Fic for Meredydd: It's just a spark but it's enough to keep me going
Title: It's just a spark but it's enough to keep me going
Recipient:Meredydd
Author: blue_eyed_1987
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Molly/Mycroft
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~3700
Warnings: None. Spoilers for series 3
Summary: After the Fall, Molly receives some strange text messages
Notes: Meredydd, I really hope you like this! I enjoyed writing this pairing, as I adore Molly <3
Thanks to C, who betad the heck out of this at the last minute. All remaining mistakes are mine alone.
When Molly got home from Barts she was so distracted and jittery that Toby coming to greet her made jump and let out a small cry.
“Toby,” she breathed, bending down to pick him up. “You scared me.” She buried her nose into his fur, feeling his low rumbling purr and took a deep breath.
She put Toby down and slipped off her shoes and coat. She walked into the living room and picked up the phone, not even thinking twice about ordering a take-away for one. She rang her local Chinese, an order coming out of her mouth without any real input from her brain.
Her mobile vibrated in her pocket. She pulled the phone out, knowing that Sherlock said he couldn’t let her know anything, but wondering anyway. She wanted to know if he was alright.
The text was from an unknown number.
He’s out of the country. Alive, safe for now.
Molly sat down heavily on the sofa. This was - maybe a wrong number? The message was too specific for that but anything else was impossible. Sherlock said no one else knew his plan. Sherlock lied sometimes, she thought, but it felt like the truth when Sherlock had said it to her.
Think you’ve got the wrong number.
No, I haven’t. I know what you did today, and am grateful.
Molly almost dropped the phone.
Who are you?
An interested party.
That doesn’t sound creepy at all, she thought. Then she realised she had no idea who this person was.
That doesn’t sound weird at all
Touché. I have ensured he has the resources to survive. Sherlock doesn’t often consider such trifles as money.
That surprised a laugh out of her. Sounded just like Sherlock, she thought. The buzzer sounded and she jumped again.
Chinese, she thought, grabbing her purse and pressing the button on the speaker
“Hello?”
“Delivery,” the voice came through the speaker.
“I’ll be right down, thanks,” Molly replied, slipping her shoes on and heading out the door.
The Chinese was hot and much needed. She set her fork down on her half-empty plate and picked up her mobile again.
I’m glad he’s got someone looking out for him
As am I. Goodnight, Molly.
Goodnight, whoever you are.
Molly slept surprisingly well that night.
~~~
Molly took the next day off - everyone was mourning, and it was assumed she was doing the same. She supposed she had lost something, but just not in the same way. Greg had called her, voice rough and shaky. She had murmured platitudes, hoping her faltering comfort could be mistaken for being too upset to talk.
She spent the day inside, daytime TV playing in the background. She kept getting up and walking around her flat, too distracted to do anything but too restless to not do anything either. She checked her phone, reflexively, looking for any messages about Sherlock.
~~~
Will you be at the service?
Molly sent the text the night before the service, really dreading going. She wasn’t sure she was made for the level of deception this required. She felt a little better after sending the text, even if it was probably just into the void.
I will.
I’m not looking forward to it. It’s hard, lying to people when they’re so upset
They will be lost in their grief, they won’t notice. And, let’s face it, we don’t know when we’ll see him again
I’ll just be mourning something different.
Precisely.
Molly sighed, head falling back as tears pricked her eyes. She didn’t want to contemplate Sherlock dying alone, god knows where. She had to believe he’d be back as soon as he was finished doing whatever he needed to do. She shook her head.
Goodnight mysterious one
Goodnight Molly.
~~~
After the service there was a small reception at a function room not far away from Baker Street. Molly gripped her glass of lemonade. She wanted a proper drink but also was overly worried about dropping her guard in this situation. She looked at her watch, calculating how long she would have to stay to be polite.
Across the room, John was talking to a taller man she didn't recognise. John caught Molly’s eye. Molly walked over to him, bracing herself.
“Molly, this is Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother,” John said. Molly held out a hand. Mycroft took it, inclining his head in greeting. He looks nothing like his brother, Molly thought, releasing his hand. She didn’t even know Sherlock had a brother.
“I’m sorry to meet you under such circumstances,” she said, shaking his hand and hoping that she was making the right facial expression. She wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow her up - she didn’t even consider there was going to be family here. She desperately wanted to send a message to mystery texter, to commiserate with them. She wondered if they’d had to meet the family too.
“Likewise,” Mycroft said. His phone buzzed. “Ah, my apologies, but I must take this.”
“Of course,” Molly said as Mycroft walked away, phone to his ear. She scanned the room again for someone who could be her texting partner. No one was acting particularly unusual, or meeting her eyes significantly.
“Looking for someone?” Mycroft said from behind her. Molly jumped a little and turned.
