Hello. Hiatus is officially over. No new laptop sadly but I'm on study leave and so have the opportunity to use my mums desktop.

I've been reading back over the story's to try and get back into the feel of writing for writing the young Sherlock and Mycroft and I've realised that for an entire chapter I called Nemeth, Aoife. Now you probably all just rolled your eyes and possibly made a mental comment about my scatiness and get on with the story but I'd just like to give a brief explanation. I did mean Nemeth (next chapter I was back to calling her by her proper name) and I have gone back and changed it. Aoife is the name of another of Sherlock and Mycroft's cousins and she will be making an appearance in the future.

Hope you like the story and thanks for all the reviews that you lovely people have given. I hope to reply to every one and am off to do it now, however if I miss someone don't worry I love you just as much and am equally grateful for your review I just have no idea where I am with replying.

Long authors note over; enjoy the story.

Mycroft walked absently into the front parlour. It was unusual for him to do anything without a purpose and yet here he was wandering around his home for no reason at all.

Perhaps it was his cousins presence and the tension that was slowly building between the two sides of the family that was making him restless. In any case, he couldn't wait for them to leave.

He stopped in front of the large Christmas tree and, scanning it's heavily decorated branches, he rolled his eyes; Sherlock had been eating the candies on the tree again - for someone who had a peculiar aversion to sustenance of any kind Sherlock managed to consume a ridiculous amount of the sweets. He would have to give Sherlock a lecture in covering his tracks - it would certainly save him a lot of time correcting Sherlock's messes -although who knew how successful it would be and perhaps a wise Sherlock was something that the world wasn't ready for.

With a sigh Mycroft knelt and patiently began to rearrange the candies to cover the strip that was bare of any sweets that ran around the tree at exactly Sherlock's hand height. A minute later he stood and examined his handiwork. He studied the tree critically but eventually came to the conclusion that no one would be able to tell what he had done.

With another sigh, when one lived with Sherlock sighing became a bad habit, he walked over to the window and looked out over the drive. In mere days his cousins would be leaving and he could relax again.

He hadn't forgotten his cousins slight against Sherlock, despite what his brother may think. Sherlock had been complaining only that morning that they hadn't done anything and had accused Mycroft, in that strident and conceited tone of his, of forgetting. He'd tried to explain to Sherlock that no, he was simply waiting for an opportunity but he wasn't sure how much of his explanation had actually reached Sherlock.

It didn't matter anyway, no matter what Sherlock did or said, he refused to rush blindly into action as this would increase the likelihood of him being caught. Better to wait and let his cousins make a mistake or for an opportunity to present itself. And glancing at the Christmas tree and the decorations he had just rearranged he thought he had found his opportunity.

Sherlock scampered down the hall and knocked on Mycroft's door. When he had waited for five seconds and received no response he began pounding on the door.

"Myyyyycrooooft!" he yelled and began to use the other fist to bang on the door as well.

"He's not in there." Sherlock turned and faced Nemeth who was standing a few feet away, her head cocked and her eyes fixed on Sherlock in the manner of some predator.

"And how would you know?" Sherlock demanded although he had to admit that her words were likely true - Mycroft would have reacted by now if only to yell at him from the other side of the piece of wood to 'go away'

Nemeth sniffed daintily and chose to ignore her cousin. She passed him and started down the stairs only to turn back and say,

"I know it was you who threw those toy soldiers out the window Sherlock and I'm going to prove it."

Sherlock looked at her. Hitting her was tempting but something was stopping him. Something Mycroft had said when he hadn't really been listening, something about intelligence. So he smiled at her and darted off down the corridor towards his room. He heard Nemeth stomp her foot and that was satisfying, strangely even more so than if he had actually hit her.

So now all he had to do was work out a plan to get Nemeth back.

Shorter than usual - super short in fact - and I've sorry about that. I'm having a lot of issues getting back into the story. It's much harder than I expected.