John meets Greg and Mycroft and he's briefed about the Plastics.

Originally, I intended to make Greg Damian and Mycroft Janis. But now they're sort of... a fusion of each other. Sometimes, Janis' dialogues will be taken up by Greg and sometimes by Mycroft.

But for the most part, Mycroft is Janis.

And Jim screwed up Greg's life. Because Mycroft is virtually untouchable.

Also, I remembered that Mycroft's supposed to be clever so I kicked Kevin Gnapnoor (did I get the surname right?) out of the scene.

"You okay, Johnny boy?"

"Shut up, Harry!" John snapped at his big sister, who was beginning in some uni that John was glad not to hear anymore about. He had thought that Harry would stay with him in his house through Secondary school (like the good big sister she pretended to be) which she had described in agonising and terrifying detail, but no, she had to go to uni! Well, she could go to hell for all he cared, "You don't have to keep saying that-"

"Alright, stop it now you two," their mother piped in, "John, we understand if you're feeling a little bit nervous-"

"I'm not nervous!" John protested with an obvious lie, "I'm 16, I'm not even supposed to be a minor."

"My baby brother's going to school! Many a tear shed in joy!" Harry squealed.

"Harry," he growled, "stop it!"

"Honey," his dad spoke to his mum, "Have you given John his lunch?" But Harry had to reply, just for the sake of replying, "Yeah, of course," and why did Harry have to reply to everything and since when, "I wouldn't want my baby brother starving during his first day at school!"

"John, you remember your phone number? I've written it down in your almanac, just in case."

"Yeah, I've got it," he replied, thankful that Harry decided to stay out of at least one question, "Thanks dad."

The Watson family car parked outside the school building. John looked at the school building, too long for his mother to rouse him from his deep thoughts and nervousness, "You planning on getting out today, dear?"

John had to admit. He was kinda nervous. "Yeah, sorry," he ducked and slipped out of the car. Only his dad got out. Perhaps he had told his mum and Harry to stay inside. Well , he was thankful for that, "Now John," he looked down at his son with the most tender eyes, too tender for an ex-Lieutenant Commander who had served in Afghanistan, "You don't have to feel very nervous about school, it's a very regular thing. You make friends, just as you did back there, you fight," said he with a wink, "and then you make amends as you go along, alright?"

John nodded solemnly. His father's smile served to calm him down a bit. Although he was nervous, he really wasn't keen on letting that show on his face. He really did not want his parents to worry throughout the day.

"Don't get into trouble or fights on the first day itself, save 'em up for later, be nice to everyone and your teachers. You'll need their recommendations for uni, right?"

Nod nod.

"Don't lose your phone, and don't switch it off either. Keep it on silent. I won't text, for sure, but I can't promise about your mum. She's already worried sick... but don't let that get to you."

Nod nod. He was 16, and it was just school, with other kids his age. Much less dangerous than Afghanistan and the fear of bombings anytime. He was safe, no need to be nervous. He was a soldier, like his father, and he could deal with everything.

But would other kids like him? Would they include him? And would they make fun of his sexuality, if that somehow happened to come out? Such thoughts troubled John a little.

"Reach all your classes in time," his father advised him, "and if people tell you that you're a home-schooled jungle freak, don't listen to them."

John managed a terse laugh at that. That really was harsh, and just the inspiration he needed. His father was always like that.

"Okay. You ready?"

He donned a fake smile, "Think so."

His dad quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I'm okay," smile replaced with laughter, "Fantastic." And that eyebrow kept going higher and higher.

"Sorry," he sobered up, "I'll be careful."

His dad patted his shoulder, and he started walking away from his parents and his sister and towards Westhaven High. Nice building, he mused. John walked towards the entrance, watching the girls and the boys enter the school building. He turned back to see his mum waving furiously at him, and Harry sniggering at him. His mum gave her a tight and well-deserved slap on her back.

"I'll miss you, Johnny boy," she called out loud enough for everyone to hear, "Do write to your dear old sister, won't you? And text me at least once a week!"

