A/N: Up to chapter 30 already! Thank you to everyone who has been supporting the story so far by reading, reviewing, alerting and/or favouriting!

This is a request, more details after the story.

As John reaches the top of the stairs he is about to call out to see if Sherlock is home when there is a flash of movement next to him at the kitchen doorway. He turns to see Mrs Hudson with her finger up to her lips while she gestures for him to follow her. They silently move into Sherlock's room, leaving the door ajar.

"She wouldn't take no for an answer! Pushed past me at the front door and was up the stairs in an instant!" the landlady stage whispers, she doesn't seem to mind if they are overheard. "I said Sherlock wasn't home, I even told her you weren't here but she insisted on waiting!"

"Who? Who's here Mrs Hudson?" John has gone cold at the thought that it may be none other than The Woman sitting out there. Sherlock had warned him a few weeks ago that if he saw her he was to contact him immediately.

"She's sitting there, demanding tea and saying she'll wait for Sherlock. I need to head out, I'm already twenty minutes late because of her! Can you handle it, John dear?" she pleads as she holds his arm gently and waits for his response.

"Yes, that's fine, thank you for your help Mrs Hudson. Sorry that it's caused you to run late"

She squeezes his arm in relief and releases it. "Don't know what she'll find if she goes for a snoop. I just didn't think it was the sort of person that should be left in the place by herself"

"No" John says, his frown deepening "I don't think she is either". He gathers himself up then walks through the kitchen, stepping into the living area with purpose while their landlady leaves quietly.

There is a person standing near the far window who turns and works her way back to the couch by the far wall, which she now stands in front of.

It is not who John is expecting. It is a lady perhaps a few years younger than Mrs Hudson but not by much. A client? She is in a knee length, a-line, blue-grey coat with a large silver and emerald brooch on the wide lapel. Her shoulder length dark grey hair is raised in a dignified bun and her bright blue eyes take him in carefully. He is about to ask who she is but he'd built himself up to have to deal with Irene Adler and it takes a moment for this to settle in. If he was thinking clearly he would have realised who this is straight away.

"Ah. Doctor Watson, you've arrived home. Is Sherlock far behind?" a direct and confident voice queries.

John purses his lips and replies "Yes, hello. I don't know where he is. Can I help you?"

"You can, I'd like a cup of tea, white, two sugars. I'll wait here" at this she sits herself on the couch and looks around as though she could catch something awful from the state of the place, although she seems to be fairly polite about it.

John stares at her, something is familiar but his mind is too busy trying to calm him down. He lets out a soothing breath. "You came here for a cup of tea?"

"No, I'm having cup of tea while I'm here. There is a difference" she seems to reassess her interpretation of his level of intelligence. "Surely your cleaner can do a better job than this?" she notes, eyeing the stacks of magazines and the general clutter. "If it was kept tidier then she wouldn't have to turn guests away in shame"

John straightens, left hand opening and closing. "She was turning you away because we weren't home. Also she's not our cleaner, we don't have one"

She appears to bite something back along the lines of 'well, that's obvious', apparently John is very good at reading her. This is when she turns her head to the left towards the door. "Ah, here he is. Late. As usual"

Slowly Sherlock steps into the room, tugging his gloves off with deliberate movements. There is a heavy tension in the room. "John" he greets first, although he hasn't taken his eyes off the guest. He then addresses her in carefully calculated speech, talking at a much slower pace than usual. "How can I be late if your visit is unannounced?"

"I've been trying to see you for months. That's how late you are" she chides, chin lifted and lips pursed. Very much like-

Suddenly it all makes sense to John and he feels like a complete idiot, the realisation hits him as a physical jolt too. This woman looks so much like Sherlock, she would have had similar hair colour before it lightened, her eyes are the same tone as her sons and she too is tall and lithe. The cheekbones are the dead give away but she has Mycroft's neck and lips and the way she's raised her chin and given that pouty grimace is every bit her older son. Oh God, John realises, this woman is equal parts Sherlock and Mycroft. He feels like running and that is coming from a soldier who's seen the battlefield, both here and in Afghanistan.