“Oh, no, well. Yes. Maybe?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her. She shook her head, feeling ridiculous. “I was hoping to see someone.”
“May I ask who?”
Molly sighed. “It’s a long story, but I don’t know what they look like. Christ, I sound ridiculous, I know, but they said they were going to be here.” Molly shrugged. “Oh, god, sorry. You’re mourning, and I’m here talking about meeting someone. Sorry.” She took a deep breath. “Sherlock was a good man, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“And I am sorry for yours,” Mycroft replied, inclining his head.
“Thank you,” Molly murmured, the words acrid on her tongue. Mycroft nodded and turned to see Mrs. Hudson, who was standing by his shoulder. When she saw him, she gasped, “Oh, Mycroft”, before sniffing into a handkerchief.
Molly saw the look of almost terror on Mycroft’s face and stepped forward. “Mrs. Hudson,” she said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
“Molly,” Mrs. Hudson gulped. Molly led her to a table, ushered her into a seat and poured a glass of water. Mrs. Hudson drank and took shuddering breaths.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sniffing.
“Don’t be, Mrs. Hudson. It’s understandable.”
Mrs. Hudson took a last deep breath and dabbed her eyes. “How are you doing, dear?”
“Oh, I’m, y’know. Doing ok.”
Mrs. Hudson patted her hand. “I know you - well. Sherlock was a - a good man.”
“He was. Even when he was being an utter prat.”
Mrs. Hudson laughed tremulously. Molly could see Mycroft over Mrs. Hudson’s shoulder, watching them. He nodded at her and she smiled back. Mrs. Hudson looked over her shoulder.
“Oh, Mycroft. He was very over-protective of Sherlock. Well, you can imagine how well that went down with Sherlock. Would sulk for days. My husband was the same, could stay angry for ages when he wanted to..” she trailed off. “Such a shame though.”
“It is,” Molly said, looking back at Mrs. Hudson. “It really is.”
~~~
Molly sighed as she shut the door behind her. God, she was tired. Tired and disappointed. She knew she shouldn’t have got her hopes up about her mysterious text partner but she had. The idea of an ally, a confidant was one that she had clung to. She shook her head at herself. As if planned, her phone buzzed.
“Of course,” she said, when the familiar number appeared on her screen.
It was too risky for me to talk to you. Sherlock’s life depends on a few people as possible knowing about his current state.
Because texting is so secure she replied, feeling snippy. She put the kettle on and leaned against the counter.
You’d be surprised.
I don’t even know if you were there. Or if you can be trusted. Molly replied, feeling panic grow in the pit of her stomach. What if this was a trap, like Jim?
You’ll have to trust your intuition on the second question. About the first - you were wearing a black dress with a knitted shrug. John Watson gave an emotional reading about Sherlock and a case involving redheads. Mrs. Hudson wore a hat with a veil. The sausage rolls were awful
That shocked a laugh out of Molly. They were awful. Maybe her texting partner had been there. She felt like she could trust them, but she found it hard to trust her instincts in the face of Jim and his manipulation. She sighed. It was pointless getting close to her as she had no information about Sherlock that the texter didn’t already have. If they just wanted confirmation, they had it. They didn’t have to continue texting her.
It felt - comfortable. Like a secret, but not exciting or scary, just nice.
Do you ever get tired of being mysterious? She finally sent before putting the phone down as she made herself a cup of tea with hands that were still a bit shaky. She was relieved when she got a reply.
It’s a necessity.
Alright Mr. Bond, I’ll believe you.
Ugh.
Well I can’t keep calling you mysterious one
~~~
Molly finished scrubbing up after a shift, washing the day away. She still had a lot of paperwork to do but she could do that at home, curled up on the sofa. She picked up her laptop bag and her coat. She spotted a couple of figures in the corridor.
“Greg, Mycroft, hi.”
“Molly,” Mycroft said. “I was hoping to catch you.”
Greg fixed him with a look. “Hoping,” he muttered. “Can I do anything else for you, Mycroft?”
“Thank you for your time, Detective Inspector. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.”
Molly raised her eyebrows at Greg, who gave her a weary look.
“Right, I’ll be off then. Molly, a few of us are in the pub on Friday, if you want to join us, you’re welcome.”
“If work doesn’t keep me, I’ll be there,” Molly said, smiling.
“Great. See you later.” Lestrade nodded at them both, and then walked down the corridor.
“What can I do for you?” Molly asked, wondering why Mycroft wanted to see her.
“Is there somewhere a bit more private we can go?” He asked. Molly led him towards the office she shared with another registrar, knowing it would be empty for a while. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what he could want.
“In here,” she said, shutting the door behind him. “How can I help you?”
“He’s settled, and as safe as he can be, given his recklessness,” Mycroft said.
