Mycroft tossed down his coat on his brother's lap. "All right, Cain, lesson of the day. Perhaps you'll get it right this time. Where've I been?"

Sherlock glanced, uncaring, at the coat before going back to his book. "Tailor?" he observed uncertainly.

An enormous smile began to spread itself across the older brother's face. "Indeed," Mycroft replied.

"Really?" The younger boy dropped Plato's Dialogues. "Really?"

"I knew you'd get it someday."

They didn't speak of it again, not even once, but at the end of the day Sherlock found copies of the penny dreadfuls he adored left on his pillow.