#Multipart: Passion Over Propriety

[mousedetective]

I'll take one of the slots for your mind boggling 950 fic milestone, please! Mollcroft :)

And here it is, the 950th fic! It’s based on the headcanon list I did for @mollyhooperish about Molly working for Mycroft, so it will be multiple parts, and as I’m making an effort to work on my WIPs, hopefully it won’t take long to finish!

Passion Over Propriety (1/?) - Mycroft Holmes is loathe to admit he just might fancy Molly Hooper, one of his subordinate hand-picked to keep watch over his brother. And, due to propriety, Molly Hooper may be loathe to admit she has a crush on her boss (more or less), Mycroft Holmes. But Anthea can see what's between them, and she hatches a plan.

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Dr. Molly Hooper was his favourite agent.

Not that he would ever admit this to her, or anyone else, but she was. Ever since Anthea had suggested they find someone to install in his service who was into the forensic sciences since Sherlock had it in his head that he should be a consulting detective. He already had Lestrade involved in all this, because Gregory had been an old school chum, one of the few Mycroft had made, and would be a good influence on Sherlock whether Sherlock liked it or not. But his brother was a scientist at heart, and having someone at Barts as well would be preferred.

He had been drawn to her as a potential agent because her marks were extremely high and there were already universities and police organizations clamoring to get her in their employ, willing to offer just about anything to her to get her to work for them. Barts was among them, so he decided to use a little leverage to get her to consider Barts.

Or, rather, to make sure Barts was where she decided to reside.

He admitted, his dramatics had rather backfired at their first meeting. She’d been spitting mad to be kidnapped off the street on the way to her appointment to take a position at Barts, and even telling her she had it already and there was no need to go to the interview had barely mollified her. She said she felt violated and harassed and had been close to hitting him, he was sure. Beneath her mild-mannered outward appearance was a passionate woman who let her words be known. Mycroft admired the passion but needed the meek.

He kept getting the passionate woman.

Three times she refused his offer. Oh, not the offer from Barts; he made sure she got the job with a second interview which he did not interfere with. That job was rightfully hers, as it should have been, whether he got her to work with him or not. But it wasn’t until he saw the dingy flat where she was living the second time and saw the contrast of good cookware to shoddy kitchen conditions that he knew what his lure would be.

It had almost pained him to give up possession of the flat and the bright kitchen, but it had gotten Molly to sign on to work with him. And just in time, too; she’d recently had her first encounter with his brother and she could see why Mycroft needed her help. He was a genius, but he was brittle and edged with swords and would get into far more trouble if there weren’t people he trusted around him. She agreed, but only if Sherlock never knew.

That was an agreement he could make.

Still, there had been something since their very first interaction that drew him towards her. Her passionate side, he supposed. He was so used to people being cool and composed, having a facade up when they dealt with him. While Molly generally was on the timid side, push just the right buttons and the passion would pour out. It didn’t even have to be in anger; she was passionate about cooking and her pet cat Toby and science, and he took advantage of their meetings on a weekly basis, with tea late at night, to find out more about that passionate nature. And he, sometimes, would reciprocate, about art or music or theatre, the few pursuits he found interest in that weren’t the government or his brother.

It was alarming, then, the day he realized he liked Molly’s company more than he should. More than was proper. Something would need to be done, but what? That was the question.

And it was one he sorely did not want to answer.