"Your brother isn't with you?" Mummy peered over Mycroft's shoulder as her eldest son entered the house, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. Mycroft hoped he had hidden the grimace before he replied.
"No, Mummy. Sherlock is busy for a few weeks. He is catching up on some studies before he starts at University. He has been working very hard." Mycroft shot his eyes heavenward as he blatantly lied to his mother.
"Oh, my boy will do so well." Mummy beamed proudly, following her son into the drawing room for drinks. "Is he excited about resuming his education?"
Mycroft poured them both a large measure of Scotch, taking advantage of the time he was facing away from his mother to close his eyes and compose himself for a moment.
"I think so, Mummy." he said, maintaining the deception. In reality, Mycroft wasn't even sure if Sherlock would be able to start the university term on time. He had checked his little brother into rehab in the hope of getting him clean before he needed to leave Mycroft's London home in three months time, but Mycroft was not at all convinced. He feared that Sherlock would be unable, or perhaps unwilling, to get clean in such a short period, but if they were to keep his drug problem away from their parents, they could not risk admitting him longer and delaying the start of his studies.
Mycroft passed a glass to his mother and took a long drink of his own.
He just prayed that his dear little brother had a strong enough will to succeed.