Twenty-Eight

Late morning found Molly Holmes in the Diogenes Room, as she and Mycroft now called that room in their home. She sat with her feet up on the sofa, browsing on her laptop for research ideas. She hadn't taken the time to write an in-depth paper for a few years now, and the start of her new life made her eager to want to try again. What she needed was a great topic, something that intrigued her and make her want to keep digging and explore further. Perhaps in her free time today she would find one.

The sound of her mobile ringing brought her out of her web search. Picking up the device, Molly smiled when she saw that it was from her husband. She answered with a sweet, "Hello, My."

"Hello, my love," he replied, his voice low and a bit weary.

Remembering what he had set out to do first thing this morning, Molly's tone sobered a bit but was still filled with warmth. "How did it go? Was it very bad?"

"Nothing that I was not prepared for. It could have been worse, actually. I suppose I said everything that needed to be said in the best way that I could."

"Well, if anyone can do it, you can, Secret Agent Man," said Molly, hoping to put a smile on his face even if she couldn't see it.

His chuckle in response was more than enough. "Well, my love, be prepared to hear from him sooner rather than later. I doubt that he will outright confront you, but rather create a way in which he can observe you and deduce whether or not you are a happy bride or suffering Stockholm Syndrome."

Molly nodded, remembering the conversation that they'd had about this that morning. "And that way would be making me John for the day?"

"Most likely. When you hear from him, text Vincent and he will take you to Baker Street."

Vincent was one of the three men who drove Mycroft's cars, but had been with Mycroft the longest and was the one he trusted the most. Molly had come to know him a bit since growing closer to Mycroft, and liked his professional but kind manner.

"Alright. I'll keep you updated as well so you won't worry."

"I appreciate that, Molly. And after you arrive at Baker Street, tell Vincent that he needn't wait for you. My baby brother may have many faults, but I do trust him with you. When you are ready to come home, text Vincent again and he'll pick you up."

Molly sighed. Under normal and less dangerous circumstances, she would protest against being chauffeured around the city like a member of the royal family. But these were not normal or less dangerous circumstances, so she replied, "Sure, My. You won't be too late at work, will you?"

"No, my dear, I doubt it. I rather think that I'll be home before you. I'll let you know."

"Good. I'll see you tonight." Molly smiled. "Oh, I love being able to say that."

"Touché, my love. And don't worry about my little brother. I've ensured he'll behave reasonably, and if he steps out of line, you know how to set him straight."

Molly laughed. "Thanks for the confidence boost, and good luck today. Bye."

"Au revoir."

Sherlock really did behave himself with Molly that whole afternoon, as Mycroft had predicted. Honestly, it relieved her quite a bit. With her husband back home and now his wife in every way, Molly was the happiest she had been since the death of her brother. The last thing she wanted was for a fight with the overgrown man-child to taint that precious happiness.

As the afternoon went on, Molly's fear lessened and her worry grew the more that she watched Sherlock. Though he put up a façade of "keep calm, carry on, I don't care that John isn't speaking to me right now," it was not very hard to see through, especially for Molly who knew him so well. Though he had told her to be herself and not John, he would call her by John's name once in a while throughout the afternoon. Also, she would sometimes hear him murmuring to himself things like, "Shut up, John" or "Don't be stupid, John."

Though Molly never commented on it, she made note of everything in her mind, determined to help him in any way that she could. She knew that the last two years couldn't have been easy for him. Not just because he had been taking down a criminal network, but because he had been alone all that time with those closest to him back home thinking he was gone for good. While she was very happy that Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade had forgiven him and welcomed him back with very little fuss, she knew that it had been John that he had missed the most.

The end of the afternoon found the two of them walking down the steps of their latest client's apartment building. "Fancy some chips?" he asked nonchalantly as he passed her on the stairs.

Molly furrowed her brow a bit, not quite certain whether this was a dinner invitation or that their next client worked at a fish-and-chip shop. "What?"

"I know a fantastic chip shop just off just off the Marylebone Road, the owner always gives me extra portions," he clarified.

Following behind him, she asked, "Did you get him off a murder charge?"

"Nope, I helped him put up some shelves."

She could hear in his voice the smirk that was surely playing on his face, and she softly laughed.

Then, she felt her mobile in her trouser pocket vibrate once, which meant a text alert. Molly pulled out the device and smiled when she saw a text from her husband:

Just arrived home. Won't be needed at the office until the morning. Shall I start making dinner for us?

She immediately texted a reply as she stepped onto the lobby landing:

Yes, please! I'm on my way home.

Molly then sent off a text to Vincent, giving him the address and asking him to pick her up.

"Mycroft?"

Molly gave a little start and looked up at Sherlock, who was standing right beside her with his hands behind his back. The expression on his face was unreadable.

A little embarrassed because she had momentarily forgotten about Sherlock, she said, "Um…yes."

"I'll take that as a no, then."

"I'm afraid so, Sherlock. I'm sorry."

Sherlock shook his head. "Don't be. Your actions are the last piece of proof that I needed."

Molly raised an eyebrow, already getting a good idea of what he meant. "Proof of what, Sherlock? That I'm not brainwashed or under government control?"

