"For God's sake, I'M COMING!" Sherlock shouted at the door, where impatient knocks were pounding against the wood. He adjusted the sheet that was wrapped around his middle to ensure that he was somewhat decent before he opened the door. "This had better be goo-"

His stomach dropped to the floor as his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Hello, Sweetheart! Happy New Year!

"MUM?"

"Yes, Dear, that is indeed who I am. Honestly, they call you a genius but sometimes I just don't see it."

"What are you doing here?" He began to gather the sheet around himself in an attempt to cover as much skin as possible.

"Can't a mother visit her son without motive? After all, I haven't seen you or your brother in ages. We came in last night, didn't Myc-y call you?"

"No, must have slipped his mind." Sherlock ground his teeth and mentally noted to kill Mycroft later.

"Well, are you going to let me in or do I have to go stay with Martha?" She began pushing her way through the door but Sherlock blocked it deftly, attempting in vain to keep the sheet from falling past his shoulders.

"Um, now's really not a good time, Mum. I'm…um…not dressed…"

"Sherlock, please. I lived with the teenaged version of you, I've seen you at much worse." With that she pushed her way in and stopped almost immediately. "You've tidied! To tell you the truth I expected everything to go to hell in here after Dr. Watson moved out, but you've kept it so neat! Whatever has come over you?"

As if in answer to her question, a voice rang out from the back hallway. "Sherlock, are you coming back to bed? Who was it at the do-"

Molly Hooper emerged into the sitting room, wearing only her knickers and one of Sherlock's dress shirts. She stopped immediately at the sight of Sherlock and his mother in the living room and let out an involuntary squeak, brow furrowing upwards and eyes widening.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, willing himself to disappear as his mother's head swiveled back and forth between the two of them. "Mum, meet Dr. Molly Hooper. Molly, my mum."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Holmes," said Molly, her hands fumbling with the hem of the shirt, tugging it in an attempt to make it longer.

Mrs. Holmes' confused face turned once more back to look at Sherlock. "She's…with…you?"

Sherlock became very interested in the finer details of the floor as Mrs. Holmes instead turned to Molly.

"You're his...?" her unfinished question hanging on the air.

"Um…I think so, yes?" Molly answered timidly, looking at Sherlock and silently begging him to help her.

"How long?" Mrs. Holmes turned back to Sherlock, arms moving to her hips, demanding he look at her.

"…couple months," he mumbled, trying desperately to look anywhere but at his own mother. When he finally did look up, he saw with horror that there were tears in her eyes, just threatening to pool over. He made a choking sound in the back of his throat before Mrs. Holmes launched herself at Molly, pulling her into a crushing hug.

"Oh, Molly! Thank you!" her arms pinned Molly's own to her sides, allowing her to throw a shocked look over Mrs. Holmes' shoulder to Sherlock, who seemed equally flabbergasted at this response. "I've worried for ages that he would never find someone to put up with him!" Mrs. Holmes hands shot up to cup Molly's cheeks, joyful tears now staining her wrinkled face.

"Um, you're welcome?" Molly said uncertainly, not sure how to respond at this outward display of emotion from a member of the Holmes family.

"And you, young man," Mrs. Holmes turned on her heel to face Sherlock, who cowered in his sheet like a small child. "You have a lot of explaining to do. Why on earth didn't you tell me about this lovely woman?"

Before she could attack further, Molly spoke up. "To be honest, Mrs. Holmes, this is a relatively new development."

Mrs. Holmes did not remove her deathly gaze from Sherlock's face, which now looked as though it might vomit. "But you said this has been going on for a couple months."

When he finally opened his mouth to speak, Molly was astounded at how different his voice sounded. It took her several seconds to recognize his inflection as one of intimidation. "Well, yes. We've…well…"

"Again, with the 'genius,'" his mother spat, one eyebrow raised sarcastically.

"This…" Sherlock used the hand that was not holding up his sheet to gesture between himself and Molly. "…is recent."

"Very recent," Molly added.

Mrs. Holmes turned and smiled warmly at Molly, who felt as if her blush must be reaching her toes by now. With a final vindictive look, she addressed Sherlock. "If you mess this up, you're a right fool, Sherlock Holmes."

Molly giggled behind her, stopping quickly as Mrs. Holmes came back over to her, grasping both of Molly's hands in hers. She called over her shoulder to her son, "Sherly-Pie, go get some trousers on and make Molly and I tea, we've got so much we need to catch up on."

Sherlock cringed and made to walk past them to his bedroom. "Thank you…Sherly-Pie," Molly couldn't help saying as he passed, stifling a laugh.

"Shut up," he spat, causing him to nearly instantaneously be rapped on the head by Mrs. Holmes' bag.

"WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES, YOU APOLOGIZE THIS INSTANT!"

Molly bit her lip to keep from laughing as Sherlock tensed his shoulders nearly to his ears during the scolding. He glared at Molly and smiled playfully as he made his way forward.

