Trials of saints 2

The message said simply come to the café. That was all and that was more than enough to make Molly Hooper livid. She bust into the café and slamming her bag down on the table where Mycroft Holmes sat stoically. "Make it quick."

"Do sit, Molly. Let's not attract... unwanted attention towards ourselves," Mycroft chirped.

Molly's glare showed just which words she'd like to answer that comment with. They weren't kind or at all polite to one another, never had been or needed to socialize with one another. Therefore, Mycroft had never had the 'pleasure' of meeting an angry Molly Hooper before, but seeing her thus, well, under the circumstances he was willing to admit her anger was fully justifiable.

"Would you like tea, coffee?" Mycroft asked.

"No," She snapped.

"You'll indulge me then I hope?" He said with the wave of a hand. From behind the counter, a barista hopped to work and brought a cuppa over. Mycroft never looked at him, never thanked him and continued to study Molly.

"I want to apologize Miss Hooper," Mycroft finally spoke.

"What for?" Molly questioned through her thinly veiled irritation.

"For the lapse in security that allowed you to get involved with 'Jim'."

"Can we not talk about that?" Molly groused. "Isn't it enough that your brother thinks he was merely showing interest in me to get to him?"

"I'm afraid we can't." Mycroft lifted a Manila envelope from his lap then set it on the table before her. "I am afraid to say, Molly, that he was not wrong."

"What do you mean?" She asked hesitantly.

Motioning towards the envelope, he spoke, "open it please, Ms Hopper." He watched as she simply looked at it before he moved the envelope towards her,

Noting the brief moment of trepidation as she opened the flap to slide out the glossy images inside. "There is no 'Jim' in the IT department. Never was one. There is however a James Moriarty. A fellow going around calling himself the consulting criminal. I'm sure he looks familiar to you, but rather than an Internet technologies professional, he deals with a wide, and sadly spectacular variety of crimes. He's been linked to nearly two dozen large scale crimes, and it seems he has finally decided to put a face to his name."

Mycroft watched Molly's eyes clench shut at the sight of her recent paramour dressed not in his jeans and tees, but a far more powerful suit. He knew this was difficult to understand for someone as simple as her. After all, what business did a plain looking pathologist have in a world of men who played games with theirs and other's lives?

"My brother was correct, Ms Hooper. You were merely being used as a means to an end." He watched the woman's large eyes begin to fill with tears of anger and pain. "And that is why I need to apologize to you. I have failed to you."

"Oh yeah? What could you have done?" Molly looked to the side. "Besides, why would you have?"

Sighing, Mycroft spoke. "I promised you certain protection when we first met. It was my meaning to take care of you in whatever facets of your life that my brother's presence interfered with. Naturally, the care was to cover you professionally, of course, but not that those interferences bled into your more personal life then I was prepared to avail myself as needed."

"What do you mean take care of me personally? Is there sort of hit out on me?"

"No. From the beginning my goal has been to insure you meet with as few disruptions to your life as possible thanks to my brother. Sherlock does tend to make things challenging for those around him after all."

Huffing, Molly glared at him. "What is it you've both done that I'm not aware of?"

"My team has had you monitored." It took a moment, but the inevitable outburst came.

"You've been following me?!" Molly shouted."Not following. Merely monitoring. Electronically. Just keeping tabs and such. Nothing physical. Of course, now you will require further steps."

"But that's not-"

"Fair?" He interrupted. "By now I'm sure you have found, Dr. Hooper, that life rarely is."

"But... Surely this was a one-time thing. Just some silly game. We only had dinner, watched telly and the like. Mostly chatted ..."

"Yes, well it was enough to gain him access to my brother wasn't it?"

Molly narrowed her eyes at Mycroft. "He's not that difficult to find."

"Please don't try that tone with me, it does not flatter you. My point is that you had a dangerous criminal cozied up on your sofa and you were in danger, all because of your association with my brother."

"Is that what he said when he was arrested? That he intended to hurt me to get your brother's attention? Because unless that's the reason you feel I am in danger and there is a specific threat made toward myself, I don't see what-"

"We don't have him."

"What do you mean you don't have him?"

"We are having trouble apprehending him," Mycroft admitted. "Not all criminals are idiots, Molly. James Moriarty is going to be difficult to catch. He must be lured and tempted."

"Not unlike Consulting Detectives?" Molly queried, worry etched all over her face.

"It does seem the two are...remarkably similar, and Moriarty did his research it seems. That's how he got to you, to see how big of a weakness you were for him.

"Not that you were alone in that quest. He gained access to Baker Street's third unit through Mrs. Hudson. Thankfully though, for you, John Watson was considered Sherlock's closest alliance."

"John? What happened?" She panicked, "Is he and Sherlock alright?"

"They are...reasonably safe."

"What the hell does that mean?" She exclaimed.

"Well, it means that while John Watson is no longer wearing a semtex vest or having nearly a dozen snipers targets aimed on him that Moriarty left my brother and himself with the promise of more 'fun' to come."

"So, it's not over," murmured Molly.

"No, thus the need for more drastic measures of security." He stated, lingering his gaze on her. "Unless..."

"Oh my God, Mycroft Holmes! Will you quit being such an over dramatic little shit?" She snapped.

