Let me start by saying thank you all for indulging me in this story. I know it was hard at times to see Mycroft as the baddy, it was just as hard to write...sometimes. (Since I adore him.) Your support really means the world to me. I have met the most amazing people in the Fandom, you are absolutely lovely. I'm sad to see it end but excited to get to work on other things. I have three chapters finished on Science of Evolution (for those of you still following.) I'm also working on another very angsty story (eight chapter in on that one, not finished yet.) I have one shots galore... fun ones! Thanks again... Hugs, Lil

Thank you so much MizJoely, I've learned more from you in the last few weeks than from all my ELA teachers combined (again I hate to blame them... I sort saw class as open mic night at the stand-up club, most of the time.) MrsMCrieff, you are my favorite Brit... sorry Ben... (I think I might have just broken his heart.) You answer all of my questions and make me laugh until I cry.

One last time, I own nothing. Please enjoy.

"Afternoon Mycroft. Let's get this over with. All these fine people have places to be," Sherlock said, not making eye contact. His body was angled toward Molly's. He had an arm draped around her shoulder, his free hand held tightly to one of hers. He looked relaxed, however Mycroft Holmes knew better. He could see the minor indicators of tension showing in his brother's shoulders and the clench of his jaw.

He walked into the room and stepped in front of the television, clearly the spot that was designated for his trial by fire. As he scanned the room, taking in its occupants, his gaze stopped on his parents. "Mummy, Papa? What on earth are you doing here?" he asked.

His father spoke up. "Just showing our support son."

"Your support of whom?" he asked, still trying to gather himself. He wasn't at all prepared to see his parents present for this inquisition.

"Well, Molly of course," his mother said, looking indignant.

He huffed, pulling at his suit jacket, then shot Sherlock a look of utter contempt. "I see, well Miss Hooper, I..."

"Doctor," Sherlock interrupted. "I did warn you about that brother."

Mycroft studied his younger sibling. Well played, he thought. Surrounding her with people who care about her and in a familiar setting, of course. Making sure I have no where sit, no tea, not even a single scone. Fine, I am a diplomat for God's sake, this is what I do for a living. He cleared his throat. "Certainly. Dr. Hooper, I believe I owe you an apology. It seems that due to an error in judgment, you were caused undo pain, both physically and emotionally. And for that I am truly sorry." He finished with his most gracious, albeit disingenuous smile, and a head nod for good measure. Though he was barely looking at her.

The room's reaction was the following: John Watson chuckled derisively, his wife huffed and crossed her arms over her sizable belly. Mike Stamford planted his face in the palm of his hand. Greg said blimey, while staring in awe. Mrs. Hudson tsked and shook her head. His father took a deep, cleansing breath and his mother grumbled Dear Lord, with a signature Holmes eye roll.

Molly started to speak, however Sherlock squeezed her hand. "Umm no, I don't think so," he said, glaring at his brother.

"Excuse me?" Mycroft said to the younger man.

"This isn't a state dinner nor a contract negotiation. This is you, attempting to make amends for deliberately using an innocent woman, as a pawn in a poorly planned game." He paused. "Try again," Sherlock said smugly, then turned to Molly and kissed her temple.

Mycroft took a deep breath of his own, in an attempt to gain some kind of control over the situation. He was no fool. Sherlock's intention was to get him to make an ass of himself in front of all these people. Well, he was the one who taught his little brother that particular trick, and he wasn't about to fall prey to it.

"If you are questioning my sincerity Sherlock, believe me when I say it pains me to know that our actions that day led to Dr. Hooper's abduction..."

"Not our, Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted. "You made those decisions and those decisions didn't lead to Molly's abduction. Her abduction was the plan. Now, you either own up to what you did or leave. No one here has time for your half-truths or practiced diplomacy. Or did you not recognize that you are in a flat in Islington, rather than the palace? Molly has been good enough to give you the opportunity to present your case, so far you are doing a piss poor job of it." He looked as if he was starting to lose his cool. "Last chance."

"I don't know exactly what it is want to hear from me, Sherlock. I've tried to apologize to Dr. Hooper and each attempt is met with..."

"Mycroft," Molly said softly.

He sighed and looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since he had arrived. He had been so busy trying to keep himself at an advantage, he had neglected to give the woman an honest appraisal. She had lost at least nine pounds. Her injuries seemed to be healing, however, he could see that even sitting on her settee was causing her a significant amount of pain. She had slept for no more than four hours the night before, undoubtedly due to trauma induced nightmares. Oh, damn. Guilt. So this is what it feels like.

"I have a question to ask, if I may?" she asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

He swallowed hard. "Yes, of course."

"Why?"

He leaned forward just a bit. "I'm sorry?"