A tinge of color came to Sherlock's cheeks, and he had the decency to look down at the floor before looking at her and responding. "I suppose so. But I should have known that was unnecessary. When I saw my brother this morning, he looked better than I'd ever seen him look, and I've known him all my life. He wouldn't have looked like that if he were only manipulating or blackmailing you. Add to that the fact that you have displayed absolutely no sign of Stockholm Syndrome the entire afternoon.

"But the way your face lit up when you got that text message from your husband…your face has never looked like that for any man you've been smitten with."

The last three words went unspoken, but they were clear to the both of them: Not even me.

Molly smiled at him gently. "Well, that's because I'm not only smitten. I'm in love with my husband. With all my heart I am, and he feels the same for me. I just hope that you can come to believe that."

Her gaze was direct and her tone was strong. Sherlock held it for a moment, and then slowly, he gave a nod. "I trust you, Molly Hooper. I underestimated you once, but I promised myself after that Christmas party that will never again forget how strong you are. You reminded me today that nobody, even the British government himself, could make you do anything that you did not want to do."

Molly gave a surprised and relieved smile. "Thank you, Sherlock, truly. That means so much coming from you."

"Well…you deserve it. What I've put you through has been substantial and difficult for you, to say the least."

"But it was worth it," said Molly, touching his arm. "Because you're alive." She paused, biting her lip as she worked out what she wanted to say. She resumed after a minute. "Remember what you and Mycroft said to each other in Berlin, when we found you near dead in that warehouse?"

Shame flooded Sherlock's face, and he looked down at his feet. But Molly lifted her hand from his arm, and lifted his chin back up sharply so he would look her in the eye as she said what she had to say:

"I understand why you said what you said now, but you knew then and you know now how cruel that was. Losing your brother…" She gulped and blinked. "…is excruciating. He couldn't bear to lose you, too."

As she lowered her hand from his chin, Sherlock looked at her solemnly as he pursed his lips slightly. When he spoke, his voice was deep with sincere compassion. "I'm deeply sorry about your brother, Molly."

Now she was the one to look down and clear her throat. Wiping her eyes before tears could escape, she managed to choke out a small "thank you."

A few minutes passed in silence as Molly composed himself and Sherlock struggled to find the right words to say what he wished to say to the woman who had not only saved his life, but was now a part of his family.

"Molly…" he finally said, in a voice lacking his usual confidence and bravado, "I know that, if we had ever met, your brother would have rightly given me a piece of his mind as well as his fists. And I also know that nothing could ever replace your little brother. However, since you have married my big brother, and I am technically older than you in age…perhaps you would accept a big brother, albeit a poor one?"

Molly looked up at Sherlock, surprise replacing the sadness in her features. Then, new tears filled her eyes as a trembling smile came to her mouth. In the next moment, she was embracing him tightly as she said, "Gladly, Sherlock!"

Caught a bit off guard, Sherlock automatically returned the embrace. But it only took a moment for him to relax into it, for it did feel nice, like a proper hug from family should.

The sound of Molly's phone vibrating caused the hug to break, and she pulled out the device. "Vincent's just pulled up outside to pick me up," she said.

Sherlock held open the front door for her. "Unsurprising that Mycroft is insisting on some more security for you while this threat is still active."

"And you'll end it soon, right?" asked Molly as they stepped outside into the crisp November air. Some snowflakes were falling prettily from the cloudy London sky. "I know how much you like to put your big brother on edge, but I can tell he's worried."

"Correct as usual, Molly," said Sherlock. "But I promise that it is my first priority. No one is more eager to end Moriarty's reign of terror once and for all than me."

This statement was very loaded with subtext, and Molly heard it all. Stepping closer to him, she squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Sherlock, I promise you that John will come round. You know what he would say to me when he really missed you? He just wanted you to stop being dead. You have, and he'll soon realize that's what matters the most."

His eyes told Molly that he wanted to believe her but found it quite difficult at the moment, but he gave her a small and sincere smile. "Thank you, Molly Holmes."

Those four words also had a lot of subtext that Molly heard: Thank you for saving my life, I'm sorry for all that I've put you through, I will try to be better as a big brother, and I am glad that we are now family.

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "My pleasure. Solve this soon, keep the faith, and remember we're always here for you."

He nodded and opened the door of the black car waiting at the curb. She got in with a last wave, and Sherlock stood on the sidewalk as the car drove away.

The first thing that greeted Molly when she entered her home was the smell of roasting chicken and potatoes. It was one of the recipes that she had given to Mycroft for his birthday over a year ago. Smiling, she quickly stripped off her winter gear, hung the clothing articles up, and kicked off her shoes. She restrained herself from running to the kitchen, instead opting to rather quickly tiptoe there.

Mycroft was at the counter tossing a small salad. Glad that he didn't have anything hot in his hands, Molly entered the kitchen and, once she came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head between his shoulder blades. Mycroft stopped in his task and covered her hands with his, giving a content sigh.

"You're home," Molly murmured, breathing in his scent.

Lacing his fingers with hers, Mycroft could only smile and reply, "Yes, we are."

THE END

A/N: So, we have come to the end of my Mollcroft story. I'm really proud of it, despite it not being a very popular pairing or part of the fandom. I love both characters and really enjoyed exploring both them and the possibility of them coming together. I hope all of you who read it enjoyed it too. Please leave a kind word and Godspeed. :)