A/N: This was written for the exchangelock gift exchange. My giftee is Katiewont and my 'what if' prompt was what if Mycroft was the younger brother. I hope you like it! Also, I'm not entirely sure about the title so I might change it.
Mycroft was late.
Sherlock frowned as he glanced at his cell phone, but the time told him what he already knew. His brother should have been out a half hour ago. This wasn't like Mycroft at all. The thirteen year old was obsessed with being on time and everything else that he deemed 'proper', and being late was one of his personal hells. What could be keeping him?
He knew it wouldn't be trouble with his teachers, Mycroft had them all fooled. His brother was intelligent, Sherlock would admit that (even though he would vehemently deny that Mycroft was more intelligent than him), and he was good at blending in. He answered questions, aced all of his classes, and managed to blend into the shadows. So, trouble with the other students was as unlikely as trouble with his teachers. What was keeping him, then?
Just as he was about to give up and leave (honestly, he'd agreed to keep an eye on his brother while his parents were out of town but he didn't think the younger boy needed a babysitter), he saw Mycroft heading towards him. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he looked Mycroft over. His hair and clothing were both slightly mussed, although his brother had clearly taken pains to try to disguise it, and he seemed nervous. As well as being forty-five minutes late. Something was definitely going on.
He waited until they were both in his car, lighting his cigarette (ignoring Mycroft's warnings about lung cancer, as always) and pulling out of the lot, before he started questioning his little brother.
"You were late," was all he said, but there was a world of implication in that short sentence. Mycroft was obsessive about being on time, so of course Sherlock would notice when he was late, especially when he was nearly an hour late.
"I needed to speak to one of my teachers," Mycroft said, looking over at Sherlock briefly before looking away. Sherlock knew there was more to it than that (especially since Mycroft never needed to stay after to talk to his teachers). He was going to state that, as well as asking why he was late (sometimes the polite route was the only way to get any information at all out of Mycroft), when he noticed the state of his lips. Reddened, perhaps even slightly swollen, and that coupled with the mussed hair and clothes…
"You've been snogging!" Sherlock said, stopping at a red light and looking over at his wide eyed little brother. "You made me wait for nearly an hour so you and your girlfriend could make out! Or boyfriend," he added as an afterthought. They hadn't ever discussed preferences before, really, and Sherlock hadn't even known that Mycroft was dating anyone.
Light pink dusted Mycroft's pale cheeks as his brother looked down. "She's not my girlfriend," he snapped. "We're just friends."
"Friends who stick their tongues down each other's throats," Sherlock said, smirking as Mycroft's blush deepened. "Let me guess, it's that girl that you went to the library with a few times, the one who gives a different name each time I see her."
"Anthea," Mycroft sighed, resigned. He should have known that Sherlock wouldn't let this go. "She doesn't like her real name, so she usually goes by Anthea." He only had one friend, after all, two if you counted Gregory, but he wasn't as close to Greg as he was to Anthea.
"You pick the odd ones, don't you?" Sherock said, smirking. "How long has this been going on? I wasn't aware that you were dating anyone."
"We're not dating," Mycroft snapped, but then he sighed. "We're not dating," he said again, more softly. "After today she likely won't even want to be my friend."
"Are you that bad of a kisser?" Sherlock asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit. "I'm sure I can give you a few pointers."
"The less I know about what you and your harem gets up to, the better," Mycroft said. "We aren't dating, as I said. We're just friends."
"Then what led to the frantic snogging that made me wait for forty five minutes for you?" Sherlock asked. "And it is hardly a harem. Not enough people at present." He smirked at the irritated look on Mycroft's face. Sometimes it was far too easy to annoy his little brother.
"You aren't going to let this go, are you?" Mycroft asked, more or less resigned to the fact that he would have to tell Sherlock what had happened. His brother was far too persistent, and at least this way he would be able to mitigate the damage. He would likely be able to get away without telling Sherlock everything. That was his hope, anyway, as he started his story.
