This cannot be happening.

Everything was fine. Perfect even. I got home from a day of simple patients and sat down with a mug of tea and started to write my blog for the case I was calling 'The Tritovore'' whilst listening to The Queen Is Dead.

Because of this I didn't know someone else was in the building until the door was flung open and in came mum dressed as if she was expecting London to be a beach resort in Spain. I haven't seen her in years (entirely her fault) and she turns up unannounced shouting "surprise" when the flat is looking strangely like a meth lab due to Sherlock's latest experiment.

"Umm hi mum," I hugged her, "what are you doing here, not that you aren't welcome of course."

"Well I am back from the States for a party and I can't stay long. So how..."

She stopped talking when she heard the front door slam and someone attacking the stairs.

"John. John I just caught a serial rapist, man I wish there were more people like that in the world."

My mum couldn't have looked more shocked than if he had just announced he was a rapist.

"He just means people who are as easy to catch as him." please say she bought it.

He then strode into the room and as usual had the quick look of absorbing all the information in the room. He stopped when he saw my mum and I wondered if his gears had actually stopped. It was one of those awkward moments where two seconds seemed like hours as Sherlock's eyes narrowed as if there was an intruder in the flat and not the woman who raised me. He eventually slopped glowering and put on his emotionless face as he raised his hand.

"Sherlock Holmes. You're Mrs. Watson I presume now if you'll excuse me I must get changed out of these bloodstained clothes."

With that he practically ran upstairs to our bedroom.

"Mum please make yourself at home, I will put the kettle on and be back in a sec."

I opened the door and had to remind myself that this was not the time to get turned on even though Sherlock in just boxer shorts was purely breathtaking.

"Why does your sister hate us?"

Huh? I thought that was obvious after what happened last week. "What?"

"Come on John how else would your mother know where we live, I know you didn't tell her? And if she didn't hate us then she would have rung ahead and told us she was coming."

"Ok that doesn't matter right now but I need you to do something for me."

"Of course what is it?"

"I need you to turn of the whole deduce everything about a person's life and tell them thing you do and if she asks you a question just think about if I would say that before you do ok? Basically just think of it as a case and act or something please."

"Ok John."

I kissed his cheek and left him to get dressed. My mum was sat in his chair. Oh my god this cannot be happening, not even Mycroft dared to sit there when he broke in. Calm John, calm. The kettle was of course done so I poured three mugs of tea and handed them out as Sherlock came back downstairs. He had of course taken my armchair so I drew one from the table and sat down waiting for whatever reason my mum had decided to finally grace me with her presence.

"What are your intentions with my son?"

Oh god no. When Harry asked him something along those lines he said "To fuck him senseless so he forgets about all of his past girlfriends and boyfriends, what are yours with the married woman from next door?". Let's just say that I haven't spoken to her since and there is still the faint mark where the bottle had hit Sherlock's arm.

Instead he adopted a grin and said, "I wish only to make him happy I assure you." Thank whatever God is up there.

"Ok but where do you see this relationship going, I don't want you to be leading him on."

Scratch that there is no god. "Mum!"

"it's alright John," he smiled at me, "I am in no way leading him on Mrs Watson, he is the love of my life," I held my breath, taken aback by his words. "The only person I have ever loved." he looked me up and down with a slight frown that was gone as quickly as it came.

After those questions my mum seemed to relax and we all talked and laughed and it was as if they had known each other for decades. It was odd Sherlock acting, dare I say it, normal. Like he did not have a brain that was constantly deducing and compiling evidence.

At eight o'clock it was time for my mum to leave. And probably not see me again for another 10 years while she was off in America pretending that she didn't have an alcoholic daughter and a war-wounded son that she felt had always kept her back and stolen her younger years.

After showing her out and into a cab I went back into the flat sighing and threw myself onto the sofa. Sherlock turned to me after a minute of studying the ceiling.

"Are you ashamed of me John?" he looked physically hurt and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why he was saying that, I thought the night went quite well.

I sat up "Of course not Sherlock how could I ever be ashamed of you?"

"It's just that I meet your mother and you tell me not to be myself and see it as an 'act' so in what way doesn't that seem like you are embarrassed about who I am?"

"Sherlock I'm sorry I..."

"What John? Did you think that I might not be a little bit sad that the man who is supposed to my boyfriend that I love and apparently loves me wants me to put up a facade when it comes to meeting his mother?" he stood and began walking away. "I am sleeping in my old bed tonight don't follow me."

Well done John. You have just made your first mistake.

-If you know what a Tritovore is I love you.
And I had to include the 'The Smiths' reference since yesterday was the 25th anniversary of that album and why wouldn't John be a fan of them.-