Molly frowned at him. Sherlock hadn’t told her anyone else knew, and now two people had appeared in less than a week. Mycroft pulled his phone out his pocket and fiddled with it. Molly’s phone buzzed.
“Sorry,” she said, pulling her phone out. It was her texter. She looked up at Mycroft, who was holding his phone up to show her that it was ringing her.
“Oh, it’s you!” she said. Molly looked from her phone to Mycroft. She wasn't sure what she was expecting from her mystery texter, but a middle-aged man in an expensive suit wasn't high on her list.
“Yes, Sherlock told me about your involvement. He asked me to watch out for you,” Mycroft said, slipping his phone back in his pocket.
“Oh,” Molly said, her heart swooping a bit. Sherlock told Mycroft about her. She wondered what he had said. “Well, thank you.”
“Yes,” Mycroft said, mouth tightening a bit. Had she said something wrong? “If there is anything I can do, you know my number.”
“Oh, thanks.”
And with that, Mycroft left.
~~~~
Molly was trying to reconcile this new information with what she knew. Mycroft knew Sherlock was alive, and was apparently well connected enough to make sure Sherlock was settled in his new life.
She shrugged. At least she had a face to put to a name - well number, and that Mycroft was trustworthy.
Molly saved the number in her phone under ‘Mycroft’ with an air of finality. No more Mr. Mysterious here, she thought, sighing.
~~~
Molly first noticed the car when she was going to get her lunch. She assumed it might be lost, maybe, given how slow it was going. It pulled up to the curb as she went into Subway. It was still there when she went out, and she briefly thought about going over to see if she could help, but thought against it; they might not actually be lost. She started eating her sandwich and headed back to the hospital and forgot about it.
Four hours later she left the hospital, walking towards the bus stop. A red car stopped at the lights as she crossed the road. Molly frowned - was that the car from earlier? She couldn't be sure. Her mind jumped into overdrive, trying to figure out what, if any, was the best course of action here. She couldn't call the police, not for this. Lestrade would probably come out to her but wouldn't understand why she thought someone was following her.
She got out her phone, and opened a text,
There’s a car, I’m probably being paranoid but after all that’s happened, I’m not sure. F54 GMW
She jumped a little when her phone rang in her hand.
“Hello?”
“Keep walking. I’ve got someone looking into the car. I’m on my way to you now.”
“Oh, you don’t need to-”
“I think I do. No harm done if it’s nothing. Pulling up now.”
Molly looked at the phone as Mycroft hung up, then turned to see a black car pull up to the curb. She bundled herself into the backseat next to Mycroft.
“Thanks,” she said as she shut the door.
“Not at all.”
Molly raised her eyebrows as the car pulled a u-turn.
“My flat is the other way,” She said, turning to look out of the back window.
“I...don’t think it’s wise to be alone in your flat tonight. I took the liberty of arranging alternative accommodation for you.”
“Why? Are they dangerous? Were they working with Jim?”
“We think so. We’ve received some disturbing intelligence over the past few weeks. I had extra security on the people closest to Sherlock as a precautionary measure.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I wasn’t sure who these people were. I’m still not sure if someone has tried to take over Moriarty’s network, or if they’re after revenge, or even if it’s related to Moriarty.” Mycroft shrugged. “I didn’t see the need to worry you unnecessarily. “
“Unnece-” Molly almost shouted, before she broke off, taking a deep breath and lowering her voice. “How do you decide what is unnecessary?”
“It’s my job,” Mycroft shrugged. “We will be arriving at the safe house shortly.”
“Good,” Molly replied, “I want a drink before I hear the rest. And I want to hear everything you know, Mycroft. I want to know what I need to do.”
~~~
The safe house was just that - a house. A two story well-kept townhouse with a small front yard. A blonde woman let them in, leading them into the kitchen.
“That will be all, Anna, thank you,” Mycroft said. The woman nodded once, then slipped out of the door.
Mycroft pulled out the chair, gesturing for Molly to sit down.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“You mentioned a drink?” Mycroft said, opening a bottle of what looked like whiskey. He took some ice of out of the freezer, and put two ice cubes in each tumbler. Mycroft poured a measure over the ice and then placed the glass in front of Molly.
“So you don’t know why they are following me. What do you know?”
Mycroft sat opposite her, and took a sip of his drink.
“They are all small time criminals, which is why I think they’re Moriarty’s men, they wouldn’t be able to organise themselves otherwise. They’ve not made a move at all, actually. Until now, of course,” Mycroft added.
“I didn’t know what information, if any, they had on you. Clearly they think you're connected in some way. I do rather think Moriarty underestimated you.” He looked at her, and although there was little family resemblance, the calculating look, like Mycroft wanted to see the cogs inside her head, was largely the same. She assumed that was why her heart did the same swoopy thing.
