Title: Paperclip
By: Xmarksthespot
Disclaimer: Oh, definitely don't own anything but the plot of this fic.
Notes: This is cross-posted over on AO3; it's been a while since I've posted anything on this site, but I figured I might as well cause I know some of you don't go on over there, so I really hope you enjoy!

2011

When Sherlock and Mycroft of Holmes & Holmes Inc. met Molly Hooper, she was a mouse in a crowd of lions; she was a disaster. She donned a striped, poorly knitted jumper (clearly sentimental, perhaps a good luck charm of sorts) over a polka dotted collared shirt and an unfitting pencil skirt. No doubt it was an attempt to appear professional.

She stuttered through her interview, mixing up lines that she obviously prepared and memorized for the past week.

Now that Mycroft thought about it, it was probably his obvious utter distaste for the timid girl that led to Sherlock hiring her in the first place.

She was the typical, straight out of the textbook definition of a secretary, if that. She had carried a notepad with her despite the electronics the company provided, and she had with her a horrible crouch whenever she decided to forego said devices to scribble messily into her papers.

Not that it mattered so much to Sherlock, but the first week and a half, he had missed three board meetings and lost two clients. He was lucky that John Watson of Watson's Practice was already good friends with the brothers, or he would have been the third client lost – he was used to Sherlock arriving at irregular times anyway, the doctor claimed. The only difference since Molly's arrival was that Sherlock managed to eat on time; Mummy Holmes was delighted.

Mycroft had been very close to doing anything by means possible to fire Ms. Hooper regardless of Sherlock's insistence that she was far more helpful than anyone Mycroft had sent his way.

It wasn't until rival company, Moriarty & Co. threatened to buy out Holmes & Holmes Inc. on the accounts that the latter had been "improperly" and "illegally" providing sales transactions under the table and as a result, had been stealing from the Monarchy. Mycroft claimed he would never do so much as hurt Her Majesty, but even he and his team were left defeated without proof of their innocence.

Midway through the court session in what was originally deemed Doomsday, in true fashion of a distinctive Holmes secretary, Molly Hooper all but glided into the courtroom, face determined and heels clicking behind her. Files in hand, she looked to have come fresh out of a modelling commercial when to the Holmes brothers, it was clear she had been up for nights. She had provided the validation that Holmes & Holmes Inc. needed to dissolve Moriarty's false claims.

If Mycroft had to be honest, he would say that even Jim Moriarty was terrified of the devilish smirk gracing Ms. Hooper's lips.

July 2015

"Come in," Sherlock said, barely looking up at the glass doors.

"I am in, Sherlock," the assistant replied immediately.

Sherlock looked upwards, brows furrowing at the sight of the young woman in front of his desk. It was only noon, but he was (slightly) exhausted from that day's amount of work. "Don't people normally knock before they come into my office?"

"Sorry, Sherlock, but the first day of my job, you told me not to bother with knocking, even when, quote, unquote, you have a meeting because me disrupting anything that involves you speaking to the people from the outside world is the reason why you hired me in the first place." She tried not to smile. "And I'm not people."

She knew Sherlock never tucked that memory anywhere in his cranium, but accepted his nod anyway. With that, she said, "You are scheduled to meet with Mr. Magnussen—"

Her boss groaned.

"—in an hour and forty-five minutes; your car is waiting for you as of this moment and if you leave now, you will have time to eat lunch."

Sherlock raised a brow at her.

"I've already ordered in advance at your favourite bistro. The chips are waiting for you, Sherlock."

It was enough to convince the grown man to stretch his limbs from behind his desk and pull off his Belstaff from the coat rack in the corner of the room.

"What am I meeting Magnussen for?" he asked, heading straight for the elevators; Molly followed him with equally long strides and the click of her heels was something of a calming metronome inside his head.

"To decline his apparently beneficial offer to become partners. You appreciate his fondness of our company, but you are already loyal to the Watsons, and although I suggest you not mention this at the safety of our dear friends, it's also because Magnussen is a no-good, rat bastard who will do nothing but run our company do—"

"Molly."

"O-Oh. Right," she paused to clear her throat. "You decided to remain loyal to the Watsons who refuse to have any affiliations with Magnussen, but you will want to keep amicable terms with him on company relations, regardless."

Once they reached the main floors, Molly stood by the car where the driver had Sherlock's door already opened for him.

"Mr. Holmes," she began, "do refrain from telling yet another person to sod off—"

"I never say that!"

Molly kept herself from rolling her eyes; she could see the limo driver trying not to seem amused. "No, but if I quote you directly, I will have to put a quid in the Swear Jar, don't I?"

Sherlock tried not to pout and decided to enter the car before doing a double take. "What are you doing? You're just standing there…Why aren't you making a move to get into the car?"

"I have today off, Mr. Holmes," Molly reminded. "In fact, I shouldn't even be here right now."

"Why?"

"I told you."

"You did?"