John gritted his teeth furiously as he rushed away into the building. People were starting to notice him. He hated being so short. But right now, it was working to his advantage. John looked at different groups sitting outside in the school grounds, already split into cliques on the first day itself.

"Hi!" He waved nervously to some of them. They simply stared at him weirdly. John kept walking, feeling incredibly self-conscious even though no one was looking at him. He passed a bunch of people getting high behind the tree, and a girl stuffing two large egg sandwiches into her mouth. He stared at her, not noticing as he almost crashed with another boy, knocking him out for a few seconds. Short height... not really to his advantage.

When he recovered himself, he extended a hand out to the boy, "Hi! I'm a new student here. My name's John Watson."

"Talk to me again, and I'll kick your ass," was the grumpy reply. John looked around helplessly.He really should have said sorry instead. Thankfully, he found the form class within five minutes, and proceeded to take a seat when a jolly voice arrested him, "Oh no. No, no!"

He spun around to see a robust and handsome guy with a healthy tan and a few premature greys in his hair, "You really don't want to sit in there."

John looked a little puzzled. Kids in school had reserved places for themselves? "Why not?"

"Umm... because Sally Donovan's new boyfriend's going to sit there?" offered a tall boy, sitting behind the first one. His hair was of a ginger shade, and he was deadpanned, disconcertingly so. John looked to his right to see a tall, dark-haired, well-built guy come up and kiss a dark-skinned girl with curly hair.

Well, if face-sucking classified as kissing. "Right, thanks," said John, feeling a little grossed at the PDA.

"No problem."

He nodded gratefully and moved to another bench, a front row seat at which the taller one interrupted again, "Not there either."

"Why?"

"Do you want to carry attendance sheets to the office everyday?"

John shook his head and took a seat in at the back of the class as soon as those two boys lost interest in him. He checked his schedule. He had biology with Ms. Hooper and then Math. That's all he needed to know for the time being.

"Hey everyone," surely that was Ms. Hooper. Nervous, pretty, not exactly the most organized of teachers by the looks of it, "Sorry, I'm late, how was your sum-" She stopped as a plump man came into the classroom, only to be met by the disinterested gaze of all the students except for that of John's.

"Ms. Hooper," he started pleasantly, "Is everything alright in here?"

"Yeah," she gave a good-natured nervous laugh," Top-notch."

"Good."

"Fantastic." All the other students watched the two of them weirdly. John took this as an opportunity to ask who the man was.

"That's Mr. Stamford, principal," said the boy sitting in the bench in the row next to his, "What are you, new here?"

"Yup."

"Cool."

John quirked his eyebrows at that. However was that cool?

He turned his attention back to the two teachers.

"So... how was your summer?"

"Great... I mean- I... not so great."

"Anything you'd like to share?"

"Toby died."

"Oh my god!" Stamford caught her hands and patted her sympathetically on her back.

"Who's Toby?" John asked a girl sitting next to him.

"Ms. Hooper's cat. She was head over heels for him. Are you new here?"

John nodded. The girl did not say anything to him so he focussed his attention back to the love-dance in front of him.

"Anytime you feel... like, you know, having a chat... you can just drop by."

"Yes," she composed herself, and cleared her throat, as if asking him to get on with it.

"Right, ahem- well, I just wanted to let everybody know that we have a new student joining us. He just moved here all the way from Afghanistan." He looked around, as if trying to locate that student, and then smiled sweetly to Sally Donovan's boyfriend, "Welcome!"

Everyone craned their necks to look at Sally's new and excessively tanned boyfriend, including Sally herself, as if she didn't know that her boyfriend came from Afghanistan. There was a beat for a moment after which he roused himself from oblivion, "Don't look at me! I'm from Edinburgh!"

Mr. Stamford tried to hide his embarrassment, "Great... erm... His name's John Hamish Watson. Where are you, John?"

