This chapter is cursed.
I had to completely rewrite it in just a few hours to be able to post it now.

So please don't be too hard on me Q_Q

I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.

It was late afternoon when they had finally finished packing and were on their way to the Holmes' estate (Estate! John still couldn't believe it).

It had taken them quite a long time, because, of course, Sherlock hadn't packed himself, but let John do the work and had just pointed out what he was doing wrong.

"You can't fold a suit like that, John."

"Don't forget my razor, John."

Finally, John had had enough and had banned Sherlock out of his own bedroom, what Sherlock had pointed out rather loudly. Loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to come upstairs and ask after the cause of their 'little domestic', actually.

Now they were finally sitting in one of Mycroft's cars (who was obviously taking no chances) on their way out of London.
Sherlock was bored already, John could see that, but he hadn't complained about it yet. John expected it any time by now.

But unbelievably, their car ride went rather smoothly and quietly. Maybe Sherlock had been too busy pouting that he had to meet his mother to complain?

The car stopped and the driver opened the door.
The Holmes' estate was huge. John had never seen a house this big – except in movies - and it was really beautiful here. The house was completely surrounded by an enormous garden and everything was green or blooming.

John slowly climbed out of the car to see Sherlock already scoffing at the house in distaste.
"I had hoped that I never would have to come back here."

"Why? It looks nice."

"Live here for 14 years and we'll talk again." He sighed. "Follow me. We'll need to get the greetings done before we can retire for a while."

John followed Sherlock through the huge door of the manor house and the entrance hall into a smaller room to their left.
The room was bright, due to the big windows and the glass door through which you could access the garden. There wasn't much furniture in the room, except a table, a settee and two armchairs. Obviously it was some kind of parlour.

In the armchairs sat Mycroft Holmes and an elderly woman who had to be Sherlock's mother.
Mummy Holmes looked nothing like John had imagined, but seeing her now he should have guessed it.
She was a very elegant woman and John could see who Sherlock got his cheekbones from. Her hair was pinned-up to a bun and her eyes glinted with intelligence.

"Sherlock, my dear!" She got up and came to greet them, smiling. "I haven't seen you for such a long time. If your brother wouldn't tell me about your life, I wouldn't even know you're still alive."

Before Sherlock could even open his mouth, she had turned to John. "And you must be Dr. Watson, so nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you from Mycroft."
Her smile had something predatory; just like Mycroft's usually did. One could definitely see the family resemblance.

John glanced at Mycroft over her shoulder and saw him smiling in exactly the same way right now.
He could envisage the next days already.

"Do you want a tour of the house, dear? I so want to get to know you. - Oh, and I won't take 'no' for an answer." She smiled at him.

"Sure, Mrs. Holmes," John answered, trying to smile back.

"Don't call me 'Mrs. Holmes', John. - I may call you 'John', don't I? - Nobody calls me 'Mrs. Holmes' except for strangers or staff."
She said while she led him out of the room, ignoring Sherlock's protests (apparently she was used to that).
"Call me 'Mummy' like everyone else. You're a part of the family now after all."

"What?" He looked at her, surprised. "You must have misunderstood something, ... Mummy. I'm Sherlock's best friend and flatmate, nothing more."

"Sure you are," she said with a smile that said 'I know it better'. "Sherlock has never brought anyone with him before. You're the very first one. That does have to mean something, doesn't it?" She winked and without waiting for an answer she continued.
"Tell me, how is it living with him? It must be exhausting, I imagine. He has always been difficult, even as a child. Maybe that's why he never had friends.
But as I heard, you're doing fine. You've been living with him for quite some time now and, as Mycroft tells me, you two are still inseparable. It's nice to know that Sherlock finally has found somebody who cares about him."
She was still smiling, but now it said 'Don't you dare to hurt him'.

"Yes, Sherlock is very important to me."

She stops and John realizes he hasn't even noticed where they went. Obviously this was more about 'the talk' than the tour.
Mummy Holmes looked directly into his eyes. "I can see it in your eyes that you care about him deeply. - And he does, too."

John stayed silent.

"He may not say it out loud, but I can see it in the way he looks at you. I'm his mother after all.
Sherlock always needs much time to open up and trust people and if they misuse his trust just once, he won't do it ever again. So take care that won't happen. I would hate to see you two split up."

John didn't know what to say. Was this the Holmes' way of saying that they approve of a relationship?

"Just be there for him and I'm sure you'll be very happy together."
She seemed almost blissful. "I've never seen him like this. I had almost given up hope."

Then she smirked at him, almost chummily. "I think that was enough of the concerned-parent-talk. I'll bring you back to Sherlock, before he thinks I murdered you."
She laughed lightly.

John looked at her, confused, and she seemed to notice that.

"Ah, dear, you remind me of myself. I'm not a born Holmes either.
But you'll get used to it sooner or later. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me."
She winked at him and opened the door in front of them.

They were back in the parlour.
As soon as John entered, Sherlock rushed to his side, looking at from all angles, obviously deducing.

"I'm alright, Sherlock." John said, slightly rolling his eyes.

"Mummy, Mycroft, John and I will retire to my room now. We'll see you at dinner." And he pulled John out of the room by his hand.