This was written for the Ao3 Auction, and I was written to ask Mycroft/Molly by Unicorn_Lady on Ao3

I surprisingly had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this.

Beta-ed by the ever-so-wonderful ChalcedonyRivers

There were many things to be said about Molly Hooper.

One of which was the fact that despite what people might think, she was not infatuated with Sherlock Holmes. She used to be, but that was until she had to live with him for a week.

John Watson had to have been blessed by the gods.

One would think that once she stopped pining after Sherlock, she would be done with the Holmes brothers. But that's not true at all. While Sherlock was staying at her flat after his supposed suicide, his brother would occasionally drop by to keep him updated. Up until the first visit, Molly wasn't even aware that he had a brother. But he did. A very attractive, older brother.

Needless to say, as her love for Sherlock diminished, her love for Mycroft grew.

Mycroft, what a lovely name. It fit him. Molly and Mycroft. She liked the sound of it. It was cute.

Molly Holmes. She liked the sound of that too.

A bit more than she was willing to admit.

The first day that Mycroft dropped by was a bit of a surprise. She was exhausted, both mentally and physically, from having to deal with Sherlock and the repercussions of his 'suicide'. Frankly, she looked like utter shite. Her hair was in a disarray, her makeup smeared, and her pyjamas wrinkled. She was just settling into bed when she heard a knock at the door. She wasn't supposed to have any visitors that night, so she was a bit nervous.

There were many things that passed through her mind as she stood in front of the door. Many of which revolved around Sherlock, after all, what reason would there be for a late night visit besides him. That's right, none. So, she bravely opened the door, surprised to find a very tall man dressed in an obviously bespoke suit. His face was turned to the side and he was leaning on his umbrella, but it was apparent that he was playing very close attention to everything around him.

They stared at each other for a moment, something almost tangible passing between the two, and then it was gone. His gaze was soon focused on something, or rather someone, behind her. Unsurprisingly, it was Sherlock.

Though, really, who else could it be.

Their moment was ruined, not that she really expected anything less. It's not like she deserved to have a moment anyways, those things were reserved for the filthy novels she kept hidden under her bed and for the cheesy rom-coms that she and her room-mates in Uni spent their nights crying over.

Little did she know how wrong she was.

She had lots of little moments with the man she came to know as Mycroft. He was Sherlock's older brother. She didn't actually know that Sherlock had an older brother until his third visit when they were properly introduced.

Thankfully, she was properly dressed that time around.

It still didn't stop her from blushing. She left the room shortly after she managed to stammer out a hello.

Mycroft would drop in and out of her flat, until Sherlock left to places unknown - then the visits stopped, expected but still a bit disappointing.

She refused to acknowledge why that was disappointing.

Until one day, Mycroft Holmes appeared at her doorstep.

After she had reigned in her surprise, she started to say that Sherlock wasn't there - though stopped herself mid-sentence, because he obviously knew that.

That lead to the question of why he was even there in the first place.

She invited him in, and he hung his umbrella on the coat rack, and there were soon seated at the table in her kitchen sipping tea.

He took his milky with two sugars.

It was an awkward silence for quite a while, Molly being unsure as to what to say. She might have said the same of Mycroft, but she had the feeling that that wasn't quite true.

Soon, they relaxed in each other's quite company. Or it was quiet, until Molly started giggling. She didn't even know why, but they just started spilling out. She's pretty sure it's due to the whole humor of the situation.

The brother of the man she used to be horribly infatuated with (but was no longer) was sitting in her tiny, cozy kitchen sipping tea from a chipped mug, wearing a suit that probably cost more than her entire flat.

He apparently found the humor in it as well, because while he didn't quite laugh - his mouth did quirk into a semblance of a smile.

His eyes crinkled a little bit too.

It was in that moment that she saw the family resemblance. Physically, Sherlock and Mycroft have startlingly little in common. But when you watch them, you see it in their behavior and actions. But now, now she could see it in his eyes. She may not have ever been one to make Sherlock laugh or smile, but she has seen John put him in such a state.

Their eyes crinkle the same way.

It's cute.