"Over here," he sort of waved, smiling nicely at his two teachers. Ms. Hooper beamed at him in a friendly welcome smile, and John felt included automatically. but nobody else graced him with even a look, seeing that John was pretty average with nothing out-of-the-ordinary about him. John's smile dropped, he already felt like his first day in secondary school was a disaster, but he did notice that the shorter of the two boys who had talked to him earlier was now silently laughing at his unnecessary excitement. He would have understood, had he known that this was the first time John had been attending school.

Or maybe he was just laughing at 'Hamish', yeah that was more probable... 'Damn, mum!' he thought, 'Why John HAMISH Watson?'

"Well, welcome John," said Ms. Hooper as he turned back to her. She decided to end the trance with a small cough, "And thank you Mr. Stamford."

"Well, thank you too. And... if ever you want... if you need anything or if you wanna talk to somebody..."

"Yeah maybe some other time."

"Okay. Good day everyone," Mr. Stamford left the class and Ms. Hooper heaved a sigh of relief, "Okay! Mycroft," she didn't look up even for once as she went through a file flooding with papers, "could you please take the attendance? I need to do one or two things..."

When the period ended, the two boys from earlier cornered him outside the room.

"That's why I thought My, "said the shorter one, "I had never seen this one before."

"Really?" The boy called 'My' quipped, "John Hamish Watson?"

John frowned and tried his best placating smile, "Look guys, I really appreciate you talking to me but I have to get to my next class. It starts in two minutes."

"Relax," said the 'My' guy. John was relieved to hear that someone's name was as pathetic as 'Hamish' was. And then he cowered at the fact that Hamish was his father's name.

"No one gets to Biology in time," 'My' continued, "Ms. Hooper's always late. This is Greg," he continued in an undertone, "He's too gay to function."

"What?" John spluttered as Greg flashed a set of white teeth. How in the name of all that is holy was he okay with that?

"Oh, poor guy," Greg chuckled, "Don't worry. I'll have him killed if it gets out. And same goes to you too."

John smiled at that, liking the fact that he already was getting included.

"And I'm Mycroft," said he, shaking his hand formally.

"The two most awesome people you'll ever meet!" Greg quipped.

"Nice to meet you, erm - do you know where this classroom is?"

Greg looked down at John's schedule and nodded, "Yeah, I'm taking some bio. My has gotta go to... "

"Physics," said Mycroft, checking his schedule, "See you later."

"Bye."

"Bye Mycroft."

Greg was okay, and certainly not too gay to function, according to John anyway. He was also into rugby and soccer, and he consistently argued with John over the fact the soccer was the greatest sport in the world. John didn't really mind him, in fact he was glad and moreover, thankful that he wasn't alone in that huge surreal, stressful place.

It seemed that the only classes Greg did not share with him were Chemistry and French. And as for Mycroft, he did not share any classes with Greg at all. So, during French, when John looked at the alien room timidly, Mycroft was there for company. He went to him at once, smiling at his new friend.

"Hello," said he jovially, peering from the top of his textbook, "How was your day till now?"

"Okay. A little stressful." He went and sat next to him.

"So... what happened? Why d'you move here from Afghanistan?"

"Dad got retired. My sister had to go to a uni, get some degree."

Mycroft gave him an acknowledging nod, gulping down some bottled water, "I've heard that it's very violent in there. Even schools are, you know..."

"Yeah," John smiled, "It is. That's why I was homeschooled."

Mycroft choked on the water he was gulping down his throat, "What? You've never been to school before?"

"No. My mum taught me most of the stuff."

"Wow, you are one lucky person!"

John raised his eyebrows, "Really? Are schools that bad?"

Mycroft only gave him a deadpan smile, "Surely you mean Secondary-school world? You'll see." John really did not like the tone of his words.

When the class ended, Mycroft led him outside and waited for Greg to come out of the German class. John checked his schedule again. Health class. Without John's knowledge, Mycroft pointed to it and nudged his best friend, "Yeah, don't worry John. We'll get you there."

"Yeah, "Greg gave him a wide smile, "Come on, or we'll be late."

