It was strange how the tiniest little thing could set off a whole chain of memories. In this instance it was a slice of Blackberry pie. Mycroft must have had Blackberry pie hundreds of times. As Sherlock was so keen to point out, his elder brother was very fond of pudding. But this time it sparked off a chain reaction of emotions in his head. This time he was ten years old, nearly eleven. Sitting in the family car. Coming home...

"Wow Mikey! You live in Brideshead Castle!" Nick had exclaimed as he peered out of the car window. The first glimpses of the pink sandstone walls and gothic turrets had loomed into sight.

"Do you like it?"

"It's brilliant."

"That's my room up there." Mycroft pointed to a window in one of the towers as the car came to a halt in the courtyard in front of the house. "Mummy says we can share if you want to? Although you can have one of the guest rooms. There are lots of them." Mycroft really wanted to share his room with Nick. Somehow it seemed very important.

"No. I'll share with you." Nick smiled and Mycroft's world stopped turning for a few seconds

The front door was wrenched open and a small curly haired boy came rocketing out. Mycroft had forgotten about Sherlock in his excitement and he steeled himself for the embarrassing onslaught that was inevitable.

"Hello Sherlock." Mycroft held his breath. He should have warned Nicholas about his hyperactive, difficult, little brother.

"Go away Fatty!" The little boy stuck out his tongue. Mycroft blushed, his recent growth spurt had gotten rid of the last of his childhood chubbiness, but he was still sensitive about it. Which Sherlock was only too aware of. And then Sherlock turned his attention to Nicholas. "Who are you?"

"I'm Nick. I'm Mycroft's friend." Nick held out his hand, which Sherlock regarded with distaste.

"Who wants to friends with him?" Nicholas crouched down so he was facing Sherlock.

"I do. Now does your mummy know you've been stealing blackberry pie from the kitchen this morning?" Sherlock's eyes widened.

"How did you know that?"

"Your tongue's purple. And you've scraped your knee, probably climbing up something. If it was something you were allowed to be climbing up and you hurt yourself you would have asked your Mummy to put a plaster on it. So you must have been doing something naughty. I'm guessing there's a nail on the shelf in the pantry. And you've been sneaking pie. It's okay. I'm not a snitch." Sherlock stood opened mouthed for a few moments before launching himself at Nick and putting his little arms around his neck.

"I really like your friend Mycroft." Nick looked up at Mycroft and winked. "Is he staying for the whole of the holidays? Will you show me how to do that trick?"

"What trick?"

"When you look at someone and tell things about them. That's just the best thing ever."

...Mycroft chewed on his pie. And smiled. Because thinking about it, Sherlock was absolutely right, even at the age of three-nearly-four. For him it really had been the best thing ever.