Chapter Text
Molly Hooper.
Miss Molly Hooper.
Doctor Molly Hooper.
Doctor Hooper.
There was a belief in some cultures that knowledge of a ‘true name’ allows one to affect another person. It is even quoted in numerous books that ‘true name’s that are known give a person power over an individual.
Rumpelstiltskin a German fork tale existed way before the Brothers Grimm patent and copy it into their little collections of fairy tales. Rumpelstiltskin a tale of a small imp like creature that held supernatural power who makes deals with unsuspecting girls to help them in exchange for a children they would born in the future. It also symbolizes the power of the true name that once learned and spoken out gives the girl control over the imp creature to prevent him from taking away her child.
This is one small story upon dozens of others that displays the power of a name. Let alone cautioning anyone in a lessons of ever revealing their names to any stranger that might do harm.
Mycroft knew of power. His name if it were known and spoken in public held an unspeakable authority to those that knew of it. Lucky, it wasn’t used and no one knew of its existence at least no-one that were not in a higher position of power.
Mycroft Holmes was no stranger to power. He knew how it lured those around him; and that the seductive sweet taint that those foolish enough had drown in their own doom. A mentor of his in a University was a notable example of the corruptibility of power. The high ideal man once gaining a seat of power inside her Majesties military started to abuse and accept bribes. The foolish man lined his pockets with money from the sales of weapons plans and defense secret. Never thinking for once that he would be within the reaches of those that hunted him; prideful that he was smarter, better than those around him. The unfortunate man fell from grace and was banished from the country sealed away in some high security prison in the middle of an unknown island somewhere.
An island that held no luxury or comforts that the silly man was quite dependent upon. However, that was not the tragedy of this tale; instead the poor family of such a imbecile had to suffer. Surely those around had argued that the family of the man were just as guilty as the man. They had after all had turned a blind eye to the man’s dealings. Using the funds that the man claim was his yearend bonus to go on costly vacations and never question why those in the same position were not doing the same.
The family would be placed into protection details with their name changed and under constant watch as they move about the country side, never forgotten and perhaps even never forgiven.
Yes, Mycroft always remembered that little lesson and made sure to always be in check. He never wanted to be caught out.
Mycroft always recalled all of those around him. When they first entered their positions and slowly the pure color of idealism started to tarnish and wither away into a shade of gray. He could count the amount of people on his hand that weren’t affected originally and now. One by one they dropped like flies.
Which brings along the thought of the small little pathologist that his brother had brought in as confidant. Mycroft was quite surprise to say the least because Sherlock never really trusted anyone that easily.
A naive child of the world as Mycroft likes to think of her. Always being hurt by those around her, and yet who was she?
Molly Hooper a pathologist, the professional title Mycroft thought as he turned one page of the file in his hand that his assistance had gathered for him.
Miss Molly Hooper a daughter to two doting parents that suffered the loss of her little sister in a car crash. An ignored child when the hurt of the parents grew too much and they did not gathered the single child into their bosoms.
Pulling out the recent photo he lean back in his chair, his eyes skimmed over the features of the child like woman, ferreting out anything he could from the image. A laughing Molly that was caught in mid-conversation with John Watson while having tea with the blonde fair hair man, who saw too much and still kept on wanting to see more.
He supposed they were similar in circumstances that they were both doctors. Though John Watson was Sherlock’s doctor, always his doctor, even in addressing the affection of John’s the underline of Doctor existed around the small stout man.
Yet it belied the steel of a soldier that he could see appealed to his little brother. A man that as willing to die in the line of fire, and yet heal while taking a life. A contradiction and yet there was another that was unique that Sherlock gathered around him. Oh-he picked John, but it was Molly Hooper that chose to stay to observe and blend into the fine concerto his brother created.
‘Little Miss Perfect.’ Mycroft’s finger slid over the ink typed words, which he noted of transcripts of what people around Molly Hooper called her. Even, soft she control the autopsy bay and she was quite clever, a pretty clever genius. The scores from her I.Q. exam was already crafted in his mind, surely she wasn’t as clever or on the same level of the Holmes level of intelligence, but she was close enough compared to all of those other’s he met.
Mycroft tap his fingers on the papers and set the photo down on the desk. His fingers drew together in steep concentration, Moriarty that name and man was horrible mistake, and yet he wondered if that mastermind even noted what he had in his hands.
Where the main plan was overlooked for that spider, because she was a lynchpin that brought that insane maniac’s plan to a crash when she decided to help his brother and that was the point as to why he now was reviewing the details of the documents on his desk.
His mother was going on about how he needed to find a bird. Of all unrefined words, the word bird drew distaste to his chivalrous senses. In his mother’s eyes both her children were growing older, and he simply wanted to continue to work in peace without his mother worry and fussing over him.
Sherlock in his mother’s opinion was already settled as he was going to be, what with his Doctor always by his side. In Violet Holmes opinion that was as good as it was going to get. Especially, since John was such a nice boy, in her opinion, much too good for her Sherlock.
Hence, Mycroft was at a standstill, his mother gave him the option to bring along a prospective lady friend or even to his distaste a male friend. At first, he was thinking of imposing upon his assistant Anthea to help detract his mother’s interest, unfortunately, his mother was not a clueless individual. He also knew that his mother would know immediately and then there would be hell to be paid and he did not want to exert anymore energy trying to de-tangle the mess if it were to happen.
It was a simple worded phrase of Sherlock that brought along a solution to his issue, “Why don’t you just simply find someone like John. John isn’t boring like all of those other idiots, who knows maybe you find a doctor.”
Circumstances were quite dire and Mycroft was desperate to not cause his mother undue distress and having her butt into his private business. Mycroft let out a sigh and pulled out a cellphone, he just simply have to force the issue before the visit to Mummies house. He winces at the thought of how much Sherlock would fuss, but perhaps this would help Sherlock benefit to learn patience.
Then again he could just see his little brother screaming. Pressing a button he heard an answer response, “Yes, get me Doctor Hooper.” He paused to listen to the response and nods his head, “Yes…bring her to Location 8. I think lunch would be fine for her, since she hasn’t eaten in over eight hours.” He was considering the time; the voice on the phone gave him a time, “Good.” He then hanged up.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket and readjusted the pinstriped suit he wore. His fingers tug out the pocket watch and he checked the time once again. Slowly he stood up, and made his way to the door, pulling his trusty umbrella with him.