Mycroft was fortunate that he had intensively studied the ways of the goldfish- or humans, as he referred to them in his kinder moments. If he was indeed to be kinder, as sentiment was sure to guide him, he might begin by using the more benign term.

The British Government was good at playing the game, but he would need to do more. He would need to invest himself in a way he had never done before, and stretch himself to his limits. He was conscious of the fact that he could not approach this as an experiment to perform, or his test subjects would catch on all too quickly. (Humans were Rather slow, but they were sometimes remarkably adept at sensing insincerity.) Rather, he would perform it as a sacred duty, with full attention and commitment.

Where to start, that was the first step. With whom could he begin mending bridges, with the least risk of causing even more harm? Or, if he were to be painfully honest with himself, whose rejection would hurt the least?

The older woman was very surprised when Mycroft knocked on her door. "Sherlock should still be home," she informed him stiffly. "I just brought him tea."

"May I ask for a moment of your time, Mrs. Hudson?" Mycroft asked politely, taking care to keep all smarminess from his voice, and hoping his sincerity woukd come through. A reluctant invitation followed.

"Here," he offered her a parcel, awkwardly dangling it from his right hand. "A, ah, housewarming present. In honor of your newly renovated flat."

She looked at him, astounded. Then she pursed her lips, and shook her head from side to side, slowly, while Mycroft nearly squirmed under her disapproving gaze. "Your money won't make up for the range you have cause, Mycroft Holmes. Really, you think bribery would work with me?!" She gave a bitter sort of laugh. "There should never have been a bomb going off in my house."

The old lady's words were perfectly aimed arrows that found their intended target. Mycroft was dearly tempted to leave without another word, but wasn't ready to admit defeat. If gift-giving didn't work, what would a goldfish do next? Be hurt. (He already was.) Express regret. Say "I'm sorry," and hope for forgiveness.

So Mycroft gulped, and attempted to do just that. "Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry about what happened. I know it was my fault. I regret that you've had to experience all of that."

The landlady's expression softened, and Mycroft felt wild hope leaping into his heart, making the organ beat at a faster tempo. "It's good to know you're sorry," she said at last. "You should be. Family is all we have in the end, after all. Just look at what you've done to yours."

She turned around, ignoring both Mycroft and his peace offering. Mycroft admitted defeat, and left without another word.

The battle had been lost, but there still was a war to be won. Mycroft Holmes was nothing if not persistent. He would try again.

Reviewing his attempt, Mycroft poked and prodded his scheme for holes. He finally rationalized that he had been wrong to start with the landlady. Indeed, her rejection would probably hurt less than those of the others, but, conversely, she was the least likely to indulge him. The reason for both being that Mrs. Hudson had the least ties to him, whether in kinship or obligation. Logically, if he wanted the best chance of success, he should attempt it with those he had the most ties to.

"Mummy," Mycroft's voice trembled just the tiniest bit, when his mother picked up. He picked up speed, anxious to get the words out before he lost all courage. "I know I've hurt you. I know you're angry. I only ask you to believe me that I truly meant what's best for you. I'm sorry, Mummy, I really am."

The silence on the other end of the line was excruciating. Finally, Mrs. Holmes took pity on her son by ending it. "We trusted you, Mycroft. Yet you destroyed that trust by lying to us, again and again. Don't think you can regain our trust with a few apologies."

"I... understand. I'm not asking for-for that," Mycroft choked out the words. "All I'm asking is for- for you to understand, that I didn't mean to hurt you. I really didn't."

"Yet you did," Mummy retorted, her voice flat. "Look, Mycroft, I forgive you. I understand that you just aren't capable of making proper choices. As long as you understand that, and let others guide you, we are willing to make a fresh start. You could start by listening to Sherlock, as he at least seems to know what he's doing."

"Yes, Mummy," Mycroft replied, barely hiding the bitterness in his voice. "Of course, Mummy."

Mycroft wouldn't try with John now. He was both the most volatile, and the least likely to be convinced. There was one more person he could try.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother. Mycroft supposed it was a bit strange, him coming to visit, and then blurting this statement out of the blue.

"I'm sure there's good reason, too," the younger brother answered flippantly.

"No, I'm serious this time. You know, we haven't really discussed what happened when you were younger. I know you've felt betrayed by me lying to you, for all these years. I just want you to know, that I'm truly sorry about that."

"Sorry that your lie was discovered, you mean," Sherlock smirked. "Now, was there anything else?"

"Yes. I.." Mycroft faltered slightly under the piercing gaze of his younger sibling. "I want to remind you, that I'm still here for you, if you ever need me."

"Great, I'll let you know if I noticed," Sherlock smirked, and grabbed his violin. The grating notes that followed were a grand send-off song for Big Brother, who took the hint and left.

Once again, he'd gone wrong. Or, perhaps, he had taken the right steps, but prematurely. The others weren't yet ready to reciprocate. Perhaps he had even built some sort of bridge in his relationships, even if all that came through on his side was bitterness and disappointment.

Mycroft sighed. He believed he had done all he could from his side. But he wasn't satisfied, yet. Was his little project only a form of absolution, or a duty to be fulfilled? Or was his motivation derived from a different source.

No. I'm not lonely, Sherlock. Only, feeling a bit out of place. A bit... isolated. Alright, but I'm just a little bit lonely. And hurting, too. And I must still be doing something wrong, if I'm still being rejected by everyone.

His project would need another analysis. This time, he would dig deeper. Besides showing and expressing sentiment, there must be something else he had missed. Mycroft thought about all the different interactions he had experienced, and observed, between himself and those he cared for, and the others among themselves.

Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. Sherlock and John. John and Sherlock. Mummy. Dad. Mummy and Dad. Mummy and Dad and Sherlock. All of the above, and himself. What was he doing differently?

Mycroft's conclusion, once he added up all the data, astounded him. It seemed wrong. It seemed counterintuitive. It seemed unbelievable. And it was the only conclusion that made sense.

A daring thought occurred to him. Why not? To Mycroft, it might have once been unconscionable, but he didn't have a lot if choices left, did he?

As he contemplated the idea, Mycroft let out a chuckle. Who knows, it might even, as humans tended to express themselves, be fun!

A/N: What, in your opinion, is Mycroft missing? What will he be doing differently now?

I'll also let all of you know, that reviews will really be appreciated. Just in case you weren't aware;)