"And you don't want to be late for Health class!" Mycroft spoke ominously, "Coach Gregson will play hell."

They successfully made their way through the crowd, and out in the school grounds.

"Where's this room, guys?"

"Oh don't worry. Yeah, just right here." Mycroft promptly sat down on the grass. Well on his handkerchief actually, under the comfortable shade of a tree. He pulled John down on the well-kept grass and aimed a kick in Greg's direction.

"Yeah, okay I'm sitting. Don't be an asshole, My."

"Is it okay?" John looked a little scared. His mum and dad had told him to reach all his classes in time or else he would be punished, "I mean, won't we get into some sort of trouble for this?"

"Yeah," Mycroft nodded nonchalantly, taking out a university-level calculus textbook, "if you show up late."

"But if you just don't show up at all," said Greg, fishing into his bag for something, "they'll never even notice."

"Moreover, we're friends, John. Why would we get you into trouble?"

Mycroft looked so sincere that John relented.

"In case you're wondering what happens in Health class," Greg started, biting into a chocolate bar and giving Mycroft the biggest piece, leaving two small bites for John and himself, "They ask you to carry mosquito repellents with yourselves, or else you'll get dengue," he tried a poor imitation of a poltergeist trying to scare off kids, "and die."

"Or 'D-A-N-G-O-O, as Coach Gregson spells it. Always the same thing every time," Mycroft shook his head, his diet forgotten. John nodded, processing the information. Health class sounded mundane.

"And it's the sort of class you learn not to pay any attention to, so there's no point in attending... Anyway, why are you reading uni - level calc book, My?" said Greg, pointing to the textbook.

"Hell bent on passing IMO this year as well," said Mycroft absentmindedly, turning the pages carefully as if they were lost treasures, "it'll be second year in a row if I get that medal again. Not that they expect calculus, but the answer comes to me easier..."

Greg gave John a look that told him to zone out for sometime if he didn't understand what Mycroft was saying.

Greg and Mycroft complemented each other. They were complete opposites of each other, and yet they were the best of friends. Greg loved everything American, almost like a wannabe, while Mycroft was completely English, with proper hair and button-down tucked-in shirt. Greg was sweet and sort of tame, trying his best to appear cool whereas Mycroft appeared bold and dominating, while trying his best to be polite. SO much that when Greg said something that was outrageous by his standards, Mycroft would look at him with surprise as if he had never known him, maybe pass one or two polite comments too...

"Okay," said Greg in infectious excitement, and yet Mycroft was having none of it, "I'm going to mentor you... what else is important that I can tell you about? Oh yeah, the cafeteria is terrible, you're gonna have to buy your lunch at the school store. I recommend white cheddar cheezits."

"No worries," said John brightly, "My mum gave me my lunch."

Greg and Mycroft stared at him like he was an alien. John realised that bringing lunch from home was something you were not supposed to do. He made a mental note to tell his mum about it. Fortunately, Mycroft broke the silence when it was getting too awkward, "So, why didn't your parents keep... I don't know, homeschooling you?"

"They wanted me to get socialized, meet new people."

Mycroft and Greg smirked identically. Greg put a reassuring arm on John's shoulder, "Oh, don't worry. You'll get socialized all right, a hunk like you. Just give it a month."

"Gregory! God! I told you," he beckoned to John, "too gay-"

"Yeah whatevs," Greg growled, "But I guarantee you, you'll hit it off with many chicks here."

John did not want to tell them that he was not interested in girls at all. He looked in the direction of the school. Greg and Mycroft followed his gaze.

"Oh for God's sake, look at Philip Anderson. Isn't he wearing his pants inside out?!"

The three broke into laughter, "Of course he is," said Mycroft contemptuously, "Now John, whatever you do in school, you must remember that there are always some people who can ruin your life."

"Yeah, and they have a name. The Plastics."

John frowned, "What's Plastics?

"Teen royalty. Or at least they consider themselves to be royalty."

