"Sherlock! Mycroft!"
Mummy ran to her boys, arms open and face beaming.
"It's so wonderful to have you both here."
Mycroft smiled at Sherlock's grimace as their mother wrapped her arms around them and pulled them together.
It had been many months since both of the Holmes brothers had visited their parents, both preferring to keep their distance for their own reasons, but this Christmas was going to be "extra special", as Mummy kept saying.
"Ohhhhhhh, your father will be so pleased to see you." she continues, loosening her grip on the two grown men and turning to enter the drawing room.
"Come. Come."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and Mycroft responded with a warning head-tip, as if to say "Humour her, brother, please."
Both men followed Mummy into the drawing room to see Father, already sitting near the crackling fire.
"It's good to see you, boys." he said. His voice calm but with an edge of something Sherlock couldn't quite place.
Mycroft shot a glance across to his younger brother. He knew. Mycroft Holmes knew. There was something wrong; something that needed to be said; something... important; life-changing.
Sherlock's face began to ask questions that his voice couldn't, and Mycroft answered with a silent "I'll tell you later."
The younger Holmes nodded.
"Father," he began, accepting one of the glasses of Scotch that Mummy was holding out in his direction, "it is good to be here."