No. Stop. She did not just think of Mycroft Holmes as cute.

She didn't know much about the man, but from what she could tell - he held a position of power.

Who was she, a shy little pathologist, to even think about being with him. It wouldn't work. She would bore him with her plainness and her stupidity.

Not that she was stupid, it took a fair amount of intelligence to get through med-school.

It's just that he's a Holmes. They take it to a whole new level.

So, there they sat, sipping their tea, with a giggle slipping from her lips every minute or so.

They made it through an entire pot of tea, just sitting there. She brought out her large on too, in hopes that he would linger. However, the atmosphere was ruined by a quiet beep.

She watched as he reached into his pocket, frowning as he looked at the screen. Wrinkles marring his forehead. He slid the mobile back into his pocket, looked up at her setting his tea cup down. He opened his mouth, then closed it once more. He sat back in his chair, and continued to stare at her.

Not being sure as to what to do, she set her mug down and stared back.

He softly cleared his throat.

Standing from his seat, he mentioned that an unexpected error has popped up, and it needed fixing. He thanked her for her time, saying that it was quite lovely and there is no way he would have rather spent it. He proceeded to grab his umbrella off the coat rack and head out the door. However, before the door properly shut behind him, he quickly backtracked and kissed her on the cheek.

And then he was back out on his way.

She'd be lying if she didn't say that she sat there in shock with her hand on her cheek for the next fifteen or so minutes.

And Molly was never one to lie.

Denial is different.

Not that she was actually denying anything, surely he was just being a gentlemen. After all, he did show up with no previous warning. She might have been doing something, she could have been in the shower!

He didn't speak word to her until the very last minute either, surely it was a simple apology of sorts.

It must have been.

It couldn't have been anything more than that.

She was simply little Molly Hooper, the girl that worked in the basement of St. Bart's, and heeded Sherlock's every word. It really was pathetic, honestly.

But he was so perfect.

She didn't want to, not really. But she couldn't stop herself from imagining what it'd be like if her and Mycroft were to ever become romantically involved. It sounds so cold to say it like that, but she can't really use the word 'dating' in association with him.

It just seemed so juvenile.

Little did she know how wrong she was.

A week or two had passed since the tea incident, as she had started referring to it in her mind.

She was sitting on her sofa, watching old re-runs of Doctor Who, waiting for her cookies to cook. It was a favourite treat of hers, vanilla ice-cream on top of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Add some hot fudge? Delicious.

So, you could say she was a little surprised when she heard a knock at her door.

She was even more surprised when she opened the door to find Mycroft Holmes standing there.

Before she could even start to greet him, a finger was held to her mouth, silently telling her not to talk. Soon, he was telling her that he may have developed a slight attraction to her. Next, he was telling her of how he had tried his best to ignore it - after all, he was a grown man, and thus shouldn't be bothered by so simple a thing. But he was, and he had to see her. However, rather than appear a bumbling idiot (not that she'd ever think him an idiot) he had chosen to remain silent until their parting.

He apologized for not contacting her since.

And then he did something that surprised them both.

He invited her to dinner.

You see, he originally planned on apologizing to her, and then asking to have coffee in the future. Scheduled. Safe.

Weird things happen when he improvised.

Though, sometimes weird was good.

Because he was not sitting on Molly's sofa, Doctor Who still running, cookies now burnt, waiting for her to step out of her room.

He didn't expect her to dine in her dressing gown, after all. Especially not where he planned to take her. He had Anthea book the reservations just now.

It was a later dinner, but he wasn't going to complain as they now had more time to converse.

To see if that little spark could actually ignite.

Spoiler alert: it did.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening, attempting to quickly mask his surprise.

She looked beautiful.

It didn't work, as evidenced by her flush and her quickly looking towards the ground, shuffling her feet.

Together they walked to the car he had waiting, and drove through London until it was time for dinner.

It was a wonderful dinner, and the conversation even more so.

He was pleasantly surprised.

So was she.

…

And it was at that same table that they sat, exactly three years later.

Except this time, their hands were linked on top of the table, and a rather large diamond graced her left hand.

She had her moment.

So did he.