Sherlock just stood there, letting the words sink into him, not saying anything.

“He can’t stay here,” the Headmaster muttered. “The place is being cleaned.”

Mycroft moved his calm gaze away from Sherlock and on to the Headmaster. “Our mother is... unwell,” he said. “Her constitution is delicate at the best of times, and this business with our father has distressed her greatly. She needs peace and quiet, and Sherlock needs someone older to look after him.”

“But I’ve got you!" Sherlock protested.

Mycroft shook his large head sadly. “I live in London now, and my job requires me to work many hours each day. I would not, I’m afraid, be a fit guardian for a boy, especially an inquisitive one such as you.” He turned towards the Headmaster, almost as if it was easier to give him the next piece of information than to tell Sherlock. “Although the family house is in Horsham we have relatives in Farnham, not too far from here. An uncle and aunt. Sherlock will be staying with them over the school holidays.”

“No!" Sherlock exploded.

“Yes,” Mycroft said gently. “It is arranged. Uncle Sherrinford and Aunt Anna have agreed to take you in for the summer.”

“But I’ve never even met them!"

“Nevertheless, they are family.”

Mycroft bade farewell to the Headmaster while Sherlock stood there blankly, trying to take in the enormity of what had just happened. No going home. No seeing his father and his mother. No exploring in the fields and woods around the manor house that had been home to him for fourteen years. No sleeping in his old bed in the room under the eaves of the house where he kept all of his books. No sneaking into the kitchens where Cook would give him a slice of bread and jam if he smiled at her. Instead, weeks of staying with people he didn’t know, being on his best behaviour in a town, in a county which he didn’t know anything about. Alone, until he returned to school.