitchen, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and the smell of chicken coming from the oven.

“This is a surprise,” she said with a smile. “I was just going to get a takeaway.”

“I have known for some time that chicken in a creamy white wine based mushroom sauce served over pasta with a side of broccoli is one of your favourite comfort meals,” he said. “I do know how to cook, I just choose not to.”

“Well, it smells divine,” she said. “Can I help with anything?”

“No, but there is a chocolate mouse in the refrigerator. Four servings, though I was planning on perhaps having one of them. You are more than welcome to indulge in dessert first while we wait.” He stirred the sauce in the pot. “I’m afraid it will not be exactly as yours usually is.”

“The mousse or dinner?” she asked, heading to the refrigerator.

“Either. The mouse is a dark chocolate because that was all I could find at the Tesco, and dinner is perhaps a bit healthier with a few substitutions.”

She turned to him, eyes wide. “You went and got all this yourself?”

“Anthea is on assignment in New York this week. I have loaned her out to Lady Smallwood for a meeting at the United Nations, as she preferred a competent female assistant and hers is currently on maternity leave,” Mycroft said. “I will be taking somewhat of a lessened load, I suppose, while she is gone the week.”

“Then would you like to go to the cinema tonight?” Molly asked. This time it was Mycroft’s turn to stare at her. “I mean...I appreciate the large telly in my bedroom, but there’s something nice about going to the cinema, you know? Especially when you have company.”

“Was there anything, in particular, you’d like to see?” he asked.

“Not really,” she replied.

“May I make a counter offer?” Molly nodded. “The opera. I hardly have the chance to go, and there’s an exquisite soprano from Vienna here on a limited engagement.”

“I don’t have anything to wear to the opera,” she said.

“Then we can go to the cinema tonight, and the opera in two days?” Mycroft ventured. “And I will make sure you have time to find an appropriate outfit for the opera.”

“I would love that,” Molly said, a wide smile on her face. She hesitated a moment, and then went to Mycroft and kissed his cheek. “I look forward to it.”

He almost seemed to blush but she brushed it off, going to the refrigerator and getting her mousse and one for him as well. She actually really was looking forward to the opera. She had never gone before and this was going to be an amazing night, she could tell. And with Mycroft there as well, she had the feeling her amazing night might be more fulfilling than anything she’d had before.

Chapter Text

Molly was in her office the next day when the armed guard who waited in her office knocked on the wall next to the door of the path lab. “Dr. Hooper, a package has arrived from Anthea for you.”

A package? she thought to herself as she got off her stool and headed out of the lab towards her office, following her assigned agent. When they got there she saw it was a rather large rectangular package, and just as she was settling in to open it the agent opened her door and set another package beside her, this one square. She went back to the rectangular package and carefully opened it, and under a few layers of tissue paper, she saw a burgundy dress with what looked like ribboning of a slightly lighter shade under her breasts. When she pulled it out of the box she saw it was floor length and had a sweetheart neckline and no sleeves, just straps that were gathered in the front near the bodice of the dress. There was also a matching caplet to wear over the dress.

She didn’t see a note until she opened the other box and saw a pair of perfectly matched heels and two satin covered jewelry boxes tucked to the side. She picked up the note and opened it up.

You deserve to look stunning for the opera, it said. Think of these as a gift from your fairy godmother that won’t disappear at midnight. Make sure Mycroft has an enjoyable time.

Molly smiled and set the note back down to open the jewelry boxes. There was a simple silver pendant necklace in one that looked to be diamond and garnet, and then matching earrings in the other. She fingered the pendant and then set it down still in the box before calling Mycroft. He answered on the second ring. “Did you tell Anthea to get me a dress?” she asked.

“No,” he said, drawing the word out slightly. “Has she sent you something?”

“Yes. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at how I look when we go to the opera tomorrow night,” she said with a smile, playing with the cord on her office phone. “I hope you’re up to snuff.”

“I will endeavour to do my best,” he said, and she could tell he was amused. “Would you like to join me for lunch today?”

“I would like that quite a bit, Mycroft,” she said.

“I’ll send a car to pick you up at one, then,” he said. “Until then, Molly.”

“Until then.” She hung up and then reached over and fingered the pendant again, feeling oddly elated. She was surprised by that feeling. This wasn’t a date, meeting for lunch, and neither was the night at the opera. It was just Mycroft being nice.