"Why did you think it was okay to risk my life, to put me in danger? I-I don't... understand."

"I- you don't see the... We thought..." he stammered. "It wasn't supposed to..."

"I do see that part actually. But why did you allow that man near me in the first place? You deliberately drew Sherlock away, and lied to him to keep him from knowing what was going on. You pulled my detail and watched as a known murder stuck a needle into my neck. We know each other Mycroft. You watched me cry at your brother's fake funeral. I've recently found out that you knew from the beginning that I was the one who helped Sherlock in that endeavor. I helped save your brother's life. Yet you allowed Sebastian Moran abduct me. Then he beat me over and over again. He ripped my clothes off and took photos of me, then sent them to the man I love in order to engage him in a twisted game. He humiliated and starved me Mycroft. You allowed that to happen. So, why?"

There wasn't a comfortable person in the room. Mycroft actually shifted on his feet. "There are aspects to this situation that would be better discussed in private, Dr. Hooper..."

Sherlock laughed at his brother's statement. "This is as private as it's going to get Mycroft. Tell her. Tell her about the broadcast."

Every eye turned to Sherlock and Mycroft's bulged. "W-what?" he stuttered in disbelief.

"Tell her about the mystery that I couldn't solve, or didn't care to, once I had something more important to focus on. And you seemed all too happy to let that aspect of the investigation drop, rather quickly I'd say, now that I think about it," Sherlock said with fake thoughtfulness. "So why don't you tell her why it took him six hours to come after her. Why he came after her at all, for that matter."

Molly was the only one in the room not looking horrified at what the detective was proposing. She was staring a hole into Mycroft Holmes so intense, he felt like he might burst into flames.

Everyone in the room was staring at him expectantly. He really had nowhere to run. If he divulged what he had done- sent out the broadcast himself to call Sherlock back and draw Moran out in the open- there would be no way to save face, especially in front of all these people. Mummy would be furious and Papa so disappointed. He had forged some kind of, if not friendship, then professional camaraderie with Greg Lestrade. That would be no more. He hoped that Mike Stamford at least respected him to some extent, after all the years of communicating with the man concerning Sherlock's access to Barts. He knew Mrs. Hudson loved Sherlock, but he secretly hoped she at least cared for him in some small way. And as for the Watsons, he had much more respect for them than he ever displayed outwardly, even with Mary's shady past. After today, that would never be returned.

On top of all that, these were state secrets Sherlock was asking him to divulge. Although, if he were honest, he frankly trusted everyone present and could easily have them sign the appropriate documentation necessary. Most of them had done it before. He sighed and inwardly admitted defeat.

He looked around the room one more time and wiped a bead sweat off of his forehead. Then just as he opened his mouth to speak, Molly stopped him.

"Mycroft," she said once again. She turned to Sherlock and asked for assistance in standing up. She seemed a little stiff after sitting for so long. She slowly crossed the room to stand in front of the older man. "I don't think you're a horrible person. I think you made a mistake, well several. I think you tried to save Sherlock's life. And in the process you hoped to bring down a very bad man, and earn your brother a pardon. I was just collateral damage."

He tried to speak, but Molly wouldn't allow it.

"Don't, I'm right and you know it. Sentiment," she said with a smile. "You love your little brother, and for that I simply can't blame you." She turned and looked adoringly at Sherlock, who had stood up to watch the exchange protectively. "I completely understand that feeling." She turned back to Mycroft. "Just say that you are sorry- and mean it, and all will be forgiven."

He was speechless. Completely and utterly speechless. This small, quiet, seemingly insignificant woman had rendered Mycroft Holmes mute. It dawned on him that she had basically put him out of his misery. She had saved him from from a humiliating and damaging explanation in front of all of these people. He did his best to pull himself together (a tumbler of scotch would have helped tremendously.) Finally after some throat clearing and eye blinking, he managed to find the appropriate words.

"Dr. Hooper, I am truly sorry for what I did. You are a remarkable woman and didn't deserve to be used as bait for a trained killer. It was my fault, and no one else shares the blame." He looked down at his feet. "I do hope that you can forgive me." He looked back up. "And believe me when I say that I am happy to see you by my brother's side. Though I dare say he may not deserve you." He looked at his little brother, who was staring back at him with burning anger in his eyes. "I'm not quite sure any of us do."

Molly smiled through her tears. "Mycroft Holmes, may I hug you?"

Oh damn, could this day get any worse, he thought. "Of course, my dear." He heard his mother sniffle and his father hide his tears in a cough, as he and Molly embraced. Mary Watson didn't even try to stifle her sob, but the woman was nearly nine months pregnant. John could have done a better job hiding his tears though, he was a former soldier for God's sake. Mrs. Hudson cried almost as hard as she had at Sherlock's funeral. Mike and Greg stood up and started rearranging chairs, for no apparent reason, sniffling and clearing their throats.

