Written for the following prompt: One of the gang - Lestrade, Molly, Sally, Mrs Hudson, anyone - decides to set about on some serious matchmaking between John and Sherlock. Their motive is to make Sherlock happy and therefore, easier to deal with.

Sherlock/John, Pg-13ish romance. Written from Mrs. Hudson's pov, because I adore her to bits. Enjoy!

Mrs. Hudson loved Sherlock like the son she never had. This was the only thought that had stopped her from throttling him, or at the very least evicting him, on more than one occasion. Like the time he had dropped highly corrosive chemicals on the floor and it had burned a small hole through the ceiling of her living room; or when he had broken the dishwasher by filling it full of body parts; or just last week, when he had nearly burned the house down trying to warm something in the microwave.

At these moments Mrs. Hudson reminded herself that Sherlock was really just a restless, well-meaning young lad at heart. He had helped her out with her husband's case after all, and none of his accidents were ever on purpose; they were just the product of his overactive mind. What he needed, she thought, was someone to look after him and keep him out of such trouble. She tried as much as she could, but Sherlock would only tolerate so much interference from the landlady before he would either stop pretending to listen or escort her out of the flat.

Then Dr. Watson had shown up one day, out of the blue. Mrs. Hudson had been surprised, certainly, but also overjoyed. She considered herself to be a fair judge of character, and a few moment's observation told her that this doctor fellow was just the sort of companion her Sherlock needed: calm, polite, rational, stable. Everything Sherlock so often wasn't.

She had, of course, been wrong to jump to the conclusion that their attachment was romantic. She blamed it partly on Mrs. Turner and all her gossip about her imarried ones/i. But it had also been Sherlock's fault as well. She saw the way he watched John expectantly, as if holding his breath, waiting for the doctor's approval. Mrs. Hudson hadn't seen Sherlock interact with many people, but this was totally different from the aloof manner he used with that detective fellow who was always popping in. And while Dr. Watson was awfully quick to disabuse her of her presumptions, Sherlock, who was usually so precise to the point of being anal, had let it pass without comment. He, at least, seemed to see nothing wrong with the idea of sharing a bedroom.

Over the following couple months Mrs. Hudson had come to love John as a second son. Her first estimations of him had been correct: he was steadfast and reliable, but he also had a quick sarcastic wit that made the two of them laugh like teenage girls when they watched daytime talk shows together. She enjoyed that time they spent together, and rather missed it once John found a regular job.

She had noticed that Sherlock was benefiting from his presence too. The destructive experiments hadn't stopped altogether, but John seemed to keep them from straying into their former excesses. At least the fire department hadn't been round in a while. Then there were the smaller signs: sometimes when it was quiet she would hear laughter leaking through from the rooms above. That had certainly never happened before John's arrival. Sherlock looked healthier, too, like he was eating regularly and maybe even getting some sleep. All around, she decided, John Watson had been a godsend, for both of them.

But it wasn't quite enough. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't call herself a busybody, not like some of the other women in the neighborhood who had nothing better to do than snoop into everyone else's business, thank you very much; but she did keep a perceptive eye on the situation in her household. Where Sherlock had superb powers of observation for the scientific, Mrs. Hudson prided herself on her ability to read people and situations. Years of training and a natural woman's intuition, she liked to brag. And while most of what she had observed warmed her heart, there were still some distressing signs that not all was well.

It was mostly because John was out dating those women, she decided. Almost every time he left for a date Sherlock would go into one of his more destructive moods. The bullet holes in the wall were evidence of that. She could hear him on those evenings, pacing around the living room restlessly until John returned home. And on the few occasions he hadn't returned Sherlock had woken her in the middle of the night with that horrible screeching violin.

Mrs. Hudson had watched enough daytime telly to recognize the signs of jealousy when she saw them. Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but it made him feel insecure every time John chose someone else's company over his own. The poor lad was lovesick, she concluded in a moment of fancy while watching a particularly dramatic soap opera. All his recent acting out was just a plea for attention. Well, John may not have noticed, but she certainly had. And it was time to do something about it.

