Chapter 14: Mother Knows Best

"A doctor? Well, you have certainly improved the company you keep, Elfie. I was afraid you had made friends with the more…awkward type," my mother says, holding her hand out to John and donning that award-winning smile she uses to impress clients, "pleased to meet you, Doctor."

"An-and you, Mrs. Stegerson," John cautiously replies, shaking her hand, "please, call me John."
"Well, in that case, Doctor John, do call me Loraine or Lori. Anything but Mrs. Stegerson: makes me feel incredibly old and married, which I am neither." My mother says with a smirk. John awkwardly chuckles and takes his hand back rather quickly.

Good Lord, did she just flirt with John?

"Well, I'm just going to head back downstairs," Mrs. Hudson says as she already begins heading toward the stairs.

"Thanks for showing me up, miss," My mother says, pulling out a pound note from her black leather purse, "Do take this as a tip."

"Mom," I sigh, rubbing my temples, "she's not a maid, she's the land lord."

"Oh, my apologies!" she says with a laugh, "I had no idea." Mrs. Hudson looks at me with a concerned face and I just shake my head. 'Sorry!' I mouth to her and she gives me a motherly nod in response before dashing back to her flat. Seriously, this woman is too good to me.

"So, um, Loraine," John says, "may I take your coat or perhaps make you a cup of tea?"

"Goodness, so this is the legendary British hospitality," she replies, practically tossing John her purse. "Do you want me to offer you a tip as well?"

"Mom," I scold, "please, behave."

"What? I'm just being friendly," she says, stepping fully into the flat, "My goodness, this is quite the place, Elfie. Very put together, very homey. You always did have the prime quality of organization."

"Actually, the flat is mine and Sherlock's." John says, "Elfie just…"

"Oh! And who is this?" She exclaims, pointing to Sherlock, still deep asleep on the couch. Seriously, this man could sleep through anything.

"Mom, please keep you voice down," I whisper, going to the couch and setting a comforting hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "He's asleep."

"I can see that, Elfie Marie. All I asked is, who is he? Pale and gawky looking thing, isn't he." She then turns back to John. "A patient of yours? Do you even do house calls?"

"Um, yes I do, on occasion," John replies, scratching his head, "But he's not a patient. This is Sherlock."

"Sherlock? Odd name - oh, wait, now I remember!" She then looks at me with a smile. "This is your man, isn't it?" she asks.

"Yes," I say with a roll of my eyes, "and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't wake him. He's been working really hard on a case and…"

"This must be his place then," she says, walking around the living room and still not lowering her voice, "what with all the detective-y stuff laying around. Very nice." She walks over to the skull on the mantle piece - a favorite decoration of mine - and sneers at it. Obviously she disagrees with me. "You and he must have been living here together, John." She goes on, facing the befuddled doctor once again.

"Yes, I moved in about 18 months ago," he replies, "I had just left the army and, well, I was lucky to find Sherlock."

"Goodness, I hope my daughter isn't disrupting anything between you two," my mother coyly remarks. "Nothing is more uncomfortable than dealing with a third wheel."

"Beg pardon?" John asks, furrowing his brow.

"Okay, can I see you in private, please." I hiss, pulling my mother into the kitchen. This conversation is going to get heated and the last thing I want is to wake Sherlock. Actually, the last thing I want is my mother to be here! "What are you doing here?" I say once we are out of earshot.

"I told you that I was flying in today," She replies, looking around and observing. "Remember our conversation on the phone last night? Honestly, I don't know why you are so surprised. Ooh, this is a lovely place. Look at this dainty kitchen: so British."

"No, mom, of course I remembered that you were flying in," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration, "but this is…I mean, what are you doing here at Baker Street? I thought you were going to the apartment."

"Yes, to see you but you weren't there, obviously," she replies, examining the contents of the over-head cabinets, "I get to the door, Hattie answers, invites me in for some coffee and chit-chat - oh! I had a lovely conversation with that fiancé of hers, Robert. He really is quite the catch. You should find someone like him, you know, someone who will take care of you."

"I have a boyfriend, mom." I coldly remind her.

"Oh I know that. He's actually quiet handsome, that Sherly of yours."

"Sherlock."

"Same thing. Oh, sweetheart, do you really need to keep science equipment in the kitchen? People cook in here."

"Mom, please!" I say, quickly grabbing the glass beaker from her hands, "Can you not go through the guys' stuff? You are a guest."

"So these belong to that doctor fellow?" she asks

"No, they're Sherlock's," I reply. "He conducts experiments between cases."

"Smart and likes to keep busy, duly noted." She says under her breath. I roll my eyes in annoyance; seriously, she's taking mental notes on my life? Ugh, there are no bounds to this woman's judgment.

"You were saying about going to the apartment…" I try to change the subject.

"Ah, yes! So there I am talking with Hattie when I suddenly realize that you are nowhere to be seen or heard," my mother goes on, taking a seat on one of the stools.

"How long did it take you to realize that?" I mumble, leaning in the archway.