Sherlock made his way to his brother. "Please take your hands off my girl."

Molly stepped back and Sherlock wrapped an arm around her waist. "Sherlock I..." Mycroft started.

"If Molly's forgiven you, nothing more needs to be said," he said with no smile on his face.

Sherlock's words made Molly smile, but Mycroft heard the thinly veiled contempt.

Mary Watson waddled up. "Tea! We all need tea."

Mycroft still thought scotch would have been more appropriate, however he wasn't going to turn down the offer. Molly kissed Sherlock's cheek and followed Mary to the kitchen to lend a hand.

Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "A word in the hallway." He didn't wait for a response, simply walked to the door.

Mycroft followed, though he wasn't thrilled about having been issued an order. Once in the hallway, Sherlock squared on his sibling so quickly, Mycroft was certain he was going to get punched once again.

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?" Sherlock repeated the sentence, never taking his eyes off of his brother. "What letter was that brother mine?" he asked calmly, his hands clasp behind his back.

Mycroft knew there was no point in denying anything. It was the simplest of codes. Did you miss me, played 13 times then paused. Then 15, then 12 twice in a row, then 25 times. Basically it spelled MOLLY. It was how he had tipped off Moran to Molly's importance in Sherlock's life.

Even though he already knew that Sherlock must have figured it out, the elder Holmes was flooded with a new rush of guilt. "Does she know?"

"Of course. I felt she required all of the evidence in order to make an informed decision," Sherlock said, his shoulders rigid, not a hint of emotion on his face. "She knew everything before you arrived. She also knows that Sebastian Moran was supposed to have died in an explosion in Kiev two months after my return, but somehow came back to life with a new face just in time to keep me from being sent to my death. That's a big screw up Mycroft, but as it turns out a fortunate one. Fortunate for you, not so much for Molly."

Mycroft was gobsmacked. She knew everything, yet she still forgave him. It didn't make any sense, none of it... "How?" he asked, though he hadn't really meant to say it out loud.

"How, how what? What are you talking about?"

"How could she forgive me?" he asked.

"Oh, that. Yes, I can see how you'd have a problem understanding that part. Frankly it took me a while. She's not like us Mycroft. When we see people we read them like books, asses their importance, their usefulness to us. We are shrewd, calculating, problem solving machines. But at what cost? Molly on the other hand, she sees the good in people, even when there is very little to be seen. She is loveliness and light. She is kindness and faith. And she is quite honestly stronger than you could ever imagine. She the very definition of forgiveness, Mycroft. Molly Hooper is, in a word... divine. That is why she can forgive you." He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped closer to his brother. "It's also why she's asked me to forgive you." He shook his head. "I haven't yet." He paused. "But I'm willing to try, because you are family and more importantly, because she asked it. Just know this, she is my first priority from this moment forward. You'd do well to remember that. Besides, Mummy would never forgive you if something kept her from becoming a grandmother." Suddenly his face filled with rage. "She will never again be used against me. She will never again be put in harm's way. Do I make myself clear?"

Many time over the years Mycroft Holmes had wished his little brother to simply grow up and take responsibility for his actions. He wished for Sherlock to find something that would settle him down and stop his maddening ways. Never once had Mycroft considered that a woman could accomplish such a task. "Of course. She will be provided the best protection the Crown can offer," he said. "And you have my personal reassurance, as meaningless as that may be at this time, that I will never do anything to put her in danger, ever again. I swear it Sherlock."

Just then the door opened and Molly stepped out. "Really? This again... Stop being Holmes' and come inside before the tea gets cold." She gestured with her hand. Neither of them moved. "Do I need to go get Mummy?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine. We were done anyway." He turned to his brother. "Come on, that wasn't an idle threat. Since they've become friendly, I get away with nothing."

As Mycroft followed Molly and Sherlock back into the tiny flat, his first thought was that he hoped that they had rectified the seating situation. His second was that he was incredibly grateful that Molly Hooper had survived the ordeal to which he had subjected her. And lastly, he thought that he had never before been so wrong in assessing a person's importance. He had completely misjudged Dr. Hooper's role in his brother's life. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around that. Perhaps he needed to reevaluate some things.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Molly placed a warm cup of tea in his hands, then she actually smiled at him. He watched awe as she turned and walked toward his brother, who immediately scolded her about being on her feet too long, he decided, yes... he would indeed reevaluate the way he saw people. At least some people.

Okay give it to me. I know some of you didn't want her to forgive him, but it's Molly. She is so lovely. Sherlock on the other hand...

Tell me what you think.

Thanks for reading.

Lil