It was Mary noticed as she helped me prepare my manuscripts. "How came it," asked she, "that in seven years you never mentioned your brother to Holmes? Not even to say that he had died?"
I still have no answer, except that you are Sherlock Holmes. For all that you see and know and instantly comprehend there are chambers of the heart forever locked against you. Knowing you to be numb to grief I hid my grief from you, and will again, now that you are come back from death.
How could you have possibly known that I would mourn?