"Unless you leave."

"You want me to leave..." Molly began.

"London," Mycroft spoke with conviction.

"Sherlock." Molly stated. It was the truth. Mycroft could not possibly care less about her. Not that she was ready for her to call his bluff.

"And just what is keeping you here in London? You don't have to deal with this infringement on your personal life! In fact, you could just walk away right now. There is no family to stay close to, few friends with whom you rarely see socially. So why not take this opportunity to begin again? No one could blame you after being used so cruelly as a pawn to get to my brother. Being that close to danger would make anyone with common sense go running to the hills. You buck at the idea of being under watch, so why not take the path that makes so much sense?"

"How dare you! How... Ugh... dare you! Just what gives you the right to decide where I belong? Whom I see!?"

"I don't have those rights, only you do." He paused, drinking his tea before going on. "My association with my brother is based on just that. He is my family. John Watson uses Sherlock as an excuse to lead a dangerous life. Mrs. Hudson feels indebted to him for his past protection and indulges him like a child she wished she'd had. Lestrade, even he uses his skills for professional gain. But you Molly... What do you get out of your association with Sherlock? What do you gain by being involved with him? Or he with you?" She stared coldly at him. "Has your relationship become more of an intimate nature? Are you sleeping together, even casually perhaps?"

Mycroft reached into his bread case and pulled out two surveillance photos of Molly entering and exiting Sherlock's Baker Street flat timestamped several hours apart. He raised a brow to her in question. Molly gave her continual flat stare. He slipped two more out. This time the images showed Sherlock slipping into her own flat. The hours of that visit spanning nearly a full day. His eyes clearly held his thoughts of what such visits must have entailed. Yet, Molly noticed he looked... Almost hopeful at the possibility.

"I thought not. In the first you are holding a cooler, clearly making a delivery of some of those oh so illegal body parts. Could that have been when the head appeared in his refrigerator?"

He paused when no answer came to him. "And prior to his extended visit to your flat he'd been in a rather tough scuffle with a small little gang. Then I recall that John's security detail said that he had a date. Sherlock, I concluded, must have been asked to stay away from Baker Street and so he found rest at your home."

"If you know, why do you even ask, Mycroft?"

"Because I'm still trying to see, Molly, what benefits you receive from this alliance with my brother. He's detrimental to your career. Sherlock would be an utter failure of a boyfriend even if he weren't blind enough to see that that's what you want. So what is it that draws you? What keeps you by his side? I could easily enough find you a new position anywhere in the world. And forgive my bluntness, but you have no family, few friends and no need to be in London. Why stay?"

Molly considered what he said. It was true. What was keeping her locked away in her lab waiting on a man who could care less about her and her happiness? A man who was never going to feel for her what she felt for him. She could start over, anywhere in the world and...

And never see Sherlock Holmes again. The man who'd thought she was asking for his coffee order after she'd worked for weeks for the courage it took to ask him out. Sherlock, who only 'noticed' her when he needed a favor, who'd flirt and mislead and play with her to make her actually give him a whole human head. Willingly! The man who thought to tell her the man she was dating was gay rather than a wanted criminal. The man that drove her insane and misused her.

Sherlock ... who was the man who's mind challenged hers. The one who made her heart skip and her breathe cease. Sherlock who would curl up with Toby and sleep for fifteen hours on her couch so John could do whatever he wanted with his girlfriend, Sarah. The man who never belittled her work or called her strange for her odd clothes and career.

Leave, and never see him again. The thought alone hurt. Even if he never cared for her she couldn't imagine a life where Sherlock didn't sweep in and out, solving crimes and giving her winsome grins that made her warm for hours. It didn't matter of he didn't care for her in return. She didn't want to live a life that he wasn't a part of. She wasn't going to run away, no matter what sacrifice she had to make.

"I have reason enough to stay. Those aren't the only important things in someone's life," Molly finally said.

"If that is your choice," Mycroft sighed, "in order to give you the level of protection you will require, I will have to essentially hire you as an Asset to the government. It will require to you be available at a moment's notice should any official autopsies need to be performed for my office or any other various tasks."

"Will that be often?"

"I shouldn't think it will add any additional duties to you. It will merely be on an as needed basis."

"Well that should be fine, all-alright."

"It will require you to go through some special training as well. Governmental procedure, tactical self-defense, benefits packages and the like."

"Oh, tactical self-defense. Thought you'd just slip that one in on me, eh?"

"You won't be able to avoid it," He threatened, "this is the choice you are making. It's not too late to change your mind."

"You know I'd never willingly leave him," Molly declared moving to stand. "I'll do whatever is needed, Mycroft, you know that. If anyone understands what it is to love Sherlock, it's you and I. Take care, Mycroft."

Molly bent and kissed the overly stuffy man on the cheek before walking out.

"How fortunate for him," Mycroft whispered, "how unfortunate for you, Molly Hooper."

Note: Hey you! Thanks for reading. No really thank you. And those follows, fovorites and reviews, thank you. I know this is an a-typical sherlolly fic, but the interactions of those around Sherlock kinda fascinate me. Also, TheNewJefferson you are my angel and an amazing Beta. You take the digital chicken scratch I send you and you polish it into something legible.