Chapter Text
It had been such a long week -- and it was only Wednesday. Today had been especially tiresome. As soon as it was feasible Mycroft Holmes excused himself from the whirlwind of Whitehall to seek the tranquility of his beloved Diogenes Club.
Moments after settling into his favourite leather chair by the fire with a well-worn book of poetry in one hand, a stiff drink in the other, a member of staff appeared with a large silver tray containing a note. Reading it with a frown Mycroft responded curtly, "Show her in."
Moments later an extremely nervous Dr Molly Hooper was sitting in the chair opposite Mycroft causing him to become equally as unsettled. Thoughts of what Sherlock could have done to upset his friend like this flashed through Mycroft’s mind, tying his stomach in a large knot.
"Dr Hooper," Mycroft nodded as he forced on his most pleasant face. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
Eyes darting around the room, hands unconsciously moving, Molly uttered the two words Mycroft had dreaded, "It's Sherlock."
"Is he in some sort of trouble?" His heart racing Mycroft could feel his throat going dry. Never before had one of Sherlock's friends sought him out. It must be bad.
"Ummm— not really—" Molly stammered obviously not quite sure how to begin. "It's more like he is the trouble.” Taking a shuddering breath to calm herself Molly’s eyes finally met Mycroft’s. “I- I- need your help."
"I'm sorry. I don't follow you." Mycroft answered quietly as a perplexed look settled on his face.
"Well," after a deep breath Molly began to explain "I have a paper that has been provisionally accepted by the BMJ. I have six weeks to make the revisions and resubmit."
"Congratulations" remarked Mycroft as pleasantly as possible while trying not to sound too bored. "But how does this concern Sherlock?"
"Thank you.” A small smile crossed Molly’s face for a moment before it clouded again with concern. “My problem is- Sherlock insists on using my lab nearly every day at the moment. I can't run the experiments I need when his projects are taking over a third of my space. Not to mention all of the tedious tasks he coerces me to do for him. I just can’t seem to say no to him." With a sad sigh Molly fell silent.
"My sincerest apologies Dr Hooper my dear brother is an arrogant horse’s ass— always has been. I would have thought this obvious by now." Casually Mycroft looked at his watch wondering how much longer this was going to go on.
"Yes. I know,” replied Molly with a defeated tone. “I am trying everything to make him go away— wearing cheap perfume, lipstick that doesn't suit me. I even changed my shampoo to a brand I know he hates. Nothing seems to deter him. I just need him to stay away from me for a few weeks— that’s why I’m here-- to get your help.”
A snort escaped before Mycroft could stop it. "I appreciate your faith in me but I haven't been able to get Sherlock to do anything since he was seven."
“I’ve got a plan,“ Molly hesitated a moment before gaining the courage to continue.
Mycroft stared at Molly, telepathically urging to her to get on with it; this was now very tiresome.
“He hates you— so I’m here to ask you to sleep with me. Molly stared at her hands in her lap; not daring to look at Mycroft. "Hopefully Sherlock will find this so repulsive he will stay away from me— at least until I get my paper sorted." Finally verbalizing her request Molly looked up, significantly calmer; a weight had definitely been taken off her shoulders.
It was slightly difficult for Mycroft to keep the look of shock off his face but he managed. Certainly tiresome was no longer an appropriate adjective to describe this meeting. Instead he let his features soften as he contemplated the plan Molly had concocted.
"Well Dr Hooper I can see your point. It is an odd little plan but there is some method in your madness. It has a reasonable chance of working."
The look of relief on Molly’s face was quickly replaced by nervousness. She hadn’t actually believed Mycroft would agree to her plan.
Sensing her unease Mycroft added quickly, “I believe it will be easier on us both if we discuss this further over dinner.”
Greatly relieved Molly nodded in agreement.
"When was the last time you ate Dr Hooper?" asked Mycroft while intently scrutinizing the woman across from him.
"Oh. Um. I bought a sandwich from the canteen at 11:30am -- took it back to my office and ate at my desk."
"I suspected as much," tutted Mycroft as he pressed the staff call button next to his chair.
Moments later a steward appeared; instead of his usual steak and challenging bottle of St-Emilion Mycroft ordered the pair fish and a significantly more quaffable German wine. As a rule he steered clear of white fruity wines but given his dinner companion he figured this would be the best choice— especially considering what lay ahead of them.
Soon the wine arrived; Molly and Mycroft toasted to Sherlock. His choice of wine was confirmed as Molly took a second large sip commenting on how delightful his choice was.
Given his years in Whitehall Mycroft was a master of engaging small talk; the first course of dinner arrived before Molly noticed any time passing at all. She also didn’t notice her wine glass being regularly refilled throughout the evening.
Somewhere deep in the Diogenes a grandfather clock began to chime ten o’clock. Mycroft allowed a hint of a smile to settle on his face as he looked across to the very relaxed and happily intoxicated Dr Molly Hooper.
Pushing himself up from his chair he slowly walked towards her and extended his hand, “Shall we?”
Looking up at the outstretched hand Molly took a deep breath and slipped a slightly trembling hand into his, allowing herself to be helped up.
As he stood behind her and slipped her coat up her arms Mycroft inquired gently, “Are you still sure about this?” Closing her eyes for a moment Molly nodded. Mycroft allowed his hands to linger on Molly’s shoulders as he adjusted her coat; slowly he felt her relax under his touch. As they moved towards the door he put his hand on the small of her back leading her through the nearly empty Diogenes Club out to his waiting car.