"Anthea and I were talking when we left our last class," he said, determinedly looking out of the window rather than at his brother. "We were discussing the exam the professor had given and debating how well we did." He didn't need to look to know that Sherlock was rolling his eyes. His elder brother never had seen the importance of school. "There weren't many people around, as they all ran to do whatever it is they do after school, and I kissed her." Very quickly, and when he started to pull back she had pulled him closer and started kissing back, which took longer. "Then I made my apologies, gathered my things from my locker, and went to the nearest bathroom to do my best to compose myself. Then I left the school and you began your interrogation. Satisfied?"
"Not quite, no," Sherlock replied. "Why are you so certain that she will want nothing to do with you? You kissed her, without asking or whatever nonsense you apparently require for just a quick peck. Did she kiss back?"
This was the part he had been hoping to avoid. "Yes," Mycroft muttered. "She started kissing me back when I was pulling away."
"Then she evidently was enjoying herself," Sherlock said. "So, what is the problem?"
"She didn't say anything," Mycroft said, biting his bottom lip. "She just…looked at me. And then I excused myself and left before she could say anything when it looked like she was going to speak."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. Only his brother could make something as simple as finding someone to snog into something so complicated. "You didn't think to wait until she said whatever it was that she was going to say?" She would likely have asked what that kiss was about, and after Mycroft's explanation that he wanted to date her, she would have more than likely agreed and kissed him again. At least, that was Sherlock's informed opinion on the subject.
"She could have been prepared to say anything," Mycroft muttered, looking out of the window. "She could have been ready to insult me for thinking that she would want to date me, or to tell me that she already had a boyfriend." The latter was unlikely, as he and Anthea talked about almost anything. If she was seeing anyone, she likely would have told him, simply because of how close they were.
"You should know very well that she doesn't have a boyfriend," Sherlock replied, barely refraining from sighing. Only Mycroft would turn something so simple into something so irritatingly complicated. He liked the girl, she liked him, and now that they had finally gotten to the snogging/dating stage, it should have been easier in some aspects. Instead, Mycroft was turning the entire thing into a production.
"I didn't ask for your advice," Mycroft said, scowling. "You wanted to know what happened, and now you do. Anthea may never speak to me again because of all of this." Both brothers had a flair for the dramatic, but Mycroft rarely indulged in it. While his elder brother seemed to enjoy it, he didn't think it was proper. So, Mycroft saved his dramatic instances for when something important happened, like when he thought his best friend and crush would be angry with him.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, his brother could be so dramatic (and he was well aware of the hypocrisy of that thought, but he didn't care). "I'll say this slowly, as you are obviously determined to act like every other teenage idiot with a crush," he said, smirking when Mycroft glared at him. "Talk. To. Her. Tomorrow when you're back at school in person, on the phone when we get home, however you please but talk to her. Regardless of whether she would want to date you or not, it is always best to know for certain."
Regardless of all of his teasing (and oh, this was only the tip of the iceberg), he did care about his little brother. Mycroft didn't have any friends besides Anthea, and if he didn't make up with her then his brother would be all alone. Technically, that Lestrade kid occasionally hung around his brother, but neither of them seemed that close. Anthea was helping him to bridge the gap from solitude to having at least one friend, if not two, and Sherlock wasn't going to let that end just because Mycroft couldn't handle his emotions. Neither of them did well talking about their emotions, or even thinking in depth about them, really, but in this instance Mycroft needed to.
Mycroft sighed, looking over at his brother as they pulled up at their house. His brother, for all of his faults (of which there were many, and Mycroft would enumerate on them as readily as Sherlock would point out Mycroft's), was right. If he wanted to have any kind of relationship with Anthea, whether that meant going back to being friends or going out, he needed to talk to her. Running from this would only end up with him being alone, and he wasn't fond of that prospect. Still, no need to tell Sherlock that he was heeding his advice, his brother was far too smug. "I'll think about it." Sherlock's laugh as Mycroft grabbed his bag and got out of the car and headed for the house told Mycroft that Sherlock likely knew anyway, but he held his head high and ignored it. He had a phone call to make.