Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. This is part one of two.

~ RENDER UNTO CAESAR WHAT IS CAESAR'S ~

The first time Alexandra Holmes sees Molly Hooper, she's sitting off to the side of Baker Street's living room, on her own. She's wearing a gaudy, ugly cardigan, filthy trainers and the most love-struck facial expression Alexandra has ever seen.

She's also trying to pretend that she's not staring at Alexandra's bloodied, battered youngest son, who is not wearing a shirt at the moment.

She is not, Alexandra is sad to report, doing all that well in that endeavour.

But then, given the rough time Hooper obviously had tonight- not to mention the worry this "Fauxriarty," case has put her through- Alexandra is not terribly surprised by that.

She is also rather aware that women tend to stare at her youngest, when he hasn't a shirt on.

Said younger son- one William Scott Sherlock Holmes- doesn't seem to notice the young woman's adoration though. He is, well, the polite term would be "covering himself in glory," by tormenting his elder brother. (The impolite term would be, "acting like an utter git.") He and Mikey were both injured by that Moriarty oaf, you see, and they're trying to work out which one of them was foisted with the most stupid injury- Mycroft managed a concussion whilst Will got himself a nasty new set of lacerations across his torso, legs and shoulders, which his friend John Watson is currently treating-

Due to his having been knocked unconscious, Mycroft is currently in the lead, though the sheer length of time it took Sherlock to find Moriarty is being used by his brother as proof of ineptitude.

Sherlock is, needless to say, hotly disputing this.

He's doing it so vociferously that Watson keeps smacking him on the back of his head and telling him to hold still while he stitches him up.

Despite herself and her best intentions, Alexandra smiles at her boys as they squabble: She does so like to watch them play against one another.

She knows it's part of how they deal with nearly dying so regularly.

And they're in fine form right now, she thinks, despite their injuries. They're trying to burn through the jittery, restless energy at the end of a case so that they can, finally, rest. Will's friend John Watson is rolling his eyes at their antics while Watson's wife, Mary, openly sniggers at them, occasionally handing her husband another piece of sterilised gauze.

Every so often Watson interject something sarcastic into proceedings, a happenstance which prompts laughter from Will and snide condescension from Mikey-

"Well, of course you would find that funny, Doctor Watson," the latter sneers when John has inquired why the sheer size of Mycroft's cranium did not protect him from being concussed. "Both you and our dear morgue mouse, Miss Hooper-" Mycroft directs a snide, sidelong glance at Molly- "are simpering, long-term members of my brother's fan club, which I'm sure is why you're both staring at him and nearly salivating-"

Molly's eyes widen at the condescending tone, even as John protests he's never been a member of Sherlock's fan club, salivating or otherwise, nor will he ever be.

He then manfully ignores his wife and his best friend, both of whom are claiming he is its founder.

Molly though, she doesn't look amused, Alexandra thinks. On the contrary, the young woman's posture stoops, her shoulders curling ever more in on herself. As John speaks, her eyes flit between he and Mycroft and thence to Will, her cheeks turning red.

She looks the very definition of mortified, and mortified that she is mortified.

Perhaps to defend herself she stammers that Mycroft shouldn't call her that, that he should in fact refer to her by her title given that she is, after all, a doctor-

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mycroft says airily, "do you have something to say, Miss Hooper?" His smile widens. "Or should I call you Sherlock's Number One Fan?"

Molly's cheeks get redder and she opens her mouth to defend herself-

"You know damn well she told you to call her a doctor," Will's voice says bluntly before she can. His tone is irritated. "Now apologise to Molly, Mikey, she's had a bad night and you're being beastly for no good reason."

He gestures to Watson.

"You may, of course, continue abusing John- He deserves it."

And with this the younger Holmes throws Doctor Hooper a small, tight nod, even as she blushes further and stammers out a thank you. She looks down at her feet, still smiling shyly, her hands wrapping more tightly around her mug of tea. For this reason she doesn't see- and perhaps wouldn't recognise- the millisecond longer than usual that Sherlock's eyes stay on her. Nor does she notice the slight gentleness which moves through his expression before he turns back to his brother and their usual, childish games-

Molly Hooper doesn't notice it, but Alexandra Holmes certainly does.