“Nice to know it worked in my favour for once.”
“There’s a lot of tactical advantage in keeping your head down. You’ll probably never have to fake your own death.”
Molly snorted. “It just sounds so ridiculous.”
“Yes,” Mycroft sighed. “This is what being in Sherlock’s orbit is like. Ridiculous is the safest result of knowing Sherlock.”
Molly sighed. “So, how much danger am I in? Are we in?”
Mycroft shook his head. “I’ve got people working on the security footage for a car with that license plate. I’m unsure whether they recognised my car.”
“It’s not very subtle,” Molly pointed out. “But this is London? People don't notice things” Molly shrugged.
“You did,” Mycroft pointed out.
“I was looking,” Molly said. “I thought I was being paranoid.”
Mycroft smiled. “Good job you were. The chances of them noticing we're following them are probably about even,” Mycroft said. “But the CCTV will find them, even if they’ve abandoned the car. Like I said, most of them are petty criminals, they’re not that clever. I expect I’ll get a report in the morning that they are in our custody. I will keep you updated,” Mycroft said, getting up from the table. He placed his glass at the side of the sink.
“Anna will be able to get you anything you need,” Mycroft said.
“Wait, you’re leaving?” Molly asked, standing up, suddenly scared once more. Mycroft turned to look at her, calculating once more.
“I can stay, I have all I need here to work, if that will make you feel better.”
“I have no idea where I am, what’s going on, and who is following me. I would prefer it if you stayed, yes. I need something familiar,” Molly said before finishing her drink. She shuddered at the strong taste.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows and Molly met his gaze, daring him to say something.
“Very well.” Mycroft left the room and soon reappeared with two laptops. “I have a spare, if you wish to use one.”
Molly nodded. Internet would help to distract her. They tapped away in relative silence for an hour or so, Molly catching up on Twitter and BBC News. She occasionally looked over at Mycroft, who alternated between typing furiously and frowning at the screen.
Molly looked up as Mycroft sighed, and pushed his chair back. “Would you like some food?” he asked.
“Yes,” Molly said, suddenly realising she was hungry. “I'm starving.”
“We'll have to get something delivered, Anna should have some menus somewhere,” Mycroft said, getting up. He returned with brightly coloured menus.
“Do you have a preference?” He asked, spreading the leaflets out on the table.
Molly shook her head. “I'll eat anything,” she said, flipping open a pizza menu. “How about you?”
“Well, I'm supposed to be on a diet,” Mycroft muttered.
“Call it a cheat day,” Molly replied, turning to a Thai menu.
Mycroft huffed a laugh. “I suppose I'd better. Anna recommends this place.” He handed an Indian menu to Molly, who flipped through it.
“I could go for a curry,” She said, nodding.
“Excellent,” Mycroft smiled. They looked over the menu, settling for a set meal for two. Mycroft ordered the food, and they shutdown the laptops and started to get cutlery and plates out while they waited for food to arrive.
~~~
The conversation over food was surprisingly easy. She didn't expect to have much in common with Mycroft, but they spoke for close to an hour before a lull appeared.
“Have you heard anything yet? About the people following me, I mean?” Molly asked.
Mycroft shook his head. “Nothing of interest. My people are still collating information, but I expect we'll be able to apprehend the men tomorrow morning.”
“You'll be arresting them?”
“We'll see. We have enough evidence to bring them in for questioning, I'm pretty sure we can get them to admit to other things from there.”
Molly shuddered. “That sounds a bit scary.”
“A plea bargain generally gets results,” Mycroft said, matter-of-factly. Molly frowned at him.
“Do you know how - dramatic you make everything sound?”
Mycroft just smiled. “It's a good deflection technique.”
Molly laughed. “Thank you, for staying with me,” she said. “I definitely wouldn't have had this much fun staying here by myself.”
“And I wouldn't have had this much fun in the office. Thank you.” Mycroft hesitated, twirling his fork in his had. “I don't wish to put you under undue pressure, but, how would you feel about repeating this experience when you're not in a safehouse?”
Molly blinked, processing Mycroft's words. Mycroft looked increasingly awkward as she sat there.
“Are you asking me to dinner?” she asked. A date with Sherlock's brother? she thought. But then she looked at Mycroft, who she had spent a perfectly enjoyable evening with - and some time before that texting. She shook herself when she realised Mycroft was talking again.
“Yes, I understand of course, if you don't wish to -” Mycroft started, blushing. Molly cut him off before he could talk himself out of it
“Yes, yes, I would love to,” she said, smiling. Mycroft grinned back at her.
~~~
Very early the following morning, Mycroft dropped Molly off at her flat. She turned to him before getting out of the car, screwing up all her courage, and leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, quickly.