"I see you've met John" Sherlock says tightly.

"Yes, he was about to make me a cup of tea" she replies as though this is a courtesy she wouldn't expect from her son.

"Only if he wants to"

John twists his head, giving him the look of a curious dog. This is a very different attitude from the man who regularly bellows 'tea!' and expects one to be brought to him. But John is happy to get out of there for a minute. He nods to let his flatmate know that it's fine and leaves for the kitchen.

Standing next to the kettle and waiting as it boils, he thinks it's best to give these two space. He knows that it's a bit of a strange family but it's clear that there has been conflict between the two of them, although Sherlock is holding back on being openly rude.

John returns to the room a few minutes later to find Sherlock tuning his violin by the window closest to the fireplace and Mrs Holmes with a pair of glasses on texting on her phone. He places the tea tray in front of her, it's the set Mrs Hudson had lent them a week ago and is white with little pictures of Great Britain on it. He then prepares her a cup and thinks about making one for himself but believes that would look too much like he was inviting himself into the conversation. Well if there are any conversations that are going to occur, anyway, they're both very quiet. He's about to make Sherlock one but the man waves him away from the tray instead.

When Mrs Holmes has obviously sent what she needs to she puts her phone away, taking her glasses off and placing them in her handbag. She gives John a quick nod of thanks and takes a sip before stating "I'm here in London for the next three days for a charity function that I've been helping to organise. I thought I would take the initiative and drop by as it was clear that you weren't going to come and see me back at the manor".

Manor, John nearly coughs at the way the word is so matter of fact. He's now glad he didn't get his own drink or he may have spluttered it all over himself. The pressure is so thick in the air suffocation was starting to feel like a real possibility. He moves into the kitchen but can hear every word.

"I've been busy, Mother. Which I've made perfectly clear" Sherlock replies, looking down at his tuning pegs.

"Couldn't even see your way clear of visiting at Christmas"

"Busy" he says shortly, making his way to sit in his leather armchair without the bow and begins to absently pluck at the strings.

They then have a ten minute conversation about what Sherlock has missed back in his home town and he explains a little about the work he's been doing recently. Obviously they could speak together but Sherlock doesn't really seem to be enjoying himself. John has spent most of the time cleaning up around the kitchen to give them some space. The one time he's tried to leave to go upstairs Sherlock has shaken his head at his flatmate, unseen. The doctor nods, taking direction and instead keeps cleaning.

Another fifteen minutes later he comes and sits down in his armchair, they had been silent so he thought he should be polite.

Mrs Holmes seems pleased with this development and looks him over again before saying "So, Doctor Watson. What is it like living with my son?". Their visitor is watching him in a very Mycroft way. This all feels very familiar.

"It keeps me busy" he explains, simply.

"My niece tells me you write up Sherlock's cases?"

"Yes, I have a website. Just put up what we've been up to. It's getting fairly popular actually"

"Well, I'm sure that's just what a private detective needs: fame and popularity"

John gives an expression that is polite but lets her know he's not going to be pushed around. "It brings the clients in, something's got to pay for the food and tea. And flat"

"Indeed" she gently places her empty cup on the tray and sits back with a business-like expression. "Don't get me wrong, Doctor Watson. I approve of you documenting my son's work. It is some sort of validation"

"I don't need validation" Sherlock huffs.

His mother turns to him. "But obviously what John is doing is helping your work, that has to be a good thing. I hope you thank him for it"

Sherlock grumbles a little in his seat, something like 'of course' seems to come out.

"Do you have any siblings, John?"

"An older sister"

"Do you get on?"

"Well enough"

"That's a no then" she picks up one of the Kingston biscuits but holds it instead of taking a bite. "Like my two, can't see eye to eye on anything". Sherlock begins to shift in his seat but she continues. "Does she have any children?"