“Wasn’t it?” she said out loud, a frown crossing her face. Why was she so oddly disappointed it might not be a date, then? But...Mycroft? No, she’d fancied Sherlock for so long and so hard that...Mycroft?

She sat down and looked at the open packages on her desk. She remembered the reaction she had that Sherlock was off with Irene Adler. It wasn’t rejection or sadness or jealousy, not really. Curiosity, yes, but not much more. She thought further back to when Sherlock was in her home after his fall, letting the few injuries he had received heal before he took off on his mission. She hadn’t felt much more than a small bit of sadness he would be gone, though she projected much more to the general public in accordance with how most assumed she felt. She was more concerned about the rumblings she had regarding her position at Barts and how Sherlock’s “reveal” as a criminal and his fall from the roof would affect her career.

But there had been no backlash towards her that was remotely similar to the inquiries that Greg had faced. She had assumed it was because her part in the solving of those crimes had been deemed less important, or perhaps that the science was sound, but maybe there was more to the story? Maybe she had been protected by Mycroft?

But why?

Is it so unusual to think he might fancy you? the small voice in her head said. She had never really thought about it, though she had known that Mycroft had kept tabs on her since she was introduced to Sherlock all those years ago. They’d had their own meeting where he had made her an offer to spy on his brother and not only had she refused she’d slapped him across the face for thinking her loyalties could be bought. Maybe that had impressed him.

And she had seen a different side of him than what Sherlock had always talked about. He had smiled, he had laughed, he had been pleasant and charming in his own way the last few weeks they’d been roommates together. And she had enjoyed his company immensely.

What did that mean?

She started to ponder it but a knock on the door letting her know she had incoming bodies pulled her out of her thoughts. She carefully repackaged her packages and then went out to the autopsy area. Later. She could think on all this later but if she wanted to enjoy lunch she needed to work quickly and efficiently to be free for...whatever this lunch was.

Chapter Text

It’s a date.

Molly had gotten a text message from an unknown number the morning of the trip to the opera and without anything more than those three words she knew it was Sherlock. She wasn’t sure she wanted to reply to it or ask how he had known there was something possibly going on between her and his brother, but the fact she was not the only one thinking it was a date meant...something. Anthea, Sherlock, her own thoughts...that was rather telling, wasn’t it?

She looked at the message once again before she finished getting ready, glancing at it as she curled her hair. Maybe it was best if it was looked at as a date. But she wanted to be sure she and Mycroft were on the same page. She had been in far too many relationships where one person thought one thing and the other another, and it was best if they started on equal footing, or as equal as they could get.

Once she finished her hair and applied her make-up she gave herself the once over in the mirror. She had honestly never worn anything so exquisite in her life before. That had never really been her style. But she enjoyed how she looked and hoped Mycroft would too. She left her room and went to the stairs to go down, seeing Mycroft glancing at his mobile in the foyer. He was in a tuxedo and she thought he looked rather dashing, and it caused her to smile and clear her throat. He looked up and his mouth hung slightly open, a reaction which caused her to smile wider and blush as well. “You look exquisite, Molly,” he said, his tone almost reverential.

“Thank you, Mycroft,” she said. When she got down the stairs and over towards him he offered her his arm and she took it, and they headed out of his home side by side. There was a black town car waiting with a driver by the rear door, waiting to open it for them. Molly got in first and Mycroft followed, and the door was shut behind them. “This is nice.”

“I’m glad you approve,” he said as the sound of the driver getting in sounded and the engine rumbled to life.

“I have a question to ask,” she ventured as the car began to move.

“Oh?” he asked.

“Is this a date?”

He was quiet, not looking at her and not looking at the window, but staring at his hands, which were in his lap. “I suppose. I know I did not ask you properly, but if you would like to view it as such, I would not mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind either,” she replied, reaching over for his hand. She threaded her fingers through his and saw a soft smile settle on his face. Then, right then, she had an urge she didn’t want to deny, and she leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips.

He kissed her back, perhaps a bit hesitantly at first, but the kiss remained a soft, pleasant but promising kiss, promising that there would be more throughout the evening and whenever they would choose to engage otherwise. When it was over she stayed close as he said: “I thought that was meant for the end of the date.”

“Well, I wanted to kiss you then,” she said with a smile. “If you want, I can save any more for the end of--”

But the rest of the sentence was cut off by his lips on hers again, and as she moved closer, intensifying the kiss with a sigh, she knew then that he was not The Iceman, at least with her. He was Mycroft Holmes, her significant other, and she looked forward to seeing where this journey together went.