“Call me, about dinner, ok?” She asked. “I think we've moved beyond texting.”
Recipient:Meredydd
Author: blue_eyed_1987
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Molly/Mycroft
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~3700
Warnings: None. Spoilers for series 3
Summary: After the Fall, Molly receives some strange text messages
Notes: Meredydd, I really hope you like this! I enjoyed writing this pairing, as I adore Molly <3
Thanks to C, who betad the heck out of this at the last minute. All remaining mistakes are mine alone.
When Molly got home from Barts she was so distracted and jittery that Toby coming to greet her made jump and let out a small cry.
“Toby,” she breathed, bending down to pick him up. “You scared me.” She buried her nose into his fur, feeling his low rumbling purr and took a deep breath.
She put Toby down and slipped off her shoes and coat. She walked into the living room and picked up the phone, not even thinking twice about ordering a take-away for one. She rang her local Chinese, an order coming out of her mouth without any real input from her brain.
Her mobile vibrated in her pocket. She pulled the phone out, knowing that Sherlock said he couldn’t let her know anything, but wondering anyway. She wanted to know if he was alright.
The text was from an unknown number.
He’s out of the country. Alive, safe for now.
Molly sat down heavily on the sofa. This was - maybe a wrong number? The message was too specific for that but anything else was impossible. Sherlock said no one else knew his plan. Sherlock lied sometimes, she thought, but it felt like the truth when Sherlock had said it to her.
Think you’ve got the wrong number.
No, I haven’t. I know what you did today, and am grateful.
Molly almost dropped the phone.
Who are you?
An interested party.
That doesn’t sound creepy at all, she thought. Then she realised she had no idea who this person was.
That doesn’t sound weird at all
Touché. I have ensured he has the resources to survive. Sherlock doesn’t often consider such trifles as money.
That surprised a laugh out of her. Sounded just like Sherlock, she thought. The buzzer sounded and she jumped again.
Chinese, she thought, grabbing her purse and pressing the button on the speaker
“Hello?”
“Delivery,” the voice came through the speaker.
“I’ll be right down, thanks,” Molly replied, slipping her shoes on and heading out the door.
The Chinese was hot and much needed. She set her fork down on her half-empty plate and picked up her mobile again.
I’m glad he’s got someone looking out for him
As am I. Goodnight, Molly.
Goodnight, whoever you are.
Molly slept surprisingly well that night.
~~~
Molly took the next day off - everyone was mourning, and it was assumed she was doing the same. She supposed she had lost something, but just not in the same way. Greg had called her, voice rough and shaky. She had murmured platitudes, hoping her faltering comfort could be mistaken for being too upset to talk.
She spent the day inside, daytime TV playing in the background. She kept getting up and walking around her flat, too distracted to do anything but too restless to not do anything either. She checked her phone, reflexively, looking for any messages about Sherlock.
~~~
Will you be at the service?
Molly sent the text the night before the service, really dreading going. She wasn’t sure she was made for the level of deception this required. She felt a little better after sending the text, even if it was probably just into the void.
I will.
I’m not looking forward to it. It’s hard, lying to people when they’re so upset
They will be lost in their grief, they won’t notice. And, let’s face it, we don’t know when we’ll see him again
I’ll just be mourning something different.
Precisely.
Molly sighed, head falling back as tears pricked her eyes. She didn’t want to contemplate Sherlock dying alone, god knows where. She had to believe he’d be back as soon as he was finished doing whatever he needed to do. She shook her head.
Goodnight mysterious one
Goodnight Molly.
~~~
After the service there was a small reception at a function room not far away from Baker Street. Molly gripped her glass of lemonade. She wanted a proper drink but also was overly worried about dropping her guard in this situation. She looked at her watch, calculating how long she would have to stay to be polite.
Across the room, John was talking to a taller man she didn't recognise. John caught Molly’s eye. Molly walked over to him, bracing herself.
“Molly, this is Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother,” John said. Molly held out a hand. Mycroft took it, inclining his head in greeting. He looks nothing like his brother, Molly thought, releasing his hand. She didn’t even know Sherlock had a brother.
“I’m sorry to meet you under such circumstances,” she said, shaking his hand and hoping that she was making the right facial expression. She wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow her up - she didn’t even consider there was going to be family here. She desperately wanted to send a message to mystery texter, to commiserate with them. She wondered if they’d had to meet the family too.
“Likewise,” Mycroft said. His phone buzzed. “Ah, my apologies, but I must take this.”
“Of course,” Molly said as Mycroft walked away, phone to his ear. She scanned the room again for someone who could be her texting partner. No one was acting particularly unusual, or meeting her eyes significantly.
“Looking for someone?” Mycroft said from behind her. Molly jumped a little and turned.