"Don't get smart with me, young lady," she scolds. "And for your information I noticed right away; Hattie and I just got caught up in conversation."

I roll my eyes and cross my arms across my chest; she's lying. She just had to say something because I had caught her not caring about me.

"Anyways," she goes on, "I asked where you were and Hattie told me all about how your boyfriend had whisked you away to live with him. Moving kind of fast, don't you think, sweetie?"

"Well, no," I reply, "Sherlock and I have been together for a year."

"A year?" she says, taken back with surprise, "Why wasn't I aware of this? So this is a serious relationship then?"

"You were aware, or at least would be if you paid attention to me when I've told you about my life," I grumble. "And yes, it is serious."

"Oh, Elfie Marie! How exciting for you!" she says, quickly getting up and wrapping her arms around me in an awkward hug, "Finally, you've found some happiness in your life."

"I've always been happy, Mom," I say, pulling away from her, "and Sherlock just adds to it."

"Okay, okay, fine." She says, brushing the subject aside, "What does he even do again, this man of yours? The pay must be good, not just anyone can own a place like this."

"He's a consulting detective and the pay is irrelevant."

"Irrelevant? Oh, sweetheart, have I taught you nothing?"

'That's a loaded question,' I say to myself.

"You can't just settle down with some guy you've got a crush on." She goes on, "You have to make sure he will provide a stable life for the both of you. A man must take care of his woman."

"Mom, I can assure you, Sherlock does take good care of me." I say, "and it's not a crush. I love him."

"If you love him, why aren't you considering kids?"

My heart jumps up to my throat and my cheeks turn a bright red. "Wh-what?" I studded.

"Children, sweetheart," she says, placing a hand on my shoulder, "In my day, when a man and a woman have been together for as long as you and this Sherlock have, they consider making it official and creating a family."

"I…I…I don't know about all that right now."

"You don't want to have a family with this man?"

"I didn't say that."

"Because if you don't want to have a family and a life with him, then are you really in love?"

Before I can tell her that she has no idea what she's talking about, that familiar baritone voice and a comforting arm around my waist saves me like it always does:

"Mrs. Stegerson, I don't believe we've met properly."

I turn around to see Sherlock standing beside me, looking dapper as ever. His white button up is tucked into his slick black trousers with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair is no longer a messy mop, but rather controlled curls. One would never guess that he was asleep on the couch just mere seconds ago.

"Sherlock Holmes," he says, extending his free hand to my startled mother, "and allow me to officially welcome you to Baker Street."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Holmes." My mother replies, shaking his hand, "It's nice to finally meet the man who stole my daughter's heart."

"I can assure you, Mrs. Stegerson, I stole nothing. She gave me her heart willingly." He says, gently pulling me in closer to him. I only just stare at him in amazement. How can he be so calm and collected right now?

"How very poetic," my mother says with a judgmental sting to her voice, "and please, do call me Loraine."

"I will…Loraine." He says with a half mouth smile.

I know that face.

That's the face he gets when he's observing.

Oh, good God.

"Tell me, Loraine, was it before or after Elfie moved out when you underwent reconstructive surgery?"

Yes, here we go.

"Excuse me?" my mother asks, placing a hand on her chest in surprise, "I don't think I know-"

"The scar tissue around your right ear indicates that you had a face lift not too long ago." Sherlock begins, "Perhaps a touch up, since the scar is pretty worn down - I'd say about 10 years or so - which says that you had the initial surgery when your daughter had moved out for college. Makes sense really, your daughter that you have successfully raised all on your own has left the nest so now there is some extra cash laying about, why not spend it on yourself?"

My mother looks at me, absolutely spellbound. "You told him about my surgery. You must have."

"Not at all," I reply, with a small smile, "I know how private you wanted to keep it."

"Then how could he have-"

"I observe, Loraine." Sherlock says with that self-centered tone of his, "That is what I do for a living and I make enough to establish a stable life for myself as well as the woman I care most deeply for." I blush as he moves his arm from my waist and intertwines his hand into my own, giving it a comforting squeeze. Sheepishly, I look down at my feet; he was listening in on the conversation we were having. Of course he was, he's Sherlock.

"You observe?" My mother inquires, still not impressed. "What exactly do you observe?"

"Everything." He says rather matter of factly, "From the roots of your touched up auburn hair to the scuff marks on your brand new Chanel heels. I can tell you what profession you are in, the correct position you hold…but I don't need to observe you to tell all of that."

"Don't you?" my mother challenges

"No, Elfie has told me all about the real-estate business you have built up out of a small office in the apartment you and she shared the first four years of her life. No, what I can observe off of you is that you came to Baker Street in search of your daughter as well as some form of ammunition."

"Ammunition?" she asks

"Yes, for you to legitimize your argument of why Elfie should return to America with you."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wouldn't dream of that." She lies, but her words fall on deaf ears; Sherlock has just begun one of his infamous monologues. She has no idea what she's in for.

