Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

Absence is to love as wind is to fire: it extinguishes the little flame, it fans the big." - Umberto Eco

"Alive! For all these years?! How is that even possible?" Mummy's voice sounded so high, with just a hint of hostility, barely detectable under the obvious disbelief… But Mycroft was sure that the animosity would soon peep out.

"What Uncle Rudi began…", the man behind the British Government hesitated, then continued, his eyes pointed downward, "I thought it best to continue."

"I'm not asking how you did it, idiot boy!" As he had anticipated, the first insult had arrived within the first two minutes. "I'm asking, how could you?"

It was the same question he had asked himself many times, during all those years. He knew, he was still firmly convinced that he had taken the right decision, by deciding to hide Eurus, to protect his family, and his country, too. And in a way, he felt relieved, now that the burden was off his shoulder, even if nobody in that room seemed to understand that he did it just to keep all of them safe.

"I was trying to be kind", was the only answer he could offer; a very weak reply, he knew, but the most sincere he could muster.

"Kind? Kind?", Mrs Holmes scoffed. "You told us that our daughter was dead." She was on the brink of tears, and Mycroft knew that his next words would make her suffer even more… But he had to tell her, what her daughter, his sister, really was.

"Better that, than tell you what she had become." For many years, he had kept the secret… All alone, knowing that it was the safest, and at the same time the cruellest, thing he could do. To Eurus, to his family… To Victor Trevor's parents, who grieved for years, for a son who had the only fault to be Sherlock's best friend.

Now, all he could do, was to offer his apology. "I'm sorry."

His father, silent until that moment, heavily stood up. "Whatever she became, whatever she is now, Mycroft, she remains our daughter." Father, always the forgiver… Maybe, one day, he would grant the same pardon to his eldest son, Mycroft could only hope.

"And my sister." Everyone seemed to ignore how hard it had been for him, to do what he had to do.

"Then you should have done better." Mummy's condemning tone confirmed Mycroft's belief. He was still alone.

Then, Sherlock spoke. "He did his best." Four words, whispered softly, and a glimpse of the Sherlock of many years before, when he was just a bright and loving child, appeared in front of Mycroft.

"Then he's very limited." Mummy's censorious words didn't sting as hard as before, now that he was seeing that he had at least an ally in the room.

"Where is she?", Father asked, and he answered promptly. "Back in Sherrinford, secure this time." He needed to make them understand, how dangerous Eurus was. Their parents still remembered her as a child, maybe a bit strange, but still innocent at her core; they didn't see the cunning, deranged woman who had plotted with Moriarty, and played with their lives in Sherrinford.

"People have died. Without doubt, she will kill again if she has the opportunity. There's no possibility she'll ever able to leave."

His father didn't seem to be fazed by his revelation. "When can we see her?"

Well, maybe his next answer would. "There's no point."

"How dare you say that!" Mummy sounded outraged, and broken, but Mycroft knew that they deserve all the truth, even if it would hurt them even more.

"She won't talk. She won't communicate with anyone in any way. She has passed beyond our view… There are no words that can reach her now." So close… And yet so distant.

"Sherlock?" Mummy turned to her youngest, hoping he would help them. At his silence, she prompted him. "Well? You were always the grownup. What do we do now?"

Mycroft watched his brother. The grownup, as their mother said… The one who had been forced to grow up, to forget his childhood, in order to bury the pain and let it disappear. He knew, as Eurus did, that he had chosen one of his siblings over the other; he had shaped his memories, his view on feelings, on people, just to protect his little brother, while his little sister was growing up in a prison, away from a family who knew her dead...

He waited, in silence, until Sherlock spoke again. "We'll show her that we are still her family. That no matter what happened, we'll still look after her." His piercing gaze focused on Mycroft. "That we'll always protect her… Even if it means, protecting her from herself."

The man behind the British Government allowed himself the tiniest smile, just a corner of his mouth slightly lifted, at Sherlock's words. At last, finally someone understood the reason behind the lies he had told his family for years.

It was in that exact moment, that Mycroft's private line rang. Only an handful of people had his private number: his family, his loyal assistant Anthea, the Watsons (only John Watson, now), Lestrade, Lady Smallwood, of course… And the person who was currently calling him.

"Miss Hooper, to what I owe the pleasure?".

Mycroft could feel Sherlock's piercing gaze on him, and decided that it was time to play just a little bit.

He let Molly explain that she was staying in a small bed & breakfast near Sheffield, and that she needed to have the video recording of that phone call; then he paid close attention to use his best flirting tone to answer her request.

"Of course, Miss Hooper… May I call you Molly, dear?". He listened to Molly uttering her consent, then he continued. "Your wish is my command… I will personally make sure that you will have what you're asking for, before the end of the day. Enjoy your stay, and try to rest a little. Goodbye, Molly."

When he raised his eyes from the phone, Sherlock was leaning on his desk, his frowning face betraying his annoyance. "Since when do you call Dr. Hooper by her first name?"

"Well, Sherlock, it's custom to call a friend by their first name, isn't it? Surely Mummy and Dad taught you so when you were a child…"

Mrs Holmes watched Sherlock sized his brother up, while her older son seemed genuinely amused by his brother's reaction. They were adults, still behaving like little children.

"Molly Hooper is my friend, Mycroft, not yours."

Mycroft smiled at his brother's firm statement. "Sherlock… Do you still believe that? After what happened at Sherrinford, how can you be so positive about the state of your friendship with Miss Hooper?"

Mycroft knew that he was being cruel, but he also knew, more than anyone else, which buttons to push in order to make Sherlock react.

He watched his brother straightened himself up, and distance himself from the desk, before approaching their mother, and kissing her on the cheek; then he gave a sharp nod to his father, and exited the room.

"Where is he going?", his father asked, and Mycroft smirked at him, before answering, as cryptic as ever.

"To lose a friend, I hope…"

Thanks for reading. Leave a review, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.