How To Circumvent A Crisis.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Property of the BBC, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss. No money is being made from this. No copyright infringements intended.

Summary: Molly/Mycroft established relationship. Molly is at 'that time of the month'. Mycroft gets put on the firing line. Anthea is a good friend. Dedicated to stabbed_with_a_fork.

Author's Notes: Hello everyone! So this is not the chapter of HIPS I promised, but a one shot. It was mainly brought about for three reasons:

#1: Because of the lovely stabbed-with-a-fork on Tumblr (xspica on AO3)- our delightful little talk about uterus renovations brought this plotbunny to my head, which preceded to bush my brain against my skull until I wrote it.

#2: Personal reasons that made me incredibly mad at certain people that think talking about menstruation is still a 'taboo' thing to do- it annoys me that talking about women in a degrading manner or sexually causes no problems in our society, but talk about something like breast feeding in public or periods, it's suddenly a big NO. So I wrote a fanfic about a girl on her period with a boyfriend that doesn't quite know how to behave. I'm sure many of us have been there. Not everyone is as understanding as Mycroft is here. I digress.

#3: It's certainly fun to imagine what Mycroft would be like as a boyfriend put in this situation. I realise that not every girl goes through a painful period, but this story is for the times when biology basically makes you wish you were dead.

Okay, other than that- this story was beta'd by the ever-lovely and amazing Adalind, who checked this after working all day. You are truly an awesome person. Thank you!

On with the story!

Mycroft sat at his office desk, drumming his fingers on the polished wood. As was scheduled for two o'clock every afternoon, Mycroft was thinking about Molly Hooper.

They had met over Irene Adler's (supposed) dead body and, somehow- against Mycroft's predictions, which never happened- had inadvertently manoeuvred into what Mycroft estimated was a stable exclusive relationship.

That was to say, this was an estimate and had never received written confirmation- Mycroft was made to assume that one did not ask one's partner if they were supposed to refrain from having sex with others. While Mycroft was of the opinion that assuming anything only served, to use the American layman's term, to make an 'ass' out of oneself, he had enough understanding of human emotions to know that Molly would take his asking in an adverse manner, when all Mycroft wished to do was confirm that Molly was, indeed, loyal to him.

But as his deductions on Molly's behaviour were accurate as ever and he, himself, was not interested in other liaisons, in this case he would allow himself to make an assumption that, yes, he was indeed in a stable, exclusive relationship.

Mycroft, as a rule, did not 'do' relationships- but there he was making an exception. He did not share, and he most certainly would not share Molly, his girlfriend-partner-significantother-firstpersontocontactifhewasinjured/MIA/dead.

However, despite being ultra-security clearance level government official, a respected politician in his own right and the British government to boot, Mycroft would admit that he had resigned himself to the fact that, even he did not truly understand women.

So, it was now two o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon, the scheduled hour of 'Molly-thinking' that he had scheduled. He had found it was necessary to compartmentalise all thoughts about his girlfriend-partner-significantother-firstpersonofcontactifhewasinjured/MIA/dead and their relationship to a specific part of his day, lest his work suffer, or worse, he forget about Molly's existence altogether. Unfortunately, allowing one's work to consume one's personal and social commitments was one thing that he and Sherlock shared.

The unfortunate event of forgetting Molly's birthday 3 months ago- 6 months into their relationship- had resulted in the implementation of the 60 minutes of 'Molly-thinking' into his work schedule, barring lunch and his hour at Diogenes, in which he was allowed to think about what he wished (which, unless in the case of governmental melt-down or international crisis, meant another hour and a half of thinking and Molly and the freckle on the nape of her neck).

Mycroft threaded his fingers together. Molly.

Molly-thinking topic of the day:He had somehow made Molly angry with him.

Potential reason:Unsure.

Potential deterrents or solution:Without understanding the problem, a solution was difficult to come by.

Crisis potentiality:High.

Resulting status:Immediate priority. Likely to escalate unless resolved quickly.

Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing. This, he supposed, was why caring was not an advantage.

Sighing loudly, Mycroft thought back to the previous night, which was the issue at hand.

Surely he was missing something.

/

Mycroft walked into Molly's bedroom at 9 o'clock at night, having left his umbrella at the front door.

Molly was lying flat on the bed, in her customary pyjama vest and shorts. Mycroft appreciated the soft and smooth looking skin of her legs and feet, looking up her body to notice that her hands were lying delicately over her stomach, which looked slightly bloated. Molly's eyes were wide, her button nose adorably flared in surprise.