"Your plan was to ask Elfie to return to California with you after Hattie's wedding next month, or rather you were going to convince her to leave with you before hand and then ask her after. That is why you booked an earlier flight to London from Los Angeles - no, hang on, New York; you had a real-estate conference there."

"How could you have possibly-"

"Your shoes. That style doesn't make its west coast debut until Christmas, but you were lucky enough to snag a pair while shopping on 5th Avenue. You have a wedding to attend, might as well buy a new pair of shoes, and some pricey ones too. It'll be a nice little trinket to show off to your daughter and the bride. Hattie will fawn over them like you want, but Elfie simply won't care. It's just her nature. Now, your plan:

"You obviously new of this meeting in New York and thought to yourself, 'why spend more money than necessary? I'll book a flight from Los Angeles to JFK for the meeting, but instead of flying back to LAX, I'll fly to London.' That's when the wheels started turning. You always wanted Elfie to inherit the business you had worked so hard to achieve, but she never seemed to see why. You needed to convince her that returning to America and learning the family trade was the absolute best thing for her to do. She needed to take over so that you could retire happily and not have a care in the world about your company falling into the wrong hands.

"But how were you going to do it? How were you going to convince your daughter, who found more joy in learning about ancient kings and queens than the family business, to come back with you? Simple: You were going to make her see that the life she has developed for herself is not a happy one. You were going to find some small crack in her routine, some misguided judgment she has made, and use that to make her realize the life she was living wasn't the correct one. Distraught, Elfie would return to California with you and take over the business.

However, unfortunately, you've hit a snag. Elfie is living a very successful life here in London; She works at a highly regarded museum, specializing in ancient cultures, which is what she received her degree in, has maintained a close knitted friendship with her former flat mate as well as developed new acquaintances, and, above all, she's found someone who will care for her with all of his heart and will continue to do so until his dying day. Now, I must ask you because it is my way, did I get any of it wrong?"

My mother just stares at Sherlock, completely in shock and unable to fathom what has just happened. Her hands tightly grip the strap of her purse in frustration as she tries to think of something to say to this man; this man, who has just outwitted her and blown her out of the water.

I feel a sense of pride and enjoyment seeing this; yes she's my mother, but it's nice to see her get a taste of her own medicine. I squeeze Sherlock's hand to show him my appreciation and he kindly returns the gesture.

"You are something else, Sherlock Holmes," my mother finally says, looking at him and then at me. "Truly something else."

Sherlock nods and wraps an arm around my shoulders; "Your daughter is very important to me." He says in a much softer tone then he's been using, "I do intend on spending the rest of my life with her. My only hope is that you reconsider the thought of taking her away from here."

"My daughter is important to me as well," my mother coldly replies, "and she can make her own life choices. My only hope is that she soon realizes that the man she has chosen to be in love with is an inconsiderate ass."

"Mom!" I exclaim while taking a step forward to argue with her, but Sherlock gently holds me back. I look up at him for a reason, but he just shakes his head; he's not affected by the insult, so I shouldn't be.

"Really, Elfie Marie, you have been with some interesting characters, but this man! Oh, ho, ho, this man takes the cake!" She then pushes past us, storming toward the exit of the flat. I quickly follow.

"Mom, wait," I say, from the top of the stairs.

"I need to go check in at the hotel, I'll call you when I'm settled," she calls back as she descends the stairs. "Ta!"

I watch her go, not feeling an ounce of regret or pity. She had it coming and I have a very strong feeling this is not the last debacle her and Sherlock will get into. Believe me, I'm not leaving him no matter how much she may hate him. I shake my head and head back inside the flat.

Sherlock is already lying back down on the couch, stretched out like a cat. Feeling the need to be so close to him, I take a seat at the edge by his feet.

"You weren't asleep when she came in, were you?" I ask, removing my shoes.

"She woke me up." he replies, shutting his eyes, "She is quite loud."

"Yeah, try living with her for 18 years," I say, lying down beside him. "Ugh, the stories I could tell you about her hour long lectures when I was a teen." Sherlock chuckles and wraps his arms around me in a comforting embrace. "Thank you," I say, resting my head on his chest.

"For?" he replies with a sigh: he's falling back asleep then. That monologue must have worn him out.

"That - whatever that was." I reply, "For you being you, I guess."

"Then you're quite welcome." He mumbles, "Always happy to oblige." I chuckle to myself and nuzzle as close to him as I can. I close my eyes and just listen to the sound of Sherlock's breathing and his rhythmic heartbeat.

"'Inconsiderable ass'," he says, stroking my hair, "that is a new one."

"Shut up, Sherlock," I mumble, hiding my face in his shirt. "Go back to sleep." I feel him place a soft kiss on the top of my head and his hold around me tighten a little.

"Of course," he whispers into my hair, "my Elfie Marie."

Boom! Two chapters in one week! It's a miracle….sort of…not really…okay, maybe a bit.

Hope you guys enjoyed it and as always thank you for the follows, favorites and comments. It truly means a lot to me.

Once again, I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks.