Sherlock sat on the bottom stair, his elbows on his knees and his chin cradled in his hands.
Mycroft cocked his head at the sight of his little brother.
"Don't look like that, Sherlock." he said, sitting next to the six-year-old on the bottom step and giving him a friendly elbow nudge. "I'll be back before you know it."
Sherlock let out a long sigh.
"Six weeks, Mummy said. Six weeks might as well be forever." Sherlock pouted and shrugged off his brother's touch.
The sight of Sherlock looking so upset tore at Mycroft's heart strings.
"I will miss you, brother." the elder boy said, placing his hand on the smaller boy's knee and squeezing it gently.
Sherlock stood up and moved quickly away from his brother, his face stern and frowning.
"I won't miss you." he shouted, turning to run up the stairs, tears beginning to stream down his little face, "I hate you, Mycroft."
Mycroft looked at his mother and father. Father's face showed pride, and Mummy's was soft, as if she was just a little sad.
"He doesn't mean it." Mummy said, placing her arm around Mycroft's shoulder. "We will all miss you desperately, of course."
Mycroft nodded and stared up the stairs. He hoped so.