"I always tell you my schedule alongside yours."

"Oh…I must—"

"Mustn't have heard, I know," Molly finished, trying not to sound upset. "Lucky for you, I decided to ignore my own request for a holiday, so while I will not be attending your meeting, I will be here when you get back." She handed him his briefcase. "Cheers."

He nodded, taking the briefcase from her grasp. "Oh, Ms. Hooper, before I leave, schedule a dinner with whoever planned the company fundraiser last month. Mycroft wants…well, no matter—and company relations needs…positivity or whatever you find fitting," he said with a wave of his hand.

"I planned that fundraiser, Mr. Holmes."

"Even better. I don't have to go to another boring dinner. I will see you in two—"

"Three, ."

"—hours, Ms. Hooper." And with that, the driver shut the door and proceeded to drive the younger CEO off, leaving Molly behind.

She let out a loud exhale. Molly may be the best goddamn secretary Holmes & Holmes Inc. will ever have seen next to Mr. Holmes's Anthea, but Sherlock Holmes was, and remains to be, the one person who could not see her.

April 2011

Molly Hooper was the only secretary whose name Sherlock learned, according to office rumours. His previous secretaries, however long they lasted (which really wasn't long at all), had been referred to as "Secretary" or "You—what's your name again?" or the ever infamous: "Why are you here…"

It was an achievement, of course, the fact that Sherlock even called her "Ms. Hooper" her first day of working, as she stumbled around and getting lost on just the main floor of the building.

For all intents and purposes, Holmes & Holmes Inc. was a massive office supplies company, catered to the wealthy and business corporations. In truth, it was what was really funding all of Great Britain, but the brothers behind such a purportedly paramount company preferred to downplay their significance.

From what Molly could tell, less than five percent of the company employees had actually met either of the Holmes siblings. After asking around, she believed even fewer knew what the company actually did.

During the first week of the job, after she had finished memorizing the company policies, they had overwhelmed her to the point where she accidentally stumbled upon Mr. Holmes in a room she had not been made aware of. It was his private loo.

Calm and collected, her boss had instructed her to forget everything she was trained to do and just do what he told her to do. It helped and Molly tried not to be amazed (and slightly traumatized) when he went ahead and analyzed her physical and mental state all the while zipping his fly up. Of course, she wasn't able to face him properly for the next week without blushing, but wasn't that a tale to tell your future children and grandchildren?

One week later, he had told her she was allowed to bring Toby to work because not only was it just her and Sherlock working on that entire floor, but also because she would be working long hours there and he wouldn't want to waste time on a lawsuit if her cat died due to negligence. Molly had a feeling he's been deemed responsible for a death in one his previous secretaries' lives before.

She asked how he knew she had a cat (how he knew anything about her, really).

He smirked.

She swooned (on the inside) and had reminded herself of the company policies Sherlock had previously told her to forget.

July 2015

"Mr. Holmes?"

Formalities were Sherlock's and Molly's way of telling the other of the presence of a stranger. More frequently, it was when they were in public rather than his office. And while Sherlock was considered her superior and therefore, Mr. Holmes was a must, he insisted on returning the gesture and called her Ms. Hooper. She rather liked the fact that Molly was reserved for when they were alone, he could tell.

"Yes, Ms. Hooper?"

"Mr. Holmes is here to see you."

He blanched before deciding to ruffle his hair, letting go of its neat gelled look and allowing the curls to bounce freely. Leaning back on his chair and tugging off his tie, he welcomed his older brother with the most disheveled appearance he could muster.

The older man waltzed in, lips tight in a disapproving line.

"Ah, Mycroft! What an unpleasant surprise," said Sherlock. "Don't sit, please. I would hate for you to be comfortable."

"She— Mr. Holmes!" Molly yelped. It was drilled early on for her to remain perfectly presentable in front of the other founder of the company. Despite her confidence levels skyrocketing over the years, it remained innate that she used titles with Mycroft just as she did with any other client, because he was technically also her employer and could potentially fire her. Now, according to Sherlock, it would be too much of a risk if they let her go, meaning she knew too much and could get away with anything she wanted. It must have been a compliment of her skill level, because Molly knew quite well that they could make her disappear if they wanted to.

"It's quite alright, Ms. Hooper," said Mycroft. He remained standing, grasping tightly on the black umbrella handle. "I'm far too used to my brother's tough love, as you say."

Sherlock grunted.

Molly nodded, turning around to close the glass doors behind her.

"Ms. Hooper," Mycroft called. "Please stay. I think you would like to be well informed of the matters in this meeting."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his older brother, slightly curious yet also provoked that Mycroft dared to tell his secretary what to do. It had been an unspoken agreement that Anthea was solely Mycroft's as much as Molly was Sherlock's.

"What is it?" he asked, straight to the point.

Glum, Mycroft sighed. "Anthea seems to be sick."

"What?"

"I don't want to repeat myself, little brother."

