I need not have worried, as it happens. Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis would appear to be capable of managing any load.

We step out into the robotic workshop and Mycroft looks about him at the various displays in quite obvious wonder.

John, on the other hand, is only looking at one display -- a very feminine robot, which comes in a variety of subtle pastel shades. Oh God! Why had it not occurred to me that he was likely to be immediately drawn to this specific style of robot?

I take Mycroft to look at the very latest robot technology. These have no legs and instead have a hovering torso with head and arms. They are fast, lightweight and (like Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis) self-charging, using sunlight to power themselves. They do also come with a charger, which they will use when they decide it to be necessary.

"This is a very good design," Mycroft remarks.

"Up to 10 ability slots can be utilised," I tell him, waving my cane at the specifications. "I plan to select equestrian care duties, cleaning and cooking. Is there anything else?"

My brother nods. "Nanny or governess services and security."

"I did not intend for the groom robot to have much to do with the children."

He chuckles. "They are either going to want to see the horses at least once a day, or be frightened of them and go nowhere near," says he. "If they decide that they like the horses, you might want the robot to be able to interact with them appropriately."

Yes... he does have a point.

John approaches us at this moment. "Oh! I have seen these robots advertised. They are much faster than those of us which walk."

I nod. "I thought that it might be important to have one or two that can move quickly, in case of crisis."

"I move quickly in a moment of crisis, do I not?"

"Of course you do!" I pat his shoulder. "But a better turn of speed amongst your subordinates could only be a good thing -- especially seeing as they are going to have much to learn."

Mycroft is smirking at me. I pierce him with a glare but choose to say nothing -- I would prefer not to upset our robotic friend further.

"You are right, of course," John notes. "Well, I believe I have located a good assistance bot for Beth..."

He leads us back to the feminine robots and points to a very slender one. "A good turn of speed, a gentle, soothing voice, security features optional..."

"Why have you selected this one?" I ask of him.

"Because they are recommended for child care," says he.

Ah, yes, indeed they are. I somehow doubt, however, that this is his only reason. Well, I did say that he could select the robots.

"One of those and one of these?" I ask, indicating another, plumper, feminine-looking bot. She looks (to my mind) rather like the cook that my family had had, while I was growing up. What was her name?

"She looks a little like Mrs. Conway, Sherlock," Mycroft remarks. "Do you remember her?"

I nod. "I do indeed -- I was thinking the same thing."

Mycroft chuckles. "She was our cook, when we were young," he tells John. "She used to permit us to hide in the kitchen on bath nights and sample her cooking."

I smile at the memory.

"Is she to assist me with kitchen duties, then?" John asks.

"Yes, I think so," I reply. She could even cook for the Watsons, so that Teresa can spend more time resting. I cannot imagine that Watson can cook any better now than he could as a bachelor.

John shrugs. "Are we to have any others?"

"Yes -- six big, burly security bots and three butlers."

John stares at me. "Three butlers? Six security bots?"

I nod. "They will have a number of duties, naturally."

"Well, yes... naturally... but three butlers? Will one not do?"

"One shall be a gift. Another shall be at Mycroft's disposal, when he visits."

"And when he does not visit?"

"He shall have other duties. Do not fret so!"

John frowns at me. "I fret, as you call it, because I know that a robot without work will look for other things to do. A robot without work is liable to become a nuisance and cause problems. Unless you mean to give them hobbies? Gardening, sewing... something?"

That could well be a good idea.

It is not long before I have made my purchases and arranged the delivery. I tell John that they shall be delivered to a friend's address and are not likely to be set up until the house is ready. With that, I drop John off at present-day Baker Street and then return with Mycroft to his cottage.

"You lied to him," Mycroft says, the moment the compudroid is gone.

"Hum?" I look up from twiddling (technical term, that) the controls. "Oh, about the delivery of the new robots? Well, John could never keep a secret and this house is my wedding present to Beth."

He raises his eyebrows. "Quite an extravagant gift," says he.

I shrug. "That is my way."

"Yes... I suppose that it is."

Had he appreciated my gifts, I might have been the more inclined to show him affection. As it was... well... we slowly grew apart. I felt that the effort and affection was all on my side and eventually stopped trying, as I recall. I regret that now, but what could I have done?

"You have far better funds than I," Mycroft says, as if that excuses everything.

I shrug. A card would have been enough -- or some kind words -- anything, really. He hardly was expected to purchase a gold mine for me!

"Do I not make enough effort?" he enquires.

I should like to know just how much effort he believes he makes.

"I shall take your silence as answer enough," says he. "Dash it all, Sherlock! If there is anything that you want from me, why do you not say?"

"Perhaps, Mycroft, it is the fact that I have to tell you that always bothered me. I am your brother, for goodness sake! Do you truly not know me?"

"You never voiced any complaint before..."

I shrug again. "I know."

"Well, why should you do so now?"

"Because I have regrets," I tell him honestly. "I regret that we never discussed... anything. I regret that I allowed us to grow distant."

He frowns at me. "We are not distant."

"Well, within five years from your present, I am going to notice that we have been gradually drifting apart. And I blamed you, at the time. With hindsight came the realisation that I could have done something -- I might have said something. Perhaps, by the time you noticed, you knew not what to do. Perhaps you were waiting for me to take some action. I have no idea, because I never spoke a word about it to you."

"Could you not be mistaken? Might you not simply be remembering your past incorrectly?"

"Perhaps." I doubt it. I have a tendency to view my past life through rose-tinted spectacles, if I am inaccurate at all.

My tone must say enough, for his manner tells me that he is troubled.

"I shall be vigilant," says he, after a long moment. "But what should I do, if we do become distant?"

"What would you expect me to do?"

There is another long silence.

"Come and visit me," says he at last. "You know where to find me, Sherlock."

"Would it not be fair for me to expect you to make a similar effort, once in a while?" I ask of him.

He gives a start. "I am a busy man!"

"As am I -- as are my few friends -- yet we do make an occasional effort."

"You have the more energy."

"I also have the more demands upon my time!" I snap back at him. "And the version of me in your own time does not have a means to get time back. Take the initiative, when you notice that our relationship is not the same, because I am going to be world weary by then. I will have been used too much, by too many. I shall leave it much too late, if left to my own devices."

He nods, his lips set in a straight line and his eyes down. "Despite my faults, you choose to spend time with me now."

I sweep a hand through my hair. "I have missed you -- and I have had ample time to realise that the fault is not yours alone. As I say, hindsight always provides a new perspective."

"Thank goodness for hindsight, then."

I can only nod in agreement.

"We are back, by the way -- we have been for almost a quarter of an hour."

"Oh." Without another word, he gets up and goes to the door. Perhaps, like me, he would prefer not to speak again on the subject.