"Ah, no". He's wondering where this is going.

"Just like mine, unless you have any? But you don't look as though you do". She finally takes a dainty bite of the food in her hand.

"No, apart from our landlady who you've met it's just Sherlock and I here" he states, then a small smile breaks out across his face at an image that flashes up in his mind of a toddler running around and adding chaos to 221b, he hadn't thought that would be possible to add more drama. "I don't think this is the sort of place to bring up children". He thinks of the chemicals, explosions and the pictures of crime scenes that are sometimes all over the walls.

"That's something you've considered then?" she looks aghast at the very idea, a tone a little higher. She runs her eyes over the mess, the stacks of items on the table, a dissection that had been left on the table and the skull on the mantlepiece.

"What?" John begins to backpedal immediately. "No, I- no that's not what I meant" he looks to his friend for help but he seems to be enjoying the fact that John was able to get a rise out of his mother like that. He'll be no help with this then. "No. I just thought that-I got an image. Don't worry". By now he's flushed red with embarrassment.

Sherlock sees it as time to step in, making eye contact with his mother. "If you've finished interrogating my flatmate perhaps you can give me the usual parting lecture and be done with it?"

Her face hardens. "It wouldn't be so predictable, Sherlock, if you actually took heed to my words. Once you actually take my advice I wouldn't have to give it anymore"

"Well why don't we say I get on with ignoring the list you gave me last time?"

Mrs Holmes closes her eyes and takes a calming breath. It looks like it's for show as John can't imagine her raising her voice. "Doctor Watson, perhaps you can make him see reason?"

"With all due respect you're his mother, if you can't then why would I be able to?"

"He seems to like you. I never got to meet Victor his other friend-"

"-you're boring John" Sherlock interrupts quickly, picking up his bow then frowning.

"You've got a problem there, Sherlock, haven't you? You want to drown out my words but you haven't played in front of me since your recital at Aunt Agatha's 80th birthday"

"Well then" he says instead, ignoring those words, although John cracks a smirk and wonders if he's played properly in front of Mycroft since then either. Could be some good blackmail material to seek out, he notes. "I think that's about the extent of our hospitality today" he says rising from his chair, leaving the violin on the leather. "Mycroft is overseas. Won't be available until next week"

"Yes I spoke with Anthea. Wonderful girl. Tell me, are they an item? I find it hard to tell over the phone line"

John watches Sherlock closely and witnesses a mostly suppressed look of amusement on his face. "I don't think-" he seems to reign in what he was going to say and instead says lightly "I don't think they are interested in one another in that way". It seems to be a statement covering up a lot of things John notices but the other doesn't seem to.

"A pity. I wish one of you would settle down"

"Hrm" Sherlock says nodding towards the door.

"I haven't finished talking yet, Sherlock"

"Are you sure?" he replies with a glare.

"You're cruel to your Mummy" she says and it's the first thing that she's spoken there today that isn't very formal sounding.

"Hrm" he repeats.

Mrs Holmes walks over to John, hand raised. He reaches over and shakes it. "Pleasure to meet you, Doctor Watson"

"John, please"

"Hopefully we'll meet again soon, it's high time Sherlock takes a visit to the manor"

"Goodbye, Mother" Sherlock says stiffly. She merely nods at him.

They hear her footsteps down the seventeen steps then the sound of the front door closing.

At this Sherlock jumps across and looks out the window, down onto the street. "She's gone"

"Manor?" John questions with an inquiring smirk.

"Oh, shut up" the other replies, although there is no venom to it. They share a true smile together feeling as though they've both weathered a storm and come through the other side unharmed and somewhat unified.

A/N: The request was for for more Mummy and John and Sherlock's interaction with her. The first Mummy story on here is chapter 15 if you're interested in going back and refreshing your memory.

Hope you enjoyed this and thanks again for the support! This was the longest instalment yet :) Reviews are very much appreciated!