Molly wiped her hands on her skirt, attempting one deep, calming breath. Nope. Still nervous.

Well. Anyone would be, being twelve steps from the Queen of England. Today Molly was receiving a medal of honor for her work regarding pathology. Molly had a hunch her place in the medical world had been brought to the Prime Minister's attention by means of a certain Holmes', and as one was currently 'dead', that narrowed the field somewhat.

She'd been seated in the front row, her gloved hands twisting a handkerchief over and over. She was told she was allowed three guests and she thought unhappily of how much she wished her father was alive now. She invited John and Mrs. Hudson, but the elder woman declined.

"Oh my goodness, I couldn't, me, in the palace, I'd absolutely faint, I'd faint!" she waved her hands, touching her hair, unable to even bear the thought of sitting on a guilt chair in the ballroom of Buckingham Palace. Molly turned to John, who only shrugged with a grin.

"What the hell, I've only been to the palace once, might be nice to go with someone who doesn't forget their trousers." So with a giggle and a grin, Molly had someone to hold onto as they neared the ballroom. Once seated, she fished around for her kerchief to keep her hands from fidgeting or touching her fascinator. Mary, John's girlfriend, had assured Molly she looked smashing and that if she dared try to fix her make-up, or cry or do anything to her hair, Mary would absolutely screech. She also insisted John take dozens of pictures since she had to work and couldn't come.

"You'll rip that if you're not careful," John murmured, and took her hand, lacing her fingers in his. "Go on, squeeze away," he said and she managed a nervous smile.

"Doctor Molly Hooper for her services to the field of medicine,"

"Oh God," she breathed. John squeezed her hand, and she uncrossed her ankles, getting to her feet. From where he sat, John easily took a few pictures, able to hear Molly's soft voice, and Her Majesty's polite comments:

"I understand you've made great strides in your particular field."

"I suppose I have, your Majesty, very good of you to notice," the pin was in place, so the Queen folded her hands before her.

"It's quite brave, what you do. Not many ladies in your field."

"Not my particular field, no ma'am."

"All the more reason to show up the men," the Queen was smiling at her joke and Molly was trying her best not to laugh.

"Yes, ma'am, thank you," the Queen was already holding out her hand so Molly shook it, bowed from the neck and backed up three steps to the start point before turning and finding her seat.

"I think you nearly melted!" John laughed once the ceremony was over. They had their picture taken, official photographers promising it would be mailed to her. "I wish I could stay and celebrate," John said unhappily. "Had to fight just to get the morning off,"

"Oh that's alright!" Molly said quickly. "It'd be no fun, just the two of us, Mary always livens things up."

"Why don't we have dinner tomorrow night? We'll all get our fancy clothes, go somewhere extra special. You two can fight over me on the dance floor, we'll order champagne and ridiculously expensive food with intolerably small portions."

"That sounds fun!" Molly laughed. "Count me in if it all works out."

"I will, congratulations, Molls, really, I'm proud of you." He kissed her cheek before bidding her goodbye, climbing into the waiting taxi. Before she had a chance to hail a cab for herself, a Royal Guard touched her arm.

"Doctor Hooper?"

"Uh…yes?"

"If you would follow me."

"Sorry, um, yes, of course," she hurried after him, trying to keep up with his long strides. "Is something the matter?"

"You've been summoned."

Oh dear. That sounded serious. Heart in her throat, she followed the guard through the main entrance, down to the portrait gallery. To her absolute relief, Mycroft was standing there.

"Mycroft!" she gasped, relieved.

"Miss Hooper," he nodded to her, a smile upon his lips. "I understand the ceremony went well."

"Yes," Mycroft nodded his thanks to the guard who saluted him and departed. "The queen spoke to me," she bounced on the balls of her feet, unable to contain her glee.

"I saw, you did very well. I am surprised you are not out celebrating with Doctor Watson and his soon-to-be fiancée."

"Not until tomorrow night," she said, still beaming from ear-to-ear.

"Then perhaps you'll allow me to take you to tea, as a little treat," he said, offering his arm.

He took her to a private salon in the palace, high tea was already set out, political figures milled about the room, some jovial, others more serious.

"Heavens, I'm the only one in pastels," she murmured with a laugh, glancing down at her light blue silk. She was about to ask who all the people there were when suddenly the door on the other end of the room opened and there was the Queen. Molly grabbed Mycroft's arm in lieu of the gasp she so desperately wanted to take in.

"I'd like to tell you that you are here merely as my 'plus-one' as they say, but in reality, you were requested by quite another person, who is rather fond of blue."

Once again, Molly found herself bobbing a curtsy to the Queen, and with a trembling voice, answering her questions as best she could. After a few moments, the Queen nodded her approval. Mycroft bowed at the neck as she passed him, smiling his thanks as she complimented him on his choice of company.