'You're supposed to be busy dealing with the Russians this week', Molly said, looking uncomfortable. 'You didn't need to come tonight.'

Issue: Molly was bloated, miserable looking.

Potential reason: Coupled with the suddenly redness of her cheek, the cluster of spots on the left hand side of her temple, the dark coloured night wear, Molly must be menstruating.

'You look bloated', Mycroft commented conversationally, taking off his shoes and putting them neatly at the door along with his coat. 'It appears you have just come by your menstruation'.

When Mycroft looked back at her from the door, Molly was giving him the sternest expression anyone (with the exception of Sherlock) had ever dared to give him.

I believe this is what they call the 'drop dead' look. Unnecessary- I was simply making an observation.

'Yes, Mycroft', Molly said, huffing. 'I'm on my period, I guess.'

Mycroft sat down on the bed next to her.

'Menstruation is not something you can guess, Molly', Mycroft said, kissing her nose. 'It is a state of being or non-being- you either are or are not. In this case, you happen to be shedding your womb lining at a particularly remarkable rate, looking at the current circumference of your stomach.'

The look Molly gave him now was even worse than the last one.

'Mycroft', Molly said. 'I know you can't help it, really, but please could you shut up?'

Mycroft closed his mouth. Molly sat up on the bed, tugging on the end of her vest.

Potential reason: I have somehow made her self-conscious.

'Molly', Mycroft started, and Molly groaned. 'Menstruating is a biological part of being a woman. There is no need to feel embarrassed. I, however, find myself at a loss to why I have not witnessed one of your monthly experiences before.'

Molly was gritting her teeth.

'That's because I make sure you're either busy working or I have a seminar to attend or otherwise unavailable every time it happens', Molly finally said, looking miserable again. 'Or I…..distract you with other things.'

Mycroft wondered why he found Molly particularly attractive when she blushed.

'Why?' Mycroft asked.

Molly rolled her eyes and looked fed up. Mycroft sighed.

Molly was usually a very good girlfriend-significantother-partner-firstcontactifiwasinjured/MIA/dead, understanding of his work and lifestyle choices in a way most women would not be. However, she still had moments of nonsense-making that Mycroft felt exasperated by.

'Your stomach hurts', Mycroft said, after a while. 'You also appear to have a developing ache on your forehead. You have run out of dark lower body clothing for this week as you have neglected doing your laundry due to work.'

Molly groaned loudly, and pulled up the covers of the bed over her head, until on her hair was visible.

'Mycroft!', said the lump on the bed. 'Please…..could you just leave it alone? I just want to go to sleep.'

Mycroft stared at the lump that was Molly.

Never let it be said I am not a good boyfriend-partner-significantother-soontobefirstcontactif goodnessforbidMollygetshurt/dies.

'Very well,' Mycroft said. 'I will arrange for Anthea to deliver some medication for menstruation pain relief and for menstruation-related skin problems. She will also collect your laundry tomorrow morning and deliver it within an hour.'

'Mycroft, please', Molly huffed under the covers. 'Stop calling it menstruation!'

Mycroft was confused for the second time in the day. Twice more than ever before in his life.

'But that is what it is,' Mycroft said, calmly. 'Unless you are covering the symptoms of pregnancy by pretending you are menstruating? The increased size of your stomach, coupled with the hormonal imbalance you are clearly displaying could equally apply to being with child.'

Molly pulled the covers back to reveal a very angry looking expression.

'Don't take this the wrong way', Molly said. 'No, I am not pregnant. I know because my uterus is currently carrying out a war because there is no baby in there. But if you ever say something like that to me again, we're going to break up.'

Mycroft looked at her, alarmed.

'I will refrain from using the M word from now on', Mycroft said.

Molly let out a sound that Mycroft assigned to being akin to decibel of a beached whale screech.

'You're impossible!', Molly said, ducking back under the covers. 'Just let me sleep!'

Mycroft sighed again, frustrated.

'Very well', Mycroft said. 'It appears I am of no help in this situation. I shall allow you to sleep and I'll talk to you at our primary allotted 9.15am phone call.'

Molly peeked over the covers again, her hair (adorably, Mycroft thought, and then refrained himself) messy.

'W-Wait', Molly said. 'You're not staying?'

'I'm afraid I can't', Mycroft admitted. 'I have a Skype call with the Russian prime minister in thirty minutes. I only came by as you missed our secondary allotted 5.45pm call.'

Molly threw a pillow at him. Due to the short distance and the strength of the throw, it hurt a lot more than Mycroft would admit.

