They stood on the stoop of an elegant brick townhouse. John fussed with his cuffs as Sherlock rang the doorbell.
"Sherlock, what if this was a horrible mistake? What if she hates me?"
"I'm sure Mummy will love you, John."
"Thank you, Sherlock. Does she know... about..." He hesitated.
"About the nature of our relationship? I'll wager Mycroft's let her know, but even if he hasn't she'll figure it out within a few minutes of us getting in. It runs in the family."
John shuddered slightly at the idea of being trapped in a dining room with not two but three sharply intelligent, deductive Holmeses. Sherlock noticed the gesture and gripped John's hand tightly just as a formidable-looking woman with a severe steel-grey updo and familiar grey-green eyes opened the door.
She smiled warmly at Sherlock before casting her keen gaze over John. She studied him intensely before nodding, nearly imperceptibly, and then holding her hands out to him.
"Dr. Watson, please come in. Anyone who loves Sherlock as much as you clearly do is welcome here."
John was vaguely embarrassed that it was so obvious to her, but also pleased that beneath her stoic exterior, he seemed to have gotten her seal of approval. Her acceptance meant a lot to him, even if she was a bit of a battleaxe.