Sherlock shook his head and placed an elbow on his desk; his fingers rubbed his temple tentatively. "But that's impossible." He ignored Molly grimace in the back of the room, clearly disappointed in his use of words.

"I thought so too. Apparently, even she is susceptible to the flu."

"Pity. That doesn't explain why you're here. You do realize my division does not handle exterminating airborne viruses."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Of course, Sherlock. That's one of the many duties that my side of the company and I assure you, my team is hard at work to ensure Anthea's quick recovery."

"Then why are you here? Unless Mummy is threatening you, we don't need to converse so idly in person. It's not Christmas yet—" he paused, shifting his eyes to look directly at Molly; she shook her head to confirm that no, it wasn't Christmas yet, "—so there's absolutely no reason why my security guards are subjected to seeing your face in their cameras. You do realize how hefty the hiring process is, don't you?"

"And you, dear brother, do realize that I do all the hiring around here. The only person in this company who was not sought out by me was Ms. Hooper."

Sherlock grinned. "Only because I have an eye for talent." He could see Molly's faint blush.

"Regardless, I have come to an unfortunate circumstance. You see, I am to meet the Duke of Somerset at the end of the week. You remember how he is, Sherlock."

Sherlock made a somewhat vague nod. He did not want to remember that incident.

"And I am in need of assistance now that my own associate is out of work for the time being…" Mycroft's voice trailed off, deciding that Sherlock, slow as he was, would need time to process the infor—

"No!" It was the most offended the man had ever sounded.

In the back, Molly was more astonished than scandalized like her boss was, that Mycroft Holmes had requested her. While she was completely loyal to Sherlock, she couldn't help but feel gleeful that she was superior enough to handle operations in more than one Holmes's mind.

(Sherlock scowled when he saw her face; she knew he could tell what she was thinking. She refrained from smiling even wider at his expense).

"I've taken the liberty of checking your schedule for the upcoming week, brother mine. Nothing important outside of your daily board meetings, all of which you can accomplish on your own," said Mycroft.

Sherlock, however, continued to be visibly upset. "She's mine. Go to a local college and pluck a student wallowing in her debts to fetch your socks for you."

"Mr. Holmes, if I may—" Molly was, of course, cut off.

"Sherlock…"

"No."

"Mummy said so," retorted Mycroft.

If possible, Sherlock looked even more vicious.

"We're not children, Mycroft."

Both Holmes men ignored the snort that escaped Molly.

"I'm aware," Mycroft said with a long sigh. "But this is of grave importance and I do need someone whose caliber matches that of Anthea's. I'm afraid only your Ms. Hooper qualifies that particular skill set."

"No."

"Mummy—"

"Mummy also told you to use your mouth when you eat, not inhale everything on sight. Stop using our mother against me; it won't work." He paused. "This time."

"Sherlock…"

His glare directing towards his older brother shifted and softened slightly at Molly whose attention was focused on him as well. He set his eyes on her until he was sure of her slight nod, to which he pressed his lips together in dissatisfaction, but accepted it nonetheless. Invisible flames spiraling out of his nostrils, Sherlock growled a "When?"

"Two days."

"Two days?! You can't expect me to prepare on such short notice," Sherlock exclaimed. "Even the Queen needs more notice of your impending visit to build a room big enough to sustain you!"

The umbrella pinned to the floor barely budged at Sherlock's loud outburst. "As unexpected as Anthea's illness, mind you. I am quite sure you can handle things on your own. After all, if I recall correctly, before Ms. Hooper you seemed fine on your own. You never did want a secretary of your own."

Sherlock opened his mouth, but held his tongue when he glanced down at the glass jar sitting on the corner of his desk. It contained several coins. Molly's Swear Jar; a fund, really, for her end of the year spa trip, which she always paid for herself, either way, but it still helped remind him not to tell a client, or even his brother, to stick inanimate objects – such as that umbrella of his – in certain crevices.

"Not to worry, Sherlock," Mycroft said over the pause. "I'll try my best not to lure her over to my part of the company, though why she remains to be on your side is still highly questionable." With that, the elder Holmes brother turned around.

"No need to direct me, Ms. Hooper. I can see myself out. I will email you the details later tonight and see you in two days."

"Of course, Mr. Holmes," replied Molly. She closed the glass doors upon his departure and turned to face the fuming man.

"Sherlock."

He didn't respond, merely staring at the blank spot on his desk in a fixed stance.

"Sherlock," she said again, softer this time. "I will prepare everything in advance and have a temp—"

"Don't need a temp," he quickly said.

"Oh. Alright." She nodded. "I will plan everything ahead of time and make sure you will be at ease during my absence. I'll go over it with you tomorrow to make sure everything is to your satisfaction." She then smiled and walked closer to the man she had come to call a friend, or something of the sort, over the past few years. She stopped in front of his desk. "I'm sure it will only be for a week or two, Sherlock, no more."

With a low, sincere voice, Sherlock told her: "Thank you, Molly."