It's always been a problem.

Umbrella.

Tea.

Suit.

Phone.

Mycroft Holmes sat in his office. A very nice office, to be sure, but an office. An office which sadly served as an allegory for the rest of his life.

Dark…stagnant…erratically dusty.

The wood was lush, it was deep, a presage of inner turmoil.

And with what tumult his mind did wander…

His brother, so ludicrous in his life, haphazardly meandering through the labyrinth of London's streets with a doctor in tow.

Silly business.

Necessarily ridiculous.

Mycroft was distracted, and that was never good.

Distraction from work yielded messes he would need to see to, and whatever disaster would lay waste to his carefully formulated puzzle of governance.

He turned to the desktop computer and returned a few emails.

He sipped his tea.

Get up, Mycroft…be done.

He did. He was.

He went to the cafe he never admitted frequenting and sat in a corner far away from the horde of Londoners ordering their silly drinks with a desperation reserved only for those whose lives were mired with nonsensical concerns.

And then he spied someone he recognized.

That person…that woman who works at the morgue…

She was a fascinating person in her own right; mousy and unthreatening, and a complete idiot when it came to Sherlock.

But she would go back for more, and Myrcoft pitied her.

And then she saw him, and he blanched a bit…it was as though she had heard his thoughts. But no…she smiled at him and approached.

"Hi…Mycroft, is it?" she said.

He stood. "It is, yes…and you are Molly Hooper."

"Good memory."

"It comes with the territory, as they say."

Molly nodded. "Mind if I join you?"

Mycroft held his hand out in a welcoming gesture and sat down.

She smiled and sipped her drink. "I haven't seen you here before…"

"I do not frequent cafes."

"Why not?"

"Normally the clientele is lacking…" and he smiled.

Molly laughed. "Well…sometimes the patrons are a bit much. Loud…annoying…"

"Just so," he replied. "Seen Sherlock lately?"

Molly shook her head. "No…I suppose he hasn't needed any help, bodies or whatever…"

"Does my brother often need bodies, as you say?"

She blushed a bit. "I…well…he does need them for experimental purposes."

Mycroft nodded. "And you see to his needs."

"Only insofar as I don't get into trouble or it helps in a case he's working on."

"You are very accommodating and kind."

Molly shrugged. "Not really."

"No?"

"No more so than you," she observed, and instantly regretted it. "I mean…I know…I know how much you've helped him."

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Do not trouble yourself, Molly. I help my brother quite often. He requires a babysitter…or three or four."

Molly laughed. "He is something."

"And what that something is, we have yet to discover."

She laughed once more. "Sherlock never told me that you were funny."

"Perhaps he doesn't think so," and Mycroft downed his tea.

"How couldn't he?"

"One never knows what goes on in that head of his…though he isn't as enigmatic as he fancies himself to be."

Molly played with her spoon. "I dunno…he is rather fascinating…"

"Only incidentally so."

"Was it odd growing up with him?" she asked hesitantly.

Mycroft's face grew a bit dark, a strange look passed his visage. "Not as odd as it was for him growing up with me…" and he winked at her.

Molly giggled.

The time passed quickly, and Molly decided it was time to leave, they had been sitting for a while now, and she needed to get home to Toby.

"Thanks for the company, Mycroft. It was more than interesting."

He nodded and stood as she did. "My pleasure, Molly. Have a good evening."

Mycroft watched her leave and headed out himself.

He sighed and retrieved his umbrella.

What did his brother want with her, anyway? To toy with?

She was much too nice a person to be so ill-used.

He should visit Sherlock and casually bring her up in conversation.

And he set out to do just that.