Young Mycroft Holmes was a protective teenager. And it was obvious to his mother's eyes that he dearly loved his younger brother, regardless of said brother's opinion. Unfortunately for him, he tended to show his love in such a way that any outside (and inside) observer would mistake it for petty jealousy or sibling rivalry (except for his mother, she knew everything).
As such, she knew that the only reason for her oldest son's apparent nastiness towards his sibling was his ill-fated attempts at protecting his younger brother, attempts rendered more difficult by the fact that Sherlock didn't seem to have a single shred of survival instinct in his being. But he tried, and succeeded, even though each attempt was punctuated by a bitter sense of resentment from her youngest towards her eldest.
So when little Sherlock Holmes complained about his latest experiment being stolen (not missing, he had told her, because Sherlock never misplaced an experiment), Mummy Holmes made no mention of having seen it in Mycroft's room, thoroughly dismantled and with parts of it placed under the microscope.
She also didn't have any reactions other than a secretive smile when she witnessed her youngest tear his hair to shreds when said experiment mysteriously reappeared in his bedroom, seemingly unscathed (he also didn't realize that any and all toxic component had been discreetly neutralized).
And if young Mycroft Holmes found his favourite plate sitting next to that special cake that positively made him melt in bliss on the dining table that very same day, well she certainly wasn't at fault, was she?
And today marks the appearance of a teenage Mycroft for the first time.
So this chapter came earlier, because I'd like to point out the fact that I put up a poll on my profile about what the Holmes patriarch should be called in the story. Please let me know whether you'd like it to be Papa Holmes, Daddy Holmes, or any names you can think of.
So thanks for reading, and tell me what you thought!