Tea was superb, and the food did not disappoint. Molly and Mycroft could not speak as freely here, this was his territory and she was petrified of embarrassing him. However she did notice that he particularly favored the peppermint creams and wondered if she could mimic the recipe for him. She chatted with the Prime Minister and accepted praise from one official after another, nearly losing her head when a certain prince beamed at her and shook her hand. Mycroft was at her elbow only a few minutes into the conversation, and the royal left, smiling cheekily at Molly before departing.

"Heavens," Molly was flushed when tea was over and the group dispersed. Mycroft gave his arm, leading her out of the salon and back through the portrait gallery.
"Shall I drop you off?" Mycroft asked and she nodded.

Once in the car, she finally relaxed, letting out a heaving breath. Mycroft only quirked an eyebrow.

"You may be used to it, but I'm not!" she said.

"Indeed, of course, I have never been so blatantly flirted with by a royal, so I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

"He wasn't!" Molly gasped. Mycroft only gave her a look. Instead of looking shocked, Molly only collapsed into a fit of giggles, covering her cheeks with her gloved hands.

"If you've quite finished," he said with a wince and she smothered her smile as best she could.

"Sorry, it isn't often I meet royalty, let alone have one chat me up."

"What would Sherlock say?" Mycroft queried.

"He wouldn't care," Molly said with a shrug. "He was always against knighting, wasn't he?" Mycroft hummed in response. Anthea, who had been quiet up until that point glanced between the two of them.

"Still," she said, speaking up at last. "Why not have a picture of you and your medal?" Molly took the box, her invitation and held them up, her beaming smile once again graced her rosy cheeks as Anthea snapped a picture before attaching it to a text.

"Where is he?" Molly asked and Mycroft pursed his lips. "You said he was safe, when you got back the other week, is he still or…" she fidgeted with her hem.

"He's quite safe," Mycroft nodded. "In fact he could not be in a better place at the moment."

"So…he's-he'll be staying where he is…for a time?" Anthea glanced at Mycroft from her phone, attempting to hide a smile.

"Oh…a day or so, I'd imagine. Perhaps longer, depending on a few things."

"Yes of course," she nodded. The car came to a stop outside her building and the driver jogged around to her door. "Will you come up or do you have things to do?"

"I always have things to do," Mycroft replied. "I'll not come up today, thank you though. Do tell him I said he was welcome."

"What? Who?" but the door was already shut, the window rolling up.

"Ta-ta," Mycroft said before the window was shut and the car pulling away. Molly stared after the car, confused, then up to her flat, a curtain was pushed aside for a moment, then shut again. She ran for the door, taking the steps two at a time.

She could hardly get the key in the lock, hands shaking. Heart pounding, she shoved the door open so hard it bounced against the wall and slammed shut behind her.

There in her living room, a familiar figure stood facing the windows, a mobile in their hand. She could see from where she stood the screen displayed the picture Anthea had only just taken of her.

"Sorry I couldn't make the ceremony," his timbered voice seemed deeper than she remembered. Slowly, she approached him, he hadn't turned around yet. "I was rather caught up with…" he waved his hand in that familiar way she thought she'd forgotten. "last minute...things." At last, he turned to her, his face thinner than she remembered, but his eyes were still the same, holding the same warmth and kindness. "But I understand you were quite popular there."

"Well…" she managed, finding it difficult to speak. "I didn't forget my trousers…like some people."

"Trousers are stupid," he said and swept down upon her, capturing her lips with his own.

"You're here," she gasped when they parted at last. "You're really here," his eyes softened and his smile was tender as she reached up, hands smoothing over his face, his dark curls as if making sure he was real.

"Yes," he nodded, he covered her hands with his, kissing the edge of her palm.

"Are you here to stay?" he nodded again, moving to kiss her. "I have to thank Mycroft," she murmured.

"What for?"

"For bringing you home."

"I got myself home," she pulled back somewhat, giving him a look. "Mostly," he shrugged and drew her closer. "Thank him later, you're still welcoming me home."

"Just a moment," she said and grabbed her phone, tapping out a quick text. "There, done."

~O~

He'd just pulled up to the Diogenes Club when his phone beeped. Swiping his thumb over the screen, he checked the message, smiling at the name.

Will thank you properly when your brother lets me go. But thank you truly, dear one. MollyH

Mycroft tapped out a quick response before pocketing the phone.

Do try and eke a proposal out of him while he's still weak from travel. –MH

His dinner had just arrived when his mobile beeped again. Anthea checked it for him, then, with a knowing smile, handed it to him.

Done and done. MollyH (soon to be Holmes)

Attached was a picture of Sherlock holding Molly's hand, an attractive diamond glittering on her ring finger.