Chapter Text
The driver pulls up in Praed Street, giving Mycroft Holmes a clear view of St. Mary's Hospital entrance door. He gives his watch a cursory glance (he already knows he's exactly on time) before looking out through the tinted window. Not five minutes later a short, dishwater blond man crosses the gates. John Watson looks to his right and he squares his shoulders when he notices the black car, before pointedly ignoring it and heading left towards the bus stop. Blue-grey eyes follow the doctor's path until he climbs into a bus, not looking back at the familiar car even once.
He's fine. You can stop worrying, brother. he texts a number that's not on his phone but he has memorized long ago before signaling the driver to go on. He rarely does this himself, he has a number of people inside St. Mary's and close to Watson's new flat that keep him updated, but he checks on him whenever he finds he has some free time between meetings. Sherlock always trusts the updates more when they come from him.
He still has about forty minutes left before his meeting in Downing Street and he hasn't eaten anything since breakfast, so he indicates the driver to drop him off at the first mildly-acceptable cafe he finds on the way, a charming place across Hyde Park that's actually much larger than it seems. He's waiting for his order while reading The 'Handelsblatt' when someone hits him on the back of his head with a bag.
“Oh goodness, I- I'm sorry, I just. I didn't see you, and. I'm sorry, I-” a thin, nervous voice says, stumbling over the words and Mycroft doesn't need to look to know who it is. He turns around and gives the woman a polite smile.
“No harm done, Ms. Hooper”
She looks at him and blinks a couple times, clearly confused.
“Oh!” she exclaims when she finally recognizes him. “You are- you are Sherlock's brother, aren't you?”.
He doesn't reply, merely smiles at her. He kept tabs on Hooper just like he did to anyone who came close enough to his brother, and they had met a few times in the odd occasions that Mycroft had needed to talk to Sherlock when he was at Bart's. But, more importantly, he knows everything about her role in his brother's “death”.
“Please, do sit down, Ms. Hooper” he prompts her politely, folding the newspaper next to him. He doesn't particularly feel like talking to her, but when one stumbles upon the other person that helped one's brother fake his own death, inviting them for coffee is the proper thing to do. Probably.
The girl hesitates for a moment before sitting down in front of him and giving him a shy smile. They spend a few seconds in a somewhat awkward silence before Molly speaks up again.
“I, um. I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Holmes” she says honestly, but clearly only now remembering she should have said it earlier. “Sherlock, he-”.
Mycroft raises a hand and interrupts her “Please, Ms. Hooper. I know all about my brother's current, actual status and your role in it”
The woman in front of him seems to tense up for a second, her eyes wide open, before relaxing once again when she realizes it wasn't a threat nor a reprimand.
“Oh, of course” she says with an embarrassed smile. “Of course you would. I should've known.” She fixes a lock of brown hair behind her ear before letting her hands fall back on her purse on her lap to fidget with the strap.
“I ought to thank you. Not only for helping him back then but for keeping his secret.” Mycroft says.
“No, no.” she shakes her head from side to side a few times. “I was happy to help, really. Well, not happy he had to do that. But happy I was useful”
A couple more seconds of silence pass, with Molly staring at the table and Mycroft staring at her.
“I miss him, though, a bit. Bart's is far too quiet without him.” Her smile becomes a little sad and she looks up at Mycroft once again. “I feel bad for complaining,” she giggles nervously “John is probably worse than I am, now. Misses him more than I do.”
Mycroft lets out an noncommittal hum.
“Doctor Watson seems to be coping well. Or at least as well as one could. Sherlock is not the first person he has seen die” He knows watching Sherlock jump from a roof is hardly the same as watching a fellow soldier being pierced by a bullet or a patient finally succumbing to illness, but she smiles either way, somewhat reassured.
The waitress returns with Mycroft's coffee and sandwich, and he takes time to properly observe Molly while she places her order. She was always a rather nervous girl, but her anxiety has apparently escalated since Sherlock's Fall. There are dark circles under her eyes that her make up doesn't quite conceal, her skin looks brittle and pale and her hair has lost its shine. She also seems to have lost quite a bit of weight in the past few months. He stares at her over his cup of coffee, almost surprised by his own observations. He had expected John, Mrs. Hudson and even Lestrade's reactions to the “death”, but not Molly Hooper's. The woman knew he wasn't really dead, after all. She should have been, if not happy, at least reassured Sherlock was fine.
Hm.
“You're far from home, Ms. Hooper” Mycroft comments.
She turns to face him once again and gives him an odd smile. “Yes. I was visiting my mum today, she lives down the block.” she explains, obviously used to the Holmes' deductions and brusqueness. “She can't cook at all, so I came here for a bite before heading to work”
Her order arrives and there's silence once again between them as they eat.
“So, do you- Is Sherlock okay?” she asks quietly as she places her teacup back on its saucer. Mycroft swallows his mouthful of chicken and bread before gently tapping his mouth with the napkin and replying.
“I don't hear from him as much as I would like, but he messages me from time to time. He was fine last time I heard from him”
The chat stays on the topic of Sherlock from then on. They don't really know each other and Sherlock is the only thing they have in common. Plus, Molly seems happy to have someone that knows about the younger Holmes' plan. She asks for details about his current life (that Mycroft doesn't share), and the other half of the plan that she didn't know about (that Mycroft does explain). As the minutes pass, she looks more and more relaxed.
The black car stops in front of the cafe just as Mycroft is drinking the last of his coffee.
“I'm afraid I must leave now, Ms. Hooper” he says, standing up and leaving enough money on the table to cover both his and her meals. “Take care of yourself” He picks up the ubiquitous black umbrella and heads out.
“Mr. Holmes!” Molly calls up to him as he's about to open the door. He turns to see her smiling, a faint shade of pink coloring her cheeks. “Thank you” she says, and it takes him embarrassingly long to notice she's not talking just about him paying for her food. He nods at her once and leaves for his car.
***
Mycroft doesn't dwell on the meeting but, the next time his phone buzzes with a cryptic text from his brother (Prienai. Tracing Whelan. - S) he sends two.
Sending intel on Byrne. JW is well.
I received a text. He is well. Stop worrying, Ms. Hooper - Mycroft Holmes