“Oh, no, well. Yes. Maybe?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her. She shook her head, feeling ridiculous. “I was hoping to see someone.”
“May I ask who?”
Molly sighed. “It’s a long story, but I don’t know what they look like. Christ, I sound ridiculous, I know, but they said they were going to be here.” Molly shrugged. “Oh, god, sorry. You’re mourning, and I’m here talking about meeting someone. Sorry.” She took a deep breath. “Sherlock was a good man, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“And I am sorry for yours,” Mycroft replied, inclining his head.
“Thank you,” Molly murmured, the words acrid on her tongue. Mycroft nodded and turned to see Mrs. Hudson, who was standing by his shoulder. When she saw him, she gasped, “Oh, Mycroft”, before sniffing into a handkerchief.
Molly saw the look of almost terror on Mycroft’s face and stepped forward. “Mrs. Hudson,” she said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
“Molly,” Mrs. Hudson gulped. Molly led her to a table, ushered her into a seat and poured a glass of water. Mrs. Hudson drank and took shuddering breaths.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sniffing.
“Don’t be, Mrs. Hudson. It’s understandable.”
Mrs. Hudson took a last deep breath and dabbed her eyes. “How are you doing, dear?”
“Oh, I’m, y’know. Doing ok.”
Mrs. Hudson patted her hand. “I know you - well. Sherlock was a - a good man.”
“He was. Even when he was being an utter prat.”
Mrs. Hudson laughed tremulously. Molly could see Mycroft over Mrs. Hudson’s shoulder, watching them. He nodded at her and she smiled back. Mrs. Hudson looked over her shoulder.
“Oh, Mycroft. He was very over-protective of Sherlock. Well, you can imagine how well that went down with Sherlock. Would sulk for days. My husband was the same, could stay angry for ages when he wanted to..” she trailed off. “Such a shame though.”
“It is,” Molly said, looking back at Mrs. Hudson. “It really is.”
~~~
Molly sighed as she shut the door behind her. God, she was tired. Tired and disappointed. She knew she shouldn’t have got her hopes up about her mysterious text partner but she had. The idea of an ally, a confidant was one that she had clung to. She shook her head at herself. As if planned, her phone buzzed.
“Of course,” she said, when the familiar number appeared on her screen.
It was too risky for me to talk to you. Sherlock’s life depends on a few people as possible knowing about his current state.
Because texting is so secure she replied, feeling snippy. She put the kettle on and leaned against the counter.
You’d be surprised.
I don’t even know if you were there. Or if you can be trusted. Molly replied, feeling panic grow in the pit of her stomach. What if this was a trap, like Jim?
You’ll have to trust your intuition on the second question. About the first - you were wearing a black dress with a knitted shrug. John Watson gave an emotional reading about Sherlock and a case involving redheads. Mrs. Hudson wore a hat with a veil. The sausage rolls were awful
That shocked a laugh out of Molly. They were awful. Maybe her texting partner had been there. She felt like she could trust them, but she found it hard to trust her instincts in the face of Jim and his manipulation. She sighed. It was pointless getting close to her as she had no information about Sherlock that the texter didn’t already have. If they just wanted confirmation, they had it. They didn’t have to continue texting her.
It felt - comfortable. Like a secret, but not exciting or scary, just nice.
Do you ever get tired of being mysterious? She finally sent before putting the phone down as she made herself a cup of tea with hands that were still a bit shaky. She was relieved when she got a reply.
It’s a necessity.
Alright Mr. Bond, I’ll believe you.
Ugh.
Well I can’t keep calling you mysterious one
~~~
Molly finished scrubbing up after a shift, washing the day away. She still had a lot of paperwork to do but she could do that at home, curled up on the sofa. She picked up her laptop bag and her coat. She spotted a couple of figures in the corridor.
“Greg, Mycroft, hi.”
“Molly,” Mycroft said. “I was hoping to catch you.”
Greg fixed him with a look. “Hoping,” he muttered. “Can I do anything else for you, Mycroft?”
“Thank you for your time, Detective Inspector. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.”
Molly raised her eyebrows at Greg, who gave her a weary look.
“Right, I’ll be off then. Molly, a few of us are in the pub on Friday, if you want to join us, you’re welcome.”
“If work doesn’t keep me, I’ll be there,” Molly said, smiling.
“Great. See you later.” Lestrade nodded at them both, and then walked down the corridor.
“What can I do for you?” Molly asked, wondering why Mycroft wanted to see her.
“Is there somewhere a bit more private we can go?” He asked. Molly led him towards the office she shared with another registrar, knowing it would be empty for a while. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what he could want.
“In here,” she said, shutting the door behind him. “How can I help you?”
“He’s settled, and as safe as he can be, given his recklessness,” Mycroft said.