"If Westhaven was The Times, they would be there on every single page."

"And if there was a caste system here, everyone would be worshiping the ground upon which they walk. Well, everyone except us."

"That's right."

"And you too, now that you're one of us."

John looked at them hopefully, "I am?"

"Course you are, isn't that true Mycroft?"

"Yes, of course."

John looked at them with amazement. It was like they practiced their dialogues to be in sync with each other. "That one over there," Mycroft pointed to a tall boy with alabaster complexion and slightly long hair, "is Philip Anderson. He's one of the most stupid people on the earth, and I'm NOT exaggerating at all."

"Mycroft sat next to him in French last year."

"He asked me on which day Tuesday fell on. Goodness!"

Greg winked at John, "My gets really annoyed when stupid people talk to him." John smiled good-naturedly at that, thinking that Mycroft probably did not think of him as an idiot, even if he read uni-level calculus.

"That brunette over there, Irene Adler. She knows everything about everyone... Anderson and Adler are best friends for life."

John looked at her. Her gym clothes consisted of the tiniest shorts ever forged by man, and a bandana for a shirt. John frowned, openly pointing at her, "Is that a... shirt or a handkerchief?"

"I don't know, John," said Mycroft with a chuckle, "But I do know that she's very rich and an absolute slut."

"And that phone of hers, there are all sorts of secrets in there."

"And evil takes a human form in Jim Moriarty," Greg pointed to a dark haired handsome guy, "They would have been an item, Jim and Irene, but Jim's gay."

"But people overlook this little fact because he's the leader of The Plastics. And whatever they do is the new fashion. School follows him like religion. There was this one time he punched a boy just because he felt like it."

"And that fellow said that it was the best damn thing that had ever happened to him."

"That is so lame," said John, frowning.

"I know," Greg shook his head, "As for Jim Moriarty, don't be fooled. He'll seem like a good ol' mate like the ones calling you on fishing and hunting trips. And then he'll break you down, and he'll stab you in the back."

"Seriously Greg? Fishing trips? Anyway," he turned to John, "not just that," Mycroft voice became a growl, "He's the self-proclaimed king of the school and those two, Philip and Irene, they're his minions."

John turned his head back towards Jim Moriarty, instant fascination arising in him.

"Last year, he made Irene's father talk to the Tower of London Security and let him wear the Crown Jewels."

Mycroft and John turned to him with a disbelieving face, "That's impossible."

"Didn't you see the photo?" he pleaded.

"It must have been Photoshopped, you idiot! God, I don't know why I stay with you. I'd rather stay with my painful brother."

"Your... brother? Oh, you've got a brother as well?" John asked, thinking about Harry and painful siblings. He could relate.

"Oh right..." Greg's eyes widened, "We haven't told him the main part yet."

John quirked an eyebrow at him, "Told me... what?"

"Yes, I've got a brother, in a manner of speaking. His name is Sherlock Holmes."

"And he's one of the biggest reasons Jim Moriarty is on top of the 'food chain'."

"He's Jim's ex-boyfriend. Well, they've been going on again and off again and again since the last year."

"Quiet sort of fellow, doesn't really talk much, that is, until you go and talk to him."

"All the girls used to love Sherlock when he first arrived, that is, until they found out that he was homosexual."

"Some of the freshers who don't know about his orientation still fancy him, because he's a looker. But when they go and try to talk to him, they wish they had never known him."

"Gregory, don't talk about my brother like that. Not in front of me at least. You've truly out-gayed yourself."

"Out-gayed? What sort of English is that, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft made an irritated face, "Anyway, Sherlock Holmes is an arrogant waste-of-space. But for some reason, girls love that. He does boxing and a little athletics and he's one of the best students in the school. That's why he's so popular."

"I can tell that Sherlock hates it," Greg spoke in a low voice, "all that attention. We have this special thing-"

"Shut it, Greg. Yeah so, it was obvious that Jim had to go out with him."