Mrs. Hudson had been quite the social matchmaker back in her day. She liked to think of herself as something of an expert. Why, she had set up Martha and Bernard, who everyone conceded were the most perfect couple. And just recently she had introduced the widower who owned the market to her friend Grace with great success. She had a natural eye for these things, everybody said so. It was true that she had never brought together two men before, but she figured it couldn't be all that different. It only meant she may have to use slightly different tactics, especially since subtlety would be needed in such a delicate situation. If things went wrong she could end up with a fractured household.

By that evening she had formulated a plan that was genius in its simplicity, she flattered herself. Simplicity was always best in these matters, after all; that left the least amount of room for something to go wrong. And knowing Sherlock as she did she knew it was no use trying to fool him; he could see through deception in an instant, with that uncanny ability of his. Honesty would be the best policy, with a little maternal care thrown in.

Slow and steady had always been Mrs. Hudson's policy. The strongest relationships had to be built on solid foundations, after all. And so she set to work gradually. She began with John, since he was the more likely of the pair to actually listen to her and pay her words any mind.

So the next time he had a day off she asked him to accompany her to the market. It was part of their regular routine by now. John helped her carry the heavy items, and in return she would prepare the boys a nice supper. So there was nothing out of the ordinary that would make John suspicious. As they strolled leisurely through the super she decided to put phase one of her plan into action.

"So, John," she began casually, "I haven't seen any young women around lately. Have you not got a girlfriend, then?"

It was true, too; she hadn't seen any girls come over in quite some time. But that didn't necessarily mean John wasn't seeing anyone, only that he had gotten smart enough not to bring them round. She couldn't blame him after the fiasco with that pretty young doctor lady.

John sighed, in what sounded a little like annoyance, but he didn't refuse her. "No, no, you're right, I haven't been seeing anyone lately. Sherlock's been keeping us so busy that I barely have time to sleep, never mind date." He looked a bit dejected, but Mrs. Hudson grinned inwardly. Things would be that much easier if John was already unattached.

"Ah, well, don't worry about it, love, you know how girls these days are; they come and go, there's no keeping them tied down. But you're a good man, I'm sure there's someone for you." She patted him on the arm reassuringly.

John gave her his small patronizing smile that said 'if you say so.'

"What about Sherlock, then? No one special in his life?"

John let out a sarcastic burst of laughter.

"Come on, Mrs. H, you know Sherlock isn't interested in that sort of thing. I think he'd rather chew his own arm off than be tied down to someone."

She tut-tutted at that. "Now, John, I've known that boy longer than you have. I've never seen him with a lover, exactly, but he's not so cold as you might think. Why, just look at the two of you."

John gave her a dismayed look. "I've told you before, it's not like that between us—"

But she cut him off gently. "I know, dear, I know. As you keep telling me. All I'm saying is that boy treats you like I've never seen him treat anyone else, that's all. Maybe you haven't realized it yet, but you're special to him. I can tell."

John still looked a bit disgruntled, but he seemed to consider this. Mrs. Hudson decided to leave it at that for the moment, and let those thoughts simmer. At least he didn't seem repulsed by the idea. It was a good start, all things considered.

The next hurdle was Sherlock. What seemed so obvious to Mrs. Hudson would probably go unnoticed by Sherlock himself. The poor boy was so dense when it came to certain things, she mused. Luckily she was there to consider these things for him.

She caught him alone several days after her conversation with John. John was out running errands (not on a date, she had specifically checked), and Sherlock was moping around the flat in his pajamas. She popped upstairs on the pretence of offering him some lunch, just this once, of course. Though it wasn't just an excuse—he really did need to eat more, all skin and bones as he was.

Sherlock had accepted, mostly out of boredom, she knew. She brought up a pot of homemade stew and they ate in front of the telly together.

"So," she began casually, "I noticed John hasn't been off gadding about so much lately. You two been busy?"

Sherlock looked a little smug. "I don't keep track of John's social life, Mrs. Hudson. Whatever he may tell you, it was certainly not my fault that those women ran away." His expression said otherwise, but Mrs. Hudson chose not to pursue the matter.

"Well, I just thought maybe there was a reason you two were spending more time together lately, that's all. You do seem to be a lot more cheerful these days, you know. Since John came and all."

"You're imagining things, surely." His tone was bored.

"Oh, I don't know dear. John seems to be happy too, you know. Maybe things are going well lately….Or, maybe you're just good for each other."

She didn't look at him, putting on her best neutral expression. But out of the corner of her eye she caught the bemused furrow of his brow. Maybe he hadn't thought about John's affect on him before, but perhaps now he would start to notice it himself. She decided to count this another successful mission completed.

Over the next few weeks she continued to work her magic, dropping little comments and hints here and there. It really wasn't difficult; the chemistry was there, all she had to do was draw their attention to it. And once they noticed their own consciousness of it would help spur things along.

She was preparing to move her efforts into the next phase when things took a rather surprising turn.

She was enjoying her evening tea rather late one night when she heard the boys storm in. Noisier than a pack of elephants, as usual. The night was stormy and bitingly chilly. She hoped they'd wrapped up properly. The last time Sherlock had gotten a cold it had almost seemed like the end of the world, at least for Baker Street.

But something wasn't right. It wasn't just their usual noisiness. The front door slammed with splintering force, then heavy footsteps stomped up the stairs, followed by shouting. It was loud enough that she could hear it through her living room wall.

"John!" Sherlock's voice, she noted. He sounded unusually panicked, in a tone she had never heard from him before.

The footsteps continued without pausing.

"John! Just wait, will you!"

A second set of footsteps scrambled quickly up the stairs, creating a terrible racket. They were probably tracking in all sorts of mud too, for heaven's sake.

A second door slammed, upstairs. The voices were muffled through the floor now and she couldn't make everything out. She was most certainly not eavesdropping, she assured herself. If they were so loud then it was their own fault, she couldn't help but overhear them.

"Why? Why would you do that?" She heard footsteps pacing across the living room floor above.

"John, just listen—"

They must have moved into the kitchen because the voices became less distinct.

"—you don't even—," "—how should I?—" "-what does that mean?" It was just snatches of phrases now, but they certainly sounded angry. It was difficult to tell whose voice was whose.

The voices became louder and suddenly Mrs. Hudson found herself rather worried. The boys had rows before, but never anything serious. Usually a bit of shouting, and then one of them would leave until things cooled off. They would never try to hurt one another, would they? No, certainly not.

But then she heard a distinct thud, and the voices went silent.

Terror struck her. Oh lord, what was that? Before even pausing to think about it she was flying out of her flat and up the stairs. The doors were almost never locked, and so she reached for the closest one, opening on the kitchen, and threw it open.

She expected to see the boys fighting, maybe exchanging some punches, hopefully nothing worse. Oh, she hoped there wasn't any blood, she wasn't good with blood.

But she was not at all prepared for what she did see.

There, pushed up against the kitchen table, littered with papers and old food—oh, what a mess!—were her two tenants, JohnWatson and Sherlock Holmes, snogging as if their lives depended on it.

She was so surprised she couldn't move for a moment. She couldn't comprehend the scene in front of her at all. She had been so scared that things might be broken, that someone might be hurt.

As relief flooded through her she couldn't hold back the laugh that started in her belly and exploded from her throat. She sagged against the door frame, laughing until her eyes watered.

The boys didn't seem to notice her presence until that moment, for they suddenly broke apart, guilty expressions on their faces, as if they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Mrs. Hudson just continued to laugh as they stared at her like she was a mad woman. Maybe she was. It really shouldn't be so funny. But it was more relief than anything else.

Finally she managed to collect herself a bit. "I heard noises—thought you two were fighting-" she managed to wheeze out between fading giggles.

John blushed slightly, but Sherlock only looked bemused.

"Well, as you can see, that it most certainly not the case."

"No, no, I should say not," she replied, grinning at them. "Well, then, don't let me bother you, carry on with what you were doing. You've got lots of lost time to make up for, after all."

She knew they were exchanges glances behind her back, but what did it matter. Everything had worked out, not quite as she had planned, but close enough. She thought she could still reasonably take credit for this.

Just wait till Mrs. Turner heard the news. Pretty soon she may have her very own married ones.

END

That was ridiculously fun to write, I hope you guys liked it. I'm considering doing a parallel fic from John & Sherlock's pov if there's any interest.

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