Molly frowned at him. Sherlock hadn’t told her anyone else knew, and now two people had appeared in less than a week. Mycroft pulled his phone out his pocket and fiddled with it. Molly’s phone buzzed.
“Sorry,” she said, pulling her phone out. It was her texter. She looked up at Mycroft, who was holding his phone up to show her that it was ringing her.
“Oh, it’s you!” she said. Molly looked from her phone to Mycroft. She wasn't sure what she was expecting from her mystery texter, but a middle-aged man in an expensive suit wasn't high on her list.
“Yes, Sherlock told me about your involvement. He asked me to watch out for you,” Mycroft said, slipping his phone back in his pocket.
“Oh,” Molly said, her heart swooping a bit. Sherlock told Mycroft about her. She wondered what he had said. “Well, thank you.”
“Yes,” Mycroft said, mouth tightening a bit. Had she said something wrong? “If there is anything I can do, you know my number.”
“Oh, thanks.”
And with that, Mycroft left.
~~~~
Molly was trying to reconcile this new information with what she knew. Mycroft knew Sherlock was alive, and was apparently well connected enough to make sure Sherlock was settled in his new life.
She shrugged. At least she had a face to put to a name - well number, and that Mycroft was trustworthy.
Molly saved the number in her phone under ‘Mycroft’ with an air of finality. No more Mr. Mysterious here, she thought, sighing.
~~~
Molly first noticed the car when she was going to get her lunch. She assumed it might be lost, maybe, given how slow it was going. It pulled up to the curb as she went into Subway. It was still there when she went out, and she briefly thought about going over to see if she could help, but thought against it; they might not actually be lost. She started eating her sandwich and headed back to the hospital and forgot about it.
Four hours later she left the hospital, walking towards the bus stop. A red car stopped at the lights as she crossed the road. Molly frowned - was that the car from earlier? She couldn't be sure. Her mind jumped into overdrive, trying to figure out what, if any, was the best course of action here. She couldn't call the police, not for this. Lestrade would probably come out to her but wouldn't understand why she thought someone was following her.
She got out her phone, and opened a text,
There’s a car, I’m probably being paranoid but after all that’s happened, I’m not sure. F54 GMW
She jumped a little when her phone rang in her hand.
“Hello?”
“Keep walking. I’ve got someone looking into the car. I’m on my way to you now.”
“Oh, you don’t need to-”
“I think I do. No harm done if it’s nothing. Pulling up now.”
Molly looked at the phone as Mycroft hung up, then turned to see a black car pull up to the curb. She bundled herself into the backseat next to Mycroft.
“Thanks,” she said as she shut the door.
“Not at all.”
Molly raised her eyebrows as the car pulled a u-turn.
“My flat is the other way,” She said, turning to look out of the back window.
“I...don’t think it’s wise to be alone in your flat tonight. I took the liberty of arranging alternative accommodation for you.”
“Why? Are they dangerous? Were they working with Jim?”
“We think so. We’ve received some disturbing intelligence over the past few weeks. I had extra security on the people closest to Sherlock as a precautionary measure.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I wasn’t sure who these people were. I’m still not sure if someone has tried to take over Moriarty’s network, or if they’re after revenge, or even if it’s related to Moriarty.” Mycroft shrugged. “I didn’t see the need to worry you unnecessarily. “
“Unnece-” Molly almost shouted, before she broke off, taking a deep breath and lowering her voice. “How do you decide what is unnecessary?”
“It’s my job,” Mycroft shrugged. “We will be arriving at the safe house shortly.”
“Good,” Molly replied, “I want a drink before I hear the rest. And I want to hear everything you know, Mycroft. I want to know what I need to do.”
~~~
The safe house was just that - a house. A two story well-kept townhouse with a small front yard. A blonde woman let them in, leading them into the kitchen.
“That will be all, Anna, thank you,” Mycroft said. The woman nodded once, then slipped out of the door.
Mycroft pulled out the chair, gesturing for Molly to sit down.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“You mentioned a drink?” Mycroft said, opening a bottle of what looked like whiskey. He took some ice of out of the freezer, and put two ice cubes in each tumbler. Mycroft poured a measure over the ice and then placed the glass in front of Molly.
“So you don’t know why they are following me. What do you know?”
Mycroft sat opposite her, and took a sip of his drink.
“They are all small time criminals, which is why I think they’re Moriarty’s men, they wouldn’t be able to organise themselves otherwise. They’ve not made a move at all, actually. Until now, of course,” Mycroft added.
“I didn’t know what information, if any, they had on you. Clearly they think you're connected in some way. I do rather think Moriarty underestimated you.” He looked at her, and although there was little family resemblance, the calculating look, like Mycroft wanted to see the cogs inside her head, was largely the same. She assumed that was why her heart did the same swoopy thing.
“Nice to know it worked in my favour for once.”