'Fine!', Molly said, hiding under the covers again. 'Go away, please.'

Her voice sounded sodden somehow, Mycroft thought later.

Like she had been crying.

/

'Sir, allow me permission to address you with a well-meaning insult and some womanly advice', Anthea said from his side.

Mycroft blinked, pulling himself from his reverie, and noticed his assistant looking down at him.

'I shall allow you just this once', Mycroft said. 'I must admit myself to being sorely confused.'

His assistant sighed and sat down on his desk. Mycroft raised his eyebrow at her, but otherwise said nothing.

'You are an idiot, sir', Anthea said, and Mycroft took offence to her tone.

Note to self: let Anthea deal with Sherlock next time he requires Mycroft to post bail after one of his inevitable hijinks.

'I most certainly am not', Mycroft said, annoyed. 'But continue if you must.'

Anthea pulled out her phone, showing Mycroft a list of text messages.

Anthea, could you stall Mycroft for another day? The time of the month is worse than usual and I don't need Mycroft deducing the spots on my forehead. X Molly H.

Anthea, could you tell Mycroft not to bother coming over- could you tell him I have a BMJ seminar? You know why. X Molly H

I feel really crap today. Don't want Mycroft to see me like this. Could you distract him for another hour so I can freshen up and not look like I'm dying? It's that time of the month again. X Molly H.

Mycroft frowned at the messages, a sudden lump appearing in his throat.

'Molly sends me one of these pretty much every month since you guys started dating', Anthea explained. 'She likes you a lot. She worries that if you see her at what she thinks of as her worst, you'll find her unattractive. That's one part of why she's mad at you.'

Mycroft felt more frustrated than he ever remembered being.

'That is preposterous', Mycroft said loudly. 'Molly Hooper is a physically very attractive woman with many more assets than I can boast. One could ask why she deigns to be in a relationship with me.'

Anthea blinked at him.

'It sounds wrong when you say cute things', Anthea said. 'But you should probably tell Molly that.'

'What's the other reason Molly is angry', Mycroft said. 'If we were not talking about Molly, I would be rather curious to understand the inner workings of the female mind.'

'Don't say stuff like that to a woman', Anthea said. 'We're not biological specimens.'

Mycroft tapped his fingers on the desk.

'The main reason Molly is angry is because she's not', Anthea said, and Mycroft nearly groaned out loud. 'She's sad.'

Mycroft frowned.

'I have tried my utmost to be what you call good boyfriend material', Mycroft said, now concerned. 'What is she not telling me?'

Mycroft's mind whirred with ideas and reasons and concepts, Molly's miserable face from the night before engrained in his mind. She had freely given herself to him, agreed to be his companion despite his many (he would admit it) areas of lacking (emotional and physical of course, definitely not anatomical), and somehow he had upset her.

Mycroft rubbed his nose again. He was a man of great standing, respected and sought after by world leaders and people of power. He knew the value of Pi to 1000 digits, how to solve world crises, how to make Putin listen to him. He understood String theory, how the universe may have begun, Victorian literature, the many works of Descartes.

He did not understand Molly.

'It's not as hard to understand as you think', his assistant said over his head. 'How did she look when you left her?'

Mycroft looked up.

'Sad, like you said. In pain. I brought her medication,' Mycroft supplied. 'What else should I have done?'

'She's miserable because she's in pain, Mycroft', Anthea said, with the tone of explaining things to a small child. 'You were supposed to stay and comfort her. Sometimes offering a solution to a problem doesn't solve the problem at hand.'

'That makes no sense whatsoever', Mycroft said. 'Every problem needs a solution, Anthea. Is that what you have learnt while working under me?'

Anthea sighed.

'Repeat after me, Mycroft Holmes', Anthea said. 'That sucks.'

'What?', Mycroft said, confused.

'Just say it', Anthea said. 'That sucks.'

/

Mycroft let himself into Molly's home at 5.45pm. Molly was sitting on her living room sofa, in a fresh set of red and white pyjamas. She was holding her phone in her hand.

'Oh!', Molly said. 'I was just about to call you. Our, er, secondary allocated phone call time. Thing.'

Mycroft put down a gift bag, and pulled a small bouquet of pink tulips out of it and handed them to her.

'I am sorry', Mycroft said. 'I was inadvertently callous yesterday. Please accept my apologies.'

Molly stared at him, and took the flowers, her eyes watering.

'I-It's okay', Molly said. 'I'm fine. I just get a bit….you know. When I'm….you know.'

'On your period', Mycroft supplied. Molly smiled at him.

