"Interesting that Sherlock sees it that way," Mary noted. Perhaps it wasn't interesting. In her mind, Sherlock Holmes was a Victorian man, not someone from the modern age.
She sipped her tea. Mary hadn't noticed Mycroft's slip. Sherlock was his brother, after all, even if they didn't have the same memories. If Edith ever arrived her, Mary supposed that she would, unfortunately, still be her sister, even if their memories were slightly different.
"Well, let's try to battle sometime, then. I wonder which of ours would win?"