“There’s a lot of tactical advantage in keeping your head down. You’ll probably never have to fake your own death.”
Molly snorted. “It just sounds so ridiculous.”
“Yes,” Mycroft sighed. “This is what being in Sherlock’s orbit is like. Ridiculous is the safest result of knowing Sherlock.”
Molly sighed. “So, how much danger am I in? Are we in?”
Mycroft shook his head. “I’ve got people working on the security footage for a car with that license plate. I’m unsure whether they recognised my car.”
“It’s not very subtle,” Molly pointed out. “But this is London? People don't notice things” Molly shrugged.
“You did,” Mycroft pointed out.
“I was looking,” Molly said. “I thought I was being paranoid.”
Mycroft smiled. “Good job you were. The chances of them noticing we're following them are probably about even,” Mycroft said. “But the CCTV will find them, even if they’ve abandoned the car. Like I said, most of them are petty criminals, they’re not that clever. I expect I’ll get a report in the morning that they are in our custody. I will keep you updated,” Mycroft said, getting up from the table. He placed his glass at the side of the sink.
“Anna will be able to get you anything you need,” Mycroft said.
“Wait, you’re leaving?” Molly asked, standing up, suddenly scared once more. Mycroft turned to look at her, calculating once more.
“I can stay, I have all I need here to work, if that will make you feel better.”
“I have no idea where I am, what’s going on, and who is following me. I would prefer it if you stayed, yes. I need something familiar,” Molly said before finishing her drink. She shuddered at the strong taste.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows and Molly met his gaze, daring him to say something.
“Very well.” Mycroft left the room and soon reappeared with two laptops. “I have a spare, if you wish to use one.”
Molly nodded. Internet would help to distract her. They tapped away in relative silence for an hour or so, Molly catching up on Twitter and BBC News. She occasionally looked over at Mycroft, who alternated between typing furiously and frowning at the screen.
Molly looked up as Mycroft sighed, and pushed his chair back. “Would you like some food?” he asked.
“Yes,” Molly said, suddenly realising she was hungry. “I'm starving.”
“We'll have to get something delivered, Anna should have some menus somewhere,” Mycroft said, getting up. He returned with brightly coloured menus.
“Do you have a preference?” He asked, spreading the leaflets out on the table.
Molly shook her head. “I'll eat anything,” she said, flipping open a pizza menu. “How about you?”
“Well, I'm supposed to be on a diet,” Mycroft muttered.
“Call it a cheat day,” Molly replied, turning to a Thai menu.
Mycroft huffed a laugh. “I suppose I'd better. Anna recommends this place.” He handed an Indian menu to Molly, who flipped through it.
“I could go for a curry,” She said, nodding.
“Excellent,” Mycroft smiled. They looked over the menu, settling for a set meal for two. Mycroft ordered the food, and they shutdown the laptops and started to get cutlery and plates out while they waited for food to arrive.
~~~
The conversation over food was surprisingly easy. She didn't expect to have much in common with Mycroft, but they spoke for close to an hour before a lull appeared.
“Have you heard anything yet? About the people following me, I mean?” Molly asked.
Mycroft shook his head. “Nothing of interest. My people are still collating information, but I expect we'll be able to apprehend the men tomorrow morning.”
“You'll be arresting them?”
“We'll see. We have enough evidence to bring them in for questioning, I'm pretty sure we can get them to admit to other things from there.”
Molly shuddered. “That sounds a bit scary.”
“A plea bargain generally gets results,” Mycroft said, matter-of-factly. Molly frowned at him.
“Do you know how - dramatic you make everything sound?”
Mycroft just smiled. “It's a good deflection technique.”
Molly laughed. “Thank you, for staying with me,” she said. “I definitely wouldn't have had this much fun staying here by myself.”
“And I wouldn't have had this much fun in the office. Thank you.” Mycroft hesitated, twirling his fork in his had. “I don't wish to put you under undue pressure, but, how would you feel about repeating this experience when you're not in a safehouse?”
Molly blinked, processing Mycroft's words. Mycroft looked increasingly awkward as she sat there.
“Are you asking me to dinner?” she asked. A date with Sherlock's brother? she thought. But then she looked at Mycroft, who she had spent a perfectly enjoyable evening with - and some time before that texting. She shook herself when she realised Mycroft was talking again.
“Yes, I understand of course, if you don't wish to -” Mycroft started, blushing. Molly cut him off before he could talk himself out of it
“Yes, yes, I would love to,” she said, smiling. Mycroft grinned back at her.
~~~
Very early the following morning, Mycroft dropped Molly off at her flat. She turned to him before getting out of the car, screwing up all her courage, and leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, quickly.
“Call me, about dinner, ok?” She asked. “I think we've moved beyond texting.”