The bell rang and Greg stood up, helping John to his feet and then extending his hand to Mycroft, only to withdraw it at the last second and let Mycroft fall back on the grass.

"That's one for aiming a kick at me," he laughed merrily as he pulled John away, and then jostled with his best friend. John smiled at them. Suddenly, Mycroft's eyes fell on a bullhorn by the side of the field, "Greg, on your left."

Greg snagged the bullhorn as they passed. Right as they got to the door, he turned it on and announced into it, "Irene Adler is a Gucci Hoochie!"

John stared at him in confusion, wondering what he meant. Mycroft and Greg pulled him inside just in time as Irene Adler turned in their direction. Mycroft rolled his eyes, "You're just so gay to function!"

"What's a Gucci Hoochie?"

"A girl with a designer clothes worth 1000 bucks on a body worth 2 bucks," said Greg as Mycroft tried his best not to laugh or even get caught. If John was on the right track of thought, he could see what Mycroft and Greg looked like. They should marry. Totally.

It was all too much for John for the first day. School was not just about books and teachers. It was about who liked who, or who went out with who, or whom to say hi to and who to avoid.

But mostly, it was about what Irene Adler or Jim Moriarty wore and what all slangs they used.

Jim Moriarty.

John saw a close-up of the dark haired Irish teen outside English class. He did look like he might be the kind of person on top of the food-chain, going by the way people looked at him when he passed them in corridors. John could actually feel 'royalty' emanate from him as Jim passed him while he remained in a corner, unknown, unnoticed, unpopular. Jim was the most decently dressed fellow in the school, apart from Mycroft, of course. John watched the dark haired Irish teen with awe, wondering how someone could manage to be so much on top of the food chain.

Throughout the first day, John kept running into trouble, sometimes with the teachers, sometimes with discipline matters, because apparently kids weren't allowed food when they were hungry.

"No eating in the class!" Their math teacher shouted at him. John watched her with a scared expression on his face.

"But I'm hungry," he protested weakly.

"Well, I am too! But I'm teaching stupid sods like you, aren't I?"

That was very rude and very unprofessional of her but he didn't comment. He could feel Irene Adler's curious eyes on him, "But-"

"In that case, finish your lunch outside the class!"

John nodded innocently at the scandalized teacher and obediently walked out of the class, finished his lunch and strolled back into the classroom.

"Where d'you think you're going, young man?"

John could not express how self-conscious he felt when the teacher shrieked at him. He thought that his best option was to tell the truth.

"To... my desk?" he looked at Greg, who was shaking his head as inconspicuously as possible. A bit not good, he thought.

"Go out and ask for permission," she snapped.

John looked at the students helplessly, who were all watching him with an amused expression on their faces. He walked out of the class and asked a little louder than necessary, "May I come in, Ms. - ?"

The Math teacher replied in the same volume in which he had spoken, "No. Stay outside for the rest of your life!"

And some similar anecdotes.

John had never felt so helpless in his life. He should have been mainstream-schooled a little earlier. No one had told him that he had to stay in one place, or that he had to have a 'lavatory pass' to go to washroom. He had never encountered adults who didn't trust him or kids who laughed at his expense or whenever he felt embarrassed. He had never had to worry about anything else than studying, playing and surviving the war. He was thankful for having moved from Afghanistan, but this was worse. The school was like a minefield and the students and teachers ready to explode upon the slightest contact. He felt like a victim, right on the first day in this new place called school. He wondered how the rest of the year would go.

John was a fool for having thought that the war was over. That surviving was over and now it was time to start living. In Secondary-school world, as Mycroft put it, war was never over.

IMO stands for International Mathematical Olympiad. I think Mycroft was more inclined towards math... I don't know, he just looks like it... I'm planning on putting quite a considerable amount of Case Fic in chapters four and six. Please let me know if it's a good idea.

A big, big thanks to Guinevere81 (that's her pen name, I don't know if she's there on AO3) for britpicking it and for explaining me the complexities of the English high school stuff and about London!

Thank you all for reading :)