Freudian Slip: an unintentional error regarded as revealing subconscious feelings.

As the autumn afternoon began to fade into evening, Mycroft Holmes diligently slogged his way through a truly tiresome batch of paperwork. Just as Sherlock was the last (and highest) court of appeal in the world of crime-solving, Mycroft was the last (and highest) court of appeal in the British government. And, like his brother, that often meant having to slog through requests and complaints that were so mundane to his brilliant mind but still necessary in his line of work.

Thankfully, on today of all days, it seemed that he was about to be granted a sweet reprieve. As he finished signing a document, a short and familiar knock came on his office door. "Come in, Anthea," he called, filing away the document.

His personal assistant opened the door and took a step into the room. "Dr. Hooper is here to see you, sir," she said, a small smile on her face and a knowing sparkle in her eyes.

Keeping his expression coldly neutral (with great effort), Mycroft nodded and said, "Send her in."

Only when Anthea had made her exit did he allow the smile he was hiding to come out. He had hoped that he would hear from her on his birthday. Not that he'd ever set much store by this, or any, holiday. But Molly had become a true friend over this past year – thanks to his darling brother's attempt to fly off the St. Bart's Hospital roof – and she was unlike anybody Mycroft had ever known. Her heart was so pure and good, yet her strength and integrity he had yet to find the match of in anybody. And after working behind the scenes of British politics for over twenty years, Molly was both refreshing and bright in the eyes of Mycroft Holmes.

When Molly walked into his office, holding a covered dish of what could only be one of her pastry creations (she had quite an exceptional talent for baking), his smile widened and his heart warmed. He had not told her that today was his birthday, and he decided he wouldn't scold Anthea for passing this information along to Molly.

"What a pleasant surprise," he said, standing up from his chair and walking around his desk towards her. She had a beaming, if slightly nervous, smile on her face as she held out the covered dish to him. He carefully lifted the covering to reveal a dozen rich chocolate biscuits. She knew that his greatest culinary weakness was chocolate.

"Oh, my dear, you shouldn't have," he said, his voice filled with warm gratitude. He kissed her cheek, a gesture he had been doing more often, and took the dish from her. "If you're finished with work for the day, then please stay and we'll have these with tea," he said as he walked back towards his desk.

When he turned back to face Molly after he'd set the dish down, the expression on her face made his smile falter a bit. She was still looking at him, but her smile had fallen away. The expression on her face seemed to be battling between fear and wonder.

"Molly?" he inquired carefully. "Whatever is the matter?"

"I love you."

Mycroft Holmes was stunned; he certainly hadn't expected that.

She continued speaking in a tone that perfectly matched her facial expression.

"Your care and friendship have been the best things that could have happened in my life after everything that happened with Ji- I mean, Moriarty, and Sherlock going away. You've been so good to me, and you're such a wonderful man with such a big heart, though you try so hard to hide it. I know you don't like fuss made over holidays, but birthdays are days when you acknowledge how much you love someone and how happy you are that they're in your life and in the world."

Molly's rambling came to an end and her eyes widened, seeming to realize exactly what she had said. And when Mycroft gave no response – just stood there as if frozen in shock – her face and eyes flooded with mortification.

"So, um…happy birthday, Mycroft," she managed to say before practically running out of the room.

An hour later found Molly huddled up on her sofa in her darkened flat. Having cried out all of her tears on the long walk home, she was still berating herself for letting her mouth and heart speak before her mind was able to kick in. What on earth had possessed her? Why had this happened to her? How was she ever supposed to look him in the eye again?

Well, she probably didn't need to ask herself that last question. Judging from the expression on his face when it had happened, Molly had probably scared the crap out of him. After what had just happened, Mycroft would probably never want to speak to her again. Had she just lost what had become the best part of her life?

But just before that terrible thought could reduce her to tears once more, there came a knock at her front door. Perhaps it was Mrs. Nichols, her neighbor, wanting to borrow some kitty litter (God, when did her life become so pathetic?) So, with a big sigh, Molly got up from her sofa and walked to the front door.

When she opened it, there stood the last person she expected to see.

"May I come in?" asked Mycroft Holmes, his tone, face and posture giving nothing away.

Molly gulped, her cheeks burning with the fresh memory of their most recent face-to-face encounter. Not finding any words to say (why couldn't this have happened an hour ago?!), Molly merely nodded and stepped aside. He walked into her flat, and she shut the front door.

No sooner had her hand dropped from the doorknob than Mycroft's hands came up, cupped her face, and his lips were pressed fervently to hers.

Molly Hooper was stunned; she certainly hadn't expected that.

Thankfully, her body had the good sense to instinctively respond. She returned the kiss after a moment, her hands rose to tentatively rest on his shoulders, and she raised herself on her tiptoes (he was so frickin' tall!).

When the kiss ended, Mycroft was smiling down at her, his eyes bright with adoring amusement.

"You silly wonder of a woman," he murmured, his fingers still caressing her face. "I won't deny that you quite took me by surprise, but you certainly didn't need to run away like that. Given another minute, I would have done this an hour sooner."

Molly released a breath that was nearly a laugh. "I'm sorry, I…I'd really only meant to say 'Happy Birthday' when I came by."

Mycroft laughed. "Well, I'm very glad you didn't." His voice lowered to a very tender tone. "Because I love you, too."

His words sank into Molly's mind and heart, and when they registered with her, a beatific smile lit up her entire countenance. "Oh, thank goodness!" she exclaimed, and then wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him down for another kiss.

Mycroft laughed against her lips before returning the kiss, his own arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her feet off the ground.

Hours later found the two new lovers entwined around each other in Mycroft's four-poster bed. After a very nice snogging session, Mycroft had taken Molly to dinner at his favorite French restaurant for a birthday dinner - high-end but intimate, complete with dancing that had given him the perfect excuse to hold her in his arms. Afterwards, they had gone to his home, eager to consummate their new love. It had exceeded every expectation and daydream.

"This is a first," Molly murmured lazily, sounding very satisfied indeed.

"What's that, my darling?" responded Mycroft, his large brain in a pleasant warm fog only the afterglow of passionate lovemaking with your match can bring.

Molly smiled as her fingers idly ran through his chest hair. "I make a Freudian slip, and something good happens!"

Mycroft laughed and kissed the crown of her head. "Yes, indeed: I received the best birthday present ever!"

Molly laughed as well. "How in the world am I going to top this next year?"

Mycroft lifted her chin so she met his eyes, which were gleaming with passionate mischief. "Oh, I'm sure I'll be able to think of something you could give me. In the meantime..." He rolled them over so her body was underneath his. "The night is still young."

Molly whimpered, her body instinctively rising up to press against his, and his mouth captured hers again.

And the next morning and in many years to come, Mycroft Holmes could safely say that he now had a much greater appreciation for birthdays.