'Yes', Molly agreed, laughing a little, wiping tears in her eyes. 'I'm being silly.'

Mycroft looked at her, and then slowly took hold of her hand, looking down at it.

'That is nonsense', Mycroft said. 'I do not enter into relationships with silly people. You are far from silly, Molly Hooper.'

Mycroft rubbed her ring finger.

'You have nice hands', Mycroft said suddenly. 'And the hue of your skin against the red of your shirt is rather pleasing.'

Molly blushed. Mycroft felt electric.

'You are very physically attractive', Mycroft said. 'Anthea made me aware to the fact that you seem to not know this.'

'Mycroft', Molly said, softly.

'You know me well enough by now to know I do not lie unless i have motive to,' Mycroft continued. 'And while I am told that most men choose to lie and flatter when feeling particularly amorous and wishing to acquire sex, I would rather do so honestly. Also, I know you are in no position to have sex right now.'

'Mycroft', Molly repeated.

'I know it is expected for a relationship to be built on flattery, hidden truths and lies', Mycroft said, conversationally, still fiddling with Molly's fingers. 'Mummy, for instance, dyed her hair quarterly to prevent my father from finding out she was not a natural blonde. To this day, he is unaware of the fact.'

'Mycroft', Molly said again.

'However I wish for us to have an honest relationship', Mycroft said. 'I no longer wish for you to hide yourself from me a week every month because you believe yourself hideous. You are not. I also don't want you to hide it when you are in pain. Let me help.'

'You can't always help, Mycroft', Molly said, her eyes swimming but her mouth turned upwards. 'But okay, we-we can be honest.'

They sat in silence for a while.

'I recently had a bout of food poisoning that cumulated in diarrhoea for 24 hours', Mycroft admitted, feeling oddly warm. 'I shall never eat oysters again. I told you I had a late night meeting with the Japanese ambassador.'

Rather than being disgusted, Mycroft was surprised to hear Molly giggling.

'Actually', Molly said. 'Anthea told me about that. Sorry.'

Note to self: Fire Anthea.

'My hair is naturally mousy', Molly said. 'You don't have to worry that I'm dying it. If I did, it would be blonde, I guess. Or maybe darker.'

'I think your hair is beautiful', Mycroft said, honestly. 'It frames your face and sets apart your eyes, which I find myself looking at entirely too often.'

Molly blushed.

'Periods are horrible', Molly started, looking miserable again, her eyes watering. 'I-I know they're normal and everyone has them, but I always feel really crap.'

'Hm', Mycroft said, now rubbing both of her hands.

'I didn't have my mum growing up, and my dad was really bad at dealing with stuff like this', Molly carried on. 'I always had to pretend that I didn't mind working in his chippy in the evenings, when all I wanted was to lie down with a water bottle. He didn't have anyone else to help him.'

'Of course', Mycroft said.

'Sometimes', Molly carried on. 'I just feel like crying the entire week. Other times I just feel angry for no reason, and everything sets me off. And every single time, I eat a ton of chocolate and peanut butter and put on about 8 pounds.'

'You are not fat', Mycroft said. 'Believe me, I know.'

'You always look so put together, and then there's-there's me', Molly said, tears falling down her face. 'My hair all greasy because I'm in too much pain to get into the shower, in my pyjamas because I'm too bloated to wear a dress.'

Mycroft stared at her, unsure what to do. Slowly, he pulled her towards him, gathering her in his arms. Then he remembered Anthea's words.

'That sucks', Mycroft said, dutifully. Molly looked up at him from her place on his chest, surprised. Then she sobbed loudly.

'Yes!', Molly said. 'It sucks. A lot.'

She cuddled up to him more closely, and Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief as carefully as he could.

'My uterus is killing me', Molly mumbled into his chest.

'Your uterus sucks', Mycroft supplied.

'It r-really does', Molly said. 'Are you going to stay?'

Mycroft thought about the pile of paperwork on his desk, his frantic assistant and the angry MP in Cambridge.

'Of course', Mycroft said, absently kissing the top of her head. They leaned back into Molly's sofa, Molly practically on top of him.

'Mycroft', Molly said, suddenly.

'Hm?', Mycroft said, rubbing the ring finger on Molly's left hand. Perhaps he should get her a ring. Cartier had a good selection.

'I can't have sex right now', Molly said. 'But I can think of a few things we could do instead.'

The End.

That's all folks! Please let me know what you thought with a comment! If you liked this story or any of my other stories, please follow (stalk) me on Tumblr (link on profile).