"Sorry," he said, bringing his lips close to her ear to whisper into it, "and if you breathe a word of this to John, I will never forgive you." Molly laughed out loud as she heard the door to his bedroom shut.

"Actually Mrs. Holmes, if you don't mind, I'll go make myself decent as well," Molly made to head upstairs to her bedroom but was stopped by Mrs. Holmes grabbing her wrist.

"Nonsense, dear, we have so much to talk about! Sherlock!" she yelled toward his bedroom door, "Give Molly something to wear!"

Without a word, the door opened long enough for a black pair of boxers to be thrown out and the door re-slammed.

"I swear, that boy's manners get worse and worse as he gets older," Mrs. Holmes shook her head as Molly grabbed the pants and slipped them on. Feeling slightly more comfortable, she joined Mrs. Holmes who had sat down on the small couch in the living room.

Mrs. Holmes patted the seat next to her. "Now, dear-start from the beginning; Where did you two meet?"

Molly ran her fingers through her messy hair and contemplated a fabricated story, but fearing a genetic ability to tell apart lies in the Holmes family, she opted for the truth. "We met in the morgue at St. Bart's hospital about five years ago while Sherlock was on a case. I work there as a pathologist." Preparing for the cringe that usually accompanied telling people about her profession, Molly adjusted her legs so she was sitting on her feet.

Instead of a cringe, however, came a short laugh and a loving smile from Mrs. Holmes. "That's my Sherlock, such a proclivity for all things dead. I blame his brother. He used to read him all sorts of detective novels when he was young."

"So they did get along as kids! I knew Sherlock was exaggerating," Molly said, secretly pleased that Mrs. Holmes seemed unfazed by her job.

"Oh, good lord, they were inseparable. They didn't start that petty 'arch enemy' nonsense until after Mycroft left for school," Mrs. Holmes dug into her bag, producing a large pocketbook. From inside, she withdrew a sleeve of photographs and handed them to Molly.

The first was definitely the oldest, featuring who Molly assumed was a young Mycroft holding a tiny bundle with wild black curls in his arms, smiling impishly at the camera. The next was clearly from a few years later, and Molly had to put her hand over her mouth to stifle her delighted gasp.

The picture was of a very young Sherlock, maybe three or four years-old, sitting on the shoulders of an adolescent Mycroft. They appeared to be on the beach, both dressed in white t-shirts and swimming shorts, a bucket and trowel in Sherlock's hands. The two boys seemed to have been caught mid-giggle, as both were smiling and laughing at each other.

"Our vacation to the South of France in '84. Sherlock absolutely adored his older brother," Mrs. Holmes smiled fondly at the photo, idly running a finger over the image.

Molly flipped to the next photo of a teenaged Mycroft holding an academic certificate of some sort. She looked at it in wonder as she remembered the nickname of "The Iceman" Sherlock had mentioned once of his brother.

She smiled again at the next, an eight or nine year old Sherlock missing both his front teeth hugging the neck of an old Irish Setter. The bottom of the photograph was labeled "Sherlock and Redbeard, Summer '89."

"We got Redbeard for Sherlock when Mycroft left for school. He was so upset. Sherlock was such a loving child, and he did look up to his brother so,"

"Mum, what are you on about?" Sherlock emerged from his bedroom dressed impeccably in a dark blue shirt and black trousers. Buttoning his cuffs, he approached the sofa and immediately saw what was happening. Setting eyes on the photographs in Molly's hands, he went pale and made to snatch them out of her hands.

"Oh, no you don't!" Molly giggled as Sherlock nearly landed on top of her. "Your mum was just telling me about what a nice child you were-so what happened?"

"Molly-"

Sherlock growled, still trying to get to the photographs, but unable to reach them over a squirming Molly. Suddenly Molly heard a sharp crack and looked up to see Sherlock holding his head, Mrs. Holmes sitting next to him, pocketbook raised.

"Sherlock, don't you dare be rude! I know you like to pretend that you're the cool consulting detective but you were raised better!"

Sherlock sat down between them with a scowl, "Yes, Mum."

Molly relaxed, finally flipping to the final picture. A university-aged Mycroft sat reading on a sofa, his arm around the sleeping form of Sherlock in his lap, a pirate's eye-patch sitting askew on his head and a sword nearly falling from his lax hand.

"See, I knew you secretly loved your brother," Molly said teasingly, nudging Sherlock with her elbow.

"Someone please put me out of my misery," Sherlock buried his face in his hands as Molly handed the photos back to Mrs. Holmes who replaced them in her bag.

"Oh, come on Sherlock. I think you were adorable when you were little-and even more handsome now," she leaned up onto her knees and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, causing him to smile and turn bright pink.

Uttering a high pitched squeal at the sight, Mrs. Holmes grabbed the two of them and pulled them both into a bone-crushing hug.