It speaks as loudly to her as a declaration of love would from anyone else and suddenly, despite herself, she has to fight the urge to grin.

So, she thinks. Grandchildren may not be off the menu after all.

Fancy that.

Her eyes meet those of Mary Watson and the latter inclines her head ever so slightly, indicating that she's seen it too. That she knows what's going on.

There's mischief in her gaze and Alexandra's expression matches it.

As their boys bicker Alexandra rises, moves into the kitchen on the pretext of refilling her tea. Mary wanders gamely after her.

"Mary," she says to the younger woman.

"Alexandra," Mary rejoins, her eyes dancing.

Alexandra really is rather fond of John's wife at the moment.

"I do believe you and I shall have to meet for lunch," she tells her and Mrs. Watson laughs.

Jus In Bello

It's surprisingly obvious, once Mary explains all to her.

In fact, were he not in the habit of keeping her out of his life in London, Alexandra fancies that she'd have guessed her youngest son's feelings for Doctor Hooper well before now.

For she knows her boys well, and she knows that Will, whatever his faults, would not keep a woman around for seven years without being at least a tiny bit fond of her-

And then, of course, there are the other things Mary describes. The things he doesn't like to talk about. The things he doesn't know Mary's seen. His jealousy about Molly's engagement; His embarrassment (and abominable behaviour) during his last drugs lapse. And then there's the fact that Molly Hooper is the only person besides John whom Sherlock has ever truly apologised to-

"I mean, it's obvious, don't you think?" Mary says as she sips her hot chocolate in Fortnum's. She and Alexandra are using a shopping trip as cover for their strategy meeting. "I've suspected ever since I first saw them together, but after she slapped him in St. Bart's, I knew."

Alexandra blinks. "She slapped my son?"

As a woman with the motherly instincts of a grizzly bear, she's not sure how she feels about that.

Mary nods though, not even trying to back-pedal.

"She did, and he deserved it. He was acting like a git." She takes another sip of her hot chocolate, chases a melting marshmallow across its surface with her spoon as she speaks. "She's also the only person he asked to see when we thought he was being exiled," she continues. "Well, the only person besides me and John."

Alexandra's eyebrows raise. She hadn't known that- Mikey must be holding out on her, the imp.

"And did she get to see him?" she asks.

Mary shakes her head, sadness flitting through her expression for just a moment before she visibly waves it away.

"Mycroft said she hadn't the security clearance," she explains finally. "Though I rather suspect it was something else-"

Alexandra nods. She knows without being told what the other woman means.

"I have no idea where he picked up this ridiculous cynicism when it comes to emotion," she says. "I assure you, it wasn't from his father or I- We were always very affectionate at home. Couldn't be getting on with any of that stiffer upper lip nonsense when I had such a gorgeous man in my bed!" She sighs. "Unfortunately however, Mycroft seems to have developed something of a phobia about love and he's passed it on to William-"

Mary smiles. "Yeah, well, that's why we're here, isn't it?" she says. "To help Sherlock get his head out of his arse and into Molly's… good graces."

Alexandra cocks an eyebrow at her. "That's not what you were going to say, is it?"

Mary's smile is beatific. "I've no idea what you mean."

The older woman laughs. "Well, I suppose I am his mother- I don't need to know everything this plan leads to." She grimaces. "It's not my business what goes into the making of my grand children- I've done enough, providing some of the… manufacturing component."

Mary snickers and she leans forward, lowers her voice.

"So- We're agreed? They suit?"

Mary nods. "Yes, to both. They suit and we know it. The only question is, what are we going to do about it?"

Alexandra's smile is practically incendiary.

"Why, we're going to do the obvious," she says. "We're going to set the ball rolling."

And with that she takes out her mobile, her grin widening as she pulls up a number and hits "call." Within three rings the call's recipient picks up, his tone harassed-

"Mummy?" Mycroft snaps. "What the devil is the matter?"

Alexandra's tone is innocence itself. "Mikey, darling," she says, "I was wondering whether you noticed that darling little thing who was at Baker Street on Monday?

I rather thought she'd do for you…"

The screech of indignation which this prompts from her eldest makes Alexandra smile as she and Mary trade a satisfied thumbs up.