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“You are going to visit her.” “No.” Mycroft let out an irritated sigh, rubbing both his temples. His brother could be so childish. “Mother wants them at Christmas dinner. You must speak with her.” Sherlock huffed, rolled his eyes and crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. He was not going to go see you. He refused to to leave 221B. If his mother really wanted to see you, she would have to ask herself. He was not going. “I am not going to see her. We have done quite well avoiding each other for the past-” “Eight years, Sherlock. Eight years old.” His jaw locked at the refere