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The first sensation Mycroft had as he regained consciousness was a searing pain in the back of his throat which was not helped by swallowing. In fact, swallowing made it much worse.
The second feeling he felt was complete and utter emptiness. His stomach was not growling but roaring and his chest felt hollow. His heart had obviously disintegrated; the victim of what he had witnessed last night.
Half opening his eyes he found himself in the recovery position on top of his bed covered with the small wool blanket usually found on the back of the couch in his study. His jacket, waistcoat, tie, cuff links, watch and shoes had all been removed. After blinking to acclimatize to the morning light, he saw Anthea, hair pulled back into a pony tail, wearing casual clothes; leggings and an over-sized jumper.
She came in a hurry. After dinner but not so late she was in bed, he deduced. She was concerned about me. Still is.
Anthea only paced when she was worried and at the moment she was wearing a path in the rug at the foot of his bed.
A cough ripped through him, sending shards of glass down his throat. In an instant Anthea was beside him cradling his head as she held a glass of water to his dry lips.
"It's okay," she said softly. "She said you could have water when you woke up."
Mycroft looked at her questioningly before following her gaze to Molly who was in his dressing room, curled up in a chair under his jacket.
The sounds had roused her from the makeshift bed and Molly padded, quietly across Mycroft's room.
"Why the hell are you two in my bedroom?" A spear had now appeared in Mycroft's head making his mood so much worse.
"Around 9pm Anthea rang to discuss plans for next week's state visit and found you to be inconsolable. When she arrived at 9:30pm she found you had drunk well over half a bottle of 1937 Glenfiddich and were on the verge of passing out. She rang me in a panic. I came over, and managed to make you vomit enough to get your alcohol levels out of the danger zone. She and I got everything cleaned up and have been monitoring you throughout the night," answered Molly in her best emotionless doctor voice.
As memories of what transpired last night came trickling back, the knot in his stomach tightened. Despite her closeness at his bedside Mycroft refused to look at Dr. Hooper.
Forcing a smile Molly spoke quietly. “Anthea, if you wouldn't mind-- Mycroft and I need a moment."
"Yes, I believe you do," nodded Anthea as she looked between the two and quickly ducked out the door.
"I think I need to explain what you saw last night--" began Molly hesitantly.
"No. You don't. It was more than obvious what was going on." The words were cold and hard.
Taking a deep breath Molly steeled herself to stand up to the powerful politician. "If it was that obvious then please give me the abstract for the experiment and don't forget the key factors of instigation point, duration and how they relate to the eventual penile rigidity."
His eyes were filled with questions when they met hers.
"You happened to witness an experiment." Molly stated gently and simply. "Which I stupidly agreed to participate in," she added sheepishly.
"Go on," replied Mycroft through gritted teeth. His guard was still up but he seemed willing to listen.
After a moment to compose herself Molly began to explain, "Yesterday when Sherlock came into the lab he wanted to do an experiment. After reading the latest research on sexuality and arousal and he wanted to chart his own baselines."
Mycroft merely flicked an eyebrow at Molly hearing this explanation. If this was a story, it was turning out to be a good one.
"Without thinking, I agreed to help him chart his arousal time with a female aged 25-34," Molly's voice cracked with embarrassment.
Taking a deep breath and scrunching her eyes closed she continued. "The experiment consisted of him wearing a penile sensor connected to one of the computers in the lab. We were to kiss until he gained a full erection."
The look on Mycroft's face was a mixture of disgust and curiosity. Everything Molly was saying seemed to actually be quite plausible, especially given Sherlock was involved.
"I will admit that I was flattered at the request-- I don't get many offers for snogs even if it is just for medical science--," Molly gave a resigned chuckle before she steadied herself and continued.
"After 12 minutes of full on snogging there was only a slight increase in penile rigidity."
Mycroft could see how much this had humiliated Molly. He vowed to make Sherlock pay.
Looking up to the ceiling and blinking purposefully Molly held back the tears; her voice shaking. "The only significant increase in rigidity came when my assistant brought in a John Doe whose cause of death was unknown." Molly was trying not to cry but as soon as she looked at Mycroft both burst out laughing at the same time due to the absurdity of the experiments outcome.
Tears were now streaming down her face and her nose was running both of which she was dabbing with a tissue while Mycroft had a coughing fit. "Don't make me laugh it hurts too much," scolded Mycroft with a groan.
"Is this honestly what happened?" Mycroft's look had softened significantly.
"Yes I swear it is. I have no idea if he planned it because he was hoping you would see us. He's jealous. He knows I-- you--. He knows I don't fancy him anymore," she looked up at Mycroft with a small smile. "I thought you knew," she added softly.
"I did know which is why when I saw you kissing him yesterday I felt the need to drown my sorrows in £12,000 of whiskey.
Molly tentatively sat down on the edge of the bed. She watched as angst clouded Mycroft’s face. "While I was drinking I was doing something else. Please tell me I vomited all over my desk hence they were destroyed."
"No. They weren't."
"You read them didn't you?"
"Yes, I did. All 12 pages," answered Molly guiltily. "You were in such a state Anthea was worried it was a suicide note."
At that moment Mycroft looked like he would actually rather be dead than dealing with the fact Molly now knew exactly how he felt about her.
"Molly. I-- I--,” Mycroft didn't know where to start.
“I've never had anyone write poetry about me before.” Molly was intently looking at the pattern of the blanket "Why didn't you tell me you felt this way?" She was clearly still stunned by what Mycroft had written while drunk.
Mycroft simply shrugged his shoulders. “Shamefully I will admit that I didn't know the extent of my feelings for you before yesterday.” He continued after a short pause. "Seeing you in the arms of another man, even if I ignore the fact it was Sherlock-- I simply could not bear it.”
"I'm flattered. Although I am now worried that should you ever see my ‘milk-white bosom heaving in the moonlight’ you will be disappointed,” answered Molly tentatively. “I can assure you they are certainly not worthy of one sonnet let alone three.” Biting her lip to keep her grin in check Molly studied Mycroft to gauge his reaction.
Mycroft let a soft smile cross his face and he reached out for Molly's hand.
"I'm starving. Let me put some fresh clothes on and then take you out to breakfast," with a groan Mycroft tried to sit up.
Without too much effort Molly was able to push Mycroft back down onto the bed. "No way. You will have a bath then crawl back into bed. Today is for resting-- doctor’s orders. While you are sorting yourself out I’ll go get you a bowl of ice cream. It will make both your throat and tummy feel better." Molly lent over and placed a delicate kiss on his sore lips.
"Two point three seconds." he replied softly.
Molly gave him a questioning look.
With a sly smile Mycroft's gaze flicked from Molly's eyes to his groin and back again. It took a moment for Molly to register the meaning and then a fierce blush appeared on her face.
//
Three days later John was making himself a cup of tea in the kitchen of 221B when he heard the weekly meeting between the Holmes brothers wrapping up.
“Oh Sherlock. One more thing before I go.”
“God's sake Mycroft what is it?”
John’s head snapped towards the sitting room an instant after he heard the punch connect.
“Do not kiss my girlfriend ever again.” Still scowling at Sherlock Mycroft buttoned up his coat, put on his scarf and gave John a curt nod before leaving the flat.
“What the hell was that all about?” asked John still frozen with shock in the kitchen. “Girlfriend?!”
“I’ve got no idea,” replied a stunned Sherlock gingerly rubbing his aching face.