"Your mother is coming back with your younger sister. She's been kicked out of Baskerville Academy, just like the two of you." Mr Holmes announced to the two teenagers standing in front of him.

"Impressive. She's how old? Ten?" Mycroft grinned at Sherlock, goading him into an argument.

"Oh wow, she's younger than when I was kicked out." Sherlock said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Boys! Don't talk to her about it. I don't think she'll be happy to discuss it."

"Are you implying I would actually want to talk to her?" Sherlock snorted, going upstairs to his bedroom.

"Lovely as always, brother dear." Mycroft sighed.

Mr Holmes placed a hand on his forehead and sighed.

"I'll talk to her." Mycroft assured his father, going to wait in the sitting room.

Half an hour later, Mrs Holmes returned, leading a sulking Francesca behind her.

"How many times? It wasn't my fault!" She yelled, referencing the worst fight she'd had that year.

"So it's the floor's fault that Miss Brown broke her nose? And the wall dislocated her jaw?" Mrs Holmes contradicted, raising her eyebrows.

"I tripped her up and pushed her. If she wasn't so horrible, maybe I wouldn't have done it."

"I'm not arguing with you any more, Francesca."

"Good."

The young girl was a mix of both of her brothers. She had the same sharp, angular features as Sherlock, but she had the serious eyes and floppy hair that were apparent in Mycroft.

She stomped into the sitting room where Mycroft sat, flicking idly through a book.

"Welcome home, Francesca." He greeted politely, offering her the seat next to him.

"Hello." She murmured glumly in response.

"How bad was your year?"

Francesca took a deep breath.

Six fights, three missed days, nine skipped lessons and seven cases of her sneaking onto the school's roofs at night. Looking back, it wasn't exactly one of her best years.

"By the sound of things, Mrs Mulbrook might be left with a nervous disposition." Mycroft sighed.

"It's not my fault. She's an idiot."

"You've said that eight times. Obviously, it is your fault."

Francesca gave her brother a sharp look.

"Obviously, you've put on weight. But you've tried to loose it by exercising excessively. I hope you enjoy it." She snapped, swooping down and stealing the last cake.

Mycroft's indignant cry was the soundtrack to her departure from the room.