"I have arranged for you to stay with me for a while."
Mycroft nodded to the man who was carrying Sherlock's bags through his front door, indicating for him to take them straight up to his room.
"I feel you will be more comfortable here. There is no pressure, and you are free to come and go as you please."
"Sure." Sherlock let out a disbelieving snort. "So you can keep an eye on me, you mean?"
The look of disdain on his brother's face had Mycroft rolling his eyes. Sherlock never failed to rub him up the wrong way, always assuming an ulterior motive.
"Sherlock," he said quietly, hoping he could convey how he felt with the limited range of expressive emotions that he had, "you are my brother. I do care what happens to you, and I want you to be safe and well. Your rehabilitation extends beyond your stay at Sunnyville, and I feel somewhat responsible for your aftercare during this period."
"Will you be needing dinner, sir?" A well-dressed, middle-aged lady appeared at the doorway of the drawing room, looking someone apprehensive about interrupting what could have been an important conversation,
"Thank you, Mrs Walker" Mycroft responded with a smile. "I have to work this evening, but my brother will require a good hot meal."
Mrs Walker left the room with a swift nod, and Mycroft turned to Sherlock, noting that he seemed about to disagree.
"Sherlock. You will eat."
It left no room for argument. Even Sherlock knew it. He scowled at his brother and dropped down into a lounge chair with a huff.
"What am I supposed to DO here, Mycroft? There is nothing. I am already bored of the place."
Mycroft sighed and stopped walking towards the hall. He turned around to face his brother and looked at him earnestly. The look that Sherlock responded with was anything but easy.
"I shall send for your violin, Sherlock." He began, collecting his umbrella from the doorway where he had placed